The Broken Bell

by Frank Tuttle

  I’d just ridden a warhorse into a church. I’d done that without much thought, and with only the faintest inkling of dread.

  But what I was thinking now—that, I realized, that was dangerous.

  I licked my lips, which had suddenly gone dry.

  “Oh, don’t look so pale, hon,” said Darla. “Father. Tamar is in danger. Her fiancé too. What Mr. Markhat is struggling to ask is this—what if we entered the premises, that day, under the pretense of getting married ourselves? Wouldn’t that put me with Tamar, and him with Carris, all day, right up until the last moment?”

  The Father bit his lip.

  “It would. And if you simply left the cathedral before you spoke the vows, you would be neither married nor disruptive of the ceremony.” He shrugged and frowned. “I do not love suggesting such a thing, but—yes. Yes, I would allow it.”

  “It’s settled then.” I turned to Darla and winked. “Dear, we’re getting hitched.”

  She smiled and clutched my arm.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  There was little chance to talk when we left Wherthmore. Darla held tight and laughed a couple of times, but that was all the conversation we could muster above the clopping of hooves and the sway of the ride.

  For which I was thankful in no small measure.

  Planning a wedding, even a sham wedding designed to keep Tamar and groom alive through their very real vows, was a danger all its own.

  Knowing that Darla knew I musing upon that very fact didn’t help. The empty streets and the broken, looted storefronts and scurrying ne’er-do-wells didn’t help set a festive mood, either.

  War was coming. Chaos was loosed. Fires smoldered, trailing the horizon with fans of black smoke.

  And yet Tamar Fields was going through with her wedding, come war, Hell or wand-wavers.

  Foolish? Brave? Both?

  I couldn’t say.

  And I knew that my failure to do so was a subtle knife twisting in Darla’s heart.

  I spurred the horse and urged her on, though in truth I had little idea where exactly I was heading. I needed to know how Evis was faring. I needed more rounds for the hand-cannon. I needed to know if Pratt had survived, if Lethway lived, if Japeth Stricken had cheated death again, and was lurking in the shadows eager to exact a twice-thwarted vengeance.

  Between downtown and Avalante lay fires and angry mobs. Even mounted, I was wary of such a journey. Doubly so with Darla’s hands clasped around my chest.

  Finding Pratt seemed easiest. Of course that meant risking a meeting with Lethway, but since he might well have died at the Timbers I decided to chance it.

  I managed to convey my intentions to Darla in a shout. I didn’t make any attempt to take her home.

  I didn’t think I could bear to hurt her twice in one day.

  We made for Lethway’s offices. I didn’t think Pratt would still be employed there, but I knew I could find out who was alive and who was being winged to wonders above.

  I brought the mare to a halt right in front of Lethway’s building. The street was populated by a trio of Watch sergeants and a bevy of idling soldiers. I’d planned on sneaking in, but even Lethway wouldn’t dare murder in the street in front of the Watch.

  The doors were open. A pair of stout worthies flanked them and made no secret of carrying crossbows in open defiance of city law.

  I dismounted, tied the mare to the hitching post and carefully approached the door, my hands open at my sides and my face a smiling beacon of goodwill.

  “Good day, gents.”

  No reply. But they kept their crossbows aimed at the street. I laid a hand on the door and neither of them blinked.

  I opened it and stepped inside.

  The place was a beehive. Harried men in suits ran to and fro, shouting and waving papers. Messenger boys charged up and down stairs. Half a dozen lawyers in top hats and capes conferred in a corner, hungry vultures dividing up the feast.

  But there, behind the desk, I spied a familiar face.

  “Miss Marchin,” I said. “So good to see you again.”

  Miss Marchin looked up. Her eyes were red and so was the tip of her nose.

  “Oh, go away,” she said. Her lip trembled. “Just go away, or I’ll yell for Cooper and Benny.”

  I stopped. “No need for that. I’m just looking for Pratt.”

  “He’s dead.” She mopped at her face with a white cloth. “Just go.”

