Thieves World1 (19 page)

'I know who One-Thumb is!' Jubal snapped. 'I also know he's never refused service to any of my men as long as they had gold and their manners were good. If he moved against two of mine, it was because of their own actions, not because he has ill feelings towards me. Next item.'

Saliman hesitated to reorganize his thoughts, then continued.

'Increased pressure from the prince's Hell Hounds has closed the wharves to the smugglers. It is rumoured they will be forced to land their goods at the Swamp of Night Secrets as they did in the old days.'

'An inconvenience which will doubtless drive their prices up,' Jubal mused. 'How well guarded are their landings?'

'It is not known.'

'Look into it. If there's a chance we can intercept a few shipments in the Swamp, there'll be no reason to pay their inflated prices at the bazaar.'

'But if the smugglers lose shipments, they will raise their prices all the more to recover the loss.'

'Of course.' Jubal smiled. 'Which means when we sell the stolen goods, we will be able to charge higher prices and still undercut the smugglers.'

'We shall investigate the possibility. But -'

'But what?' Jubal inquired, studying his lieutenant's face. 'Out with it, man. Something's bothering you about my plan, and I want to know what it is.'

'I fear we might encounter difficulty with the Hell Hounds,' Saliman blurted.

'If they have also heard rumours of the new landing sites, they might plan an ambush of their own. Taking a shipment away from smugglers is one thing, but trying to take confiscated evidence away from the Hell Hounds ... I'm not sure the men are up to it.'

'My men? Afraid of guardsmen?' Jubal's expression darkened. 'I thought I was paying good gold to have the finest swords in Sanctuary at my disposal.'

'The Hell Hounds are not ordinary guardsmen,' Saliman protested. 'Nor are they from Sanctuary. Before they arrived, I would have said ours were the finest swords. Now ...'

'The Hell Hounds!' Jubal snarled. 'It seems all anyone can talk about is the Hell Hounds.'

'And you should listen.' Saliman bristled. 'Forgive me, Jubal, but you yourself admit the men you hire are no newcomers to battle. When they speak of a new force at large in Sanctuary, you should listen instead of decrying their judgement or abilities.'

For a moment, a spark of anger flared in Jubal's eyes. Then it died, and he leaned forward attentively in his chair.

'Very well, Saliman. I'm listening. Tell me about the Hell Hounds.'

'They ... they are unlike the guardsmen we see in Sanctuary, or even the average soldier of the Rankan army.' Saliman explained, groping for words. 'They were handpicked from the Royal Elite Guard especially for this assignment.'

'Five men to guard a royal prince.' Jubal murmured thoughtfully. 'Yes, they would have to be good.'

'That's right,' Saliman confirmed hurriedly. 'With the entire Rankan army to choose from, these five were selected for their skill at arms and unswerving loyalty to the empire. Since their arrival in Sanctuary, every effort to bribe or assassinate them has ended in death for whoever attempted it.'

'You're right.' Jubal nodded. 'They could be a disruptive force. Still, they are only men, and all men have weaknesses.'

He lapsed into thoughtful silence for several moments.

'Withdraw a thousand gold pieces from the treasury,' he ordered at last.

'Distribute it to the men to spread around town, particularly to those working in the governor's palace. In exchange, I want information about the Hell Hounds, individually and collectively. Listen especially for word of dissent within their own ranks ... anything that could be used to turn them against each other.'

'It shall be done.' Saliman responded, bowing slightly. 'Do you also wish a magical investigation commissioned?'

Jubal hesitated. He had a warrior's dread of magicians and avoided them whenever possible. Still, if the Hell Hounds constituted a large enough threat...

'Use the money for normal informants,' he decided. 'If it becomes necessary to hire a magician, then I will personally -'

A sudden commotion at the chamber's entry-way drew the attention of both men. Two blue-masked figures appeared, dragging a third between them. Despite their masks, Jubal recognized them as Mor-Am and Moria, a brother-and-sister team of sell-swords in his employment. Their apparent captive was an urchin, garbed in the dirty rags common to Sanctuary's street children. He couldn't have been more than ten years of age, but the sizzling vindictives he screeched as he struggled against his captors marked him as one knowledgeable beyond his years.

