The Broken Bell (18 page)

Whistles began to blow. “My name’s Reggie.” He stuck out his hand and realized I was in no condition to shake it and grinned. “Tell you what. I’ll be parked two blocks north of here for the next three hours. If they cut you loose, I’ll give you a ride.”

“Deal.” My head was beginning to swim, but I wanted to pilfer the corpse’s pockets before the Watch had a chance to do the same. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

We parted. I hurried through the door and back up the stairs, wary but alone, half-expecting the dead man to be gone too.

For once that day, I was lucky. The corpse was still there, staining the Fields' floor with a dark pool of blood. The walking stick that had killed him was gone. I realized it must have been his, since the other man had taken it.

I knelt and searched his pockets. All were empty. No copper, no paper, no helpful scrap of this or incriminating corner of that.

His blank eyes stared up at me. They were as cold and merciless in death as they had been while he held Tamar and laughed at her distress. I reached down and closed them with my bloodied hand.

The Watch burst inside, whistles blowing, men shouting.

“Up here,” I called. I turned but remained on my knees and put my hands high up over my head. “Second floor. I’m a licensed finder. The girl is safe next door.”

Booted feet came rushing up stairs. I waited for the forces of Law and Order to come thundering my way.

Reggie the driver promised to wait three hours.

I was wondering if I’d be out in three years.

It’s a good thing my story was simple and basically true, or I’d never have managed to tell it so many times without getting tripped up. I told it to the sergeant on the scene. I told it again a half dozen times on my way to the Watch house downtown. I told it again another dozen times, at least, inside the Watch house.

Each retelling was met with more of the same. The same blank impassive faces, the same rounds of questions, the same heavy sighs and orders to write it down and sign it and then start over again.

I was never charged, although I admitted killing a man. They never used his name, which told me they didn’t know him either. No one ever hinted that Tamar landed the killing blow, which told me she’d managed to stick to the plan.

After a small eternity spent reliving the same twenty seconds of terror over and over again, I was simply ushered into a crowded waiting room and told not to leave Rannit.

Waiting for me was Tamar, still pale, and her father, still furious.

I stood. My back ached and my mouth was as dry as a mummy’s scalp, and all I wanted to do was go home and have a bath.

“I’m not the one who got you out,” said Mr. Fields, his voice low and barely audible over the din of the waiting room. “I’d have left you to rot.”

“Father.” Tamar hugged me briefly. She was still shaking. “He saved my life.”

“He’s the reason your life was in danger in the first place.”

“No, Mr. Fields, that just isn’t true. Those men would have come around had I never been involved.” I leaned down to put my face level with his. I’d had a long day so I poked him in the chest with my finger. “Thing is, Mr. Fields, they didn’t come to see me. They came to see you. But you wouldn’t play nice, so they came to get your daughter. I don’t know who they are, or why they did such a thing. But I believe you do. And the longer you keep that a secret the longer your family is at risk.”

“How dare you—”

“Is it the same people who took Carris Lethway? I’m betting it is. Which means you and the Lethways have something in common, besides kids in love. Are you going to tell me what that is, Mr. Fields? Or am I going to have to keep digging?”

A couple of Watchmen were taking an interest in our conversation.

“You’re mad,” he sputtered. “Mad.”

“I’m not the one keeping secrets while men come after his daughter.”

“Stay away from us,” he said. “Stay away. I’m warning you.”

“Are you making threats against my person, Mr. Fields?” I raised my voice. “Are you threatening me with bodily harm in a Watch house?”

His round little face went from red to purple.

Tamar grabbed his arm.

“We’re leaving,” she said. “Father is overwrought.”

“He certainly is. I’ll walk you out. These streets aren’t safe.”

“Stay away from my daughter. Stay away from my home.”

“If I’d stayed away today you’d be childless, Mr. Fields, and I think you damned well know it.”

To this day, I believe Fields would have murdered me on the spot, Watch house or no, had Tamar not hauled him forcefully around and marched him out the door.

“Two men tried to kidnap that pretty young woman not six hours ago,” I said, loud. “Be a shame if they tried again, right outside a Watch house.”

To my amazement, a trio of burly young Watchmen exchanged nods and followed Tamar outside.

I let the Fields go. No point in further infuriating any secretive bakers with my presence just yet.