  “Pratt? Dead?” I took a step backward. “I’m going. I’m sorry. I liked him.”

  She cried a bit into her hanky.

  “Mr. Lethway?”

  “Nearly dead. Elf-struck. They say he won’t last the day. What do you care? Get out.”

  She threw something at me. I assumed it was the hanky at first, but it flew too straight, too true.

  She managed a wink out of those puffy red eyes.

  I bent and scooped up the object she’d thrown.

  I got. Benny and Cooper watched me go with no signs of interest. Darla waited until we rounded the corner to speak.

  “Well?”

  “I’m told Pratt is dead. I’m told Lethway is heading that way.”

  I couldn’t see her frown, but I could hear it in her voice.

  “But you don’t believe that.”

  “My right coat pocket. A note. Read it for me, won’t you?”

  She found the paper, read it, brought her lips close to my ear.

  “Pratt is alive,” she said. “He wants you to come see him.”

  She read me an address, and I turned the mare that way.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  We were soon surrounded by Army tallboys, Army troop transports and whopping big twenty-horse Army cargo flats.

  Lucky for us, my borrowed mare was Army bred and Army trained, and she snorted at the biggest and the worst of them and kept plodding dutifully along.

  The address Pratt provided led to a busy coffee shop five blocks from Lethway’s lair. The usual clientele was gone, replaced by idling officers who knew a good place to lay low while there was real work to be done, but that suited me just fine. It was a poor place for murder.

  I seated Darla at a table next to a trio of smiling young lieutenants and then I shouldered my way into the coffee shop.

  Pratt himself was seated at a table in the back. He wasn’t alone. I didn’t know the man seated across from him, but at a word from Pratt the big-boned stranger stood and offered me his seat and then vanished into the crowd.

  I sat.

  Pratt looked bad. His right eye was concealed with a bandage. His lips were swollen and split. An ugly purple bruise peeked out from under the bandage wrapped around his forehead, and I realized he wasn’t wearing a hat to hide the damage because the swelling left him with nothing that fit.

  When he grinned, he revealed a couple of missing teeth. But he grinned anyway, and stuck out his hand, and I took it and shook it.

  “Glad to see you made it.”

  “Likewise.”

  “You don’t have a scratch on you, you lucky bastard.”

  I shrugged. “I broke a nail, though. Nasty business.”

  “I guess you heard Lethway took it worse than either of us.” Pratt shifted in his seat and grunted in pain. “Had a stroke while his doctor was patching him up. Word is he won’t live through the night.”

  “What a pity. How’s the missus?”

  “She’s fine. I did it, Markhat. Took her out of there. Got a house on Verdant. You should come around sometime.”

  “Heard from Carris?”

  Pratt shook his head. “Not a word. But I know he got out, Markhat. Saw him leave. So maybe I should be asking you where he is.”

  “Wish I knew.” I told Pratt about Carris and his visit to the Fields house. Then I described trying to catch him at the docks and watching the last boat leave instead.

  I didn’t tell Pratt about the wedding, or Tamar, or the Church.

  Shame on me.

  “So the kid made
it, wounded and feverish, all the way uptown.” Pratt beamed. “He’s a damned tough kid.”

  “Somebody taught him that.” I eyed the crowd. “You know, a boat out of town might not be a bad idea.”

  “She can’t travel just yet.” He didn’t look up. “No, we’re staying put. You?”

  “I hate boats.”

  “I had some men check the bodies,” said Pratt. “Japeth Stricken wasn’t there.”

  “Damn.”

  “Damn is right. He’ll be apt to look you up, Markhat. Once he’s done with Lethway.”

  “The thought crossed my mind. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Pratt nodded and grimaced at the effort.

  “But I guess anybody that can kill wand-wavers and walk away looking fresh and rested isn’t much worried about the likes of Stricken, are they now?”

  “He slipped. I got in a lucky stab. Nothing miraculous about it.”

