Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

  Lorine made a face. “Now you are dirty as well as bruised.”

  I looked at my dress. It was streaked with grime. Good, I thought, it will cover the pigeon mess. I looked at Lorine. “I did the pretty for my lord and my lady,” I said, deliberately talking Lower City to their Patten District. “I had dinner in the hall and didna slurp my soup. I won’t be stayin’ t’ supper, so it’s pigeon feed to a starvin’ bull what my dress looks like.”

  “You like doing this, don’t you?” asked Diona. Her cheeks were turning red. “Shaming us before our friends. Turning Will and Nilo into street urchins when they know how to behave themselves, like young men moving up in the world!”

  Will got to his feet. “Lucky for me royal messengers can act like real folk when they’re not before the nobility,” he said, his green eyes flashing. He takes after his papa in looks. One day the gixies will all dance to his tune. “They’re not silly enough to pretend the nobility rubs off on them – “

  Diona went to slap him. I realized that after I’d moved, coming off the ground to grab her wrist as I rose. I held on to her as I stood between them. “You’re not my lady,” I told her, keeping my voice down so no one else might hear if they were close by. “You don’t go slapping people’s faces. Shame on you!”

  “She don’t mean nothin’, Beka, don’t hurt her.” Nilo sounded like he might cry in a moment.

  I let Diona go and hugged him. “I didn’t hurt her. I remember who I’m dealing with, even if she don’t.”

  Lorine sighed. “Diona, Beka’s right. Don’t think I haven’t seen you push Nilo when no one’s about. You get above yourself, girl.”

  Diona rubbed her wrist. I hadn’t even grabbed it hard enough to make it red. “My lady’s maid is right! You’re trash, Beka! Look at us! We’ve been fine ever since you left. You’re not back half a day and the boys are filthy and ill-mannered and you’ve turned them and Lorine against me.” Anger made her pretty face ugly. “My lady gives us a chance for a decent life and you throw it back in her face – “

  “Who keeps your decent life decent?” I asked, losing my temper. “Who makes sure you hardworking folk stay safe, Diona? Not a lot of maids and footmen. River dodgers would kill the lot of you for a pair of weighted dice! Who puts murderers in cages and keeps your necklaces on your necks, eh? Who – “

  “Enough!” The head hostler had heard us and was standing in the open door, a carriage whip in his hands. “You’d think it was noon in Rivermarket and the fish startin’ t’ go off! Where did the lot o’ you learn to make such a noise in a lord’s house?”

  My brothers and sisters looked at each other. And then they all did a sad thing, even Nilo. They edged just the tiniest bit from me. Of course, mayhap it was on account of me being the one to get caught. Or mayhap it was me being so ill-kempt, with the dirt and the pigeon stain and all. But they were of a set, four servants-in-training. I was the one what didn’t match.

  I curtsied and mumbled apologies as they did. After a last frown, the hostler left us. Diona and Lorine followed him, their hems and veils fluttering. To give them their due, they probably thought they’d see me later, at supper. The boys hesitated, shifting on their feet.

  “I must visit the gear room and then go home,” I told them. “You’ll be working till supper, so we won’t have time to talk. And I must return to my lodgings before then. It’ll be drawing down dark in the Lower City. I shouldn’t walk the streets alone with no weaponry.”

  “But it isn’t dark when it’s suppertime!” said Will, confused.

  “You’re up on the hill below Palace Ridge,” I explained. “The Lower City’s at the bottom of the rise. The wall’s higher than anything down there. It shuts out the sun early.”

  “Oh,” Nilo said. “When will we see you next?”

  “I’ll try for my next day off. Now go clean up. I’ll say farewell here.” They hesitated again, and I took the burden from them. “No hugging. You don’t want those nice shirts wrinkled more than they are. Just a kiss on the cheek, one each.” I gave and got them. “I love you both. I even love our sisters.”

  Like boys, they grumbled and walked away. I went over to the stable wall and rested my face against its rough boards, having a care for splinters. I have a bit of sense, so I didn’t think it was my family that changed so much in the three weeks since I’d moved to Nipcopper Close. Was it?

