Karrick could barely contain himself. ‘He believes you?’
‘He believes because he wants to believe, and frankly, I was convincing.’ Jim looked around the inn and said, ‘I’m honestly going to be done with all this when this war is over. I am not exactly sure where I’ll end up, assuming it’s not at the end of a rope, but when this is all over, I am letting go.’
‘The Mockers?’
‘Everything.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve already dispatched messages to Krondor. Bill’s boy is to apprentice with the Nightmaster. He is supposed to assume control of the Mockers, become the next Upright Man, when I step down.’
‘I know James well,’ said Karrick. ‘He’s as cunning as a sewer rat and ambitious: which is why his father wants him on the other side of the Kingdom. But he lacks the skill to manage things. And he has a temper.’
‘That’s useful.’
‘It should keep him from forming quick alliances in the Mockers,’ said Karrick.
‘It’s immaterial,’ said Jim. ‘He’ll be dead sooner or later. Bill will get a message of condolence saying his boy died during a job gone terribly wrong, slain by the Crushers. That’s assuming, of course, that Bill’s still alive.’
Karrick said, ‘I gather that means I’m supposed to decide when it’s time to remove Bill?’
‘How many know that Bill is the Council?’
‘His three sons, myself, two others. After that it’s much the same as the Mockers. A message comes through the local gang chief from the Council, delivered by a street boy.’
‘And you control the street boys, still?’
Karrick nodded.
‘One son to Krondor. Arrange with an army sergeant you trust to have one other son arrested and sympathize with Bill when he dies trying to escape. The last son, leave until after Bill’s death and keep close to him, make yourself indispensable until it’s time for you to take his place. The two others you decide if they will serve you or need replacing.’
‘They’ll serve,’ said Karrick. ‘And I know which son to arrest and which to commiserate with … for a while.’
‘When Bill’s son James is on his way to Krondor and after I’m gone begin these tasks. Ensure that Anne always knows how to reach you.’
Jim was ready to leave and said, ‘Our relationship cuts both ways, Karrick. Not in issues of blood, no matter what they may or may not be, but of this: as close as I may be to being a father to you, so you are to being a son to me. It is not ideal; I have no such illusions, but you’ve been loyal and reliable, as much as any father would wish to a son to be. When all is said and done, if it is within my means, I shall deliver you to higher standing than a king among thieves.’
Karrick laughed. ‘You see me standing in the palace with starched shirt and brocade coat? Dancing with the ladies?’
Jim shared the laugh. ‘What’s the matter? You can’t dance?’
Karrick kept chuckling and said, ‘All will be done as you’ve instructed. I will wait to hear from you.’
Jim thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘If you don’t hear from me within the month, send word after this thing is done to the Black Ram in Ran. I believe that is Bill’s usual place to exchange messages. We might as well continue to use his couriers.’
‘Bill alive or dead, that’s the easiest way,’ agreed Karrick. ‘So that means you’re bound to Ran?’
‘Sooner or later,’ said Jim as he rose.
‘I’ll finish my drink,’ said the young thief.
‘Fare well,’
‘Fare well all of us,’ replied Karrick.
Then Jim was out of the door.
Jim made his way to the docks where a ship was ready to depart for Ran. He had already had his name added to the roster of sailors. Now he purchased a small bottle of evil-smelling distilled spirits and poured it over his head before reaching the royal docks.
He feigned being intoxicated as he hurried along the long pier jutting out into the harbour. He knew that Sir William would have agents watching every ship leaving the harbour, but assumed he might be less vigilant on the Navy Pier, given that it was already crawling with military, any of whom would be quick to seize a suspicious- looking character like Jim in time of war.
But there was one ship on the pier which was not a warship but a transport vessel, and it had a civilian crew. And when he reached the gangway, two bored-looking Royal Marines were flanking the plank up to the ship.
‘Papers,’ one demanded as he got there.
Then from above, the bosun’s voice cut through the air like a knife. ‘Jax! You drunken whore’s son! I should leave you there and make you swim after the ship! Get your lazy arse up here!’
Jim successfully looked unfocused and unsure. He fumbled in his shirt as if he was trying to find his papers, and the bosun roared, ‘Now, damn your eyes!’
The marine shook his head slightly and said, ‘Go on, then.’
Jim went up the gangway and received an ungentle slap to the back of the head as he passed the bosun, another of the few agents left in the military he could trust. Jim would no doubt get punishment, and the rest of the crew knew better than to question the presence of a newcomer if the bosun knew him: they’d assumed he’d sailed with that man before and was getting a second chance, a story that Jim would relay if asked.
He hurried below, stowed his gear, then headed back on deck. He might reek of spirits, but he was not drunk, so he quickly made his way to the topgallants and made ready to lower sail.
Jim felt an unusual sinking in his stomach and realized that never before in his life had he felt this sense of foreboding. And he felt an unfamiliar pang; he was betraying Bill the Butcher. Usually such treachery would hardly give him a moment’s pause, but for some reason this time he felt bad about condemning the man to death. He realized that despite what he had said to Bill, he really did want to get out of this business and what he had said to Karrick was the truth. He would quit and find a suitable replacement for both Jim Dasher of Krondor and James Jamison, agent of the King.
For a brief moment, Jim could hang in the yards, his feet supported only by footropes, as he waited for the command to lower sail. He reflected on his decision and knew it was the right one; he was spent. He would die for the Crown, but he would not waste away for it.
He wondered how his counterparts, Kaseem and especially Franciezka, were doing and hoped they were experiencing better fortune than he was at the moment.
Lady Franciezka Sorboz crouched low behind a decorative hedge, one hand resting on a lethal dagger. The blade was coated with a venom that would paralyse whoever was cut within seconds, preventing an alarm being raised. For an instant she was struck by the incongruity of sneaking into the very palace in which she often resided, the defences for which she had helped to fashion. She particularly loved this garden, behind the guest quarters now occupied by Lord John Worthington. She remembered lovely summer nights like this with the air spiced by the scent of jasmine and gardenia.
Franciezka wore tight-fitting travel togs and boots designed to permit quick movement, and minimize snagging on branches or the iron spikes embedded into the wall she had just climbed.
She was desperate to break the stalemate within the palace. The King and Queen were locked up in their apartments, sumptuous surroundings for certain, but no less a prison. All communication with the household staff and the government were being conducted through Lord John Worthington’s most trusted lackeys.
Franciezka was reduced to a handful of agents she could trust, but none were placed close enough to the royal family to help. Her entire organization had been designed to look outward, at Kesh and the Isles and the Eastern Kingdoms, not inward. Kesh might have their secret police, but it was not under Kaseem Hazara-Khan’s purview. Jim used his Mockers in Krondor and his contacts with other criminal elements to gather information, but given the politics and history of the Kingdom of the Isles, a revolt by the nobility was more likely than any popular uprising, and the last one they had endured was over three hundred years ago.
Roldem’s population was far more homogenous than either rival nation. The Isles and Kesh were like conquered city-states and regions forged into a single empire or kingdom by centuries of occupation and absorption. But Yabon was different to Rillanon, and the Isalani people were nothing like the Truebloods of the
