City of Jade (41 page)
Authors: Dennis McKiernan
After a private midday meal with the High King and his Queen, Aravan and Aylis and Lissa—the Pysk once again hidden in the hood of Aylis’s cloak—and Vex on his string tether, went to the libraries of Caer Pendwyr to see what they could discover about the City of Jade.
They carried with them a small jade statuette on which was carved a haiku in a strange tongue:
Thrice I dreamt the dream
From the City of Jade I fled
Nought but shades now dwell
36
Over the Wall
BURGLARS
EARLY SUMMER, 6E9
EARLY SUMMER, 6E9
With their captives encloaked, as the buccen softly trod along the alleyway, Pipper shook himself from his reminisces.
Yes, burglars we became: with me the planner and smoother of the way in, and Bink the lock picker
—Pip glanced at his cousin and grinned, remembering that time in the marketplace—
cutpurse, too. Oh, how Tark must’ve raged over that.
Pipper gave a soft giggle and said, “Burglars and chicken thieves we are, Bink, and you a cutpurse.” Then Pipper sobered and asked, “What have we become?”
Binkton softly growled and said, “We are robbing the robbers, Pip, dealing out just retribution and returning to the victims what is rightfully theirs; never forget that.”
“Yes, but we are taking the law into our own hands, Bink, and that isn’t right.”
“In a lawless city, Pip, what else can we do?”
“Notify the High King,” said Pipper. “That’s what. I mean, surely he’d send King’s Men in to clean things up.”
Binkton nodded and said, “Well, now that we’ve identified the crime lord, what you say seems like a good idea. Remember what the
Ravenbook
says.”
Ravenbook
says.”
“It says a lot of things, Bink.”
“I mean the part where Brega told Tuck and the others that if you cut off the serpent’s head, the rest of the snake dies. Well, if the King arrests Rackburn and all his henchmen, including the city watch, clearly Rivers End will be better off.”
“It will indeed,” said Pipper. “And after we get back Lady Jane’s silvers, let’s go to Caer Pendwyr and tell the High King. Surely he will break the hold of Rackburn and his Rivermen on this town.” Pipper stopped, stopping Binkton as well, and Pipper said, “Speaking of regaining Lady Jane’s silvers, here’s what I think we ought to do. . . .”
After Pipper explained his plan, he and Binkton fell to complete silence as they neared Rackburn’s house. Binkton took control of all the chickens as Pipper climbed the wall. When he reached the spikes, he cautiously peered over the top. In the moonlight shining down and into the yard, he could see two of the dogs lounging on the grass. Of the third dog, there was no sign.
Oh, well, if my plan works, he’ll soon show up.
Pipper turned and signaled Binkton, pointing to the places where lounged the dogs. Binkton then reached within one of the bundled cloaks and pulled out a chicken by its legs and flung it over the wall. As it flew squawking through the air, quickly Binkton threw a second and then a third. The yard erupted in uproar, as the mastiffs chased after the three fowl. Lanterns were lit, and a door slammed open, and several of the house guards came rushing out. With barking and squawking and chickens running about, dogs in pursuit, someone yelled, “Wot th—”
Oh, well, if my plan works, he’ll soon show up.
Pipper turned and signaled Binkton, pointing to the places where lounged the dogs. Binkton then reached within one of the bundled cloaks and pulled out a chicken by its legs and flung it over the wall. As it flew squawking through the air, quickly Binkton threw a second and then a third. The yard erupted in uproar, as the mastiffs chased after the three fowl. Lanterns were lit, and a door slammed open, and several of the house guards came rushing out. With barking and squawking and chickens running about, dogs in pursuit, someone yelled, “Wot th—”
And another shouted, “Ar, it’s that stupid Wingard’s chickens got loose ag’in.”
“Rip! Slash! Render!” bellowed a third, trying to get control of the dogs.
In the roaring, squawking, yelling chaos and confusion, Pipper slid to the alleyway and clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud, giggles escaping from between his fingers.
“Har! I got me a hen!” whooped one of the men. “We’ll have us a meal tonight.”
Then came a growl and a snap and the sound of bones breaking like twigs as a chicken squawked its last, and in that same moment one of the hens flew over the wall, escaping with her life. Loud barking followed after, as if one of the huge mastiffs stood with its paws up against the barrier.
Then there came the sound of two of the dogs fighting, perhaps over the remains of the slain chicken, and the shouting of men trying to separate the brutes.
In nearby houses along the alleyway, lanterns were lit and sashes were lowered and protesting shouts rang through the night from outraged people who had been awakened.
Finally, the snarling, raging, and cursing quieted. Candles and lanterns were extinguished. Sashes were drawn up. And the neighborhood fell silent again.
That was when Binkton hurled in the last chicken over the wall.
Once more the night air was filled with uproar, and when it finally fell silent again, the dogs had been locked in their kennel, and the house guards had returned to preparing their dinner, now with two hens for their meal.
Pipper threw the padded grapnel across and onto the balcony, where it landed with a light thump. Carefully he drew in the rope, until the hooks caught on the rail. Then he pulled the line tight and tied it off against one of the wall spikes.
“But, Pip,” whispered Binkton, “why don’t we just do it as first planned: over the wall, through the yard, and climb up the rope?”
“Because, even though they are in their kennel, the dogs are still down at that level. We need a way to cross over without alerting them.”
