A Crown Imperiled (26 page)

He got back into the city proper with only soaking trousers below the calf and they would quickly dry out as he walked. He resisted the urge to scratch at the false beard he now sported and the theatre paint that had been applied to his face to make him look swarthier than usual. The accent he adopted was that of a Kingdom sailor from Pointer’s Head, most of whom had ancient Keshian ancestry and thus a tendency to be darker than most in the Kingdom. Unless Sir William’s agents could anticipate his disguise, they would still be searching for a man younger, fairer of skin, and without facial hair.

Jim entered a dock-side tavern and glanced around the room. In the corner sat a young man, waiting patiently. Jim sat and if the young man was surprised at his appearance, he masked it well.

‘Karrick,’ said Jim.

The young man nodded and didn’t use his name. ‘Quite the . . . look you have there.’

‘I’m outbound on a ship in an hour.’

‘I won’t ask where.’

‘Good,’ said Jim. They both knew that Karrick couldn’t be forced to reveal what he didn’t know.

Karrick was young, no more than twenty-one years of age, but he was perhaps Jim’s most trusted agent in Rillanon. He was also the man Jim had got closest to Bill the Butcher. The organization of the thieves in Rillanon was different to that in Krondor, but there was still a need for communication between Bill’s Council and various gang leaders throughout the island.

Karrick had been working for Bill since he was a boy of ten. But he had been working for Jim since he was a boy of nine.

He looked enough like Jim to have been his son, and to be honest Jim had a little trouble remembering exactly where he had been nine months before Karrick’s birth, yet he doubted it. As Jim Dasher he had bedded his share of whores in Krondor, but James Jamison rarely frequented the ale-houses and brothels in Rillanon. Still rarely was not never and there was a resemblance. Karrick wore his hair down to his shoulders, but he was clean shaven, and had blue eyes rather than Jim’s brown. Yet there was a smile and tilt of head that looked very familiar, so occasionally Jim wondered.

Most of those in the thieves’ trade had little memory of their childhood. Either they had been orphans or they chose not to remember fathers who beat them, mothers who were drinking or taking drugs to endure being touched by loathsome men. Urchin gangs roamed the streets here as they did in every other big city, for despite being the Jewelled City of the Kingdom, at heart it was grimy, dark, and dangerous, including all the unpleasant realities of a city: sewers, slaughterhouses, rendering shacks, fish wharfs, and as assorted a collection of seedy taverns and filthy brothels as you’d find north of Kesh. So despite the magnificent splendour of the palace and every other building on the hills being faced with brilliant stonework, it was still just a city. And whatever Karrick remembered from his childhood he never shared with Jim.

All Jim knew is that while Karrick had lived his entire life within sight of those magnificent edifices atop the hill, he barely noticed them. He was too concerned with staying alive. He said, ‘It’s been, what? Five years?’

‘Six.’

‘I was surprised when Anne from the palace contacted me and told me to be here.’ Karrick leaned back, one well-muscled arm draped over the back of his chair. A serving man came over and took an order for two jacks of ale.

When he was gone, Jim said, ‘I have always tried to give you what I could, to supplement what you’ve had to learn on your own, but contact between us was never a good idea.’

‘It was a good year,’ said Karrick, and Jim knew exactly what he was talking about. In their first year together, Karrick had been a promising nine-year-old with a toughness, resiliency, and deep rooted sense of survival far beyond his years. He had been running a gang near the docks, and boys four, five, even six years older than him had taken his orders.

Unbeknownst to the boy, two men had taken notice of the enterprising boy: Jim Dasher of Krondor and Bill Cutter of Rillanon. Jim had got to him first.

For that first year, Jim had spent time with Karrick ensuring that he was better trained in hand-to-hand fighting than the other boys, teaching him the sword, when no other lad had that skill. Locks, how to set up a lookout, a thousand subtle but critical knacks that set apart a thief like Jim or his great-grandfather Jimmy the Hand from any common street thug.

From Jim’s point of view, Karrick was as close to Jimmy the Hand as any man living. He was faster than Jim was, even if only by a little. He was better at climbing the walls and roofs of the city, though Jim reserved the thought that had he been Karrick’s age, he would have kept pace with him. He knew everything Jim could teach him about locks and traps, and to pick one and avoid the other. And also he had taught him to read and write, skills sorely lacking in the other urchins of Rillanon.

