Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

  If I had my ear to the walls like you think, I’d’ve known about the Snake when he took Rolond, or a year ago, or two. I thought it, but did not say it. I was too ashamed.

  I stopped dead in the street to glare at him. “Your Dogs mayhap said sommat when you heard about Crookshank.”

  He made himself stop laughing. “They did not. Come on. Tell me what you’ve heard, and I’ll see what I turn up.”

  And so I told him. Now two of us will be seeking this snake.

  After my watch.

  It was a beautiful spring evening. I felt a bit of a twinge when Tunstall greeted me at muster with “We’re back to the Cesspool tonight, Cooper.” Not even spring improves the Cesspool much, though the weather was perfect. Not too cold, not too hot.

  An hour in, we raided an illegal slave auction. One of Goodwin’s Birdies brought the word to her and carried away her coppers for thanks. It was being held in a ramshackle barn. As big as the place was, my Dogs had no choice but to post me at the side door, since they had to go in at the front and the back.

  Lucky for me I had my baton out and was ready for trouble. A Rat came dashing through my door. He was a giant fellow a head taller than me. When I called, “In the King’s name!” and grappled with him, he turned and caught me one on the cheekbone with his elbow. For all that, I hung on and got my baton placed so he went quiet and gave me his full attention. I got the hobbles on his wrists, then made him kneel so I could get his ankles.

  Goodwin came out the door to see what had become of me. Seeing us, she gave me a nod and a quarter smile. It turned out my Rat was the ringleader, a crooked cove who’d tried to sell a dozen slaves without paying the King’s tax. Even with the knot on my cheekbone, I felt as good at dropping him as I had Orva Ashmiller.

  Around nine we took supper in an eating house by North Gate. For the rest of our watch we worked that part of the Cesspool. It was quiet.

  “Such nights happen,” Tunstall said as we trudged down Rovers Street on our way back to the kennel. “I like to give Mithros a bit of an offering before I go home, to show him I’m proper grateful – “

  We were passing the Barrel’s Bottom. It was one of the worst riverfront taverns. It proved its reputation now as the double front doors blew open and a knot of brawlers fell into the street.

  “You had to tempt the Crone,” Goodwin muttered. We drew our batons. “Cooper, just keep anyone we pull out from piling back in.”

  They were splendid to watch, my Dogs. To dishearten the brawlers they yanked from the knot, they hit them neatly with the fist end of their batons. The blows caused so much pain even these drunken swine felt it.

  The problem began when the river dodgers fighting inside learned someone was pounding their friends outside. Bees hummed in my belly as they came stumbling out of the tavern. I knew my Dogs were tough, but this looked like a lot of scuts and not enough batons. My mouth went wool dry.

  When one mot whose arm muscles were double mine seized Goodwin, I don’t even remember deciding to disobey my orders. I smashed her aside like Sergeant Ahuda taught us to do. That brought me to the river dodgers’ attention. I got caught up in a tide of bodies. Somehow we were pulled inside with the fight. I laid about me as my Dogs did, feeling my baton hit. I remember trying to get my whistle to my mouth to call for other Dogs. Someone cut the cord from my belt and sliced my arm in the doing. I was scared. Sooner or later I was going to fall and be trampled. Try as I did, I couldn’t get close to Goodwin or Tunstall.

  I don’t think Tunstall remembered he even had a whistle. He pounded heads with his baton, roaring. Goodwin blew her whistle even as she laid out coves and mots alike. Sometime in that fight, I decided I wanted to be Clara Goodwin if I lived. I don’t know if that was afore or after someone laid a very hard fist in my left eye.

  I kicked up as I was taught. My reward was a yell of pain. Then I heard a cat’s battle scream. Pounce landed on the head of a cove who’d drawn a blade on Tunstall. My cat blinded the knife wielder with scratches that bled into his eyes. Then Pounce was on to his next Rat before that one could grab him.

  Curse all Dogs who can’t hear a whistle! he yowled.

  Someone pushed me against a table. I smashed him across the head hard, then shoved him behind me. I heard him smack into furniture. Somewhere in the corner at my back I heard a woman’s voice, a low and pleasant one.

  “All I want is to get peacefully drunk after eating hill dirt in my ale for months. Goddess, was it too much to ask?”

