Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

“Can we slip past them?”

 

 

“No chance. They’re as thick as lice on a beggar.” The boy took off in the opposite direction down the street they had entered from the alley. Arutha followed as Jimmy turned up another small byway. Arutha hoped he hadn’t bargained wrongly in trusting the street boy. After a few minutes of traveling, Jimmy stopped. “I know a place you can hole up awhile, until I can find some others to help get you to your ship. But it’ll cost you more than a hundred.”

 

“Get me to my ship before dawn, and I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

 

Jimmy grinned. “I can ask a lot.” He regarded Arutha for a moment longer, then with a curt nod of his head led off. Arutha followed, and they wound their way deeper into the city. The sounds of people in the streets fell off, and Arutha judged they were moving into an area less well traveled at night. The buildings around them showed they were heading into another poor area of the city, though not close to the docks as far as Arutha could tell.

 

Several sharp turns through dark, narrow alleys, and Arutha was completely lost. Abruptly Jimmy turned and said, “We’re there.” He pulled open a door in an otherwise blank wall and stepped through. Arutha climbed a long flight of stairs after him.

 

Jimmy led him down a long hall at the top of the stairs, to a door. The boy opened it and indicated Arutha should enter. Arutha took a single step, then halted as he discovered three sword points leveled at his stomach.

 

 

 

 

 

TWENTY-FIVE - Escape

 

 

The man motioned for Arutha to enter.

 

He sat behind a small table facing the door. Leaning forward into the light of the small lamp on the table, he said, “Please come in.” The light revealed his face was covered with pockmarks and he possessed a large hooked nose. His eyes never strayed from Arutha as the three swordsmen stepped back, allowing the Prince entrance. Arutha hesitated as he saw the bound and unconscious forms of Amos and Martin slumped against the wall. Amos groaned and stirred, but Martin remained motionless.

 

Arutha measured the distance between himself and the three swordsmen, his hand hovering near the hilt of his rapier. Any notion of leaping back and drawing his sword vanished when he felt a dagger point pressed against the small of his back. A hand snaked around from behind and relieved him of his sword.

 

Jimmy then stepped around the Prince, examining the rapier as he carefully hid his dagger in the folds of his loose tunic. He grinned broadly. “I’ve seen a few of these about. It’s light enough I could use it.”

 

Dryly Arutha said, “Under the circumstances, it might not be inappropriate to make it my legacy to you. Use it in good health.”

 

The pock-faced man said, “You keep your wits about you,” as Arutha was ushered farther into the room by a swordsman. Another put away his weapon and tied Arutha’s arms behind him. He was then roughly thrust into a chair, opposite the man who had spoken, who continued, “My name is Aaron Cook, and you’ve already met Jimmy the Hand.” He indicated the boy. “These others prefer to remain anonymous at present.”

 

Arutha looked at the boy. “Jimmy the Hand?”

 

The boy executed a fair imitation of a courtly bow, and Cook said, “The finest pickpocket in Krondor and well on his way to becoming the finest thief as well, should you be inclined to believe his self-appraisal.

 

“Now, to matters of business. Who are you?”

 

Arutha related the story of being Amos’s business partner, calling himself Arthur, and Cook studied him stoically. With a sigh, he nodded, and one of the silent men stepped forward and struck Arutha across the mouth. Arutha’s head snapped back from the force of the blow, and his eyes watered. “Friend Arthur,” said Aaron Cook, shaking his head, “we can go about this interview two ways. I’d advise you not to make the choice of the difficult way. It will prove most unpleasant, and we shall know what we want in the end in any event. So please consider your answer carefully.” He stood and came around the table. “Who are you?”

 

Arutha began to repeat his story, and the man who struck him stepped forward again, ending his answer with another ringing blow. The man called Cook leaned down so his face was level with Arutha’s Arutha blinked to clear the tears from his eyes, and Cook said, “Friend, tell us what we ask. Now, so as not to waste time”—he pointed at Amos —“that he is the captain of your ship we concede, but you his business partner . . . I think not. That other fellow played the part of a hunter from the mountains in several taverns about town, and I think it no mummery; he has the look of one who knows mountains better than city streets, a look hard to forge.” He studied Arutha “But you you are a soldier at least, and your rich boots and fine sword mark you a gentleman. But I think there is more.” Looking into Arutha’s eyes, he said, “Now, why is Jocko Radburn so intent upon finding you?”