‘Keep out of sight and do nothing. You don’t remember hearing that? How odd, when I have witnesses that you were present at the time those orders were issued.’ The Nightmaster sat forward and folded his hands before him on the desk.
‘You’ve put the Upright Man in a difficult position, Jimmy the Hand. You’ve deliberately disobeyed orders, yet you’ve also rescued over thirty Mockers from certain death.’ One corner of his mouth quirked upward. ‘Not to mention that you’ve managed to hide their escape. It will be months, if ever, before del Garza discovers there are no bodies under all that stone. With those terrible rats down there gnawing on the corpses and the main sewers flooding with the spring rain, why even the bones will be washed out to sea before the workers get down there.’ The Nightmaster fought to keep a smile from spreading too broadly as he added, ‘Without his even knowing it, you’ve made our enemy look very foolish.’
The Nightmaster spread his hands. ‘Yet, what can we do? The Upright Man’s thankful you’ve saved thirty of your brethren, but he’s still got to cut your throat and throw you in the bay. If such a breach of orders goes unpunished then others will believe that they, too, can do whatever the bloody hell they wish. Others far less clever, or lucky, than yourself. That way lies chaos and Old Night.’ He rubbed his upper lip and stared at Jimmy. ‘Of course, if you can’t be found to be punished, then perhaps it will all blow over and nothing will need to be done at all. After all, every once in a while the Upright Man offers a general amnesty.’ He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the boy.
Jimmy nodded. The amnesty was offered to all who came forward and confessed their transgressions. It usually required that any loot not shared out as it should be had to be offered along with the promise not to do it again. Jimmy thought it a good idea, as it made for a little extra something in the share out after the Upright Man and his crew took their cut, and it made it easier for the Daymaster and Nightmaster to know who to watch for double-dealing. It also kept the Upright Man from having to kill off all the members, as sooner or later every Mocker ended up breaking one rule or another. But, it would also apply to someone who disobeyed orders!
Jimmy said, ‘Can’t be found? As in can’t be found, or can’t be found because he was dropped into the harbour with heavy weights?’
‘The first. If you were to leave Krondor, and travel around a bit . . . Travelling is said to be very educational, and in this case it would be very good for your health.’
Jimmy felt his gullet tighten and a heavy weight settle under his breastbone. He stammered: ‘B-but I’ve never, n-never been out of Krondor before in my life!’
The Nightmaster leaned forward again. ‘Let me put it to you this way—either take yourself off, or take what’s coming to you. Am I clear?’
‘Absolutely.’ Jimmy forced calm on himself. How bad could it be? Other people managed to live beyond Krondor. There was a whole world out there to explore!
He was homesick already.
‘Then you may go.’ The Nightmaster looked at Jimmy from under his eyebrows. ‘And when I say go I mean far away. Just in case you didn’t understand the first time I said it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jimmy darted out of the Nightwarden’s room, past a snarling Laughing Jack, and headed quickly out of Mocker’s Rest. He had to go fetch his gold before nightfall, then find a way safely to the caravanserai outside the eastern gate. He would somehow get past the guards—he had no doubt of his ability to do that—then either beg or buy his way onto the first caravan heading east or north. He might be told to go far, but he would stay in the Kingdom and not risk heading down into the deserts and Great Kesh beyond.
Feeling nervous and excited in equal measures, he hurried into the sewers one more time.
SIX - Journey
Jimmy raised his hand.
He held up two fingers, and the innkeeper filled two tarred leather mugs from the barrels that rested on trestles along one wall.
He was middle-aged and bald and fat; the barmaid was probably his wife, and looked the same, except for having hair. She waited expectantly until Jimmy fished in his pouch and brought out the coppers. The tavern wasn’t much: a rush-strewn floor, brick walls with patches of what had once been plaster, and rough wooden tables and plank benches and stools. The smell wasn’t too bad, though; mostly spilled beer, which was inevitable.
The place did have the advantage of not being a known Mocker hangout: most of the other customers right now were dockwallopers and labourers, nursing a mug of beer to make it last, with maybe bread and cheese and pickles on the side.