In the end, that year had cemented a bond that Jim had continued even after Bill the Butcher took Karrick in. Jim never came to Rillanon without spending time with him, and always ensured Karrick had gold beyond what he could steal for himself, and the means to hide from Bill and flee the island safely should the need arise.

Then, six years before, Karrick had been promoted to a position with the Council itself. Their last meeting had been the night Karrick told Jim of that elevation. Jim had said, with some true sadness, that there could be no further contact between them unless the situation was dire. As Bill’s chosen agent, Karrick would be under close scrutiny and it was too risky for them to remain in touch. So, a code word and a venue was selected for any future meeting, and each went their separate way.

Karrick said, ‘So, I imagine this means that grave crisis you always spoke about has arrived?’

Jim smiled. ‘You mean beyond the war with Kesh and the attempt to incapacitate the Duke of Rillanon, and Sir William Alcorn’s apparent attempt to seize control of the Kingdom?’

Karrick smiled, and again to Jim it was like looking in a mirror. ‘Well, there is that.’

Jim nodded. ‘It’s time for you to take over the Council.’

Karrick said nothing for a while. Then he said, ‘That will be difficult.’

‘If it was easy, I wouldn’t need you.’

Karrick’s eyebrow lifted slightly, and he smiled again. ‘Need me?’ He leaned forward, ‘All these years . . . since we met, I’ve wondered at what point you would finally decide that I was ready to serve.’

‘You’ve been ready to serve for at least six years, Karrick.’ Jim fell silent as the ale appeared and the server walked away. ‘I just didn’t need your particular gifts until now. More to the point, the Kingdom didn’t need them.’

Karrick nodded, and there was a strange hint of sadness in his expression. ‘Have you ever lived a lie so long that it became true?’

Jim looked around the room, not liking where this conversation might lead. Seeing no one but the barman and one other customer, a elderly drunk, he felt his anxiety lessen.

Karrick chuckled. ‘No, Jim, I’m not betraying you to Bill.’ He looked at the disguised noble. ‘You’re the closest thing to a father I ever had, even though I barely saw you for more than a week for the first five years after we met. As I said, that first year, that was a good year.’

Jim said nothing.

Karrick said, ‘Have you ever wondered . . .’

Jim knew exactly what was being asked. ‘Yes, I have. Now, speaking of sons, I’ve arranged for Bill to think his boy James is taking over the Mockers in exchange for helping me with a few things during the war.’

Karrick could barely contain himself. ‘He believes you?’

‘He believes because he wants to believe, and frankly, I was convincing.’ Jim looked around the inn and said, ‘I’m honestly going to be done with all this when this war is over. I am not exactly sure where I’ll end up, assuming it’s not at the end of a rope, but when this is all over, I am letting go.’

‘The Mockers?’

‘Everything.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve already dispatched messages to Krondor. Bill’s boy is to apprentice with the Nightmaster. He is supposed to assume control of the Mockers, become the next Upright Man, when I step down.’

‘I know James well,’ said Karrick. ‘He’s as cunning as a sewer rat and ambitious: which is why his father wants him on the other side of the Kingdom. But he lacks the skill to manage things. And he has a temper.’

‘That’s useful.’

‘It should keep him from forming quick alliances in the Mockers,’ said Karrick.

‘It’s immaterial,’ said Jim. ‘He’ll be dead sooner or later. Bill will get a message of condolence saying his boy died during a job gone terribly wrong, slain by the Crushers. That’s assuming, of course, that Bill’s still alive.’

Karrick said, ‘I gather that means I’m supposed to decide when it’s time to remove Bill?’

‘How many know that Bill is the Council?’

‘His three sons, myself, two others. After that it’s much the same as the Mockers. A message comes through the local gang chief from the Council, delivered by a street boy.’

‘And you control the street boys, still?’

Karrick nodded.

‘One son to Krondor. Arrange with an army sergeant you trust to have one other son arrested and sympathize with Bill when he dies trying to escape. The last son, leave until after Bill’s death and keep close to him, make yourself indispensable until it’s time for you to take his place. The two others you decide if they will serve you or need replacing.’

‘They’ll serve,’ said Karrick. ‘And I know which son to arrest and which to commiserate with . . . for a while.’

