Legends of the Riftwar

by Raymond E. Feist

The old beggar smacked his lips, then rubbed his hands over his face and neck and licked up the drops of wine he collected from his fingers.

  Jimmy ostentatiously swung the skin over his shoulder.

  ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said.

  ‘That’s it,’ Neville said.

  The three Mockers crouched, straddling the stream of foulness that ran down the centre of the sewer. Ahead, an oval opening in a wall poured its own tributary into the fetid stream; broad streaks of glistening nitre down the brick showed that the trickle had been larger once.

  ‘Took long enough,’ Larry said sourly.

  Jimmy shrugged. Not all of Neville’s madness was an act; they’d backtracked more times than Jimmy cared to remember with the old man whining about how thirsty he was. But the young thief had been adamant; no wine until they found the place.

  If he’s like this half sober, we’d never see daylight again if I’d let him get drunk.

  ‘Are you sure this is it?’ Jimmy asked dubiously.

  As he’d said, the tunnel was partially collapsed. Rubble splayed out in an incline into the main sewer, giving them easy access, but the air that blew towards them from above was more foul than the beggar himself. Larry said, ‘Something’s died up there!’

  Neville ignored the comment to answer Jimmy’s question. ‘Yes I’m sure,’ he snapped; his lips worked angrily and one discoloured snag of a tooth showed. ‘You’d been payin’ attention you’d know it!’

  The old coot’s right, Jimmy acknowledged unhappily. They’d passed signs that warned they were approaching the underpinnings of the keep.

  ‘Phew!’ Larry said and choked as he stuck head and shoulders into the gap. ‘You can’t mean it! We can’t go in there! A snake couldn’t get in there!’

  Jimmy was definitely in sympathy with Larry. He tossed the wineskin to the beggar who hurried off without demanding the rest of his pay. He grimaced as he watched Noxious Neville scurry into the darkness, then climbed the rubble and thrust the torch through a gap.

  ‘Look, it gets broader past here,’ he said. ‘And this rubble’s easy enough to move.’ He levered a handful aside, then wiped his hand on his breeches. Good thing I was going to buy new ones anyway.

  ‘We could clear enough to get through in less than an hour, even if we take care not to make any noise. After that it’s easy enough, for folk our size. We’re not looking to ride a horse through, after all.’

  The torch flickered and dimmed in a slightly stronger gust of air and Jimmy pushed himself back and staggered, retching, away from the pile of rock and earth.

  He shook his head, his eyes streaming. ‘You’re right, only sheer desperation would get me in there. And even then…’

  Three extremely wealthy merchants sat across the desk from the acting governor of the city. The men were members of the powerful Merchants’ Guild–a body that included the most wealthy men in the city, along with representatives of the other important guilds: tanners, smiths, shipwrights, carters and others. After the authority of the Prince’s Court and the temples, the Merchants’ Guild was the most influential faction in the principality. Too many nobles in the Kingdom owed debts to or did business with the more powerful members of the Guild. Crops didn’t come to market from outlying estate farms if the teamsters didn’t drive wagons. Dock warehouses filled up with goods that were headed nowhere if the dockworkers refused to load them on the ships. Originally begun as a body to adjudicate disagreements between the different guilds and independent merchants, they had evolved over the years into a voice for the merchant class in the halls of power. The Guild’s co-operation was vital to the success of del Garza’s plans, or at the very least he needed to ensure they were not in opposition to him.

  The three maintained equally supercilious expressions while their eyes, glittering in the candlelight, were fixed on del Garza’s every move. They waited for his attention with dignified restraint, ignoring the draughts that moved the wall hangings, barely moving to draw their cloaks tighter around their shoulders.

  Del Garza continued to write, scratching away at an only moderately important document, fully cognizant of how rarely these gentlemen displayed such patience. He was enjoying this little exercise of power. Indeed, this was for his pleasure; the next part of the evening’s endeavours would be for his lord’s advantage.

  He finished writing, sanded the document and shook it, then laid it aside and turned to look at the men seated opposite him. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, his voice coldly insincere.

