The Broken Bell (14 page)

“You got company, Mr. Markhat.” He tapped my tub with his stick. “Fancy carriage. Driver’s name is Halbert. Something about a meetin’ up to Avalante.”

I pushed back my hair and found my beer and drained it.

“Tell him I’ll be right there. And thanks. The water was extra hot, just like I like it.”

“Well, Mr. Markhat, you was extra fragrant.” He laughed. “I knows the smell of a jailhouse, I do. Thought you might appreciate a true hot bath.”

“It’s a perilous life I lead.” I stood and a towel was placed in my hand.

“Your clothes are hangin’ up,” said Mr. Waters. He tapped his way toward another customer. “I’ll tell the cab-man directly.”

I dried and dressed. My stomach reminded me I’d skipped Mama’s offer of supper. I consoled myself with the thought that I’d soon be dining, even if it was with the dead.

“I still cannot believe you had yourself arrested.” Evis took in a long draw of his freshly lit cigar. “You’re a piece of work, Markhat.”

“Not to split hairs, but Gertriss swore out the warrant.” I leaned back in Evis’s good leather chair and didn’t quite dare to put my boots on the edge of his desk. “I stood right there and listened to her do it. Even signed as a witness.”

“They didn’t catch on that their witness was also their murderer?”

I shrugged. “It was late in the day. I knew I could rely on the never failing vigilance of our officers of the Court.”

“What would you have done if Lethway hadn’t tried to carve you up? What if he’d had things to say?”

“If he’d had things to say he had plenty of time to say them. Too, I checked downtown and found out he pays the taxes on the Troll’s Den. Meet after Curfew, alone, in a place he controls? I knew he was planning something inhospitable.”

Evis chuckled. We had dined—or at least I had, while Evis had sipped something dark and thick from a crystal goblet. I’d opted for the chicken and the peas and the muffins, and I’d cleared two full plates. Avalante’s kitchens might belong to the halfdead, but there was no denying their skill with poultry.

My cigar was smooth and soothing. Evis’s office was dark and deliciously cool. The only light came from a few distant candles and the sporadic glimmering of the sorcerous doo-dads he collected and kept behind glass in the enormous curio cabinets that lined two walls of his inner sanctum.

I emulated Evis’s puffing and we let the silence linger for a bit.

“So, how much was the fine?”

“Two crowns.” I winced at the memory. “The Court is loathe to be made a fool of.”

Evis shook his head. “It was six crowns before we intervened, you know.”

“You intervened? When?”

“You think someone wearing an Avalante brooch can get pulled in for murder and we don’t know it? Tsk, tsk. I wasn’t even surprised when they told me it was you.”

“So why did I spend the night in Number 19, then?”

“For all I knew you wanted to be in there. Relax. I was coming down myself, had Gertriss not sprung you.”

“I’m touched.”

“You should be.” Evis produced a match and scratched it and made a flame. The end of his cigar glowed red, and he pulled air through it. “So. You’ve made an enemy of the Lethways. You’re sure he meant to kill you?”

“He wasn’t going to lift a finger, himself. But yes. His associates were out for blood, never mind the new rugs. They didn’t intend for me to leave there alive.”

Evis clasped his pale fingers behind the back of his head and frowned.

“Why, I wonder? You don’t know where this Carris is, or who took him. Odds are you won’t ever know. Seems a bit heavy-handed. ”

“Thanks for your confidence in my deductive abilities.”

“You’re welcome. But kill you, for daring to ask questions? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing about this makes any sense.” I told Evis about the Sprangs and the Old Ruth. He puffed away, his white eyes closed, while I laid it out.

“I don’t believe in coincidences, pal. Are you sure there’s no connection between these hillbillies and the Lethways and the Fields?”

“Let’s see. A rich mining magnate from Rannit. A bunch of hick pig farmers from a village so poor they can’t afford dirt for their floors. A middling-successful baker with a headstrong daughter who hasn’t been any farther East than Grant Avenue. No. I don’t think there’s any way all that is part of the same mess.”

Evis shrugged.

“You should have had the hicks tailed,” said Evis after a while. “In case their wand-waving friend met them on the road out of town.”

“Ha. I did in fact do that very thing. The Sprangs spoke to no one. No one spoke to them. They were last seen hauling Polter aboard a leather convoy, bound for Vicks.”

