Raymond Feist - Jimmy the Hand

Jimmy the Hand was still less than fourteen years, more or less, and like most youngsters he felt as if he’d live forever. But like most Mockers he’d seen a great deal of death during those years; not enough to grant him a sense of his own mortality, but enough to teach him caution.

It was all Jimmy could do to force himself back into the half-collapsed tunnel and up the shaft that led into the main cell of Krondor’s dungeon. He’d spent most of his young life wandering reeking sewers and stinking alleyways so he was used to the stench and the velvet-deep darkness. But if a smell could be terrifying, this was. The stink seemed to creep up on him. It had hair and teeth and mean little eyes, it had a personality all of its own, a very bad personality that bore down on his spirit with an almost physical weight. But by telling himself that he’d never have to do this again Jimmy was able to meet the challenge. Tying the vinegar-soaked rag over his face, he put the bundle of rags and bottle of vinegar into his shirt for the others. He knew a fit of retching on the way down might land someone at the bottom of the shaft a lot faster and in much worse shape than they needed to be. Not that the vinegar smell helped a lot, but anything was better than a bare face here.

He pulled on some gloves, slung the knotted rope across his chest and began climbing.

It went faster this time because he knew what to expect, but his prayers to Ruthia were no less fervent. Once he reached the blockage he braced his feet and shoulders against the walls of the shaft, pulled off one glove, worked the tiny bottle from the pouch tied to his belt and broke the lead seal with his fingernail. Then he looked for a place to spill out the invisible drop.

The mortar just above him was quite smooth and Jimmy remembered Asher’s warning not to get the stuff on himself. Higher up, as though the mason was getting bored with the job or finding it harder to reach with his trowel, the work was messier, with little shelves and projections of cement making a good spot for the spell to be poured. But that meant pushing his arm and shoulder up close against that slimy hole. The very idea sent a surge of nausea through him, so he took a few slow, deep breaths, forcing himself to ignore the Smell and focused his mind on the goal.

Free the Mockers. Become famous. All the girls will admire you … once you’ve taken a bath.

Gradually his stomach calmed itself.

Part of the problem was that he still hadn’t been able to see anything in the bottle and his faith in the drunken magician wasn’t all that strong, in spite of what he’d said to Larry. He was more afraid they might fail than that they’d be caught and hanged.

‘Do it,’ he grumbled, gritting his teeth. As he’d said himself, it wasn’t as if there was anything better available.

Jimmy bit his lips and thrust his arm into the hole, aiming for a large projection he thought he could reach, but aiming blind since his arm cut off what little light filtered down from the cell above.

Dear Ruthia , he prayed, please don’t let me get this on myself. He braced his shoulders hard against the wall, quickly pulled the tiny stopper from the small vial, and tilted it away from his left hand, pressing the open mouth of the container against the mortar. He held it motionless for a long count of seconds, wondering how he was supposed to tell when the vial was empty. Finally, he assumed it had to be.

It was done, except for the waiting to see if the spell would work. He held his breath, pressed himself against the sides of the shaft walls, wondering what to expect.

He missed the first few grains of falling mortar but then a stone fell, hitting him on the thigh. It hadn’t occurred to him that there would be falling stones; then he remembered the iron grate above and hurriedly climbed back down again, some little part of him wailing in discontent. He’d have to go up again after all.

In less than a minute the heavy iron grate that had covered the shaft fell down with a crash on top of the dislodged stones and the heap of sand that had once been sturdy mortar.

Jimmy noted a cracked stone beneath it and blew out a relieved breath. Then he re-wet the rag he pulled over his mouth and nose with vinegar, rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles and began climbing again. He found a ring of faces waiting for him when he got to the top and hands reached out to pull him up. He blinked for a moment; even the twilight dimness of the big cell seemed bright, after the passageways below. Feet rustled in the damp straw that covered the floor, and he could feel more than see the inmates gathering around him.

‘Jimmy!’

That was Flora’s voice; she elbowed her way through the crush and embraced him, recoiling instantly, her eyes wide, her pretty mouth contorted into a rictus of disgust. Considering the condition of the dungeon and its inhabitants, that said a great deal.

‘I know,’ he apologized quietly. ‘Quiet, unless you want the guards here! The smell can’t be helped.’ He pulled out the bundle of rags and the vinegar. ‘This will cut the smell, but it’s the only way out we could find.’

‘I can’t get down there,’ a legless beggar said.

‘Get down where?’ asked one of the blind ones.

‘Anyone who needs help getting down we can lower them with this rope,’ Jimmy said.

He slung it off and looked around for something to anchor it to, settling on the bars of the cell. He glanced anxiously out into the dim corridor but saw no one.

Good. If the excitement caused by his arrival hadn’t brought the guards running they were probably safe. At least for now. But then, why pay attention to a dungeon with no exit?

‘Why are you doing this?’ Flora asked him in a whisper. She smiled and shook her head, clearly embarrassed for him. ‘They aren’t going to keep us in here forever, you know.’

‘No they’re not,’ Jimmy said grimly. ‘Tomorrow or the next day they’re planning to hang the lot of you girls, and the beggars get fifty lashes apiece.’

Flora stared at him in horror. ‘What for?’ she asked. ‘What are we supposed to have done?’

‘Only what you’ve always done,’ he told her. ‘It’s just they changed the law.’

She closed her mouth and her eyes grew cool. ‘Because of the Princess,’ she said.

‘Or just because del Garza’s crazy,’ Jimmy said with a grin. ‘Doesn’t matter. In a few minutes there’ll be nobody left for him to hang. Unless he wants to hang his own guards for letting you go.’

She returned his smile slowly, a wicked glint growing in her eyes.

‘Well, then. Let’s get to work, shall we?’

Once they heard the news, the other Mockers and even the few strangers pitched in eagerly. When the rope was tied firmly, Jimmy said, ‘As soon as you get to the sewers, scatter. Don’t wait around, unless you’re helping those who can’t get away alone. By the time I get down last, I want you all gone. Make your way as best you can to your flops or back to Mocker’s Rest, but be careful. Once they find you all gone, things in the city are going to get even worse for a while.’ Jimmy sent Gerald, Larry the Ear’s young brother, down first. Mostly to soothe Larry’s fears, partly to show the girls and everyone else how easy the climb was. Except for the Smell. Wisely, he didn’t dwell on that part. And once the escapees encountered it they certainly weren’t going to climb back up, although if they’d known what was facing them some of them might have preferred hanging.

Finally it was just Jimmy and Flora. He turned to her with an excited grin.

‘There’s something I want to do before I go.’ Flora looked puzzled, but nodded for him to go on. ‘Rumours are flying that del Garza put Prince Erland in the dungeon. Do you have any idea where they’d keep him?’ he asked.