Bloodhound

by Tamora Pierce

Dale chuckled and bent his head to kiss the side of my neck. I gasped and dug my nails into the back of his tunic.

  Then the first firework exploded, making us both jump. Laughing, Dale pulled me to my feet. We straightened our clothes and went out onto the balcony to watch the fireworks, his arm about my shoulders. The fireworks were very nice, too, what I noticed. Someone mentioned a piece like a flock of winged horses flying over the harbor, all made of brilliant white fire. I believe we were inside for that one, in a corner with our mouths locked together.

  I am sommat sorry I missed that part of the fireworks.

  Once the mages' display was over, our company returned to the Waterlily to gamble. Tonight Dale started with dice. I blew on them each time he rolled, as a gambler's luck should, and he did win often. The dice were fair, too. The Waterlily keeps a mage at each table to check that the dice are not false. Dale changed tables now and then, too. "To keep my luck fresh," he told me.

  He and Hanse always played together. They've been doing so for years, Steen told me as we watched. Again I had that nasty twinge of suspicion low in my belly, where so many other things had been twinging all along. Dale did work for the Goldsmith's Bank. He went nearly everywhere with a sealed pouch that Dogs wouldn't search because it was Goldsmith property.

  I dare not let my feelings blind me, not when the colesmithing problem grows worse at an alarming rate. I like him so much, and yet who better to be part of a ring of colemongers? A clever man, too clever for the work he does, a gambler who plays up and down the river. A trusted courier for the Goldsmith's Bank. Known in the Court of the Rogue, and his friends Hanse and Steen have business with the Rogue herself.

  Still, Dale isn't the Rogue. There's that to be said for him, unlike the other cove who chases me.

  I wonder if Ersken ever has such trouble. He's bedded Kora for over a year, knowing she's the left hand of Corus's Rogue. Still, is it the same? Kora won't talk Rosto's business with Ersken. Ersken won't talk Dog business with Kora. They read books. They go to fairs and musical entertainments, and they have plenty of friends in common, so they have much to talk on. And Rosto has never set in play any sort of ploy that would pull the country down around all of our ears.

  I have no proof against Dale. I will keep my eyes and my mind open, that's all.

  Dale said that I could relax whilst he switched to a game of backgammon with a deep-pocketed merchant, so I was at my leisure to wander about the Waterlily. I listened to Okha sing for a time and watched Goodwin, Hanse, and Flory play Gambler's Chance with some young nobles who had more gold than sense. Goodwin lost as much as she won, but seeing her small moves of the eye and mouth, tip-offs I knew so well, I realized she lost some of those hands of cards on purpose. She always amazes me. Here was a game she'd learned only yesterday, yet she could have won a nice sum at it tonight, had she chosen to.

  I looked at players' coins as I roamed. Much of the silver was marked. Had the colemonger started this way, trading bad silver for good at the gambling tables? If so, was he – or she – mad, to be dumping so many coles into the city now? More folk every day were learning the silver was no good here. How could the colemonger make a profit from trading bad for good now, when folk would test silver coin or just refuse it outright? Unless he'd already made his fortune, or he was stupid, or he was out-and-out mad. That didn't even count the chance that the colemonger was a foreigner, bent on weakening our money so that our folk would turn on each other during the winter, leaving the country open in the spring.

  If I thought longer like this, I knew I would get the shakes. I went to hear Okha sing again. When he was done, I returned to Dale and tortured him by drawing my fingers down the backs of his ears and his neck.

  I was yawning when he won his game with the merchant and collected his winnings. Turning in his chair, he lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. "You need to work less during the day," he said as he sneaked an arm about my waist. "You don't have enough wakefulness for the night." Together we went in search of our friends.

  Hanse saw us. He put down his cards with a nod to Steen. When they stood up, Goodwin and Flory did the same, to the protests of the other cardplayers. "It's time to call the night down," Hanse said with a yawn of his own. "We're off to Arenaver in the mornin' on a short trip."

  To Amda and two of the other caravaners who were coming to join us, this was plainly news.

  "But, Boss, I thought we had that Legann trip day after tomorrow," Amda said.

  "This Arenaver thing is more important," Hanse said. "I sent a note to Master Dendall earlier that he'll need to find someone else for the Legann job."

