As the ship came into dock heavy bags of stuffed canvas on ropes, called fenders, were dropped alongside, preventing damaging contact. Still a solid thump and a groan of wood accompanied the last motion of the ship as the dock staff tied her off and the crew prepared to roll out the gangway.
James scampered down the ratlines from the mainmast, then nimbly leapt off the railing to land between two dock workers, startled by this unusual manner for a sailor to depart his ship. He ran to where the gangway was being secured and made a show of lashing down some random rope around a stanchion, then with two steps he was off into the crowd on the pier.
Sir James, newly minted Knight of the Prince’s Court in Krondor, had been left behind on the docks of that city. Dodging through the press of sailors, dockhands, prostitutes, thieves, and other assorted miscreants, was one Jimmy the Hand, master thief.
He worked his way through the crowd, watching faces. He moved with purpose as if on his way to a specific destination, but his eyes were constantly seeking out clues as to where he might begin his search. He reached the far end of the docks, where the quay ended and a cluster of hovels occupied the shoreline for several hundred yards, turned and saw a stall where a bored-looking garment-dealer stood.
James knew from his demeanour and position that he was a seller either newly come to the docks or someone who had run foul of whoever allocated locations for merchants – probably a corrupt official in the Governor of Durbin’s court – for the only worse location James could imagine would be outside the gates of the city. The man tried not to appear too anxious as James approached, reaching for his belt pouch.
‘I travel the sands tomorrow,’ said James.
If the merchant was puzzled by one who was obviously a sailor needing caravan garb, he said nothing, but rather broke into a rattling discourse on the high quality of his wares. James ignored him, nodding absently as if listening, but looking for just the right gear to blend into the city. He pulled out a pair of
chalwar
, those loose-fitting, dark-indigo trousers favoured by the desert travellers. These were of good cloth and the merchant said, ‘Ah, you have an eye for quality! These are the finest—’
James just continued to nod. He spoke passable Keshian, having dealt with them in Krondor over the years, but his accent clearly placed him as a Kingdom man, so he kept his comments down to grunts and occasional words. Finally he had selected a dark tunic, a matching turban, and a
haik
, a large cloth worn around the body, which was useful in many ways when travelling the desert. In the heat of the day it could be converted to a makeshift tent simply by raising it over the head with a riding crop or some other stick, or even on the hilt of a sword. It was also a blanket when needed, and could save one’s life in a sandstorm.
James made a show of haggling, for not to do so would attract attention, and when all was done, he quickly changed his outfit and went back the way he came. He carefully changed his walk from the rolling gait of a sailor to an almost pigeon-toed wide stance, raising his knees like a man used to walking through deep sand. More than one spy had died because the way he moved gave him away. As he followed his previous course in reverse, he saw that the three men he had marked in his first passage were still in place: a barrel-maker who had made no progress on his keg since James had seen him last, an apparently shiftless dockhand who wasn’t seeking work or trying to stay out of the mid-morning heat but sat in the sun carefully watching all who walked by, and at the last a prostitute who avoided finding clients.
If Abdur Rachman Memo Hazara-Khan was as clever as James knew him to be, the head of the Keshian Imperial Secret Police had put these three out to be easily found, while other agents watched who watched them. These other agents were quite a different story: they would be impossible to detect easily, and James knew that anyone he passed by could be working for Keshian Intelligence. He might spend days observing these people before he got a hint of who the true agents were.
Lord Hazara-Khan might be content to leave Durbin’s miserable inhabitants to the mercies of the governor’s rule, but the city was still a gateway into the Empire, and the head of Kesh’s Intelligence Service would wish to know who passed through that gateway, as well as keeping the governor’s excesses somewhat in check.
By the time James got to the opposite end of the docks he had spied at least two other agents watching for people such as himself. He knew he would attract attention if he made a third reconnaissance, even in disguise. The docks, like the city square, or other heavily travelled areas of any city, had a rhythm, a flow of people from one place to another, and just breaking that flow would draw notice.