  Marcellus Varney, a shipper of Quegan ancestry, raised an eyebrow. He was a bull-necked man who had obviously spent his youth in hard labour. Now, in his middle years, there was still muscle under the rich man’s fat. ‘We were not invited,’ he said precisely. ‘I was under the impression that we were arrested.’ His entire attitude spoke of distaste.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ the acting governor said with great politeness, ‘you could have resisted.’ He tipped his head to the side and opened his hands. ‘No, no, you must allow me to thank you for your co-operation.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ the shipper said, his tone flat, his eyes resentful.

  Del Garza glanced at each of them, then made an acquiescent gesture.

  ‘As you wish, gentlemen.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘You are, no doubt, aware of the special orders and state of emergency I am about to declare in Krondor. I’ve submitted a copy of the order to your guild and I expect you’ve had the day to ponder it.’

  The three men shifted in their chairs. It amused him; they might almost have rehearsed it, the timing was so mutual.

  ‘I invited you here tonight to see if there was anything I could do to gain your support. Times ahead will be difficult and I want to ensure that the most respected voices in the Merchants’ Guild speak in favour of the necessity for these acts.’ That’s got their attention, he thought with an inner smile. A little flattery beside intimidation did wonders.

  The gentlemen focused on him as though they believed he cared about their opinion. Which, of course, he did, as long as it was in agreement with his.

  Rufus Tuney, a grain merchant with six critically located mills around the city, grimaced, then waved a hand somewhat languidly. He was a foppish man who tended to wear excessive amounts of lace and powder, and a cloying cloud of spices and lilac scent surrounded him wherever he went. ‘The new regulations you have proposed are not without merit,’ he commented. ‘The trouble is they seem…somewhat excessive.’ He looked at the acting governor with raised brows. ‘Even if the three of us were wholeheartedly in support of your position–’ he gave a delicate shrug, ‘–of what use are a mere three votes?’

  ‘Do not allow that to be a consideration, gentlemen,’ del Garza said, his voice hard and flat. ‘What you must consider are your own advantages in the matter.’

  Silence greeted his remark and del Garza could see them resisting the urge to glance at one another.

  ‘Advantage?’ Varney queried.

  I expected him to be the one to ask that question.

  The third merchant, a spice trader named Thaddius Fleet, shifted in his seat. He was a nondescript man, given to well-made but simple garments. ‘See here, del Garza. What exactly are you proposing?’

  And del Garza had expected him to try to lead the negotiations. Sometimes it was almost too easy. He sighed. ‘Must I go into detail?’ he asked wearily. ‘Remember where you were, gentlemen, when my men requested your presence here.’ He watched that sink in. This time glances were exchanged from the corners of their eyes.

  What fools these men are! He held most of their breed in contempt, but the three sitting before him now were particularly noxious. Tuney and Fleet had indulgences of which they were ashamed, which made them vulnerable. Varney had a profitable sideline selling young women and boys as slaves to Kesh, drugging them and smuggling them out in secret compartments on his ships. Once his usefulness was at an end del Garza thought it would be a blessing to the Kingdom to end his busin
ess. Slavery, except for prisoners of the Crown, was outlawed in the Kingdom.

  Perhaps I’ll sell him to Great Kesh. That should certainly provide some amusement. As for the others, they were just shallow men with foolish peccadilloes. One liked to be spanked by pretty women, the other liked to pretend he was a pretty woman. They harmed no one but themselves. I’m almost grateful to them, and to Radburn for keeping such conveniently complete files. Seeing the key members of the Guild in twos and threes over the next few days would bring them nicely to heel.

  ‘That certainly puts things in a new light,’ Fleet said grimly. He glanced at his two companions; none needed to say anything; they all knew del Garza was in possession of information that would ruin them, and in Varney’s case, send him to the gallows.

  After a moment’s silence del Garza said impatiently: ‘And by this new light can you see your way clear to supporting my decrees? After all, Baron Radburn will be returning soon. I assure you he will be far less concerned with the Guild’s position on these matters than I am.’

  ‘I…believe so,’ said Tuney.