  One of the coves whistled. "He'll not like that."

  Steen waved off his words. "I'm tired of workin' fer that ol' pinchcoin anyway. He argues over every copper we spend keepin' 'im from bein' robbed blind. You want that job, Kevern?"

  The man Kevern grimaced. "He's a cheap piece of moldy cheese, he is." We ambled toward the room where the men could reclaim their weapons, the caravan guards talking over their various quibbles with the merchant.

  Dale and I traded kisses in the shadows all the way back to my lodgings. Once we reached Serenity's house, Goodwin went inside while Dale and I found a dark spot just on the side of the house.

  "Dream of me," he said, and kissed me so long I nearabout forgot what he'd said.

  But not quite. "You don't want to be in my dreams," I said when we halted. "The only ones I remember are the bad ones."

  "Maybe you'll remember mine," he replied, lifting me up a little in his arms. He didn't lift my skirts – I'd never let him – but I hoped I'd remember dreams of him when he set me down, for they'd be the best dreams of my life.

  He said farewell and waited until the maid let me into the house.

  Goodwin had waited for me at the foot of the stairs. "We'll talk about the night's gatherings tomorrow," Goodwin said, her voice very dry. "Write up anything you fear you'll forget. I've had a bit much wine, and I think your head's elsewhere."

  "I won't forget anything," I told her. I was hurt that she'd think I was too giddy to remember what I needed to for my work.

  Goodwin smiled and ruffled my hair. "No. No, I don't suppose you would. But I'm worn out, and I wasn't chasing a scent hound today. We'll take it all apart for our reports in the morning."

  That was better. I went outside through the silent kitchen, taking care to wait and listen until I was certain the yard was empty. Achoo also waited, bouncing to her feet only when my hand was on her collar and I was untying the rope. Once free, the silly creature frisked around me, then stood on her hind feet. I danced the hound along for a few steps before I let her go and took her inside. I collected the bowl I'd left for her in the cold pantry, and gave it to her once we were in my rooms. While she ate, I undressed. The glitter of my new bracelet caught my eye. It made an odd picture, sitting below the arm sheaths of my daggers, but it is so very pretty and so very elegant. I put it away carefully, then removed my weapons. At last, wearing my nightgown, I wrote up this night in cipher. Now it is time to sleep.

  Will I bed Dale? Should I? Surely what is between us cannot last. The hunt will take Goodwin and me away from Port Caynn, or we will finish it, and I will have to return to Corus. It wouldn't be practical, not a bit.

  I think I should stop at a healer's in the morning and purchase a new charm to prevent babies. It's been so long since I needed one, I don't even remember where the last one went.

  Monday, September 17, 247

  Eleven-thirty of the morning.

  I'd been sleeping but a couple of hours when Goodwin hammered on my door.

  "Get dressed," she told me when I opened up to glare at her. "Cityfolk clothes and a veil. Nestor wants us."

  I blinked at her. "What's the hour?"

  "The harbor clocks were striking two when Truda came. Move," Goodwin ordered.

  I left Achoo sleeping in my bed. As I dressed in city-mot's garments, she rolled over into the warm spot I had made.
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  When I came downstairs, I found Goodwin and the half-asleep Truda at the dining table. Goodwin plucked the note from Truda's fingers and gave it to me to read. It didn't exactly bleat with knowledge. It just said: Tradesmen's kennel has something of interest for us. Truda will take you there.

  Truda led us west, toward Tradesmen's District, using alleys and lesser streets. I was impressed with her knowledge of the town. We encountered no trouble at all.

  The Tradesmen's kennel was at the corner of Moneychangers' and Findler. Nestor waited for us inside the courtyard gate. Like us, he wore cityfolk clothes.

  "Good girl," he said to Truda with a smile. "Can you stay on?"

  Truda nodded. "'M fine, Nestor."

  "Then get out of sight," he told her.

  Three lads Truda's age appeared out of the shadows on the opposite side of the street. She walked over to them, and together they merged with the dark again. One of them waved to Nestor before he vanished.

  Nestor waved back, then looked at us. "This way."