His time was limited, for the sight of a desert man at the docks, while not unusual, was less common than sailors and traders, so he kept walking.
Jazhara and William would be arriving the next day on a diplomatic mission for the prince to the Governor of Durbin. Given the horrors they had encountered so far since the three had been given the mandate to recover the Tear of the Gods, it seemed a good idea to begin at the top – the governor’s palace – and work down as they sought out any magical or demonic influences. Once that charade was accomplished, Arutha had left it up to James to decide how to proceed. Being in Durbin meant they could return to the Kingdom if needs be, or venture into
the surrounding countryside should the trail take them outside the
city. As Jazhara’s people were encamped to the south, her taking a small retinue of guards out of the city by horse or camel would not draw undue attention. James relished the possibilities, and discovered he was also enjoying the responsibilities given to him by the prince. Always without false modesty, and with more than his share of bravado, Jimmy the Hand, now Sir James, Knight of the Court, was finding his rise as addictive as any drug sold in the back alleys. He also discovered that he lacked personal ambition, wishing for no wealth or power for its own sake, but only the opportunity to serve Arutha.
Almost giddy with the realization that he was having the most fun he had experienced in months, he set off to see what Durbin had to offer.
The girl was unusually attractive and a bit unexpected. She was Kingdom-born by appearances, with a fair skin only found along the eastern Kingdom frontier in Great Kesh. The usual tavern dancers in Kesh tended to be buxom and plump, but she was neither. Slender, with a nice roundness in the appropriate places, she had blue eyes and almost black hair. She wore a jade-green costume consisting of a brief top and even briefer bottoms, and a swirl of gauzy veils that floated around her as she danced. She moved slowly to a drum-and-pipe melody played indifferently by two musicians sitting near the tiny stage in the corner. At least this tavern had a stage, James reflected. He had been in a few places where the girl would be kicking over drinks on the bar or knocking food off the table if the customers were too slow in making room for her.
Sipping his second-rate ale, he watched her from the bar as she finished dancing and worked her way through the room, seeking customers for whatever the traffic would bear. Some legendary dancers had accumulated great wealth by being the object of desire of wealthy merchants, at least in Keshian lore.
Those stories originated in the great pleasure palaces of the city
of Kesh, where nobility and wealthy commoners would
mingle and the most beautiful courtesans in the Empire lived in
luxury, and where jaded men of immeasurable riches would ignore
them too long for dancers they could not have. It was almost poetic, thought James; and almost certainly completely baseless romance. In his experience, women of any type in these places had a price. Still, the tales persisted of dancers who held sway over rich men without ever having to surrender to their desires.
This one, however, was obviously not one of those girls. James thought that had fate been different, she might have aspired to much: she still had a fresh quality, a liveliness that was unusual in this calling. She was flirtatious and smiled a great deal, and James imagined that her Kingdom background would be inviting to those eager to sample more exotic wares, especially with that clear skin and luxuriant hair. After a few years in the taverns, most girls lacked both these traits, concealing the damage of too much drink, smoke, and drugs under a heavy application of cosmetics and hair colouring. They had a listless indifference to their surroundings and daily existence that stood in stark contrast to this vivacious girl. James hoped she understood she was at her peak and needed to take advantage of it while it lasted.
She reached his side and smiled brightly: then her smile turned quizzical. ‘If you’re a desert man, I’m a tree frog.’
‘One doesn’t need be from the desert to know how to dress for it,’ James answered neutrally.
‘A traveller, then,’ she observed.
‘As are you. Kingdom?’
She nodded. ‘By birth.’
‘Here?’ he asked, with all that question implied.
She laughed. ‘Not by choice, I promise you.’
He inclined his head. ‘You are unusual.’
‘Followed my man here, which was stupid.’
‘I think I’ve heard this tale before,’ said James with a rueful smile.
