Текст книги "The Broken Bell"

Автор книги: Frank Tuttle

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“I hope you’re right.”

“My problem. My worry. Let’s use whatever you’ve got to pry the bastard’s mouth open. I think he knows who’s got Carris.”

“I still think you should stay out of this as long as possible. You’re in a position to see things, hear things. Some of them might help bring Carris home. After that…”

I shrugged. Pratt was a grown man. If he felt like taking Lethway’s wife and slapping his face on the way out the door, that was his decision to make.

“Lethway. He has a woman.”

“On the side?”

He nodded and swallowed. He’d crossed the line, and he knew it and some of his bravado was fading.

“She has a place on Galt. He goes there twice a month. Before, they dine at a fancy place on Killjay.”

“The Banner?”

He nodded. “First Tuesday of the month. Last Friday. Never misses a date. Bastard.”

I counted days in my head.

“So they’ll be dining at the Banner tomorrow night?”

“Seven sharp. You thinking about making it a threesome?”

I grinned. “I might. He can’t have my head cut off between courses. Wait. Does he own the place?”

“Nope. They don’t even like him. He’s a lousy tipper.”

Wheels began to turn.

“I can be nearby, if you want.”

“Do you usually go?”

“No. Guess he’d rather I not see him and her together. He’ll have Rupert and Guinness. They’ll be a couple of tables over. Rupert carries a pair of long knives. Guinness prefers his fists.”

“Sounds like I can say my piece and get out alive.”

“You can, if you’re half as good as you think you are.”

“Ha. All right. Seven, the Banner, tomorrow night. If you can get away after Curfew, swing by my place on Cambrit. I’ll tell you all about it.”

He nodded. We’d passed Lethway’s offices. Pratt was sweating, and it wasn’t from the heat.

“I’ll make the block. You can get out around the corner.”

He stuck out his hand.

“However this goes, finder, I thank you.”

I shook it. “Let’s bring Carris home.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow night, then.” And with that, he was gone.

I didn’t wave, and he didn’t look back. I hoped Lethway was as disinterested as Pratt seemed to think. In my experience, the rich take more than a passing interest in anything and everyone around them that has the potential to separate them from their money, and Pratt fit that description.

“Where too?” called the cabman.

“Back to the Barracks,” I replied. Time to see if Darla’s charms lingered sufficiently to allow crusty old Sergeant Burris to bend a few rules.

I had a suspicion Darla’s big brown eyes would do precisely that. Pratt and Mrs. Lethway. Burris and my Darla. Hell, me and my Darla.

Angels, what fools these mortals be.

Chapter Fifteen

Pratt’s stolen letter wasn’t as much help as I’d hoped.

There was the usual cavalcade of threats, accompanied by graphic descriptions of what Carris would suffer unless their demands were met. The ear was mentioned, and it was noted that the next delivery would be a foot. Then a hand.

What didn’t appear was a demand for money. Instead, there were two pages of questions, festooned with mining jargon. How many raw tonnes of coal is your North End refinery consuming per week, for the last ten weeks? What was last month’s intake of sulfur, in standard wagons, among all ironworks inside Rannit? How many tonnes of raw iron ore did you ship via the Brown in the past six weeks?

There were also queries about carbon and sand. The whole mess was more industrial small talk than ransom demand. I couldn’t see where withholding it was worth watching your kid dismembered.

Industrial espionage by a competitor? Maybe, I decided. But why not take the time-honored route of dropping a few crowns in front of clerks or shipping managers?

Why not just watch wagons come and go and count them yourself?

I lapsed into a snooze well before we reached the Barracks. That was getting to be a bad habit.

The smell of smoke awakened me, though, blocks from the site.

I felt the carriage slow. Whistles blew. The smoke began to billow up, the single column becoming two columns and then three before merging into a single monstrous shaft of smoke that rose up to blot out the sun.

A pair of fire-wagons charged past, horses frothing and straining, water sloshing over the sides. Another pair of fire-wagons rushed past.

