King Pinch (23 page)

"You look terrible, Master Janol! What happened?"

Lissa's compassion was just as Pinch had hoped, and his nervousness faded as she gave him the opportunity to spin his tale. "Thieves -we were set upon by thugs looking for the amulet. Sprite's been stabbed." The half-ling picked up his cue and gave an appropriate groan at this point.

"But you -your clothes-" She stopped, noticing the putrid smell about him for the first time. "And… your appearance."

"A bath and clothes will set me right. I seem to be going through my wardrobe of late." Pinch tried to make light of his own state. Now that he was here, it did not seem such a good idea to reveal the brand that the amulet had given him.

Discretion failed him though, for Sprite blurted, "And his hand -he hurt his hand too, miss."

Pinch gave Sprite one of those glares, and the half-ling could only look drunkenly sheepish as Lissa firmly examined the regulator's burned hand.

"What did this?" she demanded. By her tone, it was clear she already knew the answer. "You've been marked, haven't you?"

"Marked?"

Her soft compassion was replaced by earnest concern. "The amulet -you were holding it?"

Pinch nodded to buy a little time to create an embellishment to his story. "When the thieves jumped us, I sought to protect it. I was sure they meant to steal it, so I held it in my hand."

"And?"

"I don't know. It flared in a brilliant burst of light -"

"Killed them outright it did!" The halfling blurted out the fabrication to corroborate his leader's tale. Unfortunately, at that same moment, Pinch finished with " -and scared them away."

"Killed them or scared them?" Lissa asked suspiciously. It was clear there was more to this than she was being told.

"Scared them," Sprite hastily corrected.

"Both," Pinch expanded, though once again tripped up by his companion. The regulator gave Sprite another look to shut up. "Some were… killed and the others ran away."

Lissa gave the rogue a hard look. She doesn't believe me, Pinch thought. A better story was needed. "I -"

"Where is the amulet?" She poked at his burned hand and Pinch bit back a wince.

"I have it."

"Give it to me." She held out her hand without even looking up from her inspection.

"There's no cause for worry. I have protected it."

"I have unjustly put you at risk. Please, give me the amulet."

Argument was hopeless, especially here in the center of Lissa's stronghold. Reluctantly Pinch produced the bauble and handed it over to the priestess. Sprite sucked his teeth in unvoiced disappointment.

"Will you see to Sprite now?" the rogue asked pointedly. It was his nature; he couldn't help but set a price for all things.

Lissa took the amulet and hung it around her neck. "Brother Leafcrown will tend to him." She nodded to the elf who waited patiently behind her.

"Ooh, an elf!" Sprite said in mockery of the stereotype of elf-fascinated halflings. The jibe was not lost on the brother, whose expression of benign beneficence soured at the comment.

"As for your hand," Lissa continued as Sprite was led away, "I can heal the pain, but the scar will remain. You have been marked by Lathander."

"What! I'm going to have this brand for the rest of my life -like some common thief," blurted the outraged rogue.

Lissa nodded. "It is the price of calling upon Lathander."

"I didn't call him -or any other god," Pinch snarled, risking blasphemy within the Morninglord's very temple. "The damn thing just happened! I didn't ask for it."

"Nonetheless, it happened," she countered with the absolute resoluteness of one whose faith can only be unquestioned. "Therefore within your heart you must have called upon Lathander's might. How else could you have gotten his mark?"

Pinch stared at his numbed and blackened hand, fearing the scars before his eyes. If he could never use his hand again, that would destroy the only talent he knew. Without a good hand, how could he hope to pick a lock or nip a purse. A one-handed thief was a cripple to be pitied by his companions and mocked by his former prey. This then was the Morninglord's revenge. "Damn the pain!" the rogue bitterly hissed. "Can you make my hand work?"

Lissa hesitated, and that hesitation was not encouraging. "I -don't know. All I can do is try. It is a great honor, you know, to be marked by the Morninglord."

"Wonderful. I'm a prophet now."

"Not like that," Lissa shushed him as she prepared her healing work. "It means that Lathander sees in you something different, something greater than common men. Prophets, sages, bold captains -all of these have borne the mark."

