Jimmy the Hand (2 page)

But that was all
for the future, for the Upright Man; for the common thief,
pickpocket, or whore, there was no benefit this day. Instead, the
city above would be crawling with angry spies and informants, looking
to identify those who had embarrassed Jocko Radburn, head of the
secret police. And he was not a man to embarrass without
repercussions, Jimmy understood.

The escape of
the Princess had been a secret undertaking, with only a few in the
Mockers and among Trevor Hull’s smugglers knowing who was being
spirited out of the city. But once the fight erupted, more than one
Mocker saw the Princess’s face and her hallmark red hair and by
sunrise the rumours of her escape would be making the rounds of the
markets, inns and shops.

Most would feign
ignorance of the deed, but everyone would know the reason for the
sudden crackdown by Bas-Tyra’s soldiers and secret police.

Jimmy moved to
the far wall and picked up some rags, a whet-stone and a small vial
of oil from the storage box near the weapons lockers. Such thoughts
made his head swim. He was a boy of unknown age—perhaps
fourteen, perhaps sixteen, no one knew—and such considerations
were intriguing to him, yet he knew he didn’t fully understand
all of it. Politics and intrigue were attractive, but in an alien
way.

He made his way
to a secluded corner to clean his rapier.
His
rapier, and a
gift at that! There had been few of those in his life, making the
fine weapon all the more precious. It would take the finest craftsman
half a year to fashion such a thing of deadly beauty; it was as
different from the crude, heavy weapons of ordinary soldiers as a
war-horse was from a mule.

He pulled the
blade from the scabbard again and realized to his dismay that he’d
put it away bloody. He quirked his mouth wryly. Well, he’d
never had such a thing before: he couldn’t be expected to
remember every detail of its care immediately. On closer inspection
he realized that the scabbard was held together with ivory and brass
pins, and could be taken apart for cleaning and oiling.

His pleasure in
his gift went up a notch, if that was possible. This was a prize!

‘Loot like
that’s to be turned in for sale, so’s we can make proper
shares,’ Laughing Jack said. He reached for the sword and Jimmy
slid it and himself away from Jack’s hand with an eel-like
motion.

‘It’s
not loot,’ he said. ‘It’s a gift. From Prince
Arutha himself.’

‘Oooh,
you’re getting gifts from princes these days are ye?’
Jack had never actually been known to smile; his nickname had been
bestowed on him by Jimmy as a joke.

But he sneers
better than anyone else I’ve ever met,
Jimmy thought.

The Nightwarden
reached for the blade again, and again the young thief slid away. As
senior lieutenant to the Nightmaster he had a great deal of
authority; most of the time, when appealed to, the Nightmaster would
come down on Jack’s side of an argument. But Jimmy knew he was
in the right, and was sure that this time the Nightmaster would side
with him.

Jimmy stood
defiantly. More than one member of the Mockers had promised Jimmy
someday Jack would kill him over the joke of a nickname he had given
the glowering man. Now Jack appeared on the verge of making that
prediction come true.

Jimmy stood a
full two heads shorter than the Nightwarden. He was a slight boy,
nimble and with a speed of hand and foot few in the Mockers could
equal, and none could surpass. His own nickname was well-earned, for
no Mocker was better able to lift a purse in a crowded market without
being detected. He was a handsome boy, with curly brown hair cut
tight against his head. His shoulders were just promising to broaden
to a man’s. His smile was infectious, and he had the knack of
fun, but right now there was a hint of menace in his eyes as he stood
with his hand on the pommel of the sword, ready to dispute Jack with
blood if needed. His age was uncertain, perhaps thirteen years of
age, perhaps fifteen, but he had already seen more danger and death
in his life than most men twice his age. Softly he said,
‘It’s
mine, Jack.’

‘His.
Saw,’ Barmy Blake said in a voice like rock talking. The huge
basher said no more, continuing on his way into the far recesses of
the hall as though he’d never spoken at all.

Laughing Jack
gave the basher’s retreating back an uncertain look. Blake
wasn’t named Barmy for nothing; he was as unpredictable as a
wild animal and capable of terrifying berserker rages. If Jack
decided to make an issue of Jimmy’s right to the sword after
the basher had spoken up for him the Nightwarden might well find
himself in a world of pain, senior lieutenant to the Nightmaster or
no. Jack turned his sneer once again on Jimmy.

