Thieves World tw-1

by Robert Lynn Asprin

  'Hakiem?' Jubal frowned.

  The old storyteller! He had often been of service to Jubal when people forgot that he could listen as well as talk.

  'Yes, Hakiem. He sells stories in the bazaar ...'

  'I know, I know,' Jubal snapped. For some reason, today everyone thought he knew nothing of the people in town. 'What information does he have for me, and why didn't he come himself?'

  'I don't know what the information is. But it's important. So important that Hakiem is in hiding, afraid for his life. He paid me to fetch you to him, for he feels the information will be especially valuable to you.'

  'Fetch me to him?' Jubal rumbled, his temper rising.

  "One moment, boy,' Saliman interceded, speaking for the first time since his report was interrupted. 'You say Hakiem paid you? How much?'

  'A silver coin,' the boy announced proudly.

  'Show it to us!' Saliman ordered.

  The boy's hand disappeared within his rags. Then he hesitated.

  'You won't take it from me, will you?' he asked warily.

  'Show the coin!' Jubal roared.

  Cowed by the sudden outburst, Mungo extended his fist and opened it, revealing.a silver coin nestled in his palm.

  Jubal's eyes sought Saliman, who raised his eyebrows in silent surprise and speculation. The fact the boy actually had a silver coin indicated many things.

  First: Mungo was probably telling the truth. Street-rats rarely had more than a few coppers, so a silver coin would have had to come from an outside benefactor. If the boy had stolen it, he would himself be in hiding, gloating over his ill gotten wealth -not displaying it openly as he had just done.

  Assuming the boy was telling the truth, then Hakiem's information must indeed be valuable and the danger to him real. Hakiem was not the sort to give away silver coins unless he were confident of recouping the loss and making a healthy profit besides. Even then, he would save the expense and bring the information himself, were he not truly afraid for his life.

  All this flashed through Jubal's mind as he saw the coin, and Saliman's reactions confirmed his thoughts.

  'Very well. We shall see what information Hakiem has. Saliman, take Mor-Am and Moria and go with Mungo to find the storyteller. Bring him here and -'

  'No!' the boy cried, interrupting. 'Hakiem will only give the information to Jubal personally, and he is to come alone.'

  'What?' Saliman exclaimed.

  'This sounds like a trap!' Moria scowled.

  Jubal waved them to silence as he stared down at the boy. It could be a trap. Then again, there could be another reason for Hakiem's request. The information might involve someone in Jubal's own force! An assassin ... or worse, an informer! That could explain Hakiem's reluctance to come to the mansion in person.

  'I will go,' Jubal said, rising and sweeping the room with his eyes. 'Alone, with Mungo. Saliman, I will require the use of your mask.'

  'I want my knife back!' Mungo declared suddenly.

  Jubal raised a questioning eyebrow at Mor-Am, who flushed and produced a short dagger from his belt.

  'We took it from him when we caught him,' the sell-sword explained. 'A safety precaution. We had no intent to steal it.'

  'Give it back,' Jubal laughed. 'I would not send my worst enemy into the streets of Sanctuary unarmed.'

  'Jubal,' Saliman murmured as he surrendered his hawk-mask. 'If this should be a trap ...'

  Jubal dropped a hand to his sword hilt.

  'If it is a trap,' he smiled, 'they'll not find me easy prey. I survived five to-one odds and worse in the pits before I won my freedom.'

  'But-'

  'You are not to follow,' Jubal ordered sternly. 'Nor allow any other to follow. Anyone who disobeys will answer to me.'

  Saliman drew a breath to answer, then saw the look in Jubal's eyes and nodded in silent acceptance.

  Jubal studied his guide covertly as they left the mansion and headed towards the town. Though he had not shown it openly, he had been impressed with the boy's spirit during their brief encounter. Alone and unarmed in the midst of hostile swords ... men twice Mungo's age had been known to tremble and grovel when visiting Jubal at his mansion.

  In many ways, the boy reminded Jubal of himself as a youth. Fighting and rebellious, with no parents but his pride and stubbornness to guide him, he had been bought from the slave pens by a gladiator trainer with an eye for cold, spirited fighters. If he had instead been purchased by a gentle master ... if someone interceded in the dubious path Fate had chosen for Mungo ...