'We caught this gutter-rat on the grounds,' Mor-Am announced, ignoring the boy's protests.

'Probably out to steal something,' his sister added.

'I wasn't stealing!' the boy cried, wrenching himself free.

'A Sanctuary street-rat who doesn't steal?' Jubal raised an eyebrow.

'Of course I steal!' the urchin spat. 'Everyone does. But that's not why I came here.'

'Then why did you come?' Mor-Am demanded, cuffing the boy and sending him sprawling. 'To beg? To sell your body?'

'I have a message!' the boy bawled. 'For Jubal!'

'Enough, Mor-Am,' Jubal ordered, suddenly interested. 'Come here, boy.'

The urchin scrambled to his feet, pausing only to knuckle tears of anger from his eyes. He shot a glare of pure venom at Mor-Am and Moria, then approached Jubal.

'What is your name, boy?' Jubal prompted.

'I - am called Mungo,' the urchin stammered, suddenly shy. 'Are you Jubal?'

'I am,' Jubal nodded. 'Well, Mungo, where is this message you have for me?'

'It... it's not written down,' Mungo explained, casting a hasty glance at Mor Am. 'I was to tell you the message.'

'Very well, tell me,' Jubal urged, growing impatient. 'And also tell me who is sending the message.'

'The message is from Hakiem,' the boy blurted. 'He bids me tell you that he has important information for sale.'

'Hakiem?' Jubal frowned.

The old storyteller! He had often been of service to Jubal when people forgot that he could listen as well as talk.

'Yes, Hakiem. He sells stories in the bazaar ...'

'I know, I know,' Jubal snapped. For some reason, today everyone thought he knew nothing of the people in town. 'What information does he have for me, and why didn't he come himself?'

'I don't know what the information is. But it's important. So important that Hakiem is in hiding, afraid for his life. He paid me to fetch you to him, for he feels the information will be especially valuable to you.'

'Fetch me to him?' Jubal rumbled, his temper rising.

"One moment, boy,' Saliman interceded, speaking for the first time since his report was interrupted. 'You say Hakiem paid you? How much?'

'A silver coin,' the boy announced proudly.

'Show it to us!' Saliman ordered.

The boy's hand disappeared within his rags. Then he hesitated.

'You won't take it from me, will you?' he asked warily.

'Show the coin!' Jubal roared.

Cowed by the sudden outburst, Mungo extended his fist and opened it, revealing.a silver coin nestled in his palm.

Jubal's eyes sought Saliman, who raised his eyebrows in silent surprise and speculation. The fact the boy actually had a silver coin indicated many things. First: Mungo was probably telling the truth. Street-rats rarely had more than a few coppers, so a silver coin would have had to come from an outside benefactor. If the boy had stolen it, he would himself be in hiding, gloating over his ill gotten wealth -not displaying it openly as he had just done. Assuming the boy was telling the truth, then Hakiem's information must indeed be valuable and the danger to him real. Hakiem was not the sort to give away silver coins unless he were confident of recouping the loss and making a healthy profit besides. Even then, he would save the expense and bring the information himself, were he not truly afraid for his life.

All this flashed through Jubal's mind as he saw the coin, and Saliman's reactions confirmed his thoughts.

'Very well. We shall see what information Hakiem has. Saliman, take Mor-Am and Moria and go with Mungo to find the storyteller. Bring him here and -'

'No!' the boy cried, interrupting. 'Hakiem will only give the information to Jubal personally, and he is to come alone.'

'What?' Saliman exclaimed.

'This sounds like a trap!' Moria scowled.

Jubal waved them to silence as he stared down at the boy. It could be a trap. Then again, there could be another reason for Hakiem's request. The information might involve someone in Jubal's own force! An assassin ... or worse, an informer! That could explain Hakiem's reluctance to come to the mansion in person.

'I will go,' Jubal said, rising and sweeping the room with his eyes. 'Alone, with Mungo. Saliman, I will require the use of your mask.'

'I want my knife back!' Mungo declared suddenly. Jubal raised a questioning eyebrow at Mor-Am, who flushed and produced a short dagger from his belt.

'We took it from him when we caught him,' the sell-sword explained. 'A safety precaution. We had no intent to steal it.'