"Greatness -hah! I'm no prophet or king." Pinch's heart was filled with bitterness right now. His world was crumbling around him regardless of what the god saw in his future.

"Nonetheless, Janol, our lord sees something in your future. Perhaps you will be a brave hero someday."

"Why not? I'm no good for anything else right now – thanks to your god."

"Mind your tongue!" Lissa snapped, furious at his casual blasphemy. She grabbed his wrist and twisted his hand palm-up, then made the passes needed to cast the spell. The burn tingled and then the pain subsided. The blackened flesh peeled away to reveal pinkish fresh skin underneath. The brand gleamed pinkish-white like a fresh scar. The pain vanished.

Experimentally Pinch tried to make a fist, but it was to no avail. The best he could do was curl his fingers into a clawlike grip, but the palm was a thick pad that would hardly bend.

"Crap. Your god has ruined me," Pinch moaned, his voice filled with sorrow. He sat staring at his useless hand, bitter salt filling the corners of his eyes. Everything he was, everything he could do, was in his hands. What kind of cutpurse could he be, unable to hold a knife? Would he be a rooftop man unable to hold a rope? Maybe he could take up mugging and beat his victims senseless with this paw -that's all it was good for. He was only half, less than nothing in the eyes of his peers.

"I'm a blighted cripple," he whispered to no one.

His friends let him drink, since there was little they could say to stop him anyway. Sprite patiently poured the blackjacks and picked up the scattered mugs, while

Maeve did her best to soothe Pinch's raging temper. Therin sat back and said nothing, quietly considering the possibilities of this new future.

"It ain't all lost," Sprite said once more as he tipped the jug. "It's not the hand that makes you, Pinch. You're more than just a foin or a verser. Any rogue can do that. It's what you got in your brain pan what makes you special."

"He's right," Therin added softly. "You can retire from the trade, take it easy. Look at the set-up you've got here -staying in a palace, fine food, and servants. All you got to do is sit up there, spot the rich marks, and make plans for others to do."

"It's sound advice," Maeve added, stroking the wounded man's hair.

Pinch grunted and kept his attention fixed on the wine.

"Of course," Therin continued with smooth oiliness, "there'd have to be a new regulator…"

Pinch looked up from his mug. "Like as you?" he snarled.

The Gur let the facade drop. "Like as me than a cripple."

"Cripple! I should have let them hang you in Elturel, bastard! I'm still regulator here and you'll mind it or -"

"Or what?" Therin bellowed back. "Or you'll carve me? Well, have at." The Gur drew two daggers and tossed one onto the table. It clattered among the mugs and pots. The sound was echoed by the scrape of his chair as the younger man stood back from the table and waited, knife casually poised. Sprite and Maeve pulled back, their eyes darting from Pinch to Therin and back again. At the taps, the innkeeper took notice, setting his ash-handled mace close at hand.

"Go ahead. Regulate me."

Pinch clumsily tried to pick up the dagger with his ruined hand but, unable to close his hand around the hilt, the effort was futile. At last he gave up and collapsed back with a fierce glower.

Therin smiled heartlessly, the grown son looking down on his enfeebled father. "You've done me good, Pinch. You've done us all good, but now things have changed. It's come time for a new regulator."

Pinch's lean frame dwindled, perhaps due to the drink or maybe in resignation to the younger man's words. Finally, he unfastened the bulky pouch at his side, shoved aside their drinks, and set it on the table. "I suppose you'll want to deliver this," he growled as he undid the strings and pulled open the bag enough to show the golden glint of their stolen treasures inside. "First task as the new regulator."

"Aye," Therin allowed warily.

"The broker's waiting at the mausoleum. Tell him you're my agent and he'll deal with you."

Therin didn't wait for more but scooped the bag from the table before his old master changed his mind. Maeve looked on in wide-eyed amazement that Pinch had surrendered so readily.

"Go to it. Let's see what kind of regulator you are," the older man sneered.

Sprite sidled close to Pinch's side. "It ain't proper. You can't let him do this to you so easy," he pleaded, but the rogue held up a hand to silence him.

"Go on, do it."