  I took a breath of stable smell: horse dung, hay, dirt, leather, polish, the oils needed to keep the leather smooth and limber. It smelled clean. Empty clean. So, too, did the big house smell, with its added scents of flowers and soap and cooking, though without horse dung or horse. No rotting vegetables or animal carcasses, no frying turnovers and heaps of fresh-cut flowers. No herds being driven to market or crates of birds and rabbits. No slop pots emptied into the gutter and flowing into the soup of mud that is the Lower City.

  The clean, tidy folk who live and work at Provost’s House don’t smell so good to me as the dark streets where I live now. I put my thumb on what I’d felt all day. It was distance. I’d been glad to see Mya and my lord. I am hurt by my sisters and some by Will. Nilo is still a little boy. Besides, I remember that greeting he gave me. But I’m no part of their household. I am a Puppy, one who belongs in the Lower City. It was time to go home.

  I chose my three extra items of gear, then set out. Of course, I didn’t go back the way I had come. I never do. It’s boring. I also remembered that tomorrow morning comes and breakfast with it. For once I might supply more than coppers for our gathering. It was too early for the Nightmarket, but the Daymarket was open. Mistress Noll’s shop there would be a good place to buy some breakfast bread.

  I walked down broad Palace Way, with its flat white cobbles. My clogs clattered like the hooves of the horses that rode by. Like my brothers, I could admire a good-looking animal. Some of these were bound for the palace rising behind me, atop the ridge. Others paced like I did, down north toward the river.

  Despite the goldsmiths’ banks and expensive shops between Provost’s House and the Daymarket, no one blinked at my wrinkled dress. I walked with servants, message runners, soldiers, and merchants and their families. Mithran priests in their orange or yellow robes passed Daughters of the Goddess in white, brown, or black. Now and then I’d see Wave Walker priests in blue robes or the Smith’s servants, their leather aprons stamped with holy signs. Bazhir in their burnooses walked with hands on weapon hilts. The folk of Carthak, Galla, Tusaine, and the Copper Isles simply tried to pretend they were not staring.

  This was more of the Corus I love, prettily dressed. A mix of high and low folk came this way to do business or to see the King and his new Queen. They’ll hold the first festival for the young prince next year. Then neighboring kingdoms will send their finest to greet the babe, and to get plucked in the Lower City. We all look forward to having the world salute our young heir.

  One thing I didn’t see today was the usual number of mumpers. The Palace Way Dogs, who answer to the Patten and Flash District kennels, must have cleared them out. Fine ladies sometimes complain if there are too many cripples to ruin the view on the main road to the palace. By my guess, the clearing out happened around noon. One mumper had already come back to take a place on the edge of the street near Provost’s House. She was fearfully thin, with a babe at her empty breast. The child was crying.

  I walked by. She’ll seek help at one of the Goddess’s temples if she is serious about feeding the babe, I told myself. Despite my common sense, I added and re-added my budget of coin for the week to see if I could spare aught. Behind me I heard a passing rider tell her she’d earn more on her back than by putting her hand out.

  I halted, angry, and took a copper in my hand. Then I saw a newly come beggar grab a richly dressed nobleman’s jeweled horse by its tack. The old mot gabbled at the man, offering to tell his fortune. He kicked her away.

  I ran forward, cursing him in Cesspool talk as I tossed my copper to the skinny beggar with the child. She grabbed
it and fled. I forgot her and spat at the rich man, who rode off, ignoring me. “Pig scummer,” I muttered, grabbing the old mumper to help her up. She was annoying, but kicking a granny was the act of a beast.

  To my surprise, she fought me. She was strong for one that was just skin over bone. There was no bruise on her face from the noble’s kick, she had no bloody nose. She’d dodged him.

  She also had three of the gems that had been sewn onto the horse’s trappings in one hand, and a sharp-looking blade in the other. I snatched the blade and stuck it into the sheath behind my own belt knife. It wedged tight there. Even she would need a moment or two to winkle it loose.

  I looked to see if the noble had noticed his missing gems. He was turning onto a side street, cursing a priest who crossed in front of him. No, he was too stupid to spot the theft. I disliked him too much to tell him.

  I looked at her. She was lean and weathered, but sharp-eyed, to bag three gems with that little knife. I was sure I’d seen her around the Lower City, begging in the markets and temples. Her name came to me. Mother Cantwell.