Ashes began to rain down. The day was still and calm. People looked toward their roofs, fearful that a spark would set their shakes alight. Blankets began to appear, and buckets of water, and men hauling ladders and shouting.

My driver pulled to the curb to let another pair of fire-wagons race past.

It was only then that I began to recognize the ashes that fell for what they were-scraps of old paper, yellowed to a familiar shade.

I stuck my head out the window. “You. Kid. What’s on fire?”

The youngster looked up at me. “The old Barracks. Every building afire, what I hear. Likely lose the whole block.”

The kid charged off.

“I’ll see how far we can get,” said my driver. The ponies were already snuffling nervously and stamping. The smoke was getting thicker by the moment. “But if we’re going to try, it needs to be now.”

“Get as far as you can. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

He nodded. “Not going to be much left,” he said.

I pulled my head back inside. The ponies reluctantly trotted forward, daring the stream of traffic rushing away from the inferno.

We made it another two blocks before the smoke and the hot rushing air left the ponies unwilling to take another step. I wrapped a handkerchief around my mouth and bade the driver to get out of the smoke. Then I made my way to the Barracks, coughing and stumbling, knowing too well what I would find.

And find it I did. The Barracks were lost. The flames towered and the mere heat of the blaze touched off fires a block in every direction. Some of them burned for three days. Of the Barracks, nothing would be left. Even the massive cornerstones cracked from the heat.

I got there just as they dragged Master Sergeant Burris out into the street. I only recognized him because his brass sergeant’s stripes and campaign ribbons were still intact. He’d collapsed just outside the Building Two, according to the Watch, and the heat that kept them back burned Sergeant Burris to a crisp.

Beneath him, still clutched in his charred hands, was a thick leather binder stuffed with papers. A Watchman rifled through them, shrugged, and dropped the binder on the ground.

I noticed something the Watch didn’t-the sergeant’s sword wasn’t in his scabbard, and he was missing two fingers on his right hand.

Maybe the Sergeant had dropped his sword on his way out. Maybe he’d been polishing it when he first smelled smoke. Maybe he lost the fingers when a burning beam fell on his hand.

And maybe, I thought, he hadn’t.

I left the Sergeant there, lying uncovered on the ground, as firemen and Watchmen stepped over his corpse.

When the Watch bellowed for me to leave, the Sergeant’s leather binder was under my arm. If anyone saw me take it they didn’t give a damn.

I thanked the Sergeant briefly, between fits of coughing, and then I put the heat to my back and stumbled away from the flames.

The smoke got so thick it nearly choked me, and it did manage to blind me. I would never have found my carriage had the driver not come looking for me, and I’d never have made it inside had he not shoved my ass in.

I told him to head for Darla’s. Her house, not the shop. It couldn’t be good for business to have soot-stained finders coughing and hacking all over the fabric. I was hoping she’d pop home for lunch as I knew she often did, and by that time I ought to have coughed my lungs clear again.

I sent the carriage home, and I sat on her tiny porch and watched a pair of bluebirds build a nest in the little house she’d hung out for them. When my eyes quit burning I opened the binder and leafed through the papers, but all I saw were rows of cryptic abbreviations and columns of numbers that might have been crowns or counts of Troll toenails, for all I could tell.

I hoped Darla would see more. Because if she didn’t, Master Sergeant Burris had died for nothing.

Traffic on Darla’s quiet street picked up. Snatches of conversation drifted my way. War, and rumors of war. The columns of smoke from the Barracks were easily visible, even from that distance, and I saw more than one person point and heard more than one person wonder if the smoke was the first sign of the coming invasion.

Even the ogres that passed through had their hackles up. By the time I spied Darla walking briskly down the sidewalk toward home, I’d witnessed half a dozen people trying to decide whether to flee their homes or start boarding up the cellars.

The peace, I reflected, was well and truly dead.

