by Frank Tuttle
“Worry about Carris?”
She didn’t answer. She scooped up plates and fled, leaving me alone with a table-full of scraps.
I did linger and finish my chicken. I’m sure that illuminated a deep-seated flaw in my soul, but, as I said, it was good chicken.
Chapter Seven
I counted doors. One, two, three.
Outside door number three sat a silver platter.
Someone hadn’t touched her lunch.
I paused, listened, heard nothing.
So I knocked.
“Mrs. Lethway?”
I barely heard the muffled reply.
“Mrs. Lethway? May I speak to you, please?”
“Go ’way.”
I winced. The Lady might have missed her meal, but she wasn’t wanting for drink. Not just a dainty sip for milady, either. I could smell whiskey through the door.
“It’s about Carris, Lady. Please.”
“My Carris? Where is he? Is he alive?”
I heard hurried footsteps behind the door and then fumblings with the latch.
Fumblings, and then a soft thud, as though a wife-sized body sank slowly to the floor.
And then snoring.
I cussed. So close. I tried a few more times to rouse the sotted Mrs. Lethway, but to no avail.
Lady Luck seldom smiles all day.
I hadn’t been able to ask Mrs. Lethway a single question, but she’d managed to answer the most important one of all.
I took off my Avalante brooch once I hit the first floor landing. Few of Rannit’s florists were also associates of the Dark Houses.
I passed servants going about their duties and got nothing but nods and smiles. I found my most recent sitting room, heard voices inside, and hesitated for the barest fraction of a second. I’d gotten what I came for, and the front door was just strides away and unguarded, but Darla had given me the hat I’d left on a hook in that room and I was loathe to leave it.
The door was ajar. I stepped through it, not smiling.
The pair of stalwarts who first met me at the door glared and converged on me.
“Where have you been?” demanded the largest.
I made the same huffing noise deep in my throat that I’d seen barkeep Eddie make at customers who dared hint that his glasses could use a wash. When that was not met with violence, I snapped my fingers under the bulky man’s nose.
“I was left waiting-me, left waiting! — in this room for hours,” I said. “Hours! I was forced to seek out a water closet. The hospitality of your House, sir, is nothing short of brutal.” I poked him in the chest with my finger. His face went purple with suppressed rage. “You may inform the groom he will need to seek the services of another florist. Do you hear? I will not stand for rudeness. Walter and Walter has a long history of being retained by the finest families in Rannit for their nuptial floral needs. We have no need of your sort of coin, no need at all. Good day, sir.”
With that, I turned, snatched my hat off the hook, and marched for the door.
The other man darted ahead of me and opened it for me and slammed it behind me.
I squinted in the sunlight. I was unthrashed, well fed and immaculately hatted. I had learned that Carris’s mother knew nothing of his whereabouts and feared him dead.
Not a bad morning’s work, for a humble wedding florist.
My cabbie was long gone, leaving me to hoof it back down the Hill in the hope an empty one would rattle along before I developed blisters on my heels.
The green and pleasant lawns of the Hill kept me company as I walked. The shade was generous and cool. The Houses, all set well back from the street, were quiet and stately, whether they housed murderous halfdead or Rannit’s living rich.
You’d think walking down the Hill would be easy. And it is, at first, but any long walk on an incline becomes difficult after a while. Especially if the walker has been spending too much time behind desks and various restaurant tables of late.
I’d worked up a sweat before I was even a quarter of the way down, and still no friendly cabs drew near. By the halfway point, I was mincing and hopping and my visit-the-rich-folks shoes were reminding me with every step they were neither broken in nor made for long downhill hikes.
So when the peaked roofs of Avalante rose above the blood-oaks, I put my brooch back on and mopped the sweat from my face and decided my dignity could withstand a bit of begging for a ride downtown. I wouldn’t trouble Evis, of course, who would still be deep in his vampire slumber, but I was known to enough of the daytime staff to make the occasional nuisance of myself.
And so it was that I crossed the Brown River Bridge for the second time that day aboard one of Avalante’s many carriages. The bridge clowns gave us wide berth, as they do all of the Dark Houses. I waved at them anyway and got obscene gestures back for my troubles.
