The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy

  ‘Ye want somethin’,’ Alban Asher the magician said in a matter-of-fact tone. His voice was deep and raspy. Even sitting down he was weaving, indicating that he was already well into the bottle.

  ‘Yessir,’ Jimmy confirmed cheerfully. ‘I’ll pay extra for secrecy.’

  After a moment Asher chuckled in a way that spoke of pure greed. With a gesture he encouraged Jimmy to continue.

  ‘I need one or two spells that I can carry away with me and set off where and when I want,’ the young thief said.

  ‘Love spells,’ Asher said, nodding sagely. ‘Boys yer age’re all after love spells.’ He chuckled salaciously and touched one grubby finger to his nose.

  Jimmy supposed that he winked, but couldn’t tell. ‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘not a love spell.’

  ‘Boys yer age …’ the magician began, sounding annoyed.

  ‘Definitely not a love spell,’ Jimmy repeated.

  I prefer my girls to have a choice in the matter, he thought. It’s a matter of pride. Not that there was any point in trying to explain that to someone oblivious to the concept.

  ‘I’ve got a mortared wall I need to take down but I don’t want to break my back. Have you got anything for that?’

  Asher stabbed a finger at him. ‘Yer a thief!’ he snarled in a rather loud whisper.

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. ‘Thieves don’t knock down walls,’ he pointed out.

  The mass of hair bunched around the magician’s nose in what Jimmy assumed was a frown. ‘Mmm, true,’ Asher agreed, blinking like an owl suddenly confronting a lantern light. ‘Got somethin’ might work.’ He rubbed his chin ruminatively. ‘Somethin’ about it though …’

  ‘I’ll take it,’ Jimmy said quickly, sure now that the magician was drunk. ‘I also need something to knock people out.’

  ‘Ah!’ Asher said and chuckled. ‘Girls! I knew it!’ Then he chuckled some more.

  Jimmy had noticed that Asher had the most nuanced chuckle he’d ever heard. In this case it indicated that the magician’s relations with women when he hadn’t enough gold for whores wouldn’t bear close scrutiny.

  ‘No, no girls,’ Jimmy said. ‘Men, big, heavy men, so if size is an issue you should plan for that.’

  ‘Men?’ the magician said as though he’d never heard of them before. After a moment he shrugged. ‘Ah, well, takes all kinds. I’ve got somethin’ – I c’n make it stronger. It’s that wall spell …’

  His voice faded off and he looked over Jimmy’s head so steadily the boy thief turned around to look. There was no one there but the tavern keeper, dozing behind the bar, and a man weeping into his beer. That would normally have attracted derisive attention had anyone else been present, except that the man looked to weigh about half what a heavy cavalryman’s horse did, and had a scar like a young gully from the point of his jaw up over one empty eye-socket, not to mention layers of slick tissue half an inch thick over the knuckles of both hands.

  Jimmy looked at the magician out of the corner of his eye, then back at the bar. If Asher wanted more wine he’d have to wait until they’d finished their negotiations and the goods had changed hands.

  ‘What’s wrong with the wall spell?’ Jimmy asked. ‘Doesn’t it work?’

  ‘Oh, aye, it works,’ Asher said slowly. He shook his head as though that might dislodge something in his mind. ‘There’s jist, somethin’ …’ He reached out with thumb and forefinger, as if to grasp something.

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ Jimmy asked, his voice sounding as though he could be.

  The magician blew out his cheeks. ‘Only if ye’re not supposed to use it!’ he said. ‘It works! It works very well, I tell ye.’

  ‘What about the knock-out spell?’ Jimmy asked.

  With a dismissive wave of his hand Asher plopped a small bag onto the table. ‘Hardly magic at all,’ he said. ‘But you want it for big strapping fellows, instead of skinny little girls …’ He paused, looked at Jimmy for a moment as if trying to understand something totally alien to his imagination, then said, ‘Never mind. Give me a moment.’ He closed his eyes, waved his hand over the bag and muttered for a few minutes.