  ‘Good. Then I can count on all of your votes?’ Del Garza stared at them until each one of them had nodded and mumbled an affirmative. ‘Excellent! I won’t keep you further, gentlemen.’ He gave them a bland smile as he took a document from a pile to his left and placed it before him. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  He rang a small hand-bell and the door to the office opened. A guard waited without. Del Garza turned his attention to the document, apparently unaware of their existence.

  The three merchants looked at one another in disbelief. They were not accustomed to being dismissed like that. As they rose from their seats they dared to cast upon del Garza’s down-turned head the kind of looks that promised evil reprisal.

  The acting governor timed the scene, so that when he looked up he caught those expressions, and smiled. The threat in that smile was much more powerful, and they knew it.

  ‘Oyez, oyez,’ the crier intoned.

  Jimmy the Hand stopped in the shadows of a doorway, carefully inconspicuous. A man-at-arms in black and gold accompanied the crier, and his eyes were objectionably active. Two days had passed since his trip to the sewers with Noxious Neville and Larry the Ear, but he’d only just cast off the mild case of the runs that had followed, and he was in no mood to be chased.

  ‘By the proclamation of the acting governor of the City of Krondor, the following changes have been made to current law: Street prostitution will now be considered a crime equal to robbery and burglary, and for which the same penalties will apply. All bawdy houses and brothels in the city must obtain Crown licence to operate. Begging has also been declared a crime and will now be punished with no less than fifty lashes.’

  He went on to the formal conclusion of ‘by my hand this day of’ and so on, but Jimmy had ceased listening.

  Licensing the brothels meant the Duke’s agents and soldiers would be searching the buildings and registering the girls. That was not important.

  But burglary and robbery were hanging offences and fifty lashes would kill any but the strongest of men. He drew back into the alley in a daze. That meant that everyone they’d already caught–Flora and Gerald and the rest–were doomed. He turned and hastened through the maze of alleys to the nearest sewer entrance. It was now just a matter of days before they died.

  ‘The acting governor has had his proclamation,’ he muttered to himself, swinging down on a grating and dropping soundlessly to the slimy brick. ‘Let’s see what the Upright Man has to say.’

  Mocker’s Rest was packed; Jimmy had never seen so many people there, and he could barely hear himself speak. The mood was frightened, but the faces around him were blank and hard. There wasn’t a Mocker here who didn’t have a friend or relative already in the cells. Jimmy wondered if the prisoners knew what awaited them.

  He slipped between bodies and found that no one had any news except that of the announcement. No one knew what the Upright Man intended to do about it, nor had anyone seen the Daymaster for hours, and it was two hours yet before the Nightmaster was due. Meanwhile, no one dared go out, especially not the women and the beggars.

  Jimmy spied Larry the Ear clinging to the V of one of the ceiling braces, crouched like a gargoyle, and made his way toward him. When he finally stood below Larry’s perch and their eyes met it was like the shaking of hands, sharing the same thought without speaking. The younger boy’s jaw set hard and he swallowed nervously, then he looked up and saw something that caused him to stiffen.

  ‘What is it?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Laughing Jack,’ Larry called down.

  Others heard and turned to where the boy was staring, silence spreading like ripples through the shadows as word spread of the Nightmaster’s lieutenant’s approach. By the time the Nightwarden took a stance upon a table, the big room was silent except for the occasional cough and the sound of dripping water. Laughing Jack turned in a circle looking at all of them, his expression even more grim than usual.

  ‘You’ve all got word,’ he bellowed. ‘So I won’t repeat the edict. Orders are to do nothing. Leave the matter to the Upright Man and lay low as much as possible. Understood?’

  For a long moment the crowd was silent, resentment building like a wave.

  ‘Well?’ Jack demanded, glaring.

  A few voices murmured here and there, but mostly the Mockers stared, expecting more, and with their silence demanding it.

  ‘Well aren’t you a fine bunch?’ Laughing Jack sneered. ‘No faith, at all?’ he shouted. ‘Where would most of you be without the Upright Man? Huh? I’ll tell you, most of you would have been dead by now. It’s easy to be loyal during the good times. Easy to follow the rules and do what’s expected when everything’s running right. But when times are hard, that’s when you especially got to follow orders. Loyalty will carry us all through the hard times.’ He swept them all with a hard look. ‘So what’s it going to be? Follow orders, or get tossed out in the streets so the guards’ll find you?’