Darla saw me and waved. I forced a smile and waved back and lifted my butt off her steps, but I didn’t fool her, even for an instant. Her smiled died on her lips and she broke into a run and within moments she caught me up in a fierce hug and then pulled back, eyeing me for fresh holes or broken bones, I suppose.

“You’ve been to the fire.”

“I have. Got there too late. You heard it was the Barracks?”

She pulled herself close again.

“I heard. I hoped it wasn’t true. Sergeant Burris?”

I shook my head. She didn’t see, but she felt it, and she began to cry.

“Because we were there?”

“I don’t know.” I knew in my heart that wasn’t true. But some lies are worth the telling. “The Sergeant. He got out. Almost. He was holding a binder. I have it. On your porch.”

It took her a moment to speak. “Have you looked at it?”

“I have. Numbers, letters. Didn’t make any sense.”

“He died holding it?”

“He did. Maybe it was just in his hand when the fire broke out. But, hon, if it wasn’t-do you think you’ll be able to tell me what it was?”

“I’ll try.” She gripped me fierce and tight. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Someone afraid of their past. Or maybe a candle fell over. We can’t know which, just yet.”

“Liar.” She wiped her eyes on my sleeve and looked up at me. “He was such a nice man.”

“He was. But the place was a fire, waiting for a spark. I promise you, Darla, if someone did murder him, I’ll see that they pay.”

She nodded, swallowed, pulled away and wiped away her tears. People rushed by on the street. I caught the word war spoken several times, and I know she did too. Her gaze fell on the binder.

“Let’s have a look, then,” she said. “I’ll make us some tea.”

I kissed her then, for no damned reason at all.

Watching Darla work is one of my favorite pastimes.

She chews on pencils. She musses her hair. She paces and glares. She tacks papers up on the wall and writes on them, moves them around, rips them down and tosses them away when they fail to amuse.

I helped by drinking beer and keeping my mouth shut. I tried to follow what she was doing, but she kept to her accountant’s shorthand and I know it like I know Mama’s squiggly hex signs.

Three beers. That’s what it took for her to run out of ledger entries. She rearranged her wall of papers, crossed out things, drew lines between others. Then she stood back, sagged a bit and dropped her pencil.

“There it is.”

I nodded agreeably. “It’s a beauty, all right.”

She rubbed her eyes. “There were three of them, darling of mine. The Colonel. The cook. And a Lieutenant with the initials S.J.”

“Three of them.” I was not smiling. “That complicates matters.”

Especially since Fields had never mentioned a third party.

“Tamar’s father probably didn’t even know about S.J.,” said Darla, reading my mind. Again. “Looks like he came in late. Probably demanded that the Colonel deal him in.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Evis.”

She laughed. “I’m certainly associating with a rough element these days.” She slipped into my arms. “Fortunately, I have you to protect my virtue.”

I was searching for a comeback when there came a knocking at Darla’s door. She frowned. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

“Mr. Markhat? Is there a Markhat here? Hello?”

I let go of her.

“Never heard of him. Who are you?”

“Evis Prestley sent me. My name is Barlow. I have a message. And a carriage too.”

I crossed Darla’s living room and peeked through her lace-curtained windows.

A black Avalante carriage was parked at the curb. A smiling young man in Avalante black stood at her door. He didn’t see me, but he did push his Avalante lapel pin forward just in case I was peeking through the curtains.

His hands were empty. He didn’t have half a dozen bowmen at his back.

“I just remembered. I’m Markhat. Be right out.”

“I’ll wait by the curb.”

Darla sighed. “My virtue is safe once again. Hurrah.”

“Not for long.” I eyed her wall of papers. “Better take that down, hon. In fact-maybe I’d better take it with me.”

“Oh, no. I’m keeping it. Now scoot. Evis wouldn’t have sent a man here if it wasn’t important.”

“At least take it down? Lock your door. Keep it locked.”

“I’m staying with Mary tonight. She’s upset with all the War talk. You could give me a ride.”

“I could indeed. Packed yet?”

“I keep a bag ready.” She darted into her bedroom, popped out an instant later, bag in hand. She snatched her papers off her wall and shoved them down beside her unmentionables.

We left, locking her door behind us before dashing into the wild-eyed crowd lining the street.

I dropped Darla off at Mary’s and saw her to the door. Mary lives in a tiny walk-up in a New People neighborhood not far from my old friends the Hoobins. Mary’s four brothers live next door. They aren’t quite as large as the Hoobins, but unless a trio of ogres showed up looking for Darla I was sure Mary’s siblings could fight off just about anyone who offered their sister or her houseguests harm.

Darla couldn’t have picked a safer place to spend the night. Unless of course it was on a boat headed out of Rannit.

As my carriage wove its way toward Avalante, I watched and listened. What had been conversation and concern yesterday was rapidly building into the panic the Regency sought to avoid by suppressing news of the coming troubles. I saw cabs and carriages packed high with chests and trunks and kids and grannies. People were heading out, fearing Rannit’s fall under siege even if the old walls held.

I couldn’t really blame the people who decided to run. It took the Trolls eight weeks to breach Right Lamb’s defenses. We’d run out of food in five weeks. If it hadn’t rained the last two we’d have died of thirst. I slept with Petey tucked under my arm for fear he might be eaten despite the Army’s ban on anyone but me touching my tunnel dog.

A few minutes of memories from Right Lamb, and I was nearly ready to head for the hills myself.

Instead, I remembered Evis’s note, so I pulled it out and read it and cussed so loud the driver pulled to the curb.

“What’s that, sir?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Dammit.”

“Huh?”

I crumpled the note and threw it out the window. “Forget Avalante. Take me home. To Cambrit.”

“Cambrit, yes, sir.”

And with that, we were off.

I fumed and scowled. Damn you, Evis.

The Regencywas underway, headed north to blow the bluffs. Evis was aboard, despite his earlier pronouncement that he would do no such thing. Accompanying him was Gertriss and Buttercup. And of course enough unstable gunpowder to blow a pair of cliffs to gravel.

Evis had written that the Regencywas ready sooner than expected, and he saw no need to delay. He’d invited Gertriss along rather than leave her alone in the House, and of course that meant Buttercup was aboard the warship as well. His tone seemed to indicate they’d popped out for biscuits and tea.

All that laughing and giggling. Hell, Evis had probably cooked the whole thing up last night, and Gertriss was only too happy to go along.

I was to expect routine dispatches, starting tonight, which I could pick up at Avalante at my convenience. Important ones would be sent via courier to my office. I assumed that Avalante would be using some sorcerous device to communicate with the Regency, although Granny Knot’s trained pigeons seemed to work about as well.

One day soon, I decided, I was going to need to teach everyone around me a lasting lesson in manners.

Here and there I passed shops with boarded windows and hastily lettered CLOSED signs hung carelessly on the doors. Every corner sported a kid hawking handbills and the attendant tight-lipped crowds. I saw the Watch swoop down on a couple of barkers, but they simply dumped their handbills and vanished.

I stopped and grabbed a handbill myself. RANNIT TO FALL TO INVADERS, it announced, emphasizing its point with a crude rendition of the High House and the Big Bell consumed by leaping flames. OLD KINGDOM KING SEEKS TO REGAIN THRONE.

I crumpled it up and tossed it out the window. As if the man calling himself King was any more the cause behind this than myself, or old Mr. Bull.

We rounded the corner on Cambrit. I sat up and peeked out my window, hoping to find my poor door intact and unmolested.

It was intact, but it wasn’t alone. A big man leaned against it, and two of his big-boned friends helped him idle by squatting on either side of him. Their clothes were ragged and filthy, right out of Pot Lockney.

I cussed, sighed and bade the driver to keep going. If I was forced to fight my way to my icebox and its heavenly stash of beer, I needed reinforcements, and I knew a man who owed me a favor.

We walked all the way back to my place. I wasn’t in favor of it, but Grist insisted, claiming exercise left him sharp and invigorated.

I’d shrugged, half-hoping the trio of bumpkins might have given up and gone by the time we arrived at my office.

They hadn’t. Maybe it was the hex that brought them to their feet when Grist and I drew near. Maybe they’d sneaked around enough to see me from a distance and recognize me. Maybe they knew trouble was coming.

Too bad they didn’t know what kind of trouble.

Three big strong country boys. It took Grist exactly five blows to lay the trio out cold in the street. He took a single blow to his chin, which had all the apparent effect of a tap from a feather pillow.

“You are as good as they say.”

He grinned and nudged the biggest of the three with the toe of his boot. “What you want done with these?”

A small crowd was gathering. Flowers was among them. I flipped him a copper and bade him fetch the Watch.

“Leave ’em. The Watch can haul them off when they come around. If they get up and try to make tracks before that, put them back to sleep.”

“You’re the boss.”

I nodded. Hell, he’d not even drawn a deep breath. I made a mental note to never cross Mills. My stunt with the bricks wouldn’t work a second time.

I unlocked my door, peeped inside and saw the band of flour across my threshold was undisturbed. The stink of the hex was strong, but I decided it was all from the trio snoozing in the street, so I opened the door and stepped inside.

No one leaped atop me. No ballista threw from the shadows behind my desk. I went into the back and checked my tiny closet and peeked beneath my lonely bed. Aside from an ancient hairball hacked up by Three-leg in the prehistoric mists of time, I was alone.

So I did what all good officers do on the eve of war.

I put my feet on my desk and closed my eyes, and I slept, good and hard.

The Watch came and collected my new friends and left without bothering to wake me. Mills signed the complaint and that was that.

That bought me an extra couple of hours of sleep. I needed it, even though getting it made me miss the chance to head down to the Old Ruth and pester the new batch of hillbillies with questions they probably couldn’t answer anyway.

Judging from the dark and the quiet outside, I figured I had maybe three hours before Curfew. My first thought was to head up to Avalante to see Evis and Gertriss, and my second was to cuss when I remembered they were miles out of Rannit by now, steaming against the Brown with a few tons of temperamental gunpowder in tow.

My appointment with Lethway wasn’t until tomorrow night. Darla was safely tucked away with Mary. Tamar was still in hiding.

That left nobody to pester but Tamar’s parents.

I rummaged around in the back for a clean shirt and some socks that didn’t smell like Three-leg. In a fit of nap-fueled verve, I threw my shaving kit and a comb and some of that fancy hair tonic Darla favors into my bathing kit as well.

I gathered it all up and called Mills inside and laid out the night. He nodded and asked a question or two and was generally the very model of the highly paid employee.

He waited outside the bathhouse while I bathed. He sat across from me in the cab when we left. His eyes never closed, never stopped moving. He reminded me of me-a few years and a dozen centuries ago.

Had I really gotten that soft?

I didn’t bother with the bakery. I knew the law-abiding Fields would have shuttered the windows and locked the doors about the time I left the bathhouse. I had the cabbie take a circuitous route downtown, and make a few extra blocks before heading toward the Fields home. If anyone was following us, they were good enough to avoid being spotted either by myself or my sharp hired eyes.

I had the cabbie drive us past the Fields house a couple of times, confident we’d be lost in the steady flow of traffic. I saw lights in the windows and people moving behind curtains, but not a hint of mayhem.

I wondered just where they’d stashed Tamar after the kidnap attempt. My money was on the very house I was watching. Whether the kidnappers would bother to try and find out was anybody’s guess.

“We going in?” asked Mills.

“Nope. We’re just going to watch, for a while.” I pointed to a stand of shrubs that needed trimming just across the street. “It’s dark enough, I think.”

He nodded once. I called the cab to a halt half a block away and we hoofed it back to the bushes I’d chosen and picked out a couple of patches of deep shadow.