  The hair on the back of Jimmy’s neck rose. What he called his ‘bump of trouble’ let him know that Asher was indeed using magic. Since he could remember, Jimmy possessed a near supernatural ability to sense approaching danger or the presence of magic being used.

  Asher finished, and said, ‘Now it’s stronger.’ He pushed the pouch toward Jimmy. ‘Take a pinch and blow it into the face o’ the one ye’re tryin’ to knock down and down he’ll go!’

  ‘And the wall?’

  The magician grunted. Turning, he grabbed a sack behind his chair and hoisted it onto the filthy table. He opened it and began to rummage around inside, digging deeper and deeper until he was halfway into the bag. Things rattled and clinked as Asher sorted through them, occasionally chuckling, as though being reminded of some nasty trick he intended to play as soon as he got the time. ‘Ah!’ he said at last and withdrew his head; he slung the sack back behind his chair and put a tiny bottle sealed with lead on the table between them. ‘There ye are,’ he said proudly.

  Jimmy peered at it. It was only as big as the first joint of his little finger and as far as he could tell in the dim light it was completely empty. He reached out to take a closer look at it but the magician’s hand came down over it before he could touch the bottle.

  ‘Ah!’ Asher said in warning. ‘We an’t discussed price yet.’

  ‘There’s nothing in that bottle,’ Jimmy pointed out.

  ‘Ah, but there is,’ the magician whispered. ‘One tiny drop. ’Tis all ye need to start the mortar turnin’ to sand. Don’t get it on yersel’ whatever ye do,’ he warned. ‘Put it on yer wall and the job is done! Doesn’t matter where – top, bottom, middle – because as long as stone and mortar are connected, it’ll do the job.’ He sat back. Judging from the position of his whiskers, he was smiling.

  ‘How much?’ Jimmy wasn’t absolutely certain about any of this, but it was still the best idea he’d had.

  Really the only idea beside a hammer and chisel and a lot of prayers to Ruthia that the guards go deaf. Still, he wasn’t about to take the magician’s first price.

  ‘What’s it worth to ye?’ Asher demanded.

  With a cheerful smile Jimmy suggested, ‘Let’s have another drop to ease our bargaining. Innkeeper!’ he shouted, waking the man. ‘Two more of the same!’

  It was closing in on dawn when Jimmy left the tavern with his prizes. He held the bottle up and squinted at it against the light of a flickering lantern; the air was chilly and damp, and smelled the way it usually did in the blighted gap between night and morning, as discouraged as the young thief felt.

  Still looks like nothing. But, the old man doesn’t have that sort of reputation. Asher was a lot of things, but in the years he had been plying his trade in Krondor, no one had accused him of cheating on a deal, which in the Poor Quarter was the next best thing to a Royal Death Warrant.

  He hadn’t got a bargain by any means. Though even making painful inroads into Prince Arutha’s gold, he would never have been able to afford this much magic if the man hadn’t been a complete sot. Not my problem, not my fault. But the price was fair, so he shouldn’t have to worry about waking up covered in boils anytime soon. At least, the price was fair if there was actually something inside the bottle.

  Something I mustn’t get on myself, he thought. A worrying idea if you thought it through. How did you pour out something that didn’t appear to exist? Very carefully, he supposed.

  Think positively, he told himself. I’ve got the means to save Larry’s brother and Flora and the rest of them. Probably. Which means we’re all better off than we were before.

  Now all they had to do was do it.

  • Chapter Five •

  Rescue

  LARRY’S EYES GREW WIDE.

  ‘Alban Asher is a drunk!’ His small face showed more panic than disapproval and his tone was mor
e surprised than angry.

  Just think how you’d react if Larry had come to you with this stuff, Jimmy reminded himself. He’s not trying to hit you, and not even walking away.

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ the younger boy went on.

  ‘We’re desperate,’ Jimmy pointed out, making a shushing gesture; the Rest wasn’t as crowded as it had been after the new laws were announced, but it was still busier than usual: a lot of people, normally on the streets, were sleeping. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures,’ he went on. Jimmy had heard that saying somewhere and liked the sound of it: he usually did, when something made for a good excuse.

