Jimmy the Hand by Raymond E. Feist, S. M. Stirling Read Free Book Online Page B

the
walls there literally had ears—conveniently placed listening
posts behind false walls in several of the richer brothels. More than
one merchant gladly paid a madam a little extra every month to keep
him current on what his drunken competitors said to impress their
current favourite. It took nothing for Jimmy to imagine an agent of
the Crown behind that listening post rather than the madam.
    Even before the
events of the last week, rumours were that Guy du Bas-Tyra had
ambitions to be the next Prince of Krondor, and that Jocko Radburn
had his cap set on being the next Duke of Krondor. Western nobles
would certainly object openly in the Congress of Lords to such
appointments, but western nobles with something to hide might be a
great deal less vociferous in voicing those objections. Besides, the
more useful results Radburn and del Garza could squeeze out of this
mess, the more likely the Duke would be forgiving when he returned.
    Jimmy spied
Noxious Neville sitting in a corner by himself; not unusual given
Neville’s aroma, which started with old sweat and worked up
from there. But the beggar had been a frequent guest in Krondor’s
dungeons and might have useful information. It just depended on how
addled he was today.
    Jimmy squatted
down in front of the old beggar and waved a piece of silver back and
forth, knowing it was the best way to get the old man’s
attention. Gradually Neville stopped his rocking and his eyes began
to follow the coin; then his hand rose and tried to capture it. Jimmy
snatched it back and closed it in his fist.
    ‘Neville,’
he said, ‘I need some information.’
    The old man
stared at him. He was quite mad, but deep in his eyes a canny
intelligence lurked. After all, he hadn’t starved or frozen or
been kicked to death by drunks yet.
    ‘Whatcha
wanta know?’ he asked, slurring his words.
    ‘Tell me
about the keep’s dungeons,’ Jimmy said. ‘I want to
know everything you can remember.’
    Neville started
to chuckle until he choked, then he coughed until Jimmy expected him
to spit out a lung at any moment. Annoyed, because he suspected that
the coughing was a demand for liquid relief, Jimmy nevertheless rose
and acquired a mug of ale for the old beggar.
    As expected, as
soon as the flagon was in Neville’s gnarled hand the spasm
ceased.
    ‘Take
more’n one silver to get that much,’ the old man rasped,
then took a sip.
    ‘How
much?’ Jimmy asked.
    The beggar
shrugged with his whole body. ‘Twenty,’ he said, clearly
knowing he’d never get it.
    Jimmy got up and
started to walk away.
    ‘Hey!’
Neville called, clearly irritated. ‘Where ya goin’?’
    ‘To talk
to someone who isn’t crazy,’ Jimmy threw over his
shoulder.
    ‘Cm back
here,’ the beggar demanded. ‘Don-cha know how to bargain?
What’ll ya give me? I’m crazy, not stupid.’
    Jimmy held up
the coin and Neville started rocking and grumbling inaudibly.
    ‘Gimme
three,’ he demanded.
    ‘I’ve
already spent two coppers on your ale,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’m
not throwing good money after bad. You give me something for that and
if I think it’s worth more, I’ll pay more.’
    ‘S’fair,’
Neville said reluctantly. ‘Whatcha want to know?’
    Jimmy sat before
him, breathing through his mouth to avoid the old man’s
prodigious stench, and asked him questions about the dungeons. How
deep were they, how to get in, how many cells, how many guards, how
often were the guards changed, how often were the prisoners fed, how
often were the slops taken out, if they were? Noxious Neville
answered every question with his eyes fixed keenly on the young
thief’s face and with every answer Jimmy’s heart fell
further.
    ‘Is there
any way to get out without the guards knowing it?’ he asked
finally.
    Noxious Neville
barked a laugh. ‘By the goddess of luck, who hates me, how
should I know that?’ he demanded. ‘I never tried to get
out. More trouble’n it’s worth. Four days’s the
longest I’s ever