With an uncomfortable swallow, Therin nodded. The ease of his victory unnerved him. There was supposed to have been a battle. He expected Pinch to rise to his challenge, to fight with every trick the old man knew. He was ready for that. He wasn't prepared for this gutless surrender.

The Gur had won, though, and he couldn't show weakness now. He glared at the three, shouldered the bag, spun on his heels, and strode for the door.

When he was two steps from the table and one from a pillar, Therin's dagger, the one he'd left on the table, sang by his ear and drove, point in, to the scarred wood of the beam. The weak sunlight quivered off the blade as it hummed with the force of its throw.

"You'll need a better plan for dealing with a lich than you have with me," Pinch announced darkly as the younger man wheeled about in frightened surprise. The older man sat upright, not nearly as drunk as he was before, his off-hand poised where it had stopped at the end of the throw. Sprite and Maeve had swung around to his side of the table, letting it show where their loyalty -such as it was-lay.

"Lich -you didn't say nothing about no lich." Therin's voice was weakly brave. His face, flushed with temper moments before, was rapidly losing its color to an ashen pale. "What lich?"

"Lich?" Sprite gulped, looking to Pinch. "We been working for a lich?"

"Aye," the old man answered, never once looking away from Therin. With his good hand, he drew another dagger from the scabbard at his wrist. "We're dealing with a lich."

Therin slowly came back to the table and set the bag down. "Maybe I was being a bit hasty, Pinch. It wasn't like a challenge -just a chance for you to live a gentleman's life while we did your dark work for you." The Gur looked desperately to the other two. "It was like that, wasn't it?"

As if joined in a single malicious thought, Sprite and Maeve let him dangle for a bit before answering. A line of sweat trickled down the young man's temple.

"Sure, Pinch," Maeve finally drawled, "he was only thinking about you and your well-being. Can't you see?"

"S'right. I'm sure he's touched with concern," the halfling added with a malicious grin. "Indeed, he even told me yesterday how he was thinking of giving you his share of the swag from this job."

"That's right, Pinch. I think you've earned it." As costly as it was, Therin seized on the halfling's suggestion. The fact that he had almost blundered into trading with a lich had unnerved the man.

The now-undisputed regulator nodded his head. The Gur stifled a sigh of relief. The nod was all he would get, but it was a sign the peace was made -for now.

" 'Tis proper generous of you, Therin," Pinch purred, "but you're building the house before the foundation's set. For there to be shares, we got to collect our fee."

"He's not likely to pay?" Maeve asked.

" 'It' -and it'll want us dead. Me, in particular."

Sprite prodded the goods in the bag. "Just who we dealing with, Pinch? This Cleedis ain't no lich."

Pinch massaged the rough brand on his palm. The drink and facing down Therin made him feel expansive. "Cleedis is just a go-between. Manferic's our real employer."

"Manferic?"

"The late king."

"Wounds!" Sprite sputtered wine all down his chin.

"Is he that vile?" Maeve asked hopefully.

"He's a lich. What do you expect?" Therin pointed out.

"Moreso and worse. I should know; he was my guardian. When I was ten, the peasants on the nobles' estates drew up a list of grievances against their lords. It seemed they were taxed at twice the rate demanded by the crown, old men were executed when they could no longer farm, and young boys were driven by whip into the ranks of the militia. Five of their bravest presented the list to Manferic -"

"And he killed them?"

"Nothing so simple," Pinch corrected. "That would have been almost human. No, he listened to their complaints and promised them action. The next day, while he 'considered' their request, he sent Vargo and Throdus with a detachment of priests to the houses of these five men. They killed the wife in each household and animated the corpse. The next day, Manferic said he would enact reforms -provided the men loved and honored their wives for the rest of their days. Should one of them fail, he would exact his revenge on all the rebels. It did not take long before he had the chance."

Sentimental Maeve let a tear well up in her eye while the other two looked uncomfortably at the floor. "Unnatural monster," muttered Therin. "The Gur know about lords like him -always persecuting our kind, blaming us for their crimes."

"So what's this Cup and Knife got to do with it?" Maeve asked to change the subject. "You told us how they use them to pick a king, but how's that going to help him? He's dead already."

"Won't do him no good at all, since Iron-Biter interfered. The real Cup and Knife are still in the tower. Right, Pinch?"