My driver, a taciturn older gentleman named Halbert, struck a clown square in the face with the core of the apple he’d been munching on when we left. The clowns applauded and bowed.
“Good throw,” I shouted.
“Thankee.”
I thought for a moment. “Drop me off at the corner of Harold and Skinner, will you?”
I’d told him to head for the offices of Lethway Mining when we’d left Avalante. Now I was having second thoughts about being seen arriving in a cab bearing Avalante’s crest. I doubted the Lethway patriarch was going to be pleased by my visit, and there was no need to drag Evis into this.
“Whatever you say.”
We rattled off the bridge, and I settled back and gathered my thoughts.
Seeing a man like Mr. Lethway is no easy task. He employs a building full of secretaries and assistants and managers just to make sure he seldom actually sees anyone himself.
When I passed through his doors, I was still unsure of which words I would speak to the smiling young woman perched behind the slab of polished granite that took up half the room. The walls were dark oak, recently polished with something that contained lemon juice. The floors were marble. The potted plants in the corners probably earned a higher wage than half of Rannit would ever see.
A bent little man in a fancy footman’s outfit closed the doors behind me. “Welcome, sir,” he said, his voice barely audible. “May I take your hat?”
“You may indeed,” I said. My smile would have dazzled, had there been enough light. “Thank you.”
I crossed to the desk while my hat was slowly conveyed to a row of gold hooks on the wall. Judging by the number of hats already hanging there, Lethway Mining was having a busy day.
“Good afternoon.” I rested my elbows on the granite desk and leaned down a bit. The girl behind the desk smiled, but it was a practiced, neutral smile, and I suspected she wore it all day, whether I was standing there or not.
“Good afternoon.” Her voice was as smooth and as practiced as her smile. “With whom is your appointment?”
“I’m here to speak with Mr. Lethway. My name is Markhat.”
Her smile never wavered. Her eyes did, lowering, inspecting some document I couldn’t see.
“I won’t be on your list.” I lowered my voice to conspiratorial whisper. “This is a private matter.”
“I’m sure it is, Mr. Markhat. But this is a place of business, and if you don’t have an appointment, I’m afraid Mr. Lethway isn’t available. Good day.”
“Has anyone told you lately you have lovely eyes?”
“My husband. Twice a day. Simmons will fetch your hat.”
“Tell Simmons to hold on for just a moment. Mr. Lethway needs to see me, even though he doesn’t know it yet. This is important.”
She sighed. Her eyes were indeed lovely, but they weren’t softening.
“Important or not, no appointment means Simmons fetches your hat.”
Someone tapped me on my shoulder. I hadn’t heard anyone approach. I turned my head, and marveled that a man so big could move so quietly.
“Does dis man have an appointment, Miss Marchin?”
“He does not.”
“Den why is he still here, Miss Marchin?”
“He was just saying goodbye. Weren’t you, Mr. Markhat?”
I straightened, nice and slow, so no ham-fisted giants in my vicinity would misinterpret my action as preparatory to rudeness.
“I was indeed. Good day, Miss Marchin. Give my best to Mr. Marchin and all the little Marchins.”
“Simmons has your hat,” spoke the giant. “Dat’s him. By the door. You have the nice day.”
Indeed, the grizzled Simmons was standing by the door, my hat clutched in his shaking hand. His grin was small but spiteful.
I turned to face the behemoth behind me.
He was a full head taller than me, and then some. He’d clearly left his neck in his other shirt, possibly because there wasn’t room on a single human frame for a neck and those shoulders. His chest bulged, and not from fat. His arms were more ogre than human.
He had short, black hair slicked back with oil and a crooked, flat nose and much to my surprise, all of his teeth, which gleamed a pearly white.
His eyes were neither dim nor close-set. I even fancied I could see humor there.
“My name is Markhat,” I said, adjusting my tie. “Who might you be?”
“I might be da pleasant gentleman what shows you polite-like to the door, or I might be da man who picks you up and throws you through it,” he said, still smiling. “Who do you want me to be?”
“Look. You’ve both got me all wrong. I’m not a salesman. I’m not a mooch. I need to see Mr. Lethway on an urgent private matter, and-”
“Den I’ll be the second one,” said the giant.