  He walked along the side of the kennel, rather than lead us through the front door. "I got word an hour ago from someone who knows my interests," he explained as we caught up. He kept his voice very quiet. "They brought this cove, Durant Elkes, in on suspicion of colemongering. The cage Dogs have had him to question since midnight."

  "They called you so late?" Goodwin asked softly. We stopped before a side door. Like our kennel at home, Tradesmen's has a separate wing for the cages. It is even smaller than ours, mayhap because Rats were only stored here briefly before they are taken to the Rattery Prison.

  "My friend heard them talk of a red purse," Nestor replied. "I'd set that on the list of things to watch for."

  Goodwin stopped him as he reached for the door latch. "I had the idea that Sir Lionel was so affrighted by our news that he wanted any real work we did on the colemongers put aside. Now you tell me you've set friends to looking for colemongers? What game are you about, Sergeant?"

  Nestor sighed and leaned against the kennel wall. "He was a decent man once," he told us. "Then Pearl threatened his children."

  "We know," Goodwin said. "He sent his family north. Pearls on their pillows, all that."

  "You heard. She also sent Sir Lionel's lady a pearl collar, the kind the gemsmiths call a choker. Sir Lionel gave way, that's all. He's terrified to block anything Pearl does. She had the sack to tell him if he resigned his post, my lady dies. So he does nothing."

  "The governor?" I asked, looking around. A familiar sound was distracting me.

  "A drunkard," Nestor said. "Useless."

  "So if those who are paid to ward the city are a waste of air... ?" Goodwin asked, prodding Nestor.

  I stepped back into the middle of the street. The sound grew louder. I knew it now. It was the scrape of dust, grit, and leaves as they blew over the roadway, rising on a circling wind and falling again. There was a dust spinner nearby.

  "I know some good Dogs," Nestor told Goodwin. "Tried-and-true Dogs, tested in fire. We see what's happening. We agree it must stop. So we build on what we know, in the hope that something will break." He looked at our faces. "It's different in Corus. You've got knights coming and going. You've got the King's Own, and a good chunk of the army. And you've got Lord Gershom. The family calls him Granite, did you know? He doesn't bend and he doesn't break. The Rogue never got to be a great power in Corus. Here, the army is stationed up on the Tellerun or in the sea forts. The navy won't meddle in landsmen's quarrels. It's up to the Dogs alone, and Pearl and the Rogue before her bought as many Dogs as they could. As long as trade wasn't hurt, the Crown didn't care, so the Chancellor wouldn't give Lord Gershom the funds he needs to strengthen the Dogs here. We're doing our best, but truth to tell, we need help."

  "If things are as bad as they seem, you'll get it," Goodwin promised, her voice grim in the dark.

  Inside we went, to a corridor full of cells fronted by gates with tiny barred windows set in each. Nestor led us to the very end. Here was another door across the hall. A small window covered with a sliding shutter was set in it.

  The whole building stank. The Rats inside knew better than to talk to us, them that could see out the small windows. Even in cityfolk clothes Nestor and Goodwin look hard.

  The stink got worse the closer we came to the big room at the end of the hall. Nestor rapped on the door twice, then twice more. A cage Dog answered it. He was stripped to his loincloth, covered with sweat, his head and chest shaved so no Rat's flailing hand might catch in his hair.

  "Sergeant Nestor Haryse, Corporal Guardswoman Clara Goodwin, Guardswoman Rebakah Cooper, to speak with the prisoner," Nestor told him. "Unofficial, like."

  "Always so lovely when ye street Dogs come callin' on us poor cage Dogs," the cove said. There's no denying it, cage Dogs and street Dogs despise each other, mainly because cage Dogs do work like this. Master Sauce opened the door, letting a full drift of the questioners' room stink hit us in the face.

  The room was the biggest of the wing. It had to be, to fit the instruments, even though kennel questioning rooms are just basic. This one had a rack, thumbscrew, irons, pliers, a long table, and a hearth fire. The fancier stuff is done at the prisons, if it is needed. This was more than bad enough for me.

