Jimmy the Hand. Raymond E. Feist

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      ‘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 СКАЧАТЬ