“You really got a way with people,” quipped a Watchman.

“I missed my calling. Should have been a priest. What time is it, anyway?”

“Five of the clock, near enough.”

I’d thought it was later. I had plenty of time to head back to my office, take care of a few things and then head on over to Avalante to see if Mama had reduced the place to ashes yet.

“Thanks,” I said. I knocked a layer of imaginary dust off my hat and headed for the door, and for the second time in as many days I stepped out of a Watch house a free if somewhat disheveled man.

I took care of a number of chores that afternoon.

I didn’t replace my door. Not yet. Not when there was still a good chance persons would set fire to it again any moment.

Instead, I nailed a couple of oak planks across the burnt spot, on the inside, to deter any door-kickers. I also dabbed a fresh layer of Mama’s stink-hex all over the doorframe. So far, I’d smelled nothing, but I’d forgotten to ask how long the stuff would last out in the sun so I figured I’d err on the side of caution.

I also rubbed a generous dollop on the wall of the Girt building at the corner of Cambrit and Holt and on Mr. Tackart’s famous sausage sign at the other end of my street. I pass one or both corners every day, and so would anyone coming to see me with mayhem on their mind. Whether I’d smell even Mama’s hex-stink over the open sewers was anybody’s guess.

It was dusk by the time I managed to wind a fresh bandage across my belly and have a wash and head for Avalante. I even picked up three bunches of daisies, one each for Mama and Gertriss and Buttercup. I doubted that a day of captivity, even in the shadowed opulence of Avalante, had left anyone but the banshee in an amiable state of mind.

I made my way back across town without being followed. I knew Gertriss would insist upon leaving, so I spent most of the trip preparing careful arguments against that.

House Avalante, I noted with some relief, still stood, shaded beneath its monstrous oaks. The mighty doors were intact. Jerle, the day man, met me with his customary lack of a smile. The air inside was cool, distinctly lacking in the odor of wood-smoke, and no screams issued down the walnut-paneled halls.

“Did a woman named Mama Hog make it here today?” I asked.

“Indeed, sir. You are expected.” He took my hat and coat. “Mr. Prestley is occupied. Bentley will show you to a parlor.”

“Just don’t let her at the wine. Makes her want to dance. We don’t want that.”

“Indeed not, sir. Bentley.”

A well-dressed halfdead glided out of a doorway. His eyes were covered with dark glasses. He smiled with his lips, without showing any teeth.

“This way, Mr. Markhat.”

I went.

Bentley took me a parlor I’d never seen before. It was only one floor down, which is at least three floors above Evis and his cavernous rooms. He opened the door for me, motioned me inside, and closed it behind me.

I sat. My stomach growled. The room, despite being underground, was hot and stuffy. I was loosening my tie when the door opened again and Gertriss and Buttercup darted inside.

Buttercup darted, actually. Gertriss was merely hanging on. Buttercup squealed at the sight of the flowers and did a happy little dance around my knees.

“Here you go, kid,” I said, handing her a bunch of yellow daisies. “And for you too,” I added, handing another to Gertriss.

I didn’t like the look on her face.

It was, in fact, the I-have-bad-news look I’ve come to know too well.

That, and Mama’s absence, sent me sinking back in my chair.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me. They’ve locked Mama up already.”

“Worse, boss.” She pulled up chair to face me and sat herself before brushing a lock of golden hair out of her eyes.

“Boss, Mama’s not here. She slipped out right after we arrived. I’m sorry, boss. She’s gone.”

“Gone where? Back to Cambrit?”

“She’s not in Rannit at all. She’s heading home. To Pot Lockney. Going after the hex-caster herself.” Gertriss fished in a pocket. “She left a note. I was trying to get Buttercup settled in, and by the time I noticed it was quiet, it was too late.”

I took the paper and cussed.

Mama, I realized, had this stunt planned the whole time she pretended to argue about staying at Avalante.

And I’d lapped it up and not seen it coming. “Not your fault, Miss. Mama played us both. I just gave her a head start and an excuse to pack a bag, bringing her here.”

Buttercup reached up and stroked the stubble on my chin and giggled. Gertriss pulled her back and sat her on her lap while I unfolded Mama’s note and read.