‘Self-styled trader. Had a partner in Krondor. Landed here and made all manner of deals, then the partner neglected to send any of the goods promised. I woke up one morning alone, about two months ago, and haven’t seen him since. I suspect he’s either dead or chatting up another foolish girl in a distant city.’
James nodded. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty winters, and too old to be here.’
He grinned. ‘Hardly. You’re one of the most attractive dancers I’ve seen.’
She cocked her head. ‘You looking for some private company?’
James considered, then nodded. ‘But not quite yet.’ As a flicker of disappointment crossed her face, he opened his belt-purse and took out two silver coins. When he slid them across the table she scooped them up and secreted them about her before he could add, ‘I may want the night.’
She brightened at that. ‘Handsome young man like you, that’s not a task.’ Then her face took on a reflective look. ‘Fact is, you don’t strike me as a regular in these sorts of places.’
He laughed. ‘I could surprise you.’ Standing up, he added, ‘Let’s say that lodgings where no one is looking are sometimes useful.’
She nodded.
‘What’s your name?’
She glanced around the room to see who she might approach next, then said, ‘They call me “Jade” because I favour green.’ She leaned forward and said, ‘Truth is, I have only one other costume, and it’s also green. My name is Gina.’
He laughed. ‘Quegan name.’
‘My grandparents, but I was born in Sarth, then lived in Krondor. What’s your name?’
He smiled. ‘Call me . . . Jim.’ He inclined his head. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘I hope you will,’ she said, turning and walking away.
He admired the view as she moved away. He most certainly would be back. Spending the night with a beautiful woman was as good a way to hide from Keshian spies as any he could think of, not to mention it took your mind off the harsher aspects of life.
Glancing around the tavern, he picked up his indifferent ale, drained what was left of it, made for the door and vanished into the crowd.
James stretched and yawned as the greying light outside the window heralded the dawn. It was the time of day he loved best if he had managed to get some sleep. It was the time he hated most if he hadn’t, because he knew it was unlikely he’d see a bed for another day. This morning he decided he liked it more than not, even though he was tired. His fatigue was of his own devising and was the result of the most pleasant of diversions.
He saw that Gina had kicked off the blanket during the night and lay exposed for his appreciation. She had a remarkable curve to her back and buttocks that made him consider for a moment staying a little longer in bed, but the practical needs of the day trumped more immediate considerations, and he rolled out of bed.
His clothes lay in a jumble on the floor and he dressed quickly. The previous day’s efforts had been well spent, and were bearing fruit. Gina had turned out to be quite a bit brighter than one might expect of the average tavern dancer, and had few scruples when it came to spying. She didn’t know she was a spy yet, but James would unfold that all in good time.
She would be his first agent in Kesh. Durbin might not be a critical city from the Empire’s point of view, but it was of great interest to the Kingdom in the west, given that it was the Empire’s only port on the Bitter Sea and more trouble came through Durbin than every other port in the Empire combined.
Gina wasn’t educated, but she possessed a street-smart, intuitive ability that could not be taught. James, as Jimmy the Hand, had encountered every woman of low birth you could imagine: thieves, murderers, confidence tricksters, card cheats, whores, shop girls, and drudges. After entering the prince’s service, he had encountered women of high birth, and this much he knew: one woman in ten might have survived being abandoned by an idiot lover in Durbin and emerged as nothing worse than a tavern dancer. Most would either have ended up dead, or as slaves, or at best, as whores trapped in one of the innumerable brothels in this pest hole of a city.
James slapped Gina on her bare rump and she said, ‘What?’ in groggy tones.
‘I have a plan,’ he said lightly.
She sat up and looked at him through puffy, sleepy eyes.
It occurred to him that she might have the most beautifully shaped breasts he had encountered, and over the years the number he had seen was impressive. Defying the distraction, he said, ‘I think we should go into business.’
She looked at him with a narrow gaze, suddenly suspicious. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I reckon you are worth a great deal more than an occasional bed warmer for a merchant or trader and that you can do better than being groped nightly for a fistful of coppers.’