‘When Bill’s son James is on his way to Krondor and after I’m gone begin these tasks. Ensure that Anne always knows how to reach you.’

Jim was ready to leave and said, ‘Our relationship cuts both ways, Karrick. Not in issues of blood, no matter what they may or may not be, but of this: as close as I may be to being a father to you, so you are to being a son to me. It is not ideal; I have no such illusions, but you’ve been loyal and reliable, as much as any father would wish to a son to be. When all is said and done, if it is within my means, I shall deliver you to higher standing than a king among thieves.’

Karrick laughed. ‘You see me standing in the palace with starched shirt and brocade coat? Dancing with the ladies?’

Jim shared the laugh. ‘What’s the matter? You can’t dance?’

Karrick kept chuckling and said, ‘All will be done as you’ve instructed. I will wait to hear from you.’

Jim thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘If you don’t hear from me within the month, send word after this thing is done to the Black Ram in Ran. I believe that is Bill’s usual place to exchange messages. We might as well continue to use his couriers.’

‘Bill alive or dead, that’s the easiest way,’ agreed Karrick. ‘So that means you’re bound to Ran?’

‘Sooner or later,’ said Jim as he rose.

‘I’ll finish my drink,’ said the young thief.

‘Fare well,’

‘Fare well all of us,’ replied Karrick.

Then Jim was out of the door.

Jim made his way to the docks where a ship was ready to depart for Ran. He had already had his name added to the roster of sailors. Now he purchased a small bottle of evil-smelling distilled spirits and poured it over his head before reaching the royal docks.

He feigned being intoxicated as he hurried along the long pier jutting out into the harbour. He knew that Sir William would have agents watching every ship leaving the harbour, but assumed he might be less vigilant on the Navy Pier, given that it was already crawling with military, any of whom would be quick to seize a suspicious-looking character like Jim in time of war.

But there was one ship on the pier which was not a warship but a transport vessel, and it had a civilian crew. And when he reached the gangway, two bored-looking Royal Marines were flanking the plank up to the ship.

‘Papers,’ one demanded as he got there.

Then from above, the bosun’s voice cut through the air like a knife. ‘Jax! You drunken whore’s son! I should leave you there and make you swim after the ship! Get your lazy arse up here!’

Jim successfully looked unfocused and unsure. He fumbled in his shirt as if he was trying to find his papers, and the bosun roared, ‘Now, damn your eyes!’

The marine shook his head slightly and said, ‘Go on, then.’

Jim went up the gangway and received an ungentle slap to the back of the head as he passed the bosun, another of the few agents left in the military he could trust. Jim would no doubt get punishment, and the rest of the crew knew better than to question the presence of a newcomer if the bosun knew him: they’d assumed he’d sailed with that man before and was getting a second chance, a story that Jim would relay if asked.

He hurried below, stowed his gear, then headed back on deck. He might reek of spirits, but he was not drunk, so he quickly made his way to the topgallants and made ready to lower sail.

Jim felt an unusual sinking in his stomach and realized that never before in his life had he felt this sense of foreboding. And he felt an unfamiliar pang; he was betraying Bill the Butcher. Usually such treachery would hardly give him a moment’s pause, but for some reason this time he felt bad about condemning the man to death. He realized that despite what he had said to Bill, he really did want to get out of this business and what he had said to Karrick was the truth. He would quit and find a suitable replacement for both Jim Dasher of Krondor and James Jamison, agent of the King.

For a brief moment, Jim could hang in the yards, his feet supported only by footropes, as he waited for the command to lower sail. He reflected on his decision and knew it was the right one; he was spent. He would die for the Crown, but he would not waste away for it.

He wondered how his counterparts, Kaseem and especially Franciezka, were doing and hoped they were experiencing better fortune than he was at the moment.

Lady Franciezka Sorboz crouched low behind a decorative hedge, one hand resting on a lethal dagger. The blade was coated with a venom that would paralyse whoever was cut within seconds, preventing an alarm being raised. For an instant she was struck by the incongruity of sneaking into the very palace in which she often resided, the defences for which she had helped to fashion. She particularly loved this garden, behind the guest quarters now occupied by Lord John Worthington. She remembered lovely summer nights like this with the air spiced by the scent of jasmine and gardenia.