Jimmy the Hand (19 page)

‘Then he’s
not much of a grandfather,’ Jimmy said stoutly. ‘And in
that case, who needs him?’

His answer was
the same one he’d given her almost as many times as she’d
asked the question; by now it was automatic right down to the tone of
his voice. Jimmy had pretty much stopped listening to her and was
pretty sure she wasn’t listening to him at all.

They were at the
entrance to Legacy Lane, a prosperous-looking street. They were
beautiful buildings, with large glass windows curtained in
embroidered cloth, the red tile roofs making a pleasing contrast with
the honey colour of the stone and each window bearing a flower box
overflowing with brilliant blooms. There was even a sweeper, a ragged
youth with broom and pan and box, to keep the cobbles free of
horse-dung.

It was clean, it
was neat.

It makes
Jimmy the Hand’s mouth water,
Jimmy thought.
Oh, the
silver services and candlesticks they’ll have here, all put out
for the guests to admire! The glassware, the little strongbox
‘hidden’ somewhere that a merchant thinks is safe, then .
. . Stop that, man! You’re the foster-brother of a respectable
woman come to see her safe with her kin!

Then a thought
made him smile.
And if Flora’s grandfather turns us off at
the door, why, then I’m not a respectable woman’s
foster-brother any more; I’m Jimmy the Hand, and in need of
funds!

One way or
another the old man would contribute to his granddaughter’s
welfare. And Jimmy’s as well if the haul was big enough.

At last a man
came up to them and said, ‘What is your business here?’
He spoke with authority, but mildly, and he wore the badge of Land’s
End’s Watch.

‘We were
looking for this young lady’s grandfather, sir,’ Jimmy
said. He had put on his favourite lost waif expression, hoping he
wasn’t too old to use it effectively.

‘And who
might that be?’ the man asked.

He didn’t
seem to be affected one way or the other by the lost waif expression,
from which Jimmy concluded that it was no longer effective, but not
completely ridiculous.

‘Mr
Yardley Heywood, sir,’ Flora said softly.

‘Ahhh, Mr
Heywood, is it?’ He turned and pointed with his club. ‘Third
house down, with the green door and pansies in the flower boxes.’

‘Thank
you, sir,’ Flora said and bobbed a curtsey.

The watchman
nodded affably and smiled.

Well, her
waif-look still seems to be working, Jimmy thought. Guess it lasts
longer for girls. Tucking one of the bundles under his arm he took
Flora’s hand and began walking toward the house the watchman
had indicated. After a few steps she began to hang back, until she
stopped completely and their arms were stretched out as if they were
partners in a dance.

He turned
impatiently. ‘Flora, you’ve taken far greater risks for
much less reward.’

She came up to
him slowly, hardly taking her eyes from the fine house before them.

‘It
doesn’t feel that way,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Then it’s
up to me.’ Jimmy turned on his heel, marched up the steps and
seized the brass door knocker. Before he could drop it a woman opened
the door and started to step down.

‘Oh,
hello,’ she said in cheerful surprise and stepped back. ‘I
didn’t see you there.’ She was dressed to go out, wearing
a shawl and a hat with an empty market basket on her arm. ‘May
I help you?’ she asked.

Then she glanced
down at Flora and her face froze. ‘Orletta?’ she said in
astonishment. Then immediately shook her head. ‘But no, that’s
not possible, you’re so young.’ She swept by Jimmy as
though he wasn’t there and descended the steps to the street,
walking right up to Flora. ‘Who are you, my dear?’

Flora bobbed a
curtsey, looking awkward for the first time since she’d begun
dropping them. ‘My name is Flora, ma’am, my father was
Aymer the baker and my mother was Orletta Heywood.’

The woman cried,
‘Oh!’ and swept Flora into a warm embrace.

Jimmy grinned to
see Flora’s startled eyes over the woman’s plump
shoulder. Was this her grandmother? If so there wasn’t going to
be a problem.

‘I’m
your Aunt Cleora,’ the woman said, holding Flora at arm’s
length. ‘Oh, I thought I would never, ever see you, child.’

She swept Flora
back into her arms and Jimmy had all he could do not to laugh at the
expression on his friend’s face; half thrilled, half horrified.

‘Where
have you come from?’ Cleora cried.

