Part 5 (1/2)

'There's a problem,' Jimmy said. 'A collar of stonework that narrows the opening so you couldn't pa.s.s a cat through it. It's pretty deep, too. Let me think about it.'

'We can't go in here!' Larry the Ear hissed in Jimmy's ear. 'This place is too respectable!'

It was; a two-storey building with more chimneys than a house, the sort of place where people respectable enough to want to wash regularly came, but who were not well-to-do enough to afford the equipment. It had a doorwarden; a thick-set man with a grey beard and a knotted club of vinestock beside it, who looked like a retired trooper.

Jimmy grabbed Larry and pulled him close so he couldn't be overheard. 'We need to get clean. Del Garza's men are out looking for sewer rats. Right now, we not only look like them, but we smell like them. We have to get clean, and it would help if we didn't look like Mockers for a little while. That's why we're here, instead of trying to get clean using someone's rain barrel or was.h.i.+ng off in the Old Square Fountain.' He turned to look at the doorwarden. 'Just pretend you're someone and keep quiet.'

Jimmy walked up to the man. The doorwarden's nose wrinkledWell, I can't blame him, thought Jimmyand his eyes narrowed; a thick-knuckled hand went to the vinewood club.

Wordlessly, Jimmy held up a silver coin the size of his thumbnail. I've known this sort of thing to work I've known this sort of thing to work, he thought, schooling his face to look embarra.s.sed and supercilious at the same time. I've just never been able to afford bathing in a proper bathhouse, before. I've just never been able to afford bathing in a proper bathhouse, before.

He'd never been much of one for bathing in general, either; but a.s.sociating with lords and princesses, even for a short while, tended to alter your standards. He discovered that enduring a bucket of cold water and some soap every day or two earned him approval from the Princess Anita, and that had been worth it. He had also discovered he itched a lot less and felt better afterwards.

'My good man, we need to bathe,' he said, shaping the tones of an upper-cla.s.s accent. 'And to buy fresh clothing.'

'Ye certainly need the bath,' the man grumbled. 'Lousy too, no doubt.'

'Not in the least. We've been out on a...' Jimmy let his expression grow sheepish. 'Well, we'd rather our parents didn't find out, and...' He finished in a rush: 'You can have this yourself?'

Suspicion gave way to contempt as Jimmy handed over the coin; which was fine with him.

'We were attacked by street boys,' Jimmy chattered onover-explaining made guilt look more plausible. 'They stole our clothes and pushed us in a sty. The maid at home gave us some coins to get cleaned up. Please, sir, my mother is very strict and she'll be very, very angry if we go home in this condition.' Jimmy had always been good at mimicry, and the time spent with Prince Arutha and Princess Anita had given him a wealth of new ways to speak when he needed. He sounded plausible in the role of the son of a minor n.o.ble or rich merchant. As long as Larry remembered to keep his mouth shut.

He and Larry had more than enough sc.r.a.pes and bruises to make their story seem authentic. Knocking about in dark sewers and climbing walls and houses had added a good share of cuts as well.

'Go on through,' the doorwarden said. 'You can use the baths, but rinse off good first. You'll have to find your own clothesthis isn't a tailor's shop, lads.'

They went through; the doorwarden spoke a few words in the ear of the woman who sat by bathers' clothes so they wouldn't be lifted, and her scowl cleared a bit.

'I'll not put those wipe-rags near honest folk's clothing,' she said.

'Take them away and burn them,' Jimmy instructed, as he and Larry stripped. That was in character; even rags were worth something, and the woman would undoubtedly get a few coppers for them. She nodded and smiled, and Jimmy knew that later that night she would be boiling them clean and selling them to a rag peddler by this time tomorrow.

'You, boy,' Jimmy said, beginning to enjoy himself. One of the attendants put down his broom and came over.

'My brother and I will require new garments,' Jimmy said loftily. He looked at the boy before him and estimated that he was just between his and Larry's size. 'I need you to buy us some new things. Trousers, s.h.i.+rts and linen,' he instructed. 'Something just too large to fit you for me, and something just too small to fit you for my brother. We'll have to do without shoes and stockings, I suppose.' He glanced at Larry who nodded, a supercilious expression on his face. 'The colours should be muted,' he went on, sighing at the confused expression on the boy's face. 'Nothing red or orange or patterned,' he explained.

He counted out five small silvers, more than enough for the items. 'You may keep the change,' Jimmy said, ensuring that it would be. 'And if you hurry back, you shall have this.' He held up two more silver coins.

'Thank you, sir,' the boy said, tugging his forelock, and rushed off.

'Shall we enjoy the steam room while we wait?'

Larry sniffed his arm and made a face. 'Yes!' he said fervently.

Clean and dressed, the two of them headed for the Poor Quarter. They looked respectable enough, like apprentices, perhaps, except for their lack of shoes, so it was reasonable to think themselves fairly safe in the respectable parts of town. But under the circ.u.mstances they couldn't make themselves feel safe, a fact never far from their minds.

In the Poor Quarter their new clothes might raise a pa.s.sing eyebrow, but it would be obvious from their att.i.tude that they belonged and that the first glance wouldn't be followed by a second.

Ordinarily, that is. But then, under ordinary circ.u.mstances there would be street children and beggars everywhere, and not a few wh.o.r.es plying their trade. Now, as the two boys walked along they found the streets nearly deserted. The few people walking about were mostly grown men, their eyes constantly moving, and from them Jimmy and Larry received a great deal of attention. It felt as if they were surrounded by the secret police.