“Boy,”
it said.
“You ought to have knowed I wasn’t going to sleep in no house of the halfdead. And that hex-caster ought to have knowed not to mess with Mama Hog.”

I snorted. Typical Mama. How she crams so much ego into such a tiny frame ought to be studied someday.

“I’m going home. I keeps a house outside Pot Lockney. House is called the old Plegg house what sits on Plague Hill. I’m going there, and I’m going to set up shop and before I’m done I’m going to nail me a hex-caster’s head to my front door. It’s partly about you and my niece and partly about me. If’n I don’t pull this here hex-caster’s teeth, boy, people hereabouts are going to start taking the name Hog lightly. I won’t have that. You wouldn’t either, and you knows it. Now, I reckon you’ve got your hands full with your work, and I’ve got mine to do. So don’t be coming to Pot Lockney, thinking old Mama needs help. Because I don’t, boy, and that’s a fact. You tell Miss High and Mighty the same thing, you hear? I’ll send letters back as I can. And when I’m done, boy, you won’t be needing to worry about no more hexed folks setting your door alight. I’m going after blood, and I aims to spill it. Mind that banshee and my niece. And yourself. I’ll work as fast as I can but this ain’t over yet so you watch your step.”

She’d left it unsigned. I folded it and handed it back to Gertriss, who sighed and patted Buttercup’s tousled head.

“Got to give Mama one thing. She caught us both with this one. Did you know she had a house in Pot Lockney?”

“Everybody knows Plague Hill, boss. It’s haunted. Been haunted forever. I had no idea Mama owned it. There’s going to a panic when she starts lighting lamps, I can tell you that. The whole hill is cursed. Something from the old days.”

I grunted. “It’s cursed now if it wasn’t before. All right. We can’t go chasing after Mama with a banshee in tow, and even if we caught up to her there’d be no turning her back. Agreed?”

Gertriss nodded. “If she’s gone after the hex-caster’s head she won’t stop until his teeth are in her pocket.”

“Well put. So. We work our end, figure out as much as we can about the people the caster is sending.”

“Sounds good.” Buttercup began to sing softly, her words either a made-up babbling or some pre-Kingdom tongue dead so long all knowledge of it was lost. “Of course, that leaves you here with Buttercup. Could be a long stay.”

Gertriss bit her lip. She wanted to protest, but Mama left her without any real options, just as Mama intended.

“So I just sit here. Take naps. Comb my hair. Is that it, boss?”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, Miss, because it won’t last long.” I rose. Buttercup played with her flowers. Gertriss glared, not at me in particular, but at everything in general.

“I’ve got to see if I can roust Evis out,” I said. “Then I’ll head home. I’ll drop back around tomorrow, check on you two.” I crouched and put myself eye level with Buttercup. “You be a good girl for Aunt Gertriss.”

The banshee pinched my nose and broke into squeals of laughter. Gertriss gave me a forced half-smile and gathered up Buttercup, and we were both nearly at the door when Bentley swung it silently open.

“Allow me to show you to your rooms, Miss,” he said. “Mr. Markhat. Mr. Prestley would like to see you. Take the hall to the stairs. I believe you know the way.”

“I do indeed. Miss. Miss.”

Gertriss bade me goodnight and followed Bentley away. Buttercup looked up at me from her shoulder and winked as they vanished around a corner.

I took to the stairs. I’d never been left alone in the House before. It sounded of that peculiar quiet one can only find in deep places underground.

I hurried even deeper into the dark.

Evis is indeed a vampire, but the man keeps fine cigars.

Chapter Twelve

It was my turn to puff away on an expensive cigar and fail utterly to blow smoke rings while Evis did the fuming and muttering.

“Markhat, you don’t understand. Mama left the House unseen. Unseen, I tell you. That can’t happen.”

“Maybe not, but it did.” I let smoke crawl out of my mouth. “Mama is mostly put-on, but the old girl has a genuine trick or two up her sleeve, I suppose. Although I suspect she just sat in a dustbin and let Jerle put her by the curb.”

“This isn’t funny, Markhat. An elderly soothsayer breached House security. From within. You couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do that. But Mama did it, somehow.”

Evis rose and paced. The lit end of his cigar glowed bright in the perpetual shadow of his office. His dead eyes shone bloody in the glow.