‘K-Krondor,’
her niece stuttered, completely overwhelmed.

‘Oh, you
poor child! You must be exhausted! Come with me and we’ll get
you settled. Oh!’ she said and turned with a smile to Jimmy.
‘And who is this?’

‘Jimmy is
a friend,’ Flora said nervously. ‘Practically a brother,
he’s escorted me.’

‘Then you
must come, too! I’ll find you something good to eat. Boys
always like a little something to eat,’ Cleora confided to her
niece. She started off down the lane, her arm around Flora’s
thin shoulders. ‘I think you might require some feeding up as
well, my dear,’ she said and laughed.

Jimmy blinked,
startled, then picked up the bags at his feet and ran after then.

‘Excuse
me, ma’am,’ he said. ‘But isn’t that where
you live?’ He pointed back at the house behind them.

‘No, no,
that’s my dear papa’s house. He’s napping now, my
dear. You’ll meet him later. In any case, dear Flora, I want
you all to myself for the time being. No, my dear husband and I live
nearby. Our home is not quite so grand as my father’s but it’s
more than large enough to fit us all quite comfortably. You’ll
see!’

With that she
bustled off, a happily astonished Flora in tow, and an equally
nonplussed Jimmy following with the baggage.

Jimmy lay upon
the soft, clean bed he’d been assigned and contentedly patted
his rounded stomach. Aunt Cleora’s cook was wonderful, and her
employer had hardly needed to press Jimmy to eat and eat; his only
regret was that he’d had to stop. He looked about the room, it
was small, but neat and in the main part of the house, with a small
fireplace and patterns pressed into the cream-coloured plaster of the
walls.

He’d
expected to be relegated to the servants’ quarters but it
apparently hadn’t even crossed Cleora’s mind.

‘It’s
a little one,’ she’d said when she’d brought him up
to show it to him. ‘But boys don’t mind such things, do
they?’ And she’d stood smiling at him, just a touch of
anxiety in her kind brown eyes as though wondering what she’d
do if he didn’t like his accommodations.

‘It’s
just fine!’ he’d assured her.

And still
thought so. This was, without doubt, the softest berth he’d
ever known. If he didn’t watch out, under Aunt Cleora’s
influence he’d soon be looking for honest work. He grimaced;
that was a thought to give one the cold grue.

Uncle Karl,
Cleora’s husband, was a sea captain currently visiting Krondor.
Flora’s aunt had assured them both that he would be absolutely
thrilled to have them here. Jimmy was going to have to take her word
for it since Cleora had no idea when he’d be back. He frowned
thoughtfully; if it was longer than two weeks Jimmy was pretty sure
he would have moved on by then. By then, Flora would be completely
settled in.

Yardley Heywood
was no longer practising law. Flora’s grandfather had fallen
ill earlier in the year and was recovering slowly.

He convalesced
at home, with Aunt Cleora looking in on him daily. She promised Flora
she could come along in a day or two, after breaking the news to the
old man the girl had returned to the family. Jimmy frowned. There was
a great deal of bother with relations and keeping stories straight,
he thought. Still, Flora seemed up for the job, and after only a few
hours in this house it was hard to remember being on the streets of
Krondor.

Still, Jimmy
knew the role he played would come apart under close inspection.
Flora had lived in a nice home for her first nine years, and many of
her customers had been swells; she could talk like a proper girl, and
Jimmy, while able to keep up appearances if he didn’t have to
talk too much, had only listened to people of rank for a few weeks,
while with the Prince and Princess.

No, he’d
keep his mouth shut and answer as few questions as he could get away
with, and suffer a warm bed and good meals while he planned out what
to do next in his exile. Land’s End might not be Krondor, but
it was a town of size, and there was booty to boost for a lad with
nimble fingers.

Then his smile
returned and he folded his arms beneath his head. This would be a
fine place from which to work: no one would suspect sweet Aunt Cleora
of harbouring a thief and there was no Night- or Daymaster to govern
his movements. Poor old Land’s End wasn’t going to know
what had hit it. He chuckled evilly.

‘What are
you laughing about?’ Flora asked.

Jimmy nearly
levitated off the mattress. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of
knocking?’ he demanded.

She frowned at
him and came in, shutting the door behind her. ‘Keep your voice
down,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not supposed to be in
here.’

