Jimmy the Hand (4 page)

‘Indeed?’
the Captain said dubiously.

‘Indeed,’
del Garza confirmed quietly. ‘Be seated, Captain Leighton.’
His nod indicated a stool in front of the desk.

The Captain
looked at it, then at the acting governor in disbelief. ‘On
that?
’ he sneered. ‘The thing will collapse.’
Leighton turned to one of the guards. ‘You there, bring me a
proper chair.’

Del Garza leaned
forward. ‘Sit,’ he clipped out. ‘Or
be
seated.’

The two guards
moved a step closer to the blustering seaman, ready to reach out and
slam him down. For the first time Leighton actually looked at their
faces; he blinked, and slowly sat down, his gaze moving from each of
the men in the room to the next. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
he asked. His voice tried to carry the bluster, but there was a
quaver in it now.

In answer, del
Garza rubbed one hand over the stubble on his jaw and gave him the
glance that a tired man would give a buzzing fly. Every irritation
and annoyance from the day he had set foot in Krondor until this
morning rose up and seemed to resolve itself in the person of this
pitiful excuse for a sea captain. Del Garza decided at that instant
that Leighton needed to pay for them all. ‘Can’t you
guess?’ he asked through clenched teeth. ‘Can’t you
even begin to guess?’

Leighton gazed
at him like a mouse fascinated by a snake. ‘No,’ he said
at last. He leaned back, remembered just in time that he was on a
stool and frowned. Leaning forward, the Captain went on the attack.
‘I say, is this some form of joke? If so it is in very poor
taste and I assure you I shall complain of it to your superior.’

‘Do I look
as if I’m joking?’ del Garza asked. ‘Am I smiling?
Am I, or my men, laughing? Does this seem to be an atmosphere of
mirth and good-fellowship to you?’

Nervous
perspiration dewed the Captain’s broad brow, his eyes shifted
left and right. ‘No,’ he said and shook his head. ‘I
suppose not.’ He straightened. ‘But I still do not know
why I am here.’

‘You have
been arrested for treason.’

Leighton shot to
his feet, ignoring the guards who moved yet another step closer. ‘How
dare you, sir? Do you know who I am?’

‘You are
the noxious toad who took a bribe to break the blockade,’ del
Garza said. ‘During wartime such an act can be nothing less
than treason.’

‘I did no
such thing!’ the captain insisted.

The Baron
smiled. ‘Do you know how many fools have tried to lie to the
Duke’s agents?’ he asked. He waved his hand casually at
the two burly guards and at several other men whom he knew waited
outside. ‘Usually their next remark is something on the order
of:
Stop! Gods, please stop!’

‘I admit
that my ship floated off-station,’ Leighton blustered. ‘Such
things happen occasionally, there’s nothing deliberate in it.
An anchor bolt rusted through and the tide caught our bow. It was
merely misfortune that it happened at that particular moment. When I
heard the commotion I rose from my bed, came topside and corrected
the situation at once. At the very worst it was dereliction of duty,
though even that would be coming it a bit high under the
circumstances.’

Del Garza raised
his brows and leant back in the commander’s chair with his
hands clasped over his lean stomach. ‘Indeed?’ he said.

‘Of
course,’ Leighton said, allowing a touch of his former
haughtiness to creep into his tone. ‘I tell you these things
happen, ‘tis no one’s fault, my good man. No one could
have predicted that a ship would choose that particular moment to . .
.’

‘We know
the Upright Man bribed you.’ The acting governor waited for the
explosion, but none came; the Captain merely stared at him, his mouth
opening and closing like a gaffed fish. Not only guilty then, but the
man had no spine. ‘What was it, the gold? Or some misplaced
sense of loyalty to Prince Erland’s family?’

‘We have
known them a long time . . .’ Leighton began.

Del Garza cut
him off. ‘You may as well admit it, you know. We have proof.’

The Captain
shook his head silently.

‘Oh, but
we do,’ del Garza insisted. ‘We have our own sources
inside the Mockers, you know.’

They didn’t,
of course, have either—proof, or sources. But it was obvious to
the secret policeman that the Mockers had an interest in freeing the
Princess Anita. It was certainly Mockers he and his men had been
fighting this morning. Besides, every instinct he had told him that
it was beyond unlikely that a ship would just ‘happen’ to
drift off-station at precisely the wrong moment.

