concoction whose composition was taught to me by Brother Regis at the abbey outside Shamata. Mostly tallow with a healthy dose of sulphur and a bit of willowbark ground fine, some crushed moonflower seeds, and a bit of henbane to stop the pain.’
‘It stinks like a sewer, and I know sewers.’
‘As I well know, Jimmy the Hand.’ He started applying the ointment, dabbing it over each puncture.
‘Jimmy the Hand?’
Eli laughed. ‘A young noble from Krondor by the name of James comes skulking around asking about dark subjects, and you don’t think my curiosity is piqued? I appreciated the ale, lad, but also was wondering what you were doing here, so I had one of my acolytes watching you at the Jade Monkey. Every night, he says, this young court knight from Krondor comes skulking out of his window, drops down from the roof, and off he goes. Then he runs across rooftops, jumping from there to here and back. He lies down and watches, waiting, for what?
‘Then two nights back my boy says four riders come back all dressed in black with hooves muffled and gear tied in rags, and all stealthy-like they ride out of the city, and our young lord from Krondor is watching them like a hawk.’ Eli slapped James lightly on the shoulder. ‘Put on your tunic, lad. The stink will fade.’
‘Good, because right now you can smell me coming a block away.’ James sat up and put on his tunic. Moving his shoulders, he said, ‘Thank you, Brother Eli. The wounds do feel better.’
The monk put away the jar and continued, ‘So I’m thinking to myself, those must be assassins, those four riders. And while Durbin may be the most miserable hive of miscreants in the Empire, we are still the doorway to the Bitter Sea, and traders and travellers and sailors come through every day from all parts of the Western Realm. And you know what they bring?’
James shook his head with a slight smile.
‘Stories,’ answered the monk. ‘They bring tales of a boy-thief who saved the Prince of Krondor from the Nighthawks and was taken into his court. Oh, not all at once, you know. A bit here and a bit there, and not a few Mockers have wandered into my shrine over the years. You piece this bit and that bit together and after a while you have a story, don’t you?’
He sat down next to James and grinned. ‘Besides, if my master has a favourite, it has to be you, young sir.’
‘I’d like to think so,’ said James. ‘But he can be a difficult patron at times.’
‘Isn’t that the truth?’ said Eli. ‘The Trickster has his place in the scheme of things, you know. He’s a bit of a rogue and most of those visiting my shrine are ne’er-do-wells embarking on a caper, or those who fear thieves and mountebanks; but in the end, they’re all asking for his protection.’
James chuckled. ‘The bookie who gets his cut if he wins or loses, right?’
‘Something like that.’ The monk’s tone turned serious. ‘There are things coming, my young friend. Perhaps not in my lifetime, perhaps not even in yours, but some day things are coming that will threaten the very existence of life as we know it, and when that day arrives the best any of us can hope for is to be ready to confront the thing we fear the most.’
‘Which is?’
‘Ourselves, young Lord James.’
James smiled. ‘Not a lord . . . yet,’ he added with a wry twist. ‘One day perhaps, but for the moment it’s Sir James, or if you like, Jimmy.’
Putting his hand on James’s shoulder, Eli said, ‘Well, Jimmy, your reputation precedes you. So if all you need is my help in removing a few splinters, you’ve got it. If you have secrets to keep, that is your right. But if I can be of further service . . .’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You were asking a lot of questions about demons the other day.’
‘I have my reasons,’ replied James.
‘I have no doubt,’ said Brother Eli. ‘I have learned years ago that my master is among the most difficult of gods to serve, as he’s an
‘It stinks like a sewer, and I know sewers.’
‘As I well know, Jimmy the Hand.’ He started applying the ointment, dabbing it over each puncture.
‘Jimmy the Hand?’
Eli laughed. ‘A young noble from Krondor by the name of James comes skulking around asking about dark subjects, and you don’t think my curiosity is piqued? I appreciated the ale, lad, but also was wondering what you were doing here, so I had one of my acolytes watching you at the Jade Monkey. Every night, he says, this young court knight from Krondor comes skulking out of his window, drops down from the roof, and off he goes. Then he runs across rooftops, jumping from there to here and back. He lies down and watches, waiting, for what?
‘Then two nights back my boy says four riders come back all dressed in black with hooves muffled and gear tied in rags, and all stealthy-like they ride out of the city, and our young lord from Krondor is watching them like a hawk.’ Eli slapped James lightly on the shoulder. ‘Put on your tunic, lad. The stink will fade.’
‘Good, because right now you can smell me coming a block away.’ James sat up and put on his tunic. Moving his shoulders, he said, ‘Thank you, Brother Eli. The wounds do feel better.’
The monk put away the jar and continued, ‘So I’m thinking to myself, those must be assassins, those four riders. And while Durbin may be the most miserable hive of miscreants in the Empire, we are still the doorway to the Bitter Sea, and traders and travellers and sailors come through every day from all parts of the Western Realm. And you know what they bring?’
James shook his head with a slight smile.
‘Stories,’ answered the monk. ‘They bring tales of a boy-thief who saved the Prince of Krondor from the Nighthawks and was taken into his court. Oh, not all at once, you know. A bit here and a bit there, and not a few Mockers have wandered into my shrine over the years. You piece this bit and that bit together and after a while you have a story, don’t you?’
He sat down next to James and grinned. ‘Besides, if my master has a favourite, it has to be you, young sir.’
‘I’d like to think so,’ said James. ‘But he can be a difficult patron at times.’
‘Isn’t that the truth?’ said Eli. ‘The Trickster has his place in the scheme of things, you know. He’s a bit of a rogue and most of those visiting my shrine are ne’er-do-wells embarking on a caper, or those who fear thieves and mountebanks; but in the end, they’re all asking for his protection.’
James chuckled. ‘The bookie who gets his cut if he wins or loses, right?’
‘Something like that.’ The monk’s tone turned serious. ‘There are things coming, my young friend. Perhaps not in my lifetime, perhaps not even in yours, but some day things are coming that will threaten the very existence of life as we know it, and when that day arrives the best any of us can hope for is to be ready to confront the thing we fear the most.’
‘Which is?’
‘Ourselves, young Lord James.’
James smiled. ‘Not a lord . . . yet,’ he added with a wry twist. ‘One day perhaps, but for the moment it’s Sir James, or if you like, Jimmy.’
Putting his hand on James’s shoulder, Eli said, ‘Well, Jimmy, your reputation precedes you. So if all you need is my help in removing a few splinters, you’ve got it. If you have secrets to keep, that is your right. But if I can be of further service . . .’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You were asking a lot of questions about demons the other day.’
‘I have my reasons,’ replied James.
‘I have no doubt,’ said Brother Eli. ‘I have learned years ago that my master is among the most difficult of gods to serve, as he’s an
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