Part 12 (1/2)

If I don't do it, n.o.body will. Rip will die, or worse.

And that, she knew, would disappoint her parents even more.

She led Horace from the barn, slid the bridle over his head, arranged the blanket carefully, then slid the saddle on his back with a grunt of effort, for it weighed about a quarter of what she did, and tightened the girth. The horse gave a resigned sigh, knowing that meant work.

Back into the barn. She looked through a gap between the boards back toward the farmhouse, but there was no sign of life, only a drift of smoke from the banked fire through the chimney. That made her hands start to shake for a moment, but she forced herself to be calm, taking deep breaths.

Oats, she thought firmly. The sweetish smell led her to the bin, and there were always a few sackcloth bags near it. She filled two, then added a few horse-blankets to her loot for nights spent on the road.

Horace gave a whicker of interest as she threw the sacks over his withers; he knew what that smell was. 'Later,' she whispered to him, taking a moment to soothe him quiet before scrambling up on his back, for he was a tall mount for a fifteen-year-old girl, and tightened her thighs around his broad barrel of a body.

Obediently, the horse set out down the road which wound like a ribbon of moonlight to the south.

I'm coming, Rip! she thought. she thought.

Finding Flora's grandfather had been easy; there weren't more than a couple of law-speakers in a town this size. Getting up the nerve to see him had been harder.

'What if he hates me for my father's sake?' Flora asked anxiously and for the hundredth time, looking at the tall house of pale mortared stone, not far from the town's main squareit oozed respectability, right down to the costly diamond-pane gla.s.s windows.

'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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.sware, 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! Oh, the silver services and candlesticks they'll have here, all put out for the guests to admire! The gla.s.sware, 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! 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 bra.s.s door knocker. Before he could drop it a woman opened the door and started to step down.

'Oh, h.e.l.lo,' 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 a.s.signed 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.