He put his hands under my arms and picked me up before I could say another word.
I could have done a couple of things, in that moment. I could have boxed his ears, for instance. Or poked my fingers in his eyes. Or kicked him in the groin. Yes indeed, I could have dealt out any number of crushing blows, since his hands were occupied and I was facing him in close quarters.
But I didn’t. Mainly because my ribs were bending double and he’d squeezed the breath out of me.
But also because he winked.
So I deigned to allow myself to be carried unceremoniously from the downtown offices of Lethway Mining. As we passed Simmons, I did manage to reach out and grab my hat, which I stuck jauntily on my head.
I waved to Miss Marchin, who did at least wave back, and my giant took a pair of steps into the street so the door could shut before he put me down on my feet.
Passers-by laughed and pointed. I adjusted my jacket and caught my breath.
“I hope you’ll forgive that, Mr. Markhat.”
“Oh, I enjoyed it. My thanks for not throwing me over your shoulder. That would have been undignified.”
He laughed.
“I know who you are. Markhat the finder. Why would you be wanting to speak to the boss?”
“No offense, but that’s between him and me. And speaking of names, I missed yours.”
“Dey calls me Pratt.”
“What’s with the dey and the den?”
He shrugged. “It suits the character. People are more comfortable with big dumb men than big smart ones. I like to keep people comfortable.”
“My ribcage disagrees. Look. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you already know why I need to see your boss. Can we leave it at that?”
He regarded me for a long moment.
“You have a reputation, Mr. Markhat. So I’ll arrange something. But not here. Somewhere private. You know the Troll’s Den?”
“Fancy cigar place? Off Trotline?”
“The very same. Can you be there tonight, around Curfew?”
“I can do that.”
“Den we’ll see you dere. You have the nice day.” He turned, opened the doors, and shouted over his shoulder. “And don’t be comin’ round no more. You ain’t welcome.”
I turned on my heel, managed to fill my lungs with a wheeze and a cough, and marched away with my head held high.
I didn’t march home, though. I decided I’d sample another cup of good Fields coffee and see if I could find Tamar. She wasn’t my client, technically, but keeping her informed seemed like a good way to keep my actual client happy.
The walk to the bakery wasn’t a long one. I got there well after the lunch rush and well before the pre-Curfew scramble for supper, which meant there were a half-dozen diners scattered about the place, talking in groups of two over steaming cups of coffee or tea.
Mr. Fields was behind the counter. He looked up when the bell attached to the door rang, saw me and failed to break out into a warm welcoming smile.
“She’s not here,” he said. “Not going to be here, either.”
I settled onto a stool right across from him just as Mr. Tibbles yapped from the kitchen.
Mr. Fields shrugged and cussed. “Damn that animal.”
“Causing you grief is not my intention, you know.”
He set a cup of coffee before me and turned away.
“I’m just trying to find out what happened to your daughter’s fiance. I know you don’t like the young man. But I suspect he’s in trouble.”
“If he is, he’s in it because the Lethways themselves are trouble. I don’t want my daughter taking their name, finder. If she does, trouble is going to find her too.”
He’d spoken so softly I’d barely heard him.
“Sounds like you know more than I do.”
“What’s this going to cost me?”
I leaned in closer, lost.
“I don’t follow.”
“How much will it cost me to have you let this go, finder? How much will it take to make you go away, and let things settle down on their own?”
“I don’t like talking to your back.”
He turned.
“I don’t like talking to you. At all.” Something like menace blossomed on his puffy face. “Name your price. Or maybe you’ll find trouble yourself. Real soon.”
I took a swallow of coffee and dropped a couple of coppers on the counter.
“Needs sugar.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.” I raised my voice. “Tamar? Miss Fields?”
From the kitchen came a renewed yapping, and then Tamar popped through the swinging doors, Mr. Tibbles struggling and growling in her grasp.
“Mr. Markhat. I was hoping you’d drop by. Say hello, Mr. Tibbles.”
The mutt bared his teeth and growled.
“He’s warming up to me. Care to take a stroll? We need to talk.”
“Of course. I was just leaving anyway. Goodbye, Father. See you at home.”
She planted a kