Bloodhound (9 page)

Goodwin was tangling with a tattooed cove and Tunstall with two drunken Rats when a mot grabbed my braid and yelped in pain. She had found the spiked strap woven in it. I gave her the baton to the belly and let her stumble away, gasping for breath. A cove to my right was keeping a fainting mot on her feet. At the same time he reached for a child who screamed in the grip of a grinning rusher, a child stealer like as not. I lunged for the little gixie, slamming the child stealer's elbow with my baton. He squealed and took one hand off the girl. I wrapped an arm around her waist, then rammed the cove's cod with my baton. He went down under the feet of the mob, wailing. Quick as I could, I thrust the girl into the man's free hand. "Papa!" she cried, reaching for him.

I grabbed the fainting mot and got her arm over my shoulders. "There!" I ordered the cove, pointing to a stall where other cityfolk huddled, wanting no part of the violence. I shoved the three of them under the scant protection of the stall's awning and looked about me for my partners. I could see naught of them in that lump of heaving flesh.

Again I threw myself into it. My ears rang with screams and the never-ending chant of, "Bread! Bread!" More than once the crowd's force picked me off my feet and bore me along, held up by the bodies of them that were packed in around me. That was the worst, when I had no control over where I went. I was in the power of this beast of sweaty arms and faces and dozens of screaming heads. When it let my feet touch the ground, I fought to keep them there.

Over and over I banged the unlawful on knees and shoulders, then dragged folk clear of the mob – women, mostly, and little ones. I had to switch baton hands twice as my arms began to ache. Part of me knew I would hate the next day, when I woke up to feel all those places where the brawlers landed their own blows on me. I didn't feel them now, that was all that mattered. That and the knowing that other Dogs were here, same as me, bringing order to this mess. I could hear their whistles high over the beast's roar, letting me know they were nearby.

It wasn't all clean-cut battle. I was running out of places to get the helpless who couldn't run out of harm's way. Folk that might have ducked a common market brawl came to this one to tell the shopkeepers what would happen if any more prices went up. Word of a bad harvest on top of so many hot days made the Lower City folk lose what sense they had.

The stall that had sheltered the first people I got out of the fight didn't exist anymore. The mob had torn it to pieces for clubs. I went looking for those who'd hidden there. They were in the next row of stalls, tucked inside one. I dragged two of the women, who clutched as many little ones as each could manage, down the row, trusting that the others would follow. I
wanted
to get them clear of the market. I hoped that the sight of a street with no mob on it would give rise to some sheep-like instinct to run home, or to Jane Street kennel.

Then the mob crashed into the row ahead of us, smashing through the walls of two stalls on either side. Both places sold drink. I saw mots and coves handing around jacks, tankards, and bottles. I turned my people back, toward the main square.

"Here." A light-haired cove, slender and muscled like an acrobat, appeared in front of us like something from a dream. "This way." He gathered up two children and set off, sure we would follow. When a river dodger rose in his path, ready to club him down, he leaned to the side and kicked high, catching him in the breastbone. I shoved the mot I'd been towing after the fair-haired cove and turned to make sure the others followed. Then I wiped my sweating forehead on my arm and moved alongside our little group, bashing any that threatened us.

The cove led us to the Jack and Pasty, the oldest of the square's places for food and drink. Mother's mercy, it was built of stone and roofed in slate. The windows were shut and barred. Only a door in the front was open. It was guarded by a big, slope-shouldered cove armed with a staff as thick as my wrist.

"Not dead?" he asked our leader with good cheer, his voice loud enough to cut through the roar. "Curse it, Dale, I had a bet on that you wouldn't make it." He passed each of us a flask of barley water. I drained mine and thanked him.

The light-haired cove – Dale – grinned at the big one as he ushered our group into the shelter of the Jack. "You always lose when you bet against me, Hanse, admit it." He looked at me. "If you find more, Guardswoman, we've started a collection in here." And he winked.

I nodded and headed back along the edges of the crowd. I needed to find Goodwin and Tunstall, so I got out my whistle and blew our private signal. I'd not gone far when I heard an answer nearby. I swallowed my fear of getting back into the thick of it and plunged in. Now that I wasn't spending all my wits on getting those cityfolk to safety, I listened harder to the whistle calls. I heard seven different sets, not counting my own partners'. That meant every pair assigned to the Nightmarket was engaged and calling for help. Ahuda must have the word by now. She would be sending every pair that could be spared from their own duty here in the Lower City. We dared not use everyone. The Rats would take advantage of our absence and go after those we'd left unprotected.

Finally I saw Tunstall's head over the dense wall of blind, furious bodies. I brained a huge cove who wouldn't drop when I struck his knee, then dashed sweat from my eyes. I didn't know if the salty drops came from the heat or my own fear anymore. Every second I stumbled, shoved by half-mad folk. I was scared I wouldn't live to reach Tunstall.

Suddenly paving stones flew into the air. Columns of brown river water followed them, blasting holes through the mob. Mots, coves, children all went flying if their luck was ill enough to put them in those powerful blasts. Folk screamed. There were mages nearby, mages with the codes to free the spells on the riot founts. Those pipes of river-fed water were made for just these times, to soak a mob. I clambered up the back of the cove whose skull I'd been trying to break. Maddened with fury and who knew what else, he barely felt me. He was struggling with a pair of tough rushers near as big as he was. I knelt on his shoulders, clinging to his hair. Five more riot founts blew water into the sky, showering folk around them.

It wasn't enough. If anything, them as hadn't been blasted were glad for the cool of the spray. The only good the riot founts did for us Dogs was that the water's hard push upward knocked out any who stumbled into the columns.

There was Tunstall, three yards ahead. I marked his place in my mind. A last thought made me glance at Two for One before I dismounted. The old bread shop was burning.

Then I heard a roar like a bull who'd been cut with a rusty axe. I knew that roar. Tunstall! I don't know when I drew my long boot knife, but I used it, smacking sidelong as I would use a baton.

Folk are much quicker to notice a blade than they are a stick.

Goodwin was holding off the mob with a torch in one hand and her baton in the other. She stood over Tunstall, who was propped up against the base of King Gareth's Fountain. Both of Tunstall's legs were stretched out before him, and not properly. They bent in directions straight legs are not supposed to.

"The sarden tarses stepped on his legs when he went down," Goodwin yelled. "They were the size of oxen!"

"That's no good," a cove said behind me. I turned, my blade up. It was the big man, Hanse, who'd been at the Jack and Pasty. "Doubtless they're both broke, the way they look." He hunkered down beside Tunstall. "It'll hurt to move you, barbarian."

Tunstall rolled his eyes at Hanse. "Call me barbarian twice and I'll hurt
you
," Tunstall said, but there was no vigor in it. His dark face was ashen, his lips blue. He had what the healers called shock. We needed to get him out of danger fast.

"Right, then." Hanse bent, gathered Tunstall's arms under one of his, hoisted Tunstall over his shoulders, and stood.

Tunstall started to roar but never finished it. His eyes rolled up in his head as he fainted.

"Just as well," Hanse shouted to Goodwin.

"You got a place to go?" Goodwin yelled.

"We've a snug little fort we're holdin'," Hanse called. "Ask your friend, here."

"Then take him there," Goodwin snapped. She smacked a cove with her baton and kicked him away from Hanse. "Cooper, go with them – "

I shook my head. I could hear new whistles shrilling over the low snarl of the mob. "They're calling us in!" I cried. "Come on. It'll take both of us to get Hanse and Tunstall to the Jack and Pasty."

Goodwin took Hanse's left side, I his right. We grabbed others who looked like they wanted only to escape and towed them along, dealing harshly with any that got in our way as we ducked the riot founts. I truly cannot remember how we made it across sixty-odd yards of packed square. I will say as much in my formal report, and let Ahuda take me to the laundry for it if she likes. I thank the gods for the mage-made balm that Kora found this summer. Without it to rub into my arms and shoulders, I doubt I could write this down while it is fresh in my mind.

Make it to the Jack and Pasty we did. A stocky fellow with a cord-thin beard, or maybe it was a long mustache, guarded the front door and window. He opened the place for us. I stayed outside with him, in case any had followed us. Truth to tell, I hated to see old Tunstall all ashy and broken like that. It made the world seem cracked, like it might fall to pieces any moment.