‘Did your
aunt say that?’ he asked, surprised. From the way Cleora had
been behaving Jimmy had expected her to give Flora the key to the
front door at any moment.

Flora gave him
an exasperated look. ‘No, of course not. She would expect me to
know how a young lady should act.’

Jimmy raised his
eyebrows as her face fell. Flora sat on the bed and slumped
dejectedly. ‘I have to tell her the truth, Jimmy,’ she
said.

He sat up and
tipped his head toward her. ‘Come again?’

‘She
deserves to know the truth.’ Flora looked up at him from under
her lashes and gestured toward herself awkwardly. ‘About how
I’ve . . . made my living.’

Jimmy swung his
legs off the bed and put his hand on her shoulder, looking her
earnestly in the eyes.
No wonder she made such a bad thief,
he
thought,
she’s bone-honest!

‘You can’t
do that, Flora.’

‘I have
to, Jimmy. She deserves the truth.’

‘You can’t
be that selfish, Flora, I know you can’t.’

Flora’s
mouth dropped open. ‘What?’

‘Think how
hurt she’d be,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘You’ve
told her your father died when you were just a little girl. You saw
her face. Then when you told her that you’d been living with an
elderly lady as her companion she looked so relieved! If you tell her
the truth she’ll suffer agonies of guilt. You know she will!
How could you put her through that?’

Flora still
looked shocked, her mouth opened and closed but nothing came out and
her eyes filled with tears.

‘B-but how
can I keep lying to her? She’s so nice, Jimmy, I really like
her. I don’t want to build our lives on a lie.’

‘Then
maybe we should just go,’ he said, standing up. ‘If you
haven’t got the strength to protect your relatives from the
truth, then,’ he shook his head, ‘just go. It’s
kinder.’

Flora started to
cry and Jimmy rolled his eyes: now he was the villain. He looked down
at her.
Well, maybe I am the villain.
The young thief sat down
and put his arm around Flora’s quaking shoulders.
And if you
do the gods-cursed sensible thing and lie like a sailor, I get to
stay in this pleasant room and eat Cleora’s wonderful food.

Maybe confessing
everything right at the beginning was the best, most noble, most
honest thing to do. But in his heart, Jimmy was convinced it was also
the best way to get them kicked out of the house and out of the life
that Flora so obviously was meant for. And it would break her aunt’s
heart. He shook his head.
I’m being totally selfish and
totally helpful at the same time. Damn, there’s no doubt about
it. I was born for greatness.

‘Sometimes,
Flora, the right thing isn’t always the best thing to do. I see
a lot more heartache and loss coming out of an honest confession of
the hard facts than out of your very plausible fib. My advice is to
sleep on it: things may be clearer in the morning. All I ask is that
you tell me first if you’re going to tell her about being a
Mocker. All right?’

She sniffed and
looked at him solemnly, then gave him a brief hug and rose. ‘You’re
right,’ she said and wiped at her eyes with the back of her
hand. ‘And I will think it over. I’ll tell you my
decision tomorrow, I promise.’ Leaning down, she kissed him
lightly on the cheek and then, in a swirl of skirts, she was gone.

Jimmy’s
mouth twisted wryly. Suddenly all that good cooking was sitting in
his stomach like a lead weight. Why couldn’t women think things
through? It was always the emotional side of things with them, never
the logical. He gave an exasperated sigh. He’d never sleep with
his belly in this kind of torment; perhaps a nice evening stroll was
in order.

A lone figure
trudged down the road.

Bram had left
the merchant caravan—if that wasn’t too grand a name for
two wagons and two pack mules, where the road branched off toward the
village of Relling—just before sunset the night before.

There was a good
inn in Relling; they had a first-rate shepherd’s pie, and they
brewed a noble ale. Not as good as his mother’s cooking or his
father’s home-brew, though. The young man had squared his
shoulders, swung his pack over his shoulder on the tip of his
bowstave, and set off down the road once he’d made his
goodbyes.

By avoiding the
loop in the King’s Highway where the road headed off to
Relling, and by walking most of the night—he usually slept for
four hours—he would see his home just before sunrise, just in
time for his mother’s breakfast. There was little danger along
the trail he hiked, few animals that would trouble a grown man, and
no robber was likely to be lurking along such a byway in the dead of
night.