“So this is what finders do for fun,” whispered Mills.

“Most nights I have brandy with the Regent. This is a rare exception.”

Mills pointed with his chin. “I count seven people so far.”

“Should be ten at least. Maybe more, if Fields has any sense.”

“Does he?”

“Not sure.”

“So we’re waiting here just in case someone takes a stab at him?”

“That. Or anything, really. I’m just flipping over rocks, hoping something crawls out.”

“Ah.”

We didn’t speak again for an hour. The man was quiet. He shifted his weight from leg to leg and breathed through his nose and I believe if I’d asked him later how many bats swooped around the gas lamp at the corner he could give me a figure and not be making it up.

The Big Bell rang out Curfew. Cab traffic ground to a near halt. Pedestrian traffic was at home slipping sleeping caps on their weary little heads.

I was fighting off a doze when Mills tensed and lifted his hand to point.

He didn’t speak, but I saw it. A sliver of light grew abruptly to a slab and a man-shaped figure darted through it and then it was gone.

Mills gave me a What the Hell? look.

We’d just watched a door open in a wall that had no doors.

I squinted past the saw-edged leaves of the bush that concealed us. There, in the yard, a man darted toward the street. He was clad in a loose black cloak and his head was covered by a black hood, and he had the sense to keep his hands inside those long sleeves, but he couldn’t hide his girth or the fact that his short fat legs hadn’t been asked to run anywhere since the War.

“That’s Fields,” I whispered.

Mills nodded, watching.

A carriage came rolling down the street. Fields hustled right toward it, all but waving it to a halt. The carriage driver saw him, and slowed, and damned if they didn’t meet right under the street-lamp.

I never saw Fields clearly. I didn’t need too. Someone had removed the brass insignia from the carriage before leaving to pick up Fields-but they hadn’t bothered to wash down the door, which meant the shape of the Lethway Mining crest was plain even at a distance, and even in the dark.

“Amateurs,” whispered Mills.

I nodded. We waited. The carriage rolled past, Fields aboard.

I didn’t race out to stop it. If Lethway had lured Fields out with the intention of slitting his throat, he’d have sent a half dozen unsqueamish men to handle the job. I had a single assistant at my side, who might be willing to bruise a few heads for me, but would wisely draw the line at outright massacre.

“You didn’t expect that,” he said as the carriage vanished in the night.

“No. That’s the problem with kicking over rocks. Never know what’s under them.”

“What now?”

“No way to follow. So we wait. If he comes back breathing, I’ll ask him where he’s been.”

Another nod.

“I could make it over there, if you want. See how he did that door trick.”

I shook my head no. “We know he can do it. That’s enough for now.”

No argument. If only Gertriss were here to take note.

I had no idea where Fields was heading, or how long it would be before he returned, if he ever did. Part of me was sure the little baker had baked his last pie-if Lethway was getting nervous enough to burn down the Barracks, he wouldn’t blink at the prospect of decapitating a former partner in crime.

I had Fields dead if not buried when a quarter of an hour later the same black carriage rolled back around and halted briefly in front of the Fields’s house. When the carriage rolled away, Fields was halfway to his door, legs pumping, robes flapping.

“I’ll be damned.”

He didn’t bother with his hidden door, but walked right up to the front door, opened it with a key, and darted inside. He didn’t light a lamp.

I doubted Mrs. Fields or anyone else realized he’d been gone.

I’d have to keep a closer eye on my sneaky baker man.

“What was that all about?”

I shrugged. My back popped. Half the windows in the home were still lit.

“Why don’t we go ask?” I checked the street for halfdead, not really expecting any, but not wanting Mills to think me a man devoid of due caution. “We might even snare a leftover donut.”

“Both of us?”

An hour earlier I’d have insisted on going alone. Secret doors and midnight meetings left me less willing to take the risk.