  I didn’t think the Goddess was anywhere present. I glanced back, in case the woman who was getting up from her table might need a baton smash on her head. She was near as tall as Tunstall, brown-haired, brown-eyed, long-nosed, broad-shouldered, slim enough for her height. She wore a brown leather jerkin and breeches and a shirt that mayhap once was white. The leather scabbards of her dagger and sword were just as beat up as her clothes and boots.

  The tall mot battered her way to the bar. She dragged the barkeep up by the shirt, seized the well-polished club he clutched, and shoved him back into his hiding spot.

  Hands grabbed me. I was busy again. I did my best, but I was getting tired. I finally remembered Ahuda’s teaching and fought my way to a wall. I put it at my back so no one else might grab me from behind. Taking care, I got into a corner, with a wall on the side of my black eye. I didn’t like having my arm restricted, but it beat fighting on my blind side.

  Goodwin was backing up to me, using a lull in the fight. The woman in brown wielded the club like a blade. Behind her lay a trail of collapsed river dodgers. Some even decided they’d had enough fun. They were sneaking out the side doors. More crawled through the doors in front.

  By the time the lady and Tunstall met at the center of the room, Goodwin had reached me. She leaned against the wall, panting. “You’re a mess,” she said. “You’re bleeding where?”

  I showed her my arm. She cut a strip from the shirt of a cove I’d downed and bound my cut with that. “Carry spare handkerchiefs and strips of linen. Bind cuts right off,” Goodwin told me as she knotted the bandage. “Elsewise you’ll as soon die of blood loss as someone’s shiv in your ribs.” She grabbed a pitcher from a table that had survived the jostling and took a huge gulp of the contents. Then she made me take a few swallows. It was ale. For a moment we watched as Tunstall traded blows with a nimble, fat cove.

  “Cooper, nice baton work. Very nice.” Goodwin took a deep breath, then looked away. Finally she leaned in and spoke quietly. “Me’n Tunstall got lucky here, Cooper. You’re good in a fight, thank the Goddess. We didn’t look out for you as we should have done. Most Puppies would be dead right now, understand? Because this isn’t the kind of fight Puppies survive without their Dogs watching out for them. We’ll look out for you better in future.”

  “I was doing the job,” I said.

  “Shut up. We weren’t doing ours, me and Tunstall. We were doing the job we used to have, just breaking heads. We can’t do that anymore. Now we have you to look after.” Goodwin nodded. “We’re learning this teaching Dog business same as you’re learning a Dog’s work, but that’s no excuse. Older Dogs look after younger ones, that’s the rule. Now, who do you suppose our lady knight is?”

  “That’s a knight? How can you tell?”

  I was glad to see Goodwin’s hooked half smile. “I saw her and four other knights riding down Messinger on my way to the kennel this afternoon. I didn’t see more than the shape of the shield, but she had the armor and trappings. And knights have a way about them, chin so high in the air they’re just begging for you to give them the nap tap.”

  I grinned. All of us love that hammer blow of baton against jaw, even if it doesn’t always knock a Rat out. Goodwin has the city’s record for the highest number of perfectly delivered nap taps that end with a Rat carried away, stone unconscious.

  The scrape of wood got our attention. A mot with one eye picked up a wooden bench, meaning to throw it at the lady knight. Goodwin started forward to help
, but the lady turned and caught sight of her danger, and Tunstall’s. She didn’t even waste the breath to shout. She slung her free arm around Tunstall’s neck, hooked one of his legs from under him, and dragged him down and to the side. They fell as the mot hurled the heavy bench. It went over their heads and smashed into the three river dodgers who’d been moving in on Tunstall. As he and the lady struggled to their feet, Goodwin returned to lean against the wall.

  “They’re all right,” she said. “They don’t need me.”

  Pounce wandered over to us. Sitting on the floor, he began to wash his paws. I bent over to pet him, only to see the floor yaw away from me. “Pox,” Goodwin whispered as she grabbed me.

  I straightened with her help and let her get me to a bench. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling miserable.

  Pounce jumped on my lap and began to talk to me. Cheer up, you’re doing fine. Learning hurts.

  “It’s the blood loss.” Goodwin half sat on the table next to me and crossed her arms over her chest. “It makes a girl feel giddy, and no mistake. The healer will set you right, Cooper.”