‘Keep it
then, but it’s to be locked up.’ He jerked his head
toward the weapons lockers.

‘Soon as
it’s cleaned,’ Jimmy agreed. The rules allowed for that
and they both knew it.

The Nightwarden
turned away and stalked off. Jimmy turned his eyes to Blake who sat
by himself at a table, a tankard in his beefy paw, gazing at nothing.
He didn’t bother to go and thank him; you didn’t do that
with Barmy. But he made a mental note of a favour owing, more
honourable and more useful by far than any spoken thanks.

‘Well,
there’s a pretty thing.’

Jimmy looked up
and smiled at Hotfingers Flora, so named because of her early success
in stealing pies that their owners mistakenly thought were too hot to
handle. Unfortunately for Flora the insensitivity that allowed her to
do so made her a very poor pickpocket despite Jimmy’s best
efforts. At sixteen, and pretty, she was turning to a different
profession.

She sat beside
him and twined her arms around his neck, slipping her legs onto his
lap, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

‘Hello,
Jimmy,’ she purred, fluttering her eyelashes at him, one chubby
hand rubbing his chest.

He laughed. ‘As
if I’d keep anything valuable there,’ he said.

Flora pouted,
then smiled gamely. Pulling her legs off his lap she pointed at the
sword. ‘What are you going to do with that, eh?’

Jimmy gave it a
swipe with the oiled cloth and held it up to glint in the torchlight.
‘I’m going to keep it,’ he said positively.

She looked at
him speculatively, then glanced around the large hall. ‘There
was quite a fight out there tonight,’ she said. ‘Word’s
already spread the Princess and some other nobles escaped to the
west.’ She made a face and then added, ‘Radburn and his
bastards will be fit to be tied if that’s the truth of it. When
the Duke gets back . . .’ She left the thought unfinished, but
her expression showed a gleeful anticipation of what the Duke might
do to the head of his secret police. ‘The market’ll be a
quiet place with so many Mockers laying up licking their wounds.’
Flora gave him a wicked look. ‘Got any wounds you want licked,
lovey?’

He laughed and
gave her a friendly nudge. Inside he felt the slight tickle of
excitement a rising flirtation often gave him, and flirtations with
Flora often ended in bed. Flora hadn’t been Jimmy’s
first, but not long after. He’d been around whores his entire
life—his mother had been one—but Flora came from a better
class than most; her father had been a baker before he died, so she
had been raised a proper girl until she was ten. She could talk like
a lady when she needed, which sometimes got her a better class of
client. And she was prettier than most, with large expressive blue
eyes and her light brown hair tending to curl around her face. She
had a delicate chin and a nose that was ‘just so’. She
also had a lovely smile. It was a shame she had no skill with her
fingers, thought Jimmy, more than once; she’s just not suited
to earn her living on the street.

Flora had said
that she felt safe with him, and he assumed, without the slightest
resentment, that it was because she was a foot taller than he was. As
for himself, well, he liked Flora and he greatly enjoyed their
private times together. He smiled at her blatant invitation and moved
a bit closer. But then she gasped and her hand flew to her lips.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I forgot, I, um, have to meet
someone in an hour.’ She snuggled against him. ‘But I can
be all yours until then.’

Jimmy thought it
over; first they’d have to find somewhere private, which given
the lack of time they had meant somewhere uncomfortable and smelly,
and Flora would have to leave early to keep her appointment . . . so
that was far less than an hour, perhaps only a few minutes. Still, it
wouldn’t be the first time he and one of the girls had ripped
off a quick bump in a dark corner while the others slept nearby. He’d
been raised in a place where couples grabbed pleasure when and where
they could all his life—but while Flora was one of his
favourites, he didn’t feel the usual hot rush, just a little
tingle.

He was really
tired. Besides, the Princess was travelling further and further away
with every moment, and his heart sank. Suddenly a few minutes in
Flora’s arms was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t like
feeling this sadness . . .

Not that I’m
certain just how I do feel.
But it wouldn’t be fair to
inflict this strange mood on his friend.