  “Slipped. Sure he did. Just like the pair you dropped in front of me. They found the wand-waver’s body, you know. Burned to a crisp. Still, you could see he had a big hole all the way through him. That’s one Hell of a stab you landed.”

  “Guess it was.”

  He gave me a wary look. A look that said he once had me figured out, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  “I wouldn’t have gotten out of the Timbers if not for you. So I owe you one. Just wanted to make that known.”

  I rose. “Thanks. One day soon we need to have a beer.”

  “That we do.” He grunted and struggled to his feet. The effort left him pale and shaking.

  “You take care, Markhat.”

  “Always do.”

  I fought my way back through the mob of lazy soldiers and found Darla. Then we elbowed our way through the crowd. The mare looked winded and thirsty, so we ate a pair of apples and had some water ourselves while a stable boy gave our mount a meal and a brushing.

  Then we hit the road again. Word among the soldiers was that the mobs had been broken and a rough sort of order once again ruled the streets. I pulled a couple of bright-eyed lads from their nice comfy chairs and ordered them to saddle up.

  Time to check in with Evis and see just how bad things were likely to get.

  As it turned out, I didn’t need the pair of bodyguards at all.

  The fires burned out. Already, crews were pulling down burnt walls and loading debris onto wagons. Many of those doing the pulling and the loading were the looters who’d set the blazes, now working happily to restore the grandeur of Rannit under the watchful eyes of Army bowmen.

  Here and there, the corpses of those who had shown reluctance to display such commendable civic-mindedness swung slowly back and forth in the wind. Each bore a sign around their neck, describing their crimes. Most read simply LOOTER. A few bore the title ARSONIST. One hapless fellow was described simply as a MAN OF LOW MORALS.

  “Since when did that become a capital offense?”

  Darla squeezed me hard and fast, and buried her face in my back as we passed beneath the corpse.

  We were challenged, now and then, but with decorum and calm. My name got us through every time. I had mixed emotions about becoming well known as a soldier in Hisvin’s secret army.

  Traffic across the Brown River Bridge was packed and slow. The bridge clowns didn’t dance. They huddled together in what looked like prayer.

  The Brown below us was empty. Not a single barge, not a lone rowboat, dotted the faraway water.

  “I’ve never been up the Hill,” she said, shouting.

  “Time you see how rich folks live.”

  I felt her shiver.

  “They’re just people, like you and me,” I yelled. “Well, except for being dead. But Evis is my friend, and you’re my wife-to-be, so that means you’re perfectly safe.”

  “Wife-to-be. Ha. Where’s my ring, then?”

  “A good point.” I would need a ring, even for a false wedding. “I might have a few in a drawer somewhere. Trophies of my mis-spent youth. How big are your fingers?”

  That earned me a punch in the small of the back.

  I saw an opening in the near-motionless line of cabs and gave the mare a gentle nudge. She leaped into it, sidestepped a sleek black carriage, and within moments we were scattering angry clowns and making good time toward the Hill.

  Once off the bridge, we were confronted by another barricade, this one erected by a throng of House soldiers, each with the insignia of their House sewn over their hearts. They were polite and efficient and the sight of so many silver-tipped arrows peeking over the ranks of their shields left no one in a mood to bluster.

  My turn came and went without incident. A man bearing the Avalante crest took our names and waved us through, and we were let through the line and onto the Hill proper.

  The Hill bristled. Each and every House was transformed overnight into its own elegant fortress. Catapults lurked in every ornate rose garden. The oaks sported archers. Lawns were thick with lancers and infantry.

  Everywhere, slack-jawed groundskeepers wrung their hands and wept.

  If war did indeed come to Rannit, the invaders were going to face a bloodbath, at least on the Hill.

  I doubted that the invaders had a foot campaign in mind. If I were in command of a flotilla armed with cannon, I’d simply float a barge down the Brown and bombard the Hill at my leisure, smashing the Houses to bits from a safe distance and trapping the populace between the Brown and the walls.

  I shuddered at the thought. Avalante might have cannon of its own, but the pair I’d seen on the lawn would prove no match for a couple of barges bristling with the things.