  I could turn her in for the stupid noble’s vengeance, or I could make use of this opportunity.

  I rolled the gems in my hand, letting her hear them clink. “Mother Cantwell. This here is a caging offense. Mayhap that fat lordling back there will reward a good Dog like me for giving him his sparklers. Or I could reward myself.”

  “You talk like a Dog as wants sommat, and you only a Puppy,” she said, watching me with sharp old eyes. “It’s shockin’, how young folk grow up too quick anymore.”

  I felt a quiver around my belt knife. I gave the wrist I clung to a slight turn so she’d know I was paying attention. Then I looked down. She took her hand from my belt. That was the trouble with talking close together. Still, I had to admire how limber she was, especially at her age.

  “I’m a Puppy as wants sommat. I’m willing to be forgiving in return,” I said. Where had all my shyness gone? Was it that she reminded me of Granny Fern, and that gave me comfort?

  No, it was that I felt so comfortable doing a true Dog’s work. For I’d never worried about shyness hobbling Orva and getting her knife back or fighting river dodgers.

  Now Mother Cantwell’s eyes were on my free hand, the one with the gems. “Forgivin’? You mentioned forgiveness. I’m old, but I have my hearin’ yet.”

  I thrust the gems into my belt purse and twisted my belt to put the purse behind my back. “Not that forgiving, Mother. Besides, you’d just sell them to Crookshank for not even a quarter of the value. Trust me, he’s rich enough. He don’t deserve your custom.”

  “You’ll keep ‘em for yourself. There’s wickedness! Stealing from the Happy Bag already!” She shook her head in disgust.

  I tried my best not to grin. Being schooled in morality by this old mumper was the funniest thing to happen to me all day. “Mother, if you strive not to vex me, you’ll not spend the next six days in the cages or however many years you’ve left working for the King. May we get to business?”

  She cocked a knowing dark eye at me and waited, like street sparrows wait for crumbs.

  “Nine men and women got a digging job in the Cesspool, Mother,” I told her, keeping my voice down. The street wasn’t busy, but I wanted no passerby to overhear me. I drew her partway into Meadowsweet Alley. “They were told it was a well, but it wasn’t. They were killed maybe a week ago. They’ve families that only know they vanished. Have you heard aught of them?”

  Mother Cantwell curled her lip, disgusted with me. “Gixie, your nob is cracked up and down and side to side. Folk – “

  I cut her off. “I know folk vanish all the time in the Lower City! But this is different. Nine at once, all together. Even for the Cesspool that’s a clutch. If you’ve heard naught now, that doesn’t mean you won’t hear it later, if you keep your ear flaps clean and turned.”

  She smacked her lips like she was thinking.

  “Listen, Mother. They dug in a building somewhere. Think on the sparklers I took from you. A mage can put a truth spell on me to know I didn’t take them, and you did. When that happens, you are on your way to royal justice.” I smiled. “And I’d hate that. We could help each other.”

  “Seemingly it’s more me helpin’ you,” she said.

  “I’ll have the odd present for you now and then.” I’d have to manage extra sweetening somehow down the road, when her gratitude ran cold. “I’m not some Dog as will ask you to cough up for love of me.”

  She grinned, showing naked gums. She’d been afraid she’d have to do it all for free. “You’d get spittle if you did, Fishpuppy.”

  I do not want folk calling me that forever. “There’s one more thing, Mother,” I said as she tried to shake my hand off her arm. “The Shadow Snake.”

  She drew the sign against evil, the light that drives back the shadows. I almost copied it but tightened my grip on her instead.

  “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, Puppy Cooper,” she said, all serious now. “I know naught. I’ll ask no questions as will get me floatin’ bum up in the river. I’ve nothin’ the Shadow Snake wants. Long as I keep from his business, we needn’t even bow in the street. Not that anyone knows who to bow to.” She turned sideways and spat.

  The Crone Goddess lit the tiniest witch light of a thought in my brain. “I can see not going to the kennel with this,” I began slowly, choosing my words. “But what about the Rogue? Surely this Snake is poaching on the Rogue’s ground, on the folk the Rogue is supposed to look after.”