Binkton growled, but said nothing in return.
“Come on,” said Pipper, “let’s go.” And he stood atop the wall and lightly ran along the line to the balcony.
Dangling underneath and with his legs thrown over the rope and pulling himself by hand, Binkton followed. He had almost reached the balcony when the door below opened.
Still hanging under the line, Binkton froze in place up against the edge of the balcony.
One of the house guards, a burly man whistling tunelessly, walked across the yard and threw chicken entrails in to the dogs. As the mastiffs snarled and squabbled for a share, the man strode back through the grass and into the house. Never once had he looked up.
Binkton scrambled up and over the rail. He stood a moment, trembling. Pipper put a hand on Binkton’s shoulder, but said nought. Finally, Binkton took a deep breath, and then softly stepped to the left edge of the balcony and examined the window just beyond.
In moments he had the sash lowered into its recess, and the buccen silently clambered in.
They waited for their eyes to adjust to the enshadowed interior.
“Now to the strongbox,” murmured Pipper, and he faced the far wall and said. “My guess is it’s over behind the desk.”
They padded across and around, where they found: “Bink,” hissed Pipper. “Look—” Faintly in the shadows they could see the orange and yellow flames painted on the side of the large case. “—it’s our chest.”
“Those rat-eating, Rûck-loving sons of a Troll—” Binkton began, but Pipper shushed him to quietness.
Even as Binkton knelt to spring the lock, the door burst open and four men charged into the room, one of them bearing a lantern.
Pipper nearly made it to the window, and Binkton to the door, but they were snatched up by strong grips they could not break.
And as they were dragged back into the light, “Well, if it ain’t the pip-squeaks,” sneered Tark.
37
Doom
BURGLARS
EARLY SUMMER, 6E9
EARLY SUMMER, 6E9
“Har!” shouted Queeker, holding the lantern even higher. “Wot’re they doing here, I wonder? Lookin’ for their chest, d’y’think?” Queeker broke into nasal snorts, even as Binkton and Pipper struggled to get free.
“What do you think, Tark?” asked the huge man who clutched Pipper to his chest. “Kill them? Break their scrawny necks?”
Even as Tark nodded, an older, gray-haired, thin, and rather bookish-looking man entered the room. “Kill them? No. Instead we’ll wait until Largo gets back. He’ll tell us what to do.”
Tark made a scoffing sound, but otherwise said nothing.
“Oi, now!” exclaimed Queeker. “Maybe these two are the ones what’s been taking our silvers.”
Tark looked in amazement at Queeker. “By the crabs, I think you’re right.” Even as Queeker thrust out his bony chest and strutted about, Tark turned to the gray-haired man. “Brander, I think Queek has hit upon it: These are the thieves who’ve been robbing us.”
Binkton snarled and started to speak, but Pipper cut his cousin off, shouting, “Silvers? What silvers? We came to get back our trunk.”
Tark snorted and said, “Trunk? Ha! As if that matters.”
Queeker crowed and said, “Oh, Tark, Largo’s going to love us. I mean, we’ve caught ourselves the thieves.”
Binkton shouted, “You’re the thieves, not us.”
“Downstairs with them,” said the man called Brander. “We’ll throw them in the hole till Largo gets back.”
With Binkton yelling curses and both he and Pipper kicking and twisting and wrenching and flailing, the two brutes holding the Warrows carried them downstairs and into a room, where Queeker threw back a rug and Tark lifted a trapdoor and the two men dropped the buccen into a small, unlit, rock-walled chamber and slammed the lid shut.
As Binkton shouted epithets upward in the dark, with but a step or two Pipper found his way to one side of the cell, and he began pacing out the dimensions: six Warrow strides by seven. He discovered a cot along one wall, with an empty lidded chamber pot beneath, along with a bucket, perhaps for water.
“This is a dungeon, Bink,” said Pipper, when his cousin paused in his cursing to take a breath. “Does that trapdoor have a lock?”
Binkton seethed for a moment, and then got control of his breathing and said, “Yes, but it’s a hasp on the outside in a recess, with a shackle and a keylock. I saw it just before they chucked us in. There’s no way I can reach it. Not unless we cut a hole in that rat-eating door up there.”
Even though Binkton couldn’t see him, Pipper nodded, and then asked, “Did you get anything?”
“Get anything?”
“When they were carrying us downstairs, did you manage to get anything off the one holding you?”
“Oh, Pip, I’m sorry. I was so angry, I didn’t even think of that.”
“Well, don’t fret, Bink. I didn’t get anything either.”
Binkton fumbled his way toward Pipper’s voice, and found him sitting on the cot. As he took a place beside his cousin, Binkton said, “We’ll have to make our break when they take us out.”
“
If
they take us out,” said Pipper.
If
they take us out,” said Pipper.
“Oh, Pip, do you think they’ll leave us down here?”
“Who knows what those”—Pipper grimly smiled to himself—“rat-eating, Rûck-loving sons of Trolls will do to us?”
The Warrows talked of what they might use as a weapon, but only the privy pot and water bucket came to hand, and neither one had a bail. The cot itself was built into the wall, and nothing could be broken away to use as a cudgel, and they couldn’t find a single loose rock. Though Binkton still had the wire in his belt, he had lost his lockpick kit in the struggle upstairs, and neither he nor Pipper had even a cloak pin, for the pins, along with those garments, lay on the far side of the alley wall.
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