'I can't take this,' Larry said. 'I keep expectin' someone to grab my neck. I'm goin' to the Rest.'

Jimmy shook his head. 'Not me. I've had enough of sewers for one day. I'm for a drink.'

The younger boy shook his head. 'Not tonight.' He looked at Jimmy for a moment. 'Tomorrow,' he said, and it was almost a question.

Jimmy nodded. 'Tomorrow.' He made it sound like a promise.

They separated then, without so much as a backward glance; Larry disappearing into the gloom of an alleyway, Jimmy walking along the street.

As he walked, Jimmy thought.

The mortared collar needs to go, and we've got to do it some way that won't draw the guards. That was easier said than done. Drugs? Drugs? he wondered. It would have to be something potent, to make them oblivious to the noise of stonework. he wondered. It would have to be something potent, to make them oblivious to the noise of stonework.

But there was no way to get to the guards without going to gaol, wherein getting at the guards was problematic at best.

Deep down an idea stirred. Too formless yet to grasp, Jimmy let it go and simply followed his feet, trying not to think at all. He'd found that sometimes ideas were like that, they'd flee if you pursued them, but they just might come to you if you just left them be.

He walked along, hands in his pockets, eyes on his bare toes, listening to the sounds around him for quite a while, and quite a way. Finally he stopped and looked up to find himself before a tavern. There wasn't a sign, unless you counted the anatomically-based scratchings on the once-plastered wall, but there was a withered bunch of branches pinned above the door. That let out the noise of voices, the smell of rushes not changed in a long time, and much spilled beer.

Ah, yes, he grinned, and went in. Where else? My feet are smarter than my head tonight; they've led me straight to the place I want. Where else? My feet are smarter than my head tonight; they've led me straight to the place I want. It wasn't until this moment that Jimmy realized that what he really needed was magic. How else were they going to do it? And where else in Krondor would he find a magician willing to help him? Nowhere else. It wasn't until this moment that Jimmy realized that what he really needed was magic. How else were they going to do it? And where else in Krondor would he find a magician willing to help him? Nowhere else.

And there was only one magician within a week's travel who wouldn't ask too many questions first, or tell someone else: Asher.

The few magicians in the princ.i.p.ality with enough power or wealth to avoid being hunted down by locals for perceived cursesdead calves, curdled milk, crops to failall tended to keep to themselves. There was a three-storey stone house with a courtyard, near the southeastern gate to the city, that was reputed to be the occasional home of a powerful mage, but each time Jimmy had pa.s.sed it, he could detect no signs of life. From time to time word would spread through the city that a travelling magician was stopping at this or that inn, and whether they were willing to trade services or magical goods for gold, but that was a rare event.

No, Asher was unique: a magician and a drunk. And from what was rumoured, one who also liked to gamble and enjoy the company of women less than half his age. So he kept permanent residence in the part of the city where no one had calves to stillbirth, milk to curdle, or crops to fail. With so few prosperous undertakings in the Poor Quarter, there was scarcely any reason to seek someone else to blame for failure. Failure was a daily fact of life here.

The tavern had seen better days; the booth-like 'snugs' tucked into the corner were too fancy for its present clientele, most of whom sat on their knife scabbards as they threw dice, to keep themselves conscious of where the hilts were.

Jimmy looked into the farthest corner in the place and his grin grew wider. But then finding Alban Asher in this tavern was as reliable as finding bad ale in a dirty mug. Jimmy had never seen him anywhere but in his cobwebbed corner. For all the young thief knew he'd grown roots there. But then, Asher didn't need to go anywhere. The world came to him. Despite being an old sot, compulsive gambler and womanizer, if he was sober enough, the spells he sold worked very well indeed. Jimmy had heard of a few failures, but they were more a disappointment than a disaster. Certainly not enough to put off any potential business. Besides, where else would one go in the princ.i.p.ality to find a magician willing to sell magic for enough gold to get drunk on, sit down at a card game, or convince a young girl to bed someone her grandfather's age?

Jimmy got himself a mug of ale and acquired a cup of the tavern's best wine. Which smelled raw enough to strip tar, and though he wasn't the most fastidious fellow in the city, he had no intention of actually drinking the ale he'd bought. Going over to the magician's table Jimmy placed the wine before him and sat in the other seat, watching the formless heap of black robes across from him.

It took a moment for the man to come to life, but the scent of the wine eventually evoked a response. A clawlike hand reached out of a sleeve and lifted the cup; the magician took a sip and made a guttural, approving sound. Jimmy's throat closed when he thought of what the man must usually imbibe. The magician hiccupped and then gave a powerful belch, chuckling evilly at Jimmy's expression when the vapours. .h.i.t him.

Jimmy sat, waiting.

It was impossible to guess Asher's age. For one thing, the tavern was dark, and this corner of it darker still; for another, the magician's head was surrounded by a bush of sandy hair. His beard, moustache, eyebrows and head-hair were all as thick and impenetrable as a bramble bush. As for his face, all that could be seen were a bulbous nose almost the same shade as the wine and the gleam of his eyes beneath his s.h.a.ggy brows. It was suspected he might be as young as sixty summers, but then again, some suggested he was ninety and being kept alive by dark spells. All Jimmy knew from rumours was that the magician existed in a state of seeming indifference to the world around him unless he was drinking, gambling or whoring. And by all reports when the drinking wasn't excessive, he was fairly successful with the gambling and whoring.