  We rode, challenged but never detained for long. Even houses with no love for Avalante proved cooperative.

  Seeing the Houses holding hands and cooing was almost as disturbing as the thought of the cannon.

  What was usually a twenty-minute ride took an hour. At last we reached the familiar face of Avalante, and we dismounted while a pair of stable boys led the mare off to Avalante’s stables.

  I didn’t recognize the trio of day folk who greeted Darla and I. I did note that they already knew Darla’s name. We were taken immediately to the sitting room, each given cold tea and a decent ham sandwich, and were told we would be seen to as soon as possible.

  Darla nibbled. I gulped.

  “I expected the House to be darker,” she said, opening her sandwich and inspecting the ham.

  I swallowed.

  “It’s just ham. We’re guests here. They take that seriously, even if Evis isn’t around.”

  She took a healthy bite.

  “It’s not bad. Not bad at all.”

  “Try to think of them as business associates.”

  “I know. And I do like Evis. But—”

  The door opened. The door opener wasn’t a day staffer, but Victor, wrapped in black silk and peering at us through black-lensed spectacles.

  “Markhat. Miss Tomas.” He executed an old-world bow, obviously aimed at Darla, since he never bothered with such niceties when greeting humble finders. “Be welcome in our House.”

  Darla stuck her half-eaten sandwich in my lap and stood, extending her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “A beautiful House it is.”

  Victor took her hand, very gently, and shook it twice. Darla beamed.

  Victor turned to me. “I regret that we are unable to communicate with our friends on the Regency,” he said.

  There is nothing gloomier than a worried vampire.

  “Why? Problems with the long talker?”

  Victor shook his head. “Our technical staff believes the problem does not lie here,” he said. “They are unable to determine the nature of the failure.”

  “Could it be the dingus at the other end?”

  “The dingus, as you name it, is far less complex than the main device, which resides here. It was designed to withstand the rigors of travel.”

  Darla put her hand on my shoulder.

  “Surely the House has other means of communicating
?”

  Victor sighed again. The sound of it was that of long-trapped air hissing from an old dry place.

  “These methods, too, have failed. Sorcerous and otherwise.”

  I cussed. Darla squeezed my shoulder.

  “That doesn’t mean they were overtaken. Could be a lot of things. Maybe the wand-wavers from Prince are just filling the Brown with silence spells.”

  “Perhaps that is so,” said Victor. His tone suggested he entertained no such notion. “But we must prepare for the worst.”

  “The worst being that the barges made it through, the Regency is sunk and four thousand cannon are nearly upon us.”

  “Just so.” Victor produced a plain-looking bag from beneath his robes. I took it and nearly dropped it at the unexpected weight.

  “More of the explosive rounds for your weapon,” he said. “Also, a contrivance which will allow it to be worn on your waist, much like a sword. The House judges the time for secrecy regarding the weapon to be ended.”

  I gently let the bag rest on the floor.

  “How many more rounds?”

  “A thousand,” he said. “One standard issue.”

  “Standard issue? You’re handing these out to the staff?”

  “Many have already been trained in the use of small arms. Many more will see training this day. If war comes to Rannit, Markhat, Avalante has no intention of falling.”

  Darla tilted her head, curious but unwilling to interrupt.

  “You may both take refuge here,” said Victor. “Our chambers are deep. We have long prepared against this day.”

  “Thanks. I mean that. But I’ve still got a case to round up, and my client is an unreasonable woman with small regard for petty excuses.”

  That earned me another kick in the shins.

  “What he’s trying to say, sir, is that we are honored by your offer, and if the time comes, we are honored to fight at your side.”

  Victor bowed to her. If he was smiling behind that silk, I couldn’t see it, and didn’t want to.

  “As you wish. Good luck to you both. I fear the coming days will be dark ones.”

  “Good luck to you, too.”

  He bowed again and was gone.

  “A thousand what?” whispered Darla. “What contrivance? What weapon? Is that the thing you’ve been hiding in your coat pocket all day?”