The stocky cove introduced himself to me as Steen. He explained he was one of Hanse's crew of caravan guards and that others guarded the shuttered windows around the sides and back. They'd been looking for trinkets for their lovers at home when the fighting started. I soon learned why he'd been left on his own to protect the door. He was very comfortable with the club he carried. Any of the rioters who thought we looked worth a try soon joined the growing pile of unconscious busy-bodies in front of the shop.

I don't know when the air boomed, nearabout scaring the sweat out of me, if I'd had any left. Steen hawked and spat. "Mages," he called. "They finally noticed the riot founts weren't doin' the job. That sounds like the start of a freezin' spell – good idea, now they have the square all wet."

I looked at him and raised my brows. "You've done this afore, is that what you're tellin' me?" I was that tired, to be speaking street cant.

Steen winked. "A time or two. Not in Corus. They do things this way in Galla and Tusaine. I heard they were plannin' to try it here." A breath of heavy air touched us. "Here we go."

I raised my hand through a breeze that had the weight of thick honey. The brawlers a couple of yards away moved slower and slower. Steen dragged me inside before we were entirely caught in the spell.

Once Steen and I were within stone walls I felt normal. "They's layin' a freeze spell outside," Steen yelled to the folk inside the Jack and Pasty. "Yez may as well set. 'Twill be a while afore they break this mob up, doin' it thataway, and ye'll freeze if yez go outside."

While the others gasped and wondered when they might go home, I looked about for Tunstall. They'd put him on one of the long tables near the hearth. Someone had a small fire burning there. I hobbled over to Goodwin, who was wiping down Tunstall's face with a cloth.

"How does he go?" I asked.

"Left leg's broke in three places, the right in two, according to Master Lakeland," Goodwin said, pointing to a short, fat cove. He directed four men as they placed another long table near Tunstall's. There was a pregnant mot on that. Lakeland is a healer who works over on Messinger Lane. He isn't the best, but he would do until we could get Tunstall to a kennel healer. Goodwin asked, "What's going on outside?"

"Freeze spells," I told her. "Why didn't they use that on the mob last year?" I thought of all the buildings and lives lost back then.

"You think that kind of magic is there for just any hedge-witch to use, young Terrier?" Master Lakeland asked as he rolled up a shirt and slid it under the pregnant woman's head. "It takes a fearful lot of power."

"Wasn't that riot spread all over the Lower City?" Dale, the fair-haired cove, came over as I took a seat next to Tunstall. "I heard somewhere that the bigger the crowd, the harder it is to magic the whole thing."

"It's true," Lakeland said, checking the pots in the hearth. "Boiling already?"

"They was still hot when we found 'em in the kitchen," replied a gixie who was watching the pots there.

"Clever girl," Lakeland told her. He looked at the rest of us. "This square's circled about and the riot is largely only here. The mages can hold it with freezing spells. The Dead Men's Riots went from the Commons almost down to here. No one could freeze all of that."

"And the mages would charge more than the Crown is willing to pay, I'd wager," Dale remarked cheerfully.

Tunstall stirred and moaned. Lakeland put a hand on him. I saw yellow fire trickle over Tunstall's face and sink in. My partner went quiet again.

"Keeping him quiet is the best I can do till you get him to your healers," Lakeland told Goodwin. "This mot beside me is starting labor. She'll need me soon. I'm not so good with broken bones. Your friend has two broken legs, and he's been healed often. I'd have to work like a slave to get a simple healing to stick, let alone a complex one. Too many healings and the patient gets resistant, see?"

"I know," Goodwin said, and sighed.

"You look worn out." Dale offered me a cup of something. I think it was ale. I shook my head. "You've had a busy night," he said.

"I'm fine," I said. "You're not from here, Dale – ?"

"Dale Rowan, of Port Caynn," he said with a grin. He looked all right: straight nose, large eyes, brownish-blond hair and small beard, and that slender, lean-muscled body. "I'm a courier for the Goldsmith's Bank. That's how Hanse and I came to be here – I often travel with the caravans he guards. No one bothers a skinny lad like me with Hanse and his rushers about."

Hanse yelled something to Dale. I leaned my head on the table where Tunstall rested, just to shut my eyes. I must have gone to sleep. Goodwin roused me around three by the chimes of the city's clocks, when the King's soldiers opened the door to let us out. I looked about for Dale, but he, Steen, and Hanse were already gone.