Raymond Feist - Jimmy the Hand

‘And we don’t know if he’s the Prince,’ Jimmy said grimly.

‘Who are you children?’ the man whispered, and he opened his fever-bright eyes upon them.

Then he coughed, long and hard, curling into himself until the spasm passed, his face contorted with pain. When it was over he lay back with a careful sigh. His two would-be rescuers watched him with wincing sympathy that turned to solemn looks when he opened his eyes again.

‘Well?’

‘We’re Mockers,’ Jimmy said. ‘Who are you?’

The man formed the word Mockers with his lips, but didn’t say it. Then he grinned, a truly terrible expression on his pale and wasted features. ‘I,’ he said breathlessly, carefully separating his words, ‘am Prince Erland of Krondor.’

They could see the pride in the man, even under these sordid conditions.

‘Have you got anything to drink?’ Flora asked. ‘His lips are so dry.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘I’ll check the guard.’

He was back in a moment and handing a flask to Flora.

‘I think it’s wine,’ he said.

Flora lifted the Prince’s head and brought the flask to his lips.

‘Thank you,’ Erland said after a long drink. He raised his brows. ‘That was rather good, and I haven’t had anything since they moved me down here this morning.’

It might have been his imagination but it seemed to Jimmy that the Prince’s colour was better. Erland indicated that he would like more and Flora gave it to him.

‘We’ve come to get you out of here, uh, your highness,’ Jimmy said. At least he thought highness was the right thing to call him. He was pretty sure that your majesty was totally wrong.

But the Prince shook his head. ‘There’s little point.’ He smiled at them. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, young Mockers. But,’ he paused to catch his breath, ‘I will not live much longer.’ He cleared his throat and the fear that he might cough was in his eyes. When no such fit took place he continued speaking. ‘I have been ill for a long time, and I am tired. Putting me here will only hasten my death, but death is coming, no matter where I am.’ He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. ‘The priests and chirurgeons have done all they can, but there is a sickness inside my lungs that is slowly eating away at me.’ His face was so drawn and pale, Jimmy would have thought him confined for years, not hours, so he judged the Prince a man very much close to death. ‘Much too tired to make the effort to escape. But you should.’ He smiled at them.

Jimmy knew the Prince was right for somehow he could see the man’s death in his worn face.

‘Your wife!’ Flora said. ‘We could help her escape.’

‘She’s under guard up in our apartment,’ Erland said. ‘You could never reach her.’ He took a long, slow breath, trying to avoid another coughing fit. ‘Del Garza ordered me put here when my daughter fled the castle. She’s hiding somewhere in the city. He thinks that by threatening me with a cold death, she’ll return without him tearing apart the city and starting a civil riot.’

‘No, sir,’ said Jimmy. ‘She’s not in the city. She’s three days or more gone by ship to Crydee, with Prince Arutha.’

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