  Confused silence greeted this question. There was a roar of affirmation waiting to happen but the Mockers looked at one another uneasily, wondering how to avoid sounding as if being kicked into the streets was what they wanted.

  ‘Well, when you put it like that,’ Jimmy muttered. ‘Upright Man!’ he shouted, punching his fist in the air.

  The crowd went wild and took up the cry, bellowing until mortar began to rain from the ceiling and Laughing Jack held up his hands for silence.

  ‘Get to your roosts and your flops,’ he commanded. ‘Keep your heads low and wait for orders. One thing I can promise is that we won’t take this lying down, but nobody does nothing until you hear otherwise.’

  There was another burst of applause at that which quickly died when Laughing Jack stepped off his makeshift stage. Jimmy looked up at Larry and jerked his head toward the door then moved off, knowing the younger boy would follow as he could.

  Jimmy led the way out of the sewers and through a maze of back alleys, most sodden, some clean, until he came to a fence of cedar posts set in stone. He climbed it and stepped briefly onto a window ledge, then grasped a hole left by a crumbling brick and hoisted himself up to where he could step onto the window’s ledge. Balancing, he reached up to grasp the eaves. He chinned himself up, his toes finding the space in the brickwork that allowed him to push himself upward until he could wriggle onto the tiled roof.

  Then he silently moved over so that Larry could climb up beside him; neither of them was breathing hard, since the sky-routes were as familiar to them as a staircase to the attic would be to a householder.

  They were on the roof of a noisy dockside tavern–the tiles beneath them fairly vibrated, as sailors the worse for wine made an attempt at song–but they still made as little noise as possible, moving into the dark shadow of a dormer window. Jimmy risked a quick glance in the window and found the room unoccupied. He lay down on his back looking up at the stars and listening for
any sounds of pursuit. Larry sat quietly beside him, apparently doing the same.

  ‘I think,’ Larry whispered at last, sounding very unhappy, ‘that the Upright Man will call del Garza’s bluff.’

  Jimmy nodded, then realizing it was too dark to be seen grunted in agreement.

  ‘The only trouble is,’ the younger boy continued fiercely, ‘he isn’t bluffing. Why should he? Nobody’s going to complain if he hangs a dozen Mockers. A hundred even!’

  Jimmy shushed him, for he’d nearly shouted that last. Larry muttered an apology and Jimmy gave the boy’s arm a brief, sympathetic punch. But he agreed with Larry’s sentiments. The acting governor would put the Upright Man in the worst position possible before he consented to negotiate, if he ever did.

  In the history of the Thieves’ Guild, the Mockers and Crown had never sat down across a table, but over the decades since the Guild had been founded, the Mockers had reached accommodations with the Prince of Krondor on several occasions. A word dropped by a merchant with connections in court, a trader having business on both sides of the law carrying a message, and from time to time a difficult situation might be avoided. The Mockers gave up their own when caught dead to rights; that was understood by every thief, basher and beggar. But occasionally an overzealous constable had the wrong lad scheduled for the gallows, or a harmless working girl or beggar arrested for a more serious crime, and from time to time trades were arranged. More than one Mocker was tossed out of gaol suddenly after the Sheriff of Krondor got clear proof of innocence–usually the location of the true malefactor, sometimes in hiding, at other times dead. On other occasions a gang without the Upright Man’s sanction was turned over to the Sheriff’s men, saving them the trouble of arresting them.

  Larry said, ‘The Upright Man’s not going to do anything, is he?’

  ‘Being in the position he was in, I don’t think he can risk aggravating the situation further. I think we’ve got nothing to offer del Garza,’ said Jimmy. ‘As I see it, the only thing that could make him happy would be to see Radburn return with the Princess in tow. And as she’s halfway to Crydee with Prince Arutha by now, I don’t imagine that’s going to happen. So, if he hangs a lot of us, at least he can say he tried to do something when Black Guy comes back. And if Radburn gets himself killed along the way, then del Garza can put all the blame on him and make himself look like he was trying. Our lads and lasses are in a bad position, no doubt.’