“I’ll introduce you as Mr. Smith, if you prefer. Claim you’re new in town, from Horn or Latter or anywhere you please.”

He chuckled. “No need.”

We stepped out of our concealing shadow and made for the door.

A pair of butlers armed with crossbows greeted us. I could see another pair of worthies lurking behind various corners, ready to join the welcome should festivities be declared.

It took a bit of talking, but Mills and I were eventually frisked and allowed inside and gruffly seated at one end of a formal sitting room while half a dozen male staffers glared at us from the other. It was Mrs. Mills who made the first appearance, all smiles and welcomes, but even that didn’t reduce the number of men watching us or soften a single one of their expressions.

We did manage a pair of donuts. I’ve never been observed with such suspicion while consuming a glazed pastry.

Mr. Fields made us wait half an hour before he deigned to join us in a library. He surprised me by dismissing his staff and closing the door firmly behind them.

He left the door, crossed the room and settled back into a well-worn leather chair. That put a desk between us. Knowing the kinds of things I keep in, under and around my desk didn’t help my digestion.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon, Mr. Markhat.” He did not smile. “Who is your friend?”

“Mills,” replied Mills. “I’m just here to keep things civil. Don’t mind me.”

“I won’t.” Fields turned his gaze to me. “Well?”

“So, how is Pratt tonight?” I was guessing, but he flinched, just a bit, and I knew I’d landed the first blow.

“I don’t know any Pratt. I haven’t had any visitors, either.”

I smiled. “No need to receive visitors when you have a handy secret door you can slip out of whenever you like. You must have a paid a small fortune for that one. One way, isn’t it? Invisible from the outside, probably hidden in the back of a coat closet on the inside-”

He glared. I shut up. I’d made my point.

Better to leave them wondering just how much you know than to keep talking and stumble.

“I’ve made the acquaintance of Mr. Pratt myself, Mr. Fields. Funny, he never mentioned that you and he were friends.”

“We are not friends. I only met the man recently. And it was he who insisted we meet, Mr. Markhat. He said he had information about the men who tried to take Tamar.”

It was my turn to suppress a flinch. But I’m better at it than Fields, so I just turned it into a knowing sort of nod.

“Did he now.”

Fields cussed. “I didn’t need Pratt to tell me it was Lethway who arranged for those animals to invade my home and lay hands on my daughter, Markhat. I knew it from the start. All his man Pratt did was provide me with the proof.” He rummaged in his desk and pulled out a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and thrust it on the desk.

“Here. As if you don’t already know.”

Mills saved me the trouble of formulating a reply by unwrapping the parcel himself.

Inside was the bloodied head of the walking stick that Tamar had used to kill her attacker. The Lethway Mining crest was engraved on it and covered in blood.

I nodded, as if I’d wrapped the thing myself.

“So now you know.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I wasn’t asking for any thanks. I’m going to pull Lethway’s teeth for you. You can thank me for that, when I’m done.”

Something in Fields’s eyes went cold.

“How much would you charge to just kill the bastard?”

I stood. Mills followed suit.

“Not my line, Mr. Fields. Believe me when I tell you this. You can’t afford the kind of muscle that would take.”

“I’m not a poor man.”

“And I’m not a stupid one. Good night, Mr. Fields. I suggest you get some sleep, and forget all about hiring a killing. All you’ll be buying is trouble.”

He had no reply. We showed ourselves out.

The street was quiet. A few carriages rattled past in the distance, barely audible above the crickets. I patted my Avalante pin and set a brisk pace, Mills at my side. If he was concerned about breaking Curfew he didn’t show it.

I thought about the bloody walking stick. I’d pinned that on the same people who had grabbed Carris. Now Pratt had seemingly laid that at Lethway’s door.

Why, though?

Maybe Lethway was worried that Fields might be tempted to turn on him, and wanted Tamar as leverage. Maybe Fields had never really written himself out of the Lethway payroll, and was bucking for a raise, and Tamar was Lethway’s way of saying ‘no.’