Mama had actually arranged that, without my knowledge, using her ragtag army of street urchins as tails. They’d followed the Sprangs well out of town before turning back to report to Mama and claim their bounty of biscuits and ham.

“You know you could always call on certain persons of high rank and standing for help,” Evis said. “She isn’t going to like hearing that renegade spell-casters are taking swipes at her officers.”

“No. Not yet.” I thought about that. “Not ever.”

Evis smiled a toothy smile. “Always the optimist,” he said. “But you might as well face it. We’re in deep with Hisvin, whether we like it or not.”

“I don’t like it one bit.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re officers in her army now. Why not take advantage of the privileges of rank, since we’re forced to endure the burdens?”

“Have you asked her for favors?”

“Nope. Doesn’t mean I won’t. More beer?”

“Always.”

Evis grinned behind his hand. “So, what’s next? Do you go after this missing groom, or do you try and trick your wand-waver into showing himself?”

“Both. Mama is brewing up something she swears will let me track the hex caster. And I’m going to talk to Lethway again too. Just he and I, this time. Somewhere public and crowded.”

“Good idea. He’ll be thrilled to sit and drink with you. Now then. Tell me what’s really got you worried.”

I’d had too much beer and not enough sleep. “Say again?”

“Darla. You’ve told her, have you not?”

“Not in so many words.”

Evis let out a hissing sigh.

“Angels, Markhat, I’ve been dead for ten years. Why is it I know more about women than you?”

“This is good beer.”

Evis stretched, yawning. He forgot to cover his mouth. I concentrated on my beer until he was done.

“Keeping some late hours?”

“House Avalante never sleeps,” he replied. “Things are already happening, Markhat. Iron stocks have gone up so far and so fast people are going to suspect the Army is buying ore as fast as they can mine it. And work has already started on the old walls, making them ready for cannon emplacements.”

I frowned. I hadn’t heard a word.

Evis guessed my thoughts. “It’s just whispering, here and there,” he said. “But give it another week. People will see things being prepared, and there won’t be any denying the Regent is getting ready for something.”

I consulted the bottom of my beer bottle.

“We hear Prince has bought up a hundred and fifty barges. Wouldn’t that be a smart way to bring a few thousand cannon down the Brown?”

“So it’s really going to happen.”

“Looks that way. The other Houses are beginning to hunker down. You’d better wrap this Lethway business up soon. The day is coming when you may have to close shop for a while.”

I cussed, took one last blessed draw from Evis’s good cigar, and stood.

“Thanks for the beer and the company.”

“Don’t mention it. Old Hammer the cook likes it when he sees a couple of empty plates. I think Darla would at least feed you on a regular basis, Markhat. Something else to think about.”

I found my hat. “Talk to you later, Evis.”

“That’s Captain Prestley, if you please.”

The door opened silently as I reached for it. A pale, silent figure bade me follow.

I followed. I didn’t need his mostly-shuttered lantern. I knew the way by heart.

In fact, I reflected, the lightless halls of Avalante were far more familiar than Rannit was turning out to be.

An Avalante carriage took me home.

Post-Curfew traffic was heavy. Most were black House carriages, bearing their thirsty halfdead passengers to and fro in search of the unwary, the unwise and the just plain stupid.

But most of the traffic was Army. There were cabs and wagons and huge eight-wheeled lumber barges, some loaded with bricks or tarp-covered masses that could have been cannons or catapults or nude statues of the Regent.

All rattled and rushed through the night, safe from the predations of the Houses as long as they were uniformed and going about the Regent’s business.

I understood now how the preparations for war were going at least in part unnoticed by the law-abiding citizens of Rannit. The army was working at night, using the Curfew as a cover. I was sure the soldiers themselves weren’t doing much talking, on pain of long months in the brig or worse.

On a whim, I asked the driver to take a side trip toward Seward, where the longest section of Rannit’s Old Kingdom wall still stood.

He replied with a cheery “Yes, sir” and away we sped, bumping over cobbles and trash.

I watched through my window. Most of Rannit was dark and sleeping. Lights shone here and there, though, and from a few windows figures watched us pass.