'Give it back,' Jubal laughed. 'I would not send my worst enemy into the streets of Sanctuary unarmed.'

'Jubal,' Saliman murmured as he surrendered his hawk-mask. 'If this should be a trap ...'

Jubal dropped a hand to his sword hilt.

'If it is a trap,' he smiled, 'they'll not find me easy prey. I survived five to-one odds and worse in the pits before I won my freedom.'

'But-'

'You are not to follow,' Jubal ordered sternly. 'Nor allow any other to follow. Anyone who disobeys will answer to me.'

Saliman drew a breath to answer, then saw the look in Jubal's eyes and nodded in silent acceptance.

Jubal studied his guide covertly as they left the mansion and headed towards the town. Though he had not shown it openly, he had been impressed with the boy's spirit during their brief encounter. Alone and unarmed in the midst of hostile swords ... men twice Mungo's age had been known to tremble and grovel when visiting Jubal at his mansion.

In many ways, the boy reminded Jubal of himself as a youth. Fighting and rebellious, with no parents but his pride and stubbornness to guide him, he had been bought from the slave pens by a gladiator trainer with an eye for cold, spirited fighters. If he had instead been purchased by a gentle master ... if someone interceded in the dubious path Fate had chosen for Mungo ... Jubal halted that line of thought with a grimace as he realized where it was leading. Adopt the boy into his household? Ridiculous! Saliman and the others would think he had gone soft in his old age. More important, his competitors would see it as a sign of weakness, an indication that Jubal could be reached by sentimentality ... that he had a heart. He had risen above his own squalid beginnings; the boy would just have to do the same!

The sun was4iigh and staggering in its heat as Jubal followed the boy's lead into town. Sweat trickled in annoying rivulets from beneath his blue hawk-mask, but he was loath to acknowledge his discomfort by wiping them away. The thought of removing the mask never entered his mind. The masks were necessary to disguise those in his employment who were wanted by the law; to complete the camouflage, all must wear them. To exempt himself from his own rule would be unthinkable.

In an effort to distract himself from his discomfort, Jubal began to peer cautiously at the people about him as they approached the bazaar. Since they had crossed the bridge and placed the hovels of the Downwinders behind them, there was a marked improvement in the quality of clothes and manners of the citizenry. His eye fell on a magician, and he wondered about the star tattooed on the man's forehead. Then, too, he noted that the mage was engaged in a heated argument with a brightly garbed young bravo who displayed numerous knives, their hilts protruding from arm-sheath, sash, and boot top in ominous warning.

'That's Lythande,' Mungo informed him, noting his interest. 'He's a fraud. If you're looking for a magician, there are better to be had ... cheaper.'

'You're sure he's a fraud?' Jubal asked, amused at the boy's analysis.

'If he were a true magician, he wouldn't have to carry a sword,' Mungo countered, pointing to the weapon slung at the magician's side.

'A point well taken,' Jubal acknowledged. 'And the man he's arguing with?'

'Shadowspawn,' the boy announced loftily. 'A thief. Used to work with Cudget Swearoath before the old fool got himself hung.'

'A magician and a thief,' Jubal murmured thoughtfully, glancing at the two again. 'An interesting combination of talents.'

'Unlikely!' Mungo scoffed. 'Whatever Shadowspawn's last venture was, it was profitable. He's been spending freely and often, so it's unlikely he'll be looking for more work. My guess would be they're arguing over a woman. They each fancy themselves to be a gift from the gods to womankind.'

'You seem to be well informed,' Jubal commented, impressed anew with the boy's knowledge.

'One hears much in the streets.' Mungo shrugged. 'The lower one's standing is, the more important information is for survival... and few are lower than my friends and I.'

Jubal pondered this as the boy led the way past Shambles Cross. Perhaps he had overlooked a valuable information source in the street children when he built his network of informers. They probably would not hear much, but there were so many of them. Together they might be enough to confirm or quash a rumour.

'Tell me, Mungo,' he called to his guide. 'You know I pay well for information, don't you?'

'Everyone knows that.' The urchin turned into the Maze and skipped lightly over a prone figure, not bothering to see if the man were asleep or dead.

'Then why is it that none of your friends come to me with their knowledge?'