  There were only two shaved Dogs present, a mot and the cove who'd let us in. The mot was stripped to her breast band and loincloth. Questioning was hot work. I remembered that from my classes in it. The Rat we'd come to see was tied to the long table. They had tilted it so his feet were higher than his head. Then they had released the latch under the headboard so that it swung loose, tilting his head all the way back. He was bruised, covered with welts, naked, and soaked from the hair on his gems to that on his head and chest. They always began with a beating. I saw a strap that matched the welts hanging from a hook on the wall. They'd been giving him the Drink, I could tell. That's why he was so wet. I swallowed to keep the food I'd eaten from coming up. His eyes and lips were swollen, the skin around his nose red. There was a barrel of water next to the table. I clutched the fire opal in my pocket so hard I found later it had dug little holes in my flesh.

  I got a mild form of the Drink in training. For him, they had poured water into his mouth without halt, making him swallow by holding his nose. Often, since the Rat was trying to breathe, the water went into his lungs. It was a way to drown a person on dry land. Now and then I have nightmares of it. I nearabout quit because of it, until our trainers said we actually had to volunteer to be cage Dogs. They wouldn't force us to question folk.

  The cove's eyes were closed now. Was he dead or had he lost his senses?

  His clothes were piled on a smaller table in the corner. On top of them lay a red leather purse, like the ones I had seen filchers switch for their coneys' original purse. Stacked beside his things were silver nobles. I went over to look at them. Each had been scored across the front, cut to show a brass center.

  "Don't know why ye're takin' an int'rest in a lousy cole-monger as ain't even in yer own district, Haryse," the cove who'd admitted us said.

  "You could've stayed in bed," the mot added. "He's a hard nut, this Durant Elkes. Keeps sayin' he's innocent, when he was caught with coles in hand and a purse full of them. We've given him the Drink three times, and still he wails the same tune."

  "I hate these 'innocent' coves," her partner said. He spat on the floor. "Ev'ry evidence agin 'em, and yet they waste our time."

  "Was his house searched?" Nestor asked them.

  Goodwin went through the heap of things that had been taken from Durant Elkes's pockets.

  "They're at it now," the cove replied. "Since he was brung in, matter o' fact. Some of our folk is that angered, bein's how they've got stuck with a few coles in trade of late." Someone banged on the door. The cove went to open the little shutter, grumbling under his breath. He talked softly with whoever stood outside.

  "Y'll find naught in his gear, apart from the purse and the coin," the mot said. She looked at Ne
stor. "Would you be rememberin' me, Sarge? I'm Shales. I served with you in Gauntlet, ten years back."

  Nestor gave her a nod. "I remember you, Shales. You were a street Dog then."

  Shales sighed. "That was before I had little ones, two fine boys. It's safer bein' a cage Dog now that I'm a ma. I don't get my head cracked so often. My partner over there's Anglesea. He's been a cage Dog pretty much his whole time of service."

  "How was this Rat picked up, did they tell you?" Goodwin asked Shales.

  "He tried to buy a fancy pair of earrings with the coles. The jeweler was on the lookout," Shales replied. "Seemingly he's taken in too many coles of late."

  Anglesea, the big cove, came back. "Search turned up nothin' in the house. They've brung in his mot and son. They're already screechin' they know naught of his cole passin'."

  Goodwin called, "Cooper!" and tossed me the red leather purse. I caught it one-handed. Why was Goodwin throwing it to me? I turned it over. It was just a cheap, red-stained leather purse, and yet it stirred some thought in my brain. I tucked my fire opal back in my pocket. I focused on the purse, thrusting away my own sleepiness and my sickness at the torture. I knew this purse, or one like it.

  The filcher I had stopped. The other filchers I had seen, switching a coney's purse for a red one just like this. And I had wondered, Why this coney and not another? The filchers chose the coney out of all the others on the street. Someone had chosen Durant Elkes. Why?

  "Stop," I told the cage Dogs, forgetting I was the youngest Dog there.

  Anglesea gave me a look that nearabout fried my gizzard. "Listen to this milk-fed Pup!" he said. "Givin' me orders!"

  "Stop," Nestor told him. "Cooper, what is it?"

  I made myself walk over to that table, to that cove. They had been forcing water into his open mouth while I thought. He coughed and choked, spitting gouts of water out. Thank the gods they hadn't gotten too far. It didn't take him long to get rid of the water in his nose and throat. One good set of the heaves, and he could talk again.