  ‘Desperate, not stupid!’ Larry insisted.

  ‘Desperate measures often look stupid before they’re carried out,’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s a historical fact, you can look it up in the royal archives.’

  ‘I can’t get into the royal archives, and besides I can’t read!’ the younger boy shouted. His face was bright red and tears of frustration brightened his eyes. ‘But if I could I bet I could prove you wrong!’ He thumped his back against a wall and slid down to sit in a heap on the floor. ‘What are we gonna do?’ he wailed.

  ‘First,’ Jimmy said, leaning over him, ‘you can stop shouting, people are starting to stare.’

  Actually, no one was looking. But then Mockers, being thieves and scoundrels, rarely stared; but they always eavesdropped and he couldn’t afford to be overheard. Nevertheless, saying so seemed to stiffen Larry’s spine. Jimmy had often noticed that nonsense at the right moment could do wonders, if it was the right nonsense.

  ‘Sorry,’ the boy said gruffly. ‘It’s just …’

  ‘Larry,’ Jimmy said, leaning close, ‘if you’ve got a better idea tell it to me. I want to hear it.’

  His friend hung his head and slowly shook it.

  ‘All right. Look, if we get no further by using this we’re no further behind either. And even if Asher is a drunk he’s got the reputation for knowing his craft.’ He gave the boy a pat on the shoulder and a crooked grin. ‘If he didn’t someone from the Guild would have cut his throat by now. Which means he wouldn’t be working for me.’

  Larry gave him a weak smile.

  ‘Have you got the rope?’ Jimmy asked.

  The boy nodded. ‘Stowed it in the tunnel just behind the collapse and piled some rocks over it.’

  ‘Good.’ It must be well hidden, Jimmy thought. He had left a bunch of rags and a bottle of vinegar there before coming to Mocker’s Rest and he hadn’t seen it. ‘Well, let’s do it then,’ he said and started off.

  Larry’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he caught up with the other thief quickly. ‘Now?’ he whispered.

  ‘The sooner the better,’ Jimmy said wisely. ‘And why not?’

  Larry shook his head. ‘It’s daytime!’ he protested.

  ‘So, they won’t be expecting us,’ Jimmy replied, with a wink.

  ‘But there’ll be more guards, won’t there?’

  ‘Why should there be? Are the iron bars less sturdy during the day?’

  ‘No, I mean, they’re awake, in the keep walking around and acting like guards.’

  Jimmy stopped abruptly and glared down at the younger boy. ‘You want to do this or not?’

  ‘Do!’ Larry said, nodding vigorously.

  Looking him in the eye Jimmy said, ‘Then let’s do it!’

  He strode off without looking back. After a brief silence, Jimmy smiled to hear Larry’s footsteps following. This would work and then he’d be a legend among the Mockers forever after. He carefully kept himself from thinking of the alternative – most of them involved ropes, sharp things or red-hot things, or things that were sharp and red-hot and applied to the tender parts of his body.

  Jimmy the Hand was still less than fourteen years, more or less, and like most youngsters he felt as if he’d live forever. But like most Mockers he’d seen a great deal of death during those years; not enough to grant him a sense of his own mortality, but enough to teach him caution.

  It was all Jimmy could do to force himself back into the half-collapsed tunnel and up the shaft that led into the main cell of Krondor’s dungeon. He’d spent most of his young life wandering reeking sewers and stinking alleyways so he was used to the stench and the velvet-deep darkness. But if a smell could be terrifying, this was. The stink seemed to creep up on him. It had hair and teeth and mean little eyes, it had a personality all of its own, a very bad personality that bore down on his spirit with an almost physical weight. But by telling himself that he’d never have to do this again Jimmy was able to meet the challenge. Tying the vinegar-soaked rag over his face, he put the bundle of rags and bottle of vinegar into his shirt for the others. He knew a fit of retching on the way down might land someone at the bottom of the shaft a lot faster and in much worse shape than they needed to be. Not that the vinegar smell helped a lot, but anything was better than a bare face here.