  The old mot actually smirked at me. “In long-ago tales, mayhap. You truly think Rogue Kayfer and his chiefs care for little bits of things like spell books and jewelry? He’s booted so many poor folk from the Court they don’t even go to him no more. His chiefs are the same. The last cove whose babe was took that went to Dawull got tossed in the river for a swim. Folk were laughin’ and kickin’ ‘im back in when he tried to climb out. Long as the Snake don’t go slitherin’ around no big score, the Rogue and his chiefs will leave us low folk to manage as best we may.”

  There is knowing and then there is knowing. “Folk went to Kayfer?”

  “More’n one, girl. Now d’you see? There’s no tellin’ who’s the Snake, and none to care if I’m doused for nosin’ about the Snake’s business!” The mot yanked on my grip, and yanked hard.

  “But you can listen, can’t you? You older folk are everywhere and hear everything. Listen and ask about the nine that went all at once. Mayhap someone’s looking to hire more diggers. I’ll need to know of that, too, soonest. I’ll see to it you’re paid.”

  “Not much, I’ll wager,” Mother Cantwell said.

  I smiled. “I can give those gems to our mage. He’ll find you and the owner.”

  “Of course, I’ll be happy to listen as I may,” she told me, and sighed.

  “I’d appreciate your courtesy, Mother,” I replied. “I’m hopeful you won’t make yourself hard to find.” I was certain any Dog at Jane Street could tell me where to meet her.

  “Of course I won’t, for so sharp a wench as you,” she said, her voice sour. With that I let her go.

  She went her way and I went mine, turning my belt to set my purse where I could see it. The Crone had put Mother Cantwell in my path, I was sure. I went straight to the Crone’s shrine on Healall Close. There I left Mother Cantwell’s sharp blade as a thank-you offering. The gems would go into the kennel’s Happy Bag when no one was looking. It happened that way all the time when no one wanted to hobble a personal Birdie.

  Then I went in search of Mistress Noll’s Daymarket stall.

  I didn’t expect to see her there. Not when she worked at the Nightmarket all last week. Her children minded the Daymarket place. The stall was new, and easy enough to find, since it was on Bakers’ Row. I was impressed when I saw it. This was a true building, no three-sided shed with room only for warming ovens and braziers. There were shelves with pasties, buns, and pies on display, with muslin over them to keep off the
flies.

  Mistress Noll’s youngest daughter, Gemma, was working the big paddles, pulling finished round loaves from the ovens and putting fresh ones in to bake. Her brother Yates leaned against the counter, talking to a blond cove and a brunette one who’d just placed sacks of flour on the floor. My hackles stiffened. I didn’t like Yates. He was a bad Rat, in and out of the cages for brawling and theft. The other Noll sons were well enough, but Yates was trouble.

  I made choices for breakfast, small fruit loaves that could be split, depending on how many of us gathered at Nipcopper Close. I made sure to get spice buns, favored by Kora and Rosto, and the ones with plenty of raisins for Verene and me. Then I waited for those who were ahead of me to put down their coin. They were servants in good houses from their talk, who treated Yates like he was hardly there. He smiled like a sick fish at them and spat on the floor when they turned away.

  One of Yates’s friends who had been with him and his mother at the Court of the Rogue made some whispered joke that set the three coves laughing. Mistress Noll hired hard men to make her deliveries.

  “Gemma, ‘member me?” I asked, quiet enough that she would be the only one to hear. “Beka Cooper.”

  She smiled. “Everyone knows ‘bout you. Livin’ up in Provost’s House and all. Lookit you, dressed all nice, like you wasn’t from Mutt Piddle Lane.”

  I looked down at my wrinkled and stained dress. “Mayhap you could say that,” I said, watching her from the corners of my eyes. She had a bruise on her forehead, a healing cut on her lip. There were bruises on her arms, left bare when she’d pushed up her sleeves to work. Was her man knocking her about? Did she have a man? She was forty or so, old enough to be a grandmother at least, with plenty of gray in her brown hair.

  “If you’re buyin’, you’re buyin’.” Yates smashed a fist down on the counter. “You don’t need to be botherin’ my sister, wench.”

  Gemma’s eyes went from him to me and back like we both of us was monsters. “Yates, don’t! You remember Ma tellin’ us ‘bout Beka Cooper – this’s her!”