"No." Pinch looked about the common room. It was deserted at this time of the morning. Even the landlord, seeing there was to be no fight, had gone into the back to tend to the day's chores. As he spoke, the regulator unwrapped the pouch in front of them all. "Like you said, Sprite, Iron-Biter's a fool. Remember that I had two copies of the regalia made?

"Well, when Iron-Biter made me pass over the garbage, he never thought to check for forgeries. All I did was give him the other fake -so he switched fake for fake. Never occurred to him that I had the real ones on me all that time." With that, Pinch finished opening the pouch and drew out four golden, jewel-encrusted pieces. To the trained eyes at the table, the craftsmanship of the goldwork and the deep luster of the stones was readily apparent in the genuine pieces. A collective sigh of greed escaped the three.

Sprite scritched at his curly hair. "Why give it to him, Pinch? We could scamper out and sell this for a good price in Amn or Waterdeep."

"Cleedis found me once. If he did it once, he can do it again -and I don't think Manferic will be as forgiving the next time as he has been now."

"Well, I don't see it. What's he gain from the stuff?" Maeve asked again.

"I'm not sure, but I think he means to control the choosing. Everybody's been saying Cleedis is backing a dead horse -my idiot cousin, Bors. Just suppose, though, that the idiot becomes king. Then Cleedis doesn't look so dumb. It's as certain as Sprite here rolling a rigged bale of dice that if Bors is chosen, Cleedis will name himself regent before anyone can protest."

"Fine for Cleedis, but that doesn't do a thing for Manferic."

"Cleedis is weak. His only strength is his loyalty. Make him regent and he'll be Manferic's lapdog for sure. Until Manferic does him in and takes over directly."

Therin shrugged. "So what's it matter to us if a lich takes the throne here or not?"

"Ever hear tales of Thay?" Maeve warned. Ruled by undying sorcerer-kings, Thay's excesses and cruelties were legendary throughout the Realms and were a particularly sore point with wizards of nearly every stripe.

"We don't," Pinch interrupted. "We don't a care a pizzle for who rules here. All we want is to get out of here alive."

"And rich," Sprite added.

A gloom fell over the group, one of those sullen silences that seems to strangle conversations at regular intervals, this one probably infected by Maeve's sour scowl. Drunkard and scalawag she might be, but she was still a mage and didn't like the notion of liches playing with their unnatural magic.

"Show us how it works, Pinch, this ceremony you were telling us about," Sprite asked in an attempt to lift their dour moods. He hopped up onto his chair and set the genuine artifacts in front of his fellow rogue. "Maybe that'll give us some clue."

The question brought back memories of Pinch's youth, when he was Janol playing with his royal cousins Throdus and Vargo. The two princes used to insist he attend their 'coronations,' so they could make him bow and scrape at appropriate times and lord over him for being outside their blessed circle. They loved playacting the rite, nicking themselves with knives to let a few drops fall into a table goblet while they mouthed all sorts of holy prayers. Of course, each prince would naturally be the chosen heir, and so these little charades usually ended with the young princes rolling on the floor trying to thump the 'impostor' senseless. Pinch had always enjoyed egging them into a fight.

Why not? he decided. There was an irony that appealed to him. Now he could playact with the real thing while his dear cousins would go through the real ceremony with fakes.

The master rogue grinned and rolled up the sleeve on one arm. "As you will, Sprite; I will show you.

"First, there's a whole lot of business that consumes time and makes the whole affair important. Every candidate has to step forward, announce his lineage, something like, 'I am Janol, only son of Sir Gedstad of Alkar.'"

"Sir Gedstad?"

"My father, Maeve, or so I've been told."

"Go on, go on. What happens next?" Sprite eagerly chattered. He propped his chin in his hands and watched intently, always keen on a good story. Even Therin, still hesitant about where he stood, leaned in a little closer.

"So then there's some business from the priests, presenting the Cup and Knife to each candidate. A lot of prayers and the like for blessing the whole thing." Pinch actually managed to remember a few and mumbled them out while making pompous passes over the regalia. Without realizing it, he was letting himself get caught up in the business, letting it distract him from his own woes.