The lie came
easily though, because if del Garza was going to have to answer for
Anita’s escape—and he was—then others would answer
first and far more painfully.

Leighton licked
his lips. ‘You could hardly call it treason,’ he said.

Del Garza leaned
forward blinking rapidly, his brows raised incredulously. ‘Oh,
yes,’ he said. ‘Taking a bribe deliberately to disobey
orders during wartime could never be anything else.’

‘We are
hardly at war with the Mockers,’ the Captain argued.

‘We are
always at war with the Mockers,’ del Garza corrected, his voice
flat. ‘That it has never been formally declared makes it no
less a war. For if we were not at war with them, I assure you these
thieves and murderers-for-hire are and have always been at war with
the decent citizens of Krondor.’

‘They are
hardly worthy . . .’ Leighton began.

‘Opponents?’
Del Garza sneered. ‘If their money is good enough for you then
why shouldn’t they be considered . . . worthy?’

The Captain
pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, then he
straightened. ‘I should like to see this “proof”
you claim to have.’

Del Garza
chuckled, an impulse he couldn’t control. ‘Are you now
going to claim innocence, after all but admitting your guilt?’

‘I have
not admitted any guilt,’ the Captain said. ‘Come, come,
you shall have to produce the proof at my trial.’

With a sad shake
of his head the Baron asked: ‘Would you really put your family
through the shame of a trial when the conclusion is inevitable? Must
we prove to them and all the world your villainy?’

The colour
drained from Leighton’s face. ‘What are you suggesting?’
he demanded, clearly shaken.

‘You need
do nothing radical,’ del Garza said, suddenly all generosity.
‘Naturally you cannot keep your commission.’ He drew a
document from a small pile and pushed it toward the captain along
with a quill pen already resting in an ink stand. ‘Herein you
resign your commission; just sign at the bottom of the page, and the
next page as well and then we’ll send you home.’ He
lifted the pen from the inkwell and proffered it to Leighton with a
slight smile. ‘Your older brother wouldn’t be the first
nobleman who had to find a second career for a younger brother; much
less a problem than shaming the family name.’

‘That is
all?’ the Captain asked, taking the pen hesitantly.

Del Garza
nodded. ‘We will take care of everything else. All the
arrangements,’ he clarified. He pointed to the bottom of the
page. ‘If you would,’ he invited.

As one
hypnotized, Leighton signed. Del Garza lifted the corner of the page
to expose the one beneath.

‘Sign here
as well, if you would be so kind.’

With a shaky
hand the Captain signed the bottom page as well and the acting
governor drew them back, sanded the signatures and shook them dry.

‘Very
good,’ he said. ‘But for one minor detail that concludes
our business.’

Leighton mopped
his brow with a handkerchief. ‘What is that?’ he asked.

At del Garza’s
nod the three guards stepped forward; two caught hold of the
captain’s arms while the third whipped a garrotte around his
neck. The stool went over with a crash, and Leighton’s legs
became caught up in it so that he couldn’t get his feet under
him. Del Garza cocked his head, watching the consciousness of
imminent death and agony flood into the man’s eyes. Soon his
heels beat a brief tattoo on the floor and after a very few moments
he was dead.

The Baron neatly
folded and sealed the two sheets of paper.

‘Poor
fellow,’ del Garza said to the guards. ‘Carry him to his
quarters and arrange things there. Make sure the bracket he hangs
himself from is stout; he was a fleshy sort.’ He handed the
papers to the chief guard. ‘Don’t forget to leave his
resignation and most important, his confession, where they’ll
be easily found.’

The guard smiled
as he took the papers. ‘That was neatly done, sir,’ he
said. ‘Makes me feel like we’re getting a bit of our own
back.’

Del Garza looked
at him for long enough that the man knew the Baron wasn’t
amenable to flattery, then dismissed him.

Alone, del Garza
considered his choices. Leighton had to die; there was no other
option. Had he remained alive, word of the Duke’s vulnerability
would eventually spread. Loyalty to the Prince or avarice for
Mockers’ gold, the reason for Leighton’s treason didn’t
matter. What mattered was who would be looked at when Duke Guy
returned from dealing with the Keshians in the Vale of Dreams.

