Jimmy the Hand by Raymond E. Feist, S. M. Stirling Page A

fifty flagons of
ale—a hundred if he stuck to the really vile stuff sold in the
Poor Quarter. He sat sucking his gums and thinking it over.
    ‘Why not?’
he said at last. ‘Not like’s a secret worth keeping. I’s
a thief once, ‘n young. They caught me, wasn’t easy.’
    Noxious
Neville’s face took on a slackly reminiscent grin and just when
Jimmy thought he’d have to shake him to bring him back to the
here and now he began speaking again.
    ‘I was
gonna hang.’ Neville spat again. ‘But I knew if I had
time and patience I’d get out. There’s a grille,’
he said, pointing down with one dirty finger.
    Jimmy glanced
down automatically then grimaced and looked back at the old man.
    ‘Not too
big, mind, but me, I could.’ Neville wriggled where he sat,
arms working above his head as though squeezing through a tight
space. ‘M’shoulders come apart,’ he said and gave a
wheezing laugh at the young thief’s look of doubt.
    Not that Jimmy
hadn’t heard of such before, but it was hard to believe the
human wreck before him would have such a useful attribute.
    Neville slapped
his knee, laughing and after a moment he went on. ‘Those days
the grille wasn’t even mortared, they di’nt think anybody
could get down that shaft.’ He shook his head, grinning.
‘Wished I coulda seen their faces wh’n they come fer me.’
He chuckled.
    Jimmy nodded.
‘So where is it?’ he asked.
    Neville stared
into space, one finger tracing the air as he tried to remember the
route. ‘Take the fourth shaft at Five Points,’ he said
uncertainly. ‘No, no, take the second—’ He went
silent, gazing. Suddenly he was more animated. ‘Go toward
dockside, always go for the lower way . . . no, no, that leads to the
fullers. Don’t want to go there.’ He huffed impatiently.
‘I know how te get there,’ he said impatiently, ‘I
jes’ never had to tell anybody how to get there.’
    Jimmy stood.
‘Show me then. It’ll be easier.’
    The old beggar
looked at him as though Jimmy had suggested he strip to his
loin-cloth and dance on a table.
    ‘Not fer
me!’ Neville said. He waved his flagon. ‘I’ve got
all my comforts here.’ He looked around and waved a hand as
though to indicate the cosiest surroundings in the city.
    Leaning close
enough to singe his nose hairs Jimmy said, ‘Four silver above
the gold if you show me.’
    Neville chewed
his gums, looking at nothing, and didn’t answer.
    Jimmy chewed his
upper lip impatiently, aware that Neville held the upper hand. What
he had to do now was get the upper hand back before the beggar
bargained him to bankruptcy.
    ‘I’ll
buy a half skin of wine for the trip,’ Jimmy offered. ‘You
can keep what’s left once we get there.’
    ‘Full
skin,’ Neville countered.
    ‘Half.’
    ‘Full!’
the old beggar snapped. ‘S’a bit of a slog.’
    ‘Done,’
Jimmy said and somewhat reluctantly, held out his hand.
    Neville spat on
his and clapped hold of the boy’s before Jimmy could draw away.
Then laughed uproariously at the young thief’s disgusted
expression.

FOUR - Plotting
    Jimmy slipped
through the crowd.
    ‘Larry,’
Jimmy said.
    The younger boy
gave a well-concealed start and Jimmy felt a small spurt of pride.
Sneaking up on guardsmen was easy, but the boy was a fellow
professional.
    ‘I’ve
found something out,’ Jimmy said, looking around the crowd to
make sure they weren’t overheard. ‘A way into the
dungeon.’ He made a pressing gesture with his hand. ‘But
there’s a problem.’
    ‘What
problem?’
    ‘The only
one who knows the way is Noxious Neville—so we have to take him
along.’
    Larry’s
face went from joyful to sour, as if he’d just bitten into
something unpleasant.
    ‘And I had
to promise him a half skin of wine. Which means . . .’
    Ol’
Neville was the type to disappear in an instant for reasons of his
own, yet come back demanding the promised reward. Rewards never
slipped the old man’s porous memory, even when his recall