‘Sad to
say I can’t spare the time now, more’s the pity,’
he said with a grin as he put the pieces of the scabbard back
together. ‘Never thought I’d live to say that.’ But
now that he had said it he felt downright noble.

Flora giggled.
‘Not to worry,’ she whispered, ‘there’ll be
other occasions.’

He gave her a
one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Oh, Flora, my flower,
you are too good to me. Besides, I would probably disappoint you. All
I have strength for is to look for a place to sleep tonight. I feel
like I’ve been up and about since the day I was born.’

‘You may
have been about, but I haven’t seen you,’ Flora grumbled.
‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I was
thinking the same thing about you,’ Jimmy lied easily. ‘I
thought you’d been hired into someone’s pleasure house.’
If he wasn’t going to take advantage of Flora’s
invitation he wouldn’t suffer if she went off in a huff.

‘No,’
she said, looking away haughtily. ‘I’m doing very well on
my own.’

He looked at
her; the new dress was pretty, but of cheap cloth, coarsely woven and
coloured with dyes that would run and turn muddy soon: nobody had
wasted good alum on fixing them. She wore a pair of dainty slippers
on her feet, and a spangled scarf decorated her brown hair, more new
things than she’d ever owned in her life. But she looked tired
and not too clean.

The shine would
be off her in six months, he knew, and in a year she’d look
thirty. Life in the pleasure houses of the city was no holiday, but
it was worlds better than the street. At least the girls had some
hope of a future.

He couldn’t
forget what had happened to his mother. Murdered by a drunk just
because she was on her own and so there was no one to stop him. He
understood better than most that, for women, independence sometimes
came at far too high a price.

‘No you’re
not doing well,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re risking
life and limb every time you go with someone. Look, Flora, if this is
what you really want to do I’m the last person to try and stand
in your way. But listen to a little friendly advice. You’re
pretty enough that any house in this city would take you, and the
better houses will take care of you. You speak well enough, almost
like a lady, you could get hired at The White Wing, I’m
thinking.’

Flora tossed her
head with a ‘tsk!’, but he could tell she was listening.

‘The
pleasure houses will watch your customers for you, so you don’t
get sloppy drunks or bastards who’ll beat you up for fun and
not pay you. Better by far than the street.’ He looked at her
seriously. ‘Better by far, of course, to do something else.’

She shrugged one
shoulder. ‘Like what? You know I’m a lousy thief. And I’m
not about to pass for a beggar, now am I?’

He nudged her
shoulder again and smiled. ‘C’mon, you’re a bright
girl. I can get you some forged references. How do you think
Carsten’s sister got work at the palace?’

Flora looked
thoughtful, then she gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Does she like
it?’

‘Seems
to,’ Jimmy lied, having no idea himself. ‘What wouldn’t
she like? She sleeps warm and in a bed of her own, with nobody else
in it unless she wants him there, gets a new dress every year, good
food, and paid in the bargain. Mind, she works hard, and the pay’s
no royal bequest, but all in all she seems to think it’s worth
it.’

His tongue
itched to tell her,
and she helped to rescue the Princess Anita,
but he restrained himself. That would only lead to,
And so did I,
which wasn’t something he wanted spread around. The last thing
he needed was to be on Jocko Radburn’s wanted list in a
personal capacity.

Flora’s
mouth opened to speak when Laughing Jack stepped up onto a bench and
thence to a table and called out, ‘Listen up!’ When the
crowd had quieted and every face turned to him the Nightwarden
continued. ‘Word’s down from the Upright Man, hisself!
All Mockers are to lie low.’ He raised his hands for silence as
this announcement brought forth a torrent of muttered protest. ‘That
means out of sight, here, or if you got another flop, stay inside.
And you beggars and younger thieves especially. Radburn seems to like
to target your kind. No boosting, at all.’ He paused and glared
around the room: ‘Not without special writ from the Day - or
Nightmaster. We’ll be getting some food in later, so you won’t
starve, until this business is over. Any questions,’ again he
passed a glare over the room, ‘keep ‘em to yourselves.’
Laughing Jack stepped down and walked off to a rising chorus of
speculation.