  Tunstall and the lady knight had come to the last pair of foes. Neither Rat looked sharp, but seemingly they were clever enough. With no friends left, they ran.

  The lady looked at Tunstall, then at Goodwin and me, and leaned on her club. “Well,” she said, a little winded. “This was refreshing. That’s a fighting Pup you have there, but she nearly got killed. I know better than to take a squire into a fight where I’m outnumbered seven to one. It’s one thing to dice with your own life and another to dice with that of someone you’re training, Master Dog.”

  Tunstall scowled at her. “Cooper can take care of herself, and if she can’t, we can take care of her, whatever your name is.” Then he took a look at me and cursed. “Ox’s eggs.”

  I swear it was the blood loss that made me say, “I am fine,” loud enough that even the lady heard me. As a lie it was pitiful. My head spun in the speaking of it.

  The lady threw back her head and laughed. It was no well-bred laugh, but a full-throated guffaw. “A fighting Pup indeed.” She strolled over to Goodwin and smiled. “I am Sabine of Macayhill, lady knight.”

  “Clara Goodwin of the Provost’s Guard. My partner is Matthias Tunstall, and this is Rebakah Cooper.” Goodwin smiled up at the lady. “Thank you for helping us deal with this lot. I’m curst if I know why no one responded to my whistle – “

  Four Dogs walked in the front door, none of them people I knew well. Tunstall was coming toward us, so I could hear his mutter of “Pig scummer.”

  “Some ‘un said they heard a Dog whistle a-blowin’ down this way. We come as fast as we could,” the biggest of the four said, looking around. “Seemingly you didn’t need us, then.”

  “Change of the watch,” Goodwin said, and sighed.

  Now it made sense. It must have been later than we thought. The fellows of the Evening Watch were on their way to the kennel or already there when Goodwin blew her whistle. Night Watch is made up of the district’s dregs, the slow and the sullen or the plain lazy. Someone carried the word of our alarm to the kennel because they got a copper for doing it, and the Dogs of the Night Watch took their time in coming.

  For a moment the anger rose up so bad it choked me. I didn’t know about dying, but these scummernobs could have saved me a beating. If I’d had the strength, I don’t know but I would have flown at these four lazy scuts and tried some nap tapping of my own.

  Pounce fluffed his fur out until he looked three times as big as normal. He jumped at the lummox Dog’s chest. He howled like something from the Realms of Chaos, scaring the Dog and his friends so bad they went scrambling to get away from him. They tripped and fell over the river dodgers on the floor. Sadly for them, those folk were waking up, and they were vexed.

  “Quick,” whispered Lady Sabine. She pointed to a side door.

  Before I knew what happened, Tunstall had scooped me up in his arms. He, Goodwin, and Lady Sabine ran out into the alley. Behind us we could hear a new fight break out.

  Pounce caught up with us on Rovers Street. He took the lead, his tail a flag. He was very pleased with himself.

  Once the healer had seen to me, Goodwin, Tunstall, and Lady Sabine walked me back to Nipcopper Close, Pounce riding on either Goodwin’s or Lady Sabine’s shoulders. The three of them wandered off to find a meal. It seemed that Tunstall had forgiven the lady her disapproval, at least enough to eat with her. My cat and I went in search of my bed.

  Sunday, April 5, 246

  This morning I opened my door to Kora, Aniki, and the wonderful scent of heated pasties from the basket on Kora’s arm. Despite my weariness and the pain of my half-healed bruises, I smiled to see them. They looked full of mischief, and I have a sad liking for mischief. Why else would I prefer to live in the Lower City? My lord says that the best Dogs are half crooked at heart.

  “Breakfast?” Aniki asked. “We heard you were dancing with river dodgers last night. You will need to build your strength back up.”

  “That’s a splendid black eye,” Kora said. “I like the cheekbone bruise, too. Before or after healing?”

  “After,” I said. My belly growled. I was always starved for a day after healing. Kora handed me a mutton pasty. I ate it then and there, standing aside to let them in. “How did you hear?” I asked them as Aniki put down the cloth and Kora laid out my plates.

  “I was at Dawull’s,” Aniki said. “We got the news straight off. Some of our rushers wanted to go help the river dodgers, but Dawull wouldn’t allow it. He won’t let his people take on your Dogs if he knows about it beforehand, I found out. He says they’re too tough.”

  I confess it, I was flattered. Aniki and Kora have plainly lived a hard life. To have them speak of my bruises and my Dogs as if I belong to that world – it seems as if I am accepted into it. As if I wear a Puppy’s trim but have a Dog’s standing. And I have paid a hard price for those bruises. Even with healing, they will linger on my face for days. It’s good to get respect for them in the wake of the pain.

  I found the bottles of twilsey and barley water from yesterday and put them down, then opened my shutters. The pigeons with the ghosts of the dead diggers waited for me. I fed them their corn as Rosto arrived with more food.

  “I’ll kiss them and make them better,” he said when he saw my bruises.

  I slid one foot back to balance myself and raised my arms, hands fisted, into blocking positions. “Try and I’ll bruise you.” I actually said it out loud. “Then Aniki and Kora can kiss you better.”

  Kora smiled. “Aniki can do the kisses. Rosto, don’t pull Beka’s tail. She doesn’t like it.”

  Pounce wandered over to Rosto and stood, reaching up delicately between his legs. He said, “Mrt?” just loud enough to make Rosto look down, then patted the inside of Rosto’s knee.

  Rosto sighed. “I was being friendly,” he complained. “Modern times are cruel when a cove can’t be friendly.” He stepped around Pounce and settled on the floor cloth. “See if I bring you a treat tomorrow, Master Cat.” He looked up at me. “Is there a tomorrow? I think this little breakfast idea is quite nice, even with threats and the nasty birds coming and going.”

  The “nasty birds” ignored him, being too busy fighting over the corn on my ledge. I eased off my fighting pose, dizzy from healing, and sat on my stool.

  “Not tomorrow, Tuesday’s my day off. I leave early to visit my family,” I said. “And tomorrow is our day in Magistrate’s Court. It starts the hour after sunrise.”

  “Ugh!” Rosto said, grimacing. “They don’t pay you enough, sweetheart.”

  I scowled at him. I’ll never tell him that I like his company. The extra food is nice, of course, particularly at the start of the day. I’d bite my tongue off before I said it, but Rosto is funny.

  Very well. The truth, since I am the only one who reads this.

  He makes my skin, my peaches, and my other parts tingle in an agreeable way. Naught will come of it. He
’s clearly meant to be more than an ordinary rusher, which means that one day he and I will be on the wrong sides of an argument. Besides, he’s got Aniki and Kora. I’d druther be their friend than their rival.

  But it’s good, after the dark and the scares of night duty, to sit in daylight with food and interesting folk. Clever folk, who know how to laugh. Who know how to make me laugh, when doing so doesn’t make my cheek hurt.

  Ersken and Verene came not long after Rosto with sausage rolls and gossip. One of the barons in Unicorn found out his lady wife was canoodling with an Earl. Rank or no, a challenge had been issued. Mistress Bircher, wife of the head of the Silversmiths’ Guild, presented her man with twins. That was Flash District. Flash Dogs would have the joy of guarding that celebration when it happened. We would have a quiet night, as many of our foists and thieves went to help themselves there.

  “Remember Alacia?” Verene asked me. To our crooked friends she said, “She’s another Puppy, named in tribute to His Majesty’s first Queen. Well, till yesterday she was on Day Watch in Unicorn. Then my lord of Olau got word that his youngest and only son has been flirtin’ with a pretty Puppy.”

  “Fast work,” Aniki said with respect. “You lot have been on duty, what, five days?”

  “Four, not counting today,” Ersken said. He’s a stickler for numbers.

  “Anyway,” Verene said. She hates it when wonderful gossip is interrupted. I never interrupt, because she has better gossip than most Dogs. Her mother is a barmaid at Naxen’s Fancy, where they hear everything as soon as it happens. “Anyway, the lad’s noble father pitched a fit at the Unicorn kennel, and they switched Alacia with Clarke. He was on Night Watch at Prettybone. So now she’s on Night Watch.”

  Rosto rubbed his chin. “So this Alacia’s a sweet armful? I’ll look out for her, Dog or not.”

  Aniki gave him a hard elbow. “Don’t you have enough women in your life, Rosto?”