  He pulled on some gloves, slung the knotted rope across his chest and began climbing.

  It went faster this time because he knew what to expect, but his prayers to Ruthia were no less fervent. Once he reached the blockage he braced his feet and shoulders against the walls of the shaft, pulled off one glove, worked the tiny bottle from the pouch tied to his belt and broke the lead seal with his fingernail. Then he looked for a place to spill out the invisible drop.

  The mortar just above him was quite smooth and Jimmy remembered Asher’s warning not to get the stuff on himself. Higher up, as though the mason was getting bored with the job or finding it harder to reach with his trowel, the work was messier, with little shelves and projections of cement making a good spot for the spell to be poured. But that meant pushing his arm and shoulder up close against that slimy hole. The very idea sent a surge of nausea through him, so he took a few slow, deep breaths, forcing himself to ignore the Smell and focused his mind on the goal.

  Free the Mockers. Become famous. All the girls will admire you … once you’ve taken a bath.

  Gradually his stomach calmed itself.

  Part of the problem was that he still hadn’t been able to see anything in the bottle and his faith in the drunken magician wasn’t all that strong, in spite of what he’d said to Larry. He was more afraid they might fail than that they’d be caught and hanged.

  ‘Do it,’ he grumbled, gritting his teeth. As he’d said himself, it wasn’t as if there was anything better available.

  Jimmy bit his lips and thrust his arm into the hole, aiming for a large projection he thought he could reach, but aiming blind since his arm cut off what little light filtered down from the cell above.

  Dear Ruthia, he prayed, please don’t let me get this on myself. He braced his shoulders hard against the wall, quickly pulled the tiny stopper from the small vial, and tilted it away from his left hand, pressing the open mouth of the container against the mortar. He held it motionless for a long count of seconds, wondering how he was supposed to tell when the vial was empty. Finally, he assumed it had to be.

  It was done, except for the waiting to see if the spell would work. He held his breath, pressed himself against the sides of the shaft walls, wondering what to expect.

  He missed the first few grains of falling mortar but then a stone fell, hitting him on the thigh. It hadn’t occurred to him that there would be falling stones; then he remembered the iron grate above and hurriedly climbed back down again, some little part of him wailing in discontent. He’d have to go up again after all.

  In less than a minute the heavy iron grate that had covered the shaft fell down with a crash on top of the dislodged stones and the heap of sand that had once been sturdy mortar.

  Jimmy noted a cracked stone beneath it and blew out a relieved breath. Then he re-wet the rag he pulled over his mouth and nose with vinegar, rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles and began climbing again. He found a ring of faces waiting for him when he got to the top and hands reached out to pull him up. He blinked for a moment; even the twilight di
mness of the big cell seemed bright, after the passageways below. Feet rustled in the damp straw that covered the floor, and he could feel more than see the inmates gathering around him.

  ‘Jimmy!’

  That was Flora’s voice; she elbowed her way through the crush and embraced him, recoiling instantly, her eyes wide, her pretty mouth contorted into a rictus of disgust. Considering the condition of the dungeon and its inhabitants, that said a great deal.

  ‘I know,’ he apologized quietly. ‘Quiet, unless you want the guards here! The smell can’t be helped.’ He pulled out the bundle of rags and the vinegar. ‘This will cut the smell, but it’s the only way out we could find.’

  ‘I can’t get down there,’ a legless beggar said.

  ‘Get down where?’ asked one of the blind ones.

  ‘Anyone who needs help getting down we can lower them with this rope,’ Jimmy said.

  He slung it off and looked around for something to anchor it to, settling on the bars of the cell. He glanced anxiously out into the dim corridor but saw no one.

  Good. If the excitement caused by his arrival hadn’t brought the guards running they were probably safe. At least for now. But then, why pay attention to a dungeon with no exit?

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Flora asked him in a whisper. She smiled and shook her head, clearly embarrassed for him. ‘They aren’t going to keep us in here forever, you know.’