Del Garza could
put a fair amount of responsibility on Radburn’s shoulders,
with justification. His iron grip on the city had bred discontent,
and the way in which he ran roughshod over the Prince’s own
guards and the city’s constables would be certain to drive some
firmly into the Prince’s camp.

The handwriting
was on the wall, as they say; Erland was dying, no matter what the
healing priests and chirurgeons did to hold death at bay. With no son
to inherit, Anita would be a prize for any ambitious man. And with
the King having no heirs, her husband was but one step from the
throne in Rillanon. So, Guy would marry Anita, and some day, sooner
rather than later, del Garza judged, Guy du Bas-Tyra would become
King Guy the First.

Del Garza tapped
his chin with a forefinger as he wondered where he might come out in
all this. He was not by nature an ambitious man, but circumstances
seemed to dictate that his choice was to rise or fall; there was no
standing still. Hence, he would choose to rise. Who knew? An earldom
in the east, perhaps near Rodez?

But to rise, he
had to avoid falling, and to do that, he had to survive Guy’s
wrath when he returned and found the girl missing. He hoped Radburn
would return soon with the girl in tow, or not return at all. If
Jocko had the good grace to get himself killed in the attempt,
everything would be his fault by the time del Garza got finished
explaining things to the Duke. And that meant having lots of other
guilty parties to parade before him.

‘Cray!’
he shouted, summoning the captain of the guard’s secretary.
When the man appeared he said, ‘I want every commander of every
unit involved with this morning’s mission, from the sergeants
up, in this office in one hour.’

‘Yes,
sir,’ Cray said and sped off.

Del Garza sat
back in the commander’s chair, enjoying the way Cray had leapt
to obey, enjoying the privilege of taking over the commander’s
office, enjoying the memory of the look on Leighton’s face when
he had realized del Garza held the power in Krondor for the moment.

He turned his
mind away from feeling any pleasure at the prospect of authority. How
could he enjoy anything when his lord had been humiliated this
morning? How could that wicked girl abandon her father so? And why?
So that she would not have to partake of the honour of wedding the
Duke du Bas-Tyra; one of the greatest, one of the noblest men in the
Kingdom! How dare the little baggage treat his lord so?

Poor Prince
Erland, to have such an uncaring child. Not that he was much better,
for he, too, had defied his lord’s will. Well, he’d just
have to suffer the fate to which his
own daughter
had
condemned him. Del Garza considered: perhaps if the Prince was
relocated to one of his draughtier dungeons, and word was leaked that
he would remain there until his daughter returned . . .? He
considered that a move to be made if Radburn didn’t return with
the girl soon. If the girl had been coerced into leaving the city, it
might convince her to return of her own volition, and if the Prince
didn’t survive the ordeal, that was another problem that could
be laid at Jocko’s feet when the Duke again graced the city.

Del Garza
sighed. So much to be done, and he so much preferred routine to the
unexpected. But, at least he knew the task at hand.

These . . .
thieves,
these
nothings
must be brought to heel,
whipped into place like the dogs they were. That they should dare to
steal Guy du Bas-Tyra’s rightful bride, interfering in matters
they knew nothing about, and indeed
should
know nothing about
. . .

With an effort
del Garza calmed himself. He took deep breaths until his heart rate
returned to normal. He shouldn’t waste this anger; he should
harbour his fury until the men came, and then release it. Things were
going to change around here; soon and forever. By the time Guy du
Bas-Tyra returned from the south, Krondor would be a city in order
and under firm control.
Yes,
he thought,
in control.

He called for a
parchment and pen and set his mind to the list of things that would
have to be done, and first on that list was to round up as many of
the Mockers as could be ferreted out of whatever dark warren hid
them.

The crossroads
was crowded.

Hotfingers Flora
was chatting and laughing with her friends while tossing saucy,
flirtatious glances at every passing male when the wagon pulled up
beside them. At first she didn’t give it much of a glance; the
streets were busy with men on foot, porters with heavy loads,
handcarts full of golden loaves of bread, cloth, boxes and bales, a
sedan-chair—she cast an envious glance at the courtesan lolling
within it—and any number of farmers’ wagons hauling in
the city’s food.