We crossed the weatherworn remains of the Old Bazaar and wound our way through the narrows streets of Crike. Crike was awake, if hopelessly drunk. Fires danced in vacant lots, surrounded by huddled figures who shouted and drank and wobbled in the shadows.

Three dark carriages followed us into Crike, but did not emerge. Which meant a few of the careless revelers would be found by the dead wagons in the morning, drained and still.

Emerging from Crike onto Seward was akin to leaving the land of night for that of day.

Oil-lamps lined the street. Huge magelamps, borne by wagons, were parked at regular intervals along the old wall, aimed up so that the top was bathed in lights. Men hurried up and down ladders, bearing tools. A ramp of oak timbers allowed wheelbarrows and small wagons to be driven to the top of the wall.

Hammers fell. Men shouted. A team of ogres hooted as they pulled a pallet of bricks up the ramp, one powerful ogre yank at a time.

My driver whistled. “What is that?”

“New aqueduct.” I wasn’t about to start spilling any of the Corpsemaster’s beans in public.

“They’re building it at night?”

“Easier to work the iron in the dark. Can you wait right here? I’d like to get a closer look.”

“You’re the boss.”

I closed the cab’s door and sauntered toward the bustle.

I don’t know what exactly my intention was. Maybe I was just delaying going home because going home meant lying awake and remembering the hurt on Darla’s face.

Come to think of it, that’s probably correct. Maybe I was remembering that hurt even then, which is why I didn’t notice someone had fall into step beside me.

“Good evening, Captain.”

I’d never have known it was the Corpsemaster save for the bemused tone and the oh-so-faint trace of an accent I’d never managed to place.

What body she was wearing was a mystery. She was clad toe to crown in a plain black robe. The cowl left face in shadow. Her hands were concealed by black gloves.

There was no odor, no buzzing of corpseflies. For all I know, she was out and about in her own flesh and blood. It’s not the sort of thing one asks.

“Good evening, Corpsemaster.” I nodded toward the construction. “It seems to be going well.”

She sighed. “We are at least eight days behind schedule, and nearly a hundred thousand crowns over budget. At this site alone.”

I shook my head in silent commiseration.

“What brings you out, Captain? Not that I’m displeased to see you taking an interest in our efforts.”

“Working a case. Thought I’d swing by here and have a look.” I stopped and squinted into the magelamps. “People are going to start talking about this pretty soon.”

She just shrugged. “Talk is the least of my worries. Do you know of a place called Ringor?”

“North of Prince, isn’t it? Big lumber exporter.”

“There are indications they have allied with Prince. It seems someone has produced an heir to the Old Kingdom.”

“Again?”

She chuckled. “As you say. Again.” She kicked at a loose cobblestone with the tip of a shiny, black boot. “Why are people so eager to revive the very monarchy that nearly cost us the war and drove the Kingdom into chaos and poverty?”

“Human nature. Live and don’t learn, that’s us.” I spied the Corpsemaster’s horseless carriage making its way slowly toward us, fading in and out as it passed beneath street lamps and magelights. I tensed, wondering if I’d been drawn to the site by her, if I was about to be whisked away to a place where the sun was too bright and the day was too long.

“At ease, Captain. I have no plans to spirit you away.” She turned toward me, and I saw the briefest flash of a weary smile before the shadow of her cowl swallowed it up. “You are free to go home. If, of course, you can stay out of jail for an entire night.”

I dropped my fool jaw open but no words came out.

“Oh, come now. There is little that goes on in Rannit of which I am unaware. And you need not fear my interference in your private matters. I will only meddle with such if and when I am asked.”

“Thank you.”

“Although it won’t do for my officers to be arrested with any degree of regularity. I do ask that you keep your brushes with the Watch to a minimum.”

“I’ll try, sir.”

The horseless carriage drew up behind us. The corpse that sat atop it was more skeleton than flesh. His stovepipe hat set well below the empty eye sockets.

The Corpsemaster clambered aboard without a farewell, and the black carriage surged away, whip cracking at mounts that weren’t there.

All around me, workers turned away, pointedly not meeting my gaze.

I turned away from the lights, and found my cabman dozing, and set about for home at last.

I even dozed on the way. I was awakened by the cab slowing abruptly and the cabman soothing his ponies with soft clicks of his tongue.