  Jubal halted that line of thought with a grimace as he realized where it was leading. Adopt the boy into his household? Ridiculous! Saliman and the others would think he had gone soft in his old age. More important, his competitors would see it as a sign of weakness, an indication that Jubal could be reached by sentimentality ... that he had a heart. He had risen above his own squalid beginnings; the boy would just have to do the same!

  The sun was4iigh and staggering in its heat as Jubal followed the boy's lead into town. Sweat trickled in annoying rivulets from beneath his blue hawk-mask, but he was loath to acknowledge his discomfort by wiping them away. The thought of removing the mask never entered his mind. The masks were necessary to disguise those in his employment who were wanted by the law; to complete the camouflage, all must wear them. To exempt himself from his own rule would be unthinkable.

  In an effort to distract himself from his discomfort, Jubal began to peer cautiously at the people about him as they approached the bazaar. Since they had crossed the bridge and placed the hovels of the Downwinders behind them, there was a marked improvement in the quality of clothes and manners of the citizenry.

  His eye fell on a magician, and he wondered about the star tattooed on the man's forehead. Then, too, he noted that the mage was engaged in a heated argument with a brightly garbed young bravo who displayed numerous knives, their hilts protruding from arm-sheath, sash, and boot top in ominous warning.

  'That's Lythande,' Mungo informed him, noting his interest. 'He's a fraud. If you're looking for a magician, there are better to be had ... cheaper.'

  'You're sure he's a fraud?' Jubal asked, amused at the boy's analysis.

  'If he were a true magician, he wouldn't have to carry a sword,' Mungo countered, pointing to the weapon slung at the magician's side.

  'A point well taken,' Jubal acknowledged. 'And the man he's arguing with?'

  'Shadowspawn,' the boy announced loftily. 'A thief. Used to work with Cudget Swearoath before the old fool got himself hung.'

  'A magician and a thief,' Jubal murmured thoughtfully, glancing at the two again. 'An interesting combination of talents.'

  'Unlikely!' Mungo scoffed. 'Whatever Shadowspawn's last venture was, it was profitable. He's been spending freely and often, so it's unlikely he'll be looking for more work. My guess would be they're arguing over a woman. They each fancy themselves to be a gift from the gods to womankind.'

  'You seem to be well informed,' Jubal commented, impressed anew with the boy's knowledge.

  'One hears much in the streets.' Mungo shrugged. 'The lower one's standing is, the more important information is for survival... and few are lower than my friends and I.'

  Jubal pondered this as the boy led the way past Shambles Cross. Perhaps he had overlooked a valuable information source in the street children when he built his network of informers. They probably would not hear much, but there were so many of them. Together they might be enough to confirm or quash a rumour.

  'Tell me, Mungo,' he called to his guide. 'You know I pay well for information, don't you?'

  'Everyone knows that.' The urchin turned into the Maze and skipped lightly over a prone figure, not bothering to see if the man were asleep or dead.

  'Then why is it that none of your friends come to me with their knowledge?'

  Jubal stepped carefully over the obstacle and cast a wary glance about. Even in broad daylight, the Maze could be a dangerous place for a lone traveller.


  'We street-rats are close,' Mungo explained over his shoulder. 'Even closer than the bazaar people or the S'danzo. Shared secrets lose their value, so we keep them for ourselves.'

  Jubal recognized the wisdom in the urchin's policy, but it only heightened his resolve to recruit the children.

  'Talk it over with your friends,' he urged. 'A full stomach can ... where are we going?'

  , They had left the dank Serpentine for an alley so narrow that Jubal had to edge sideways to follow.

  'To meet Hakiem,' Mungo called, not slackening his pace.

  'But where is he?' Jubal pressed. 'I do not know this rat run.'

  'If you knew it, it would not make a good hiding place.' The boy laughed.'i.t's just a little further.'

  As he spoke, they emerged from the crawl-space into a small courtyard.

  'We're here,' Mungo announced, coming to a halt in the centre of the yard.

  'Where?' Jubal growled standing beside him. 'There are no doors or windows in these walls. Unless he is hiding in one of those refuse heaps ...'

  He broke off his commentary as the details of their surroundings sank into his mind. No doors or windows! The only other way out of the courtyard was another crawl-space as small as that they had just traversed ... except that it was blocked by a pile of wooden cartons. They were in a cul-de-sac!

  A sudden crash sounded behind them, and Jubal spun to face it, his hand going reflexively to his sword. Several wooden boxes had fallen from the roof of one of the buildings, blocking the entrance.

  'It's a trap!' he hissed, backing towards a corner, his eyes scanning the rooftops.

  There was a sudden impact on his back. He staggered slightly, then lashed backwards with his sword, swinging blind. His blade encountered naught but air, and he turned to face his attacker.

  Mungo danced lightly just out of sword range, his eyes bright with triumph and glee.

  'Mungo?' Jubal asked, knowing the answer.

  He had been wounded often enough to recognize the growing numbness in his upper back. A rasp of pain as he shifted his stance told the rest of the story. The boy had planted his dagger in Jubal's back, and there it remained. In his mind's eye, Jubal could see it protruding from his shoulder at an unnatural angle.

  'I told you we were close,' Mungo taunted. 'Maybe the big folk are afraid of you, but we aren't. You shouldn't have ordered Gambi's death.'

  'Gambi?' Jubal frowned, weaving slightly. 'Who is Gambi?'

  For a moment, the boy froze in astonishment. Then his face contorted with rage and he spat.

  'He was found this morning with his throat cut and a copper coin in his mouth. Your trademark! Don't you even know who you kill?'

  The blind! Jubal cursed himself for not listening closer to Sali-man's reports.

  'Gambi never sold you any information,' Mungo shouted. 'He hated you for what your men did to his mother. You had no right to kill him as a false informer.'

  'And Hakiem?' Jubal asked, stalling for time.

  'We guessed right about that, didn't we - about Hakiem being one of your informers?' the boy crowed. 'He's on the big wharf sleeping off a drunk. We pooled our money for the silver coin that drew you out from behind your guards.'

  For some reason, this last taunt stung Jubal more than had the dagger thrust. He drew himself erect, ignoring the warm liquid dripping down his back from the knife wound, and glared down at the boy.

  'I need no guard against the likes of you!' he boomed. 'You think you know killing? A street-rat who stabs overhand with a knife? The next time you try to kill a man - if there is another time - thrust underhand. Go between the ribs, not through them! And bring friends - one of you isn't enough to kill a real man.'

  'I brought friends!' Mungo laughed, pointing. 'Do you think they'll be enough?'

  Jubal risked a glance over his shoulder. The gutter-rats of Sanctuary were descending on the courtyard. Scores of them! Scrabbling over the wooden cases or swarming down from the roofs like spiders. Children in rags - none of them even half Jubal's height, but with knives, rocks, and sharp sticks.

  Another man might have broken before those hate-filled eyes. He might have tried to beg or bribe his way out of the trap, claiming ignorance of Gambi's murder. But this was Jubal, and his eyes were as cold as his sword as he faced his tormentors.

  'You claim you're doing this to avenge one death,' he sneered. 'How many will die trying to pull me down?'

  'You feel free to kill us one at a time, for no reason,' Mungo retorted, circling wide to join the pack. 'If some of us die killing you, then at least the rest will be safe.'

  'Only if you kill me,' Jubal corrected. Without taking his eyes from the pack, he reached his left hand over his right shoulder, found the knife hilt, and wrenched it free. 'And for that, you'll need your knife back!'

  Mungo saw the knife coming as Jubal whipped his left hand down and across his body, but he froze for a split second. In that split second, the knife took him full in the throat. The world blurred and he went down, not feeling the fall.

  The pack surged forward, and Jubal went to meet them, his sword flashing in the sun as he desperately tried to win his way to the exit.

  A few fell before his first rush - he didn't know how many -but the rest scattered and closed about him from all sides. Sticks jabbed at his face faster than he could parry them, and he felt the touch of knives as small forms darted from behind him to slash and duck away.

  Realization came to him that the harassment would bring him down before he could clear the wooden cases; abandoning his charge, he paused, whirling and cutting, trying to clear a space around him. The urchins were sharp-toothed, elusive phantoms, disappearing from in front of him to worry him from behind. It flashed through his mind that he was going to die! The survivor of countless gladiator duels was going to meet his end at the hands of angry children!

  The thought drove him to desperate action. With one last powerful cut, he broke off his efforts at defence and tried to sprint for the wall to get something solid at his back. A small girl grabbed his ankle and clung with all her strength. He stumbled, nearly falling, and cut downwards viciously without looking. His leg came free, but another urchin leapt on to his back. hammering at his head with a rock.

  Jubal lurched sideways, scraping the child off along the wall, then turned to face the pack. A stick pierced his mask, opening a gash in his forehead which began to drip blood in his eyes. Temporarily blinded, he laid about him wildly with his sword, sometimes striking something solid, sometimes encountering air. A rock caromed off his head, but he was past feeling and continued his sightless, mindless slashing.

  Slowly it crept into his fogged brain that there was a new note in the children's screams. At the same time, he realized that his sword had not struck a target for ten or fifteen swings now. Shaking his head to clear it, he focused anew on the scene before him.

  The courtyard was littered with small bodies, their blood a bright contrast to their drab rags. The rest of the pack was in full flight, pursued over the rubble piles by ...

  Jubal sagged against the wall, fighting for breath and numb from wounds too numerous to count. He watched as his rescuer strode to his side, sheathing a sword wet with fresh blood.

  'Your ... your name?' he gasped.

  'Zaibar,' the uniformed figure panted in return. 'Bodyguard to His Royal Highness, Prince Kadakithis. Your wounds ... are they...?'

  'I've survived worse.' Jubal shrugged, wincing at the pain the movement caused.

  'Very well.' the man nodded. 'Then I shall be on my way.'

  'A moment,' Jubal asked, holding up a restraining hand. 'You have saved my life ... a life I value quite highly. I owe you thanks and more, for you can't spend words. Name your reward.'

  'That is not necessary,' Zaibar sniffed. 'It is my duty.'

  'Duty or not,' Jubal argued, 'I know no other guardsman who would enter the Maze, much less risk his life to save... Did you say a royal bodyguard: Are you...'

  'A Hell Hound,' Zaiba
r finished with a grim smile. 'Yes, I am. And I promise you, the day is not far off when we will not be the only guardsmen in the Maze.'

  He turned to go, but Jubal stopped him again, removing the hawk-mask to mop the blood from his eyes.

  'Wait!' he ordered. 'I have a proposal for you. I have need of men such as you. Whatever pay you receive from the Empire, I'll double it... as well as adding a bonus for your work today. What say you?'

  There was no answer. Jubal squinted to get the Hell Hound's face in focus, and found the man was staring at him in frozen recognition.

  'You are Jubal!' Zatbar said in a tone that was more statement than question.

  'I am,' Jubal nodded. 'If you know that, you must also know that there is none in Sanctuary who pays higher than I for services rendered.'

  'I know your reputation,' the Hell Hound acknowledged coldly. 'Knowing what I do, I would not work for you at any price.'

  The rebuff was obvious, but Jubal chose to ignore it. Instead, he attempted to make light of the comment.

  'But you already have,' he pointed out. 'You saved my life.'

  'I saved a citizen from a pack of street-rats,' Zaibar countered.

  'As I said before, it's my duty to my prince.'

  'But-' Jubal began.

  'Had I known your identity sooner,' the Hell Hound continued, 'I might have been tempted to delay my rescue.' l

  This time, the slight could not be ignored. More puzzled ' than angry, Jubal studied his opponent.

  'I sense you are trying to provoke a fight. Did you save me, then, to wreak some vengeance of your own?'

  'In my position, I cannot and will not engage in petty brawls,' Zaibar growled. 'I fight only to defend myself or the citizens of the empire.'

  'And I will not knowingly raise a sword against one who has saved my life ... save in self-defence,' Jubal retorted. 'It would seem, then, that we will not fight each other. Still, it seems you hold some grudge against me. May I ask what it is?'

  'It is the grudge I hold against any man who reaps the benefits of Rankan citizenship while accepting none of the responsibility,' the Hell Hound sneered. 'Not only do you not serve the empire that shelters you, you undermine its strength by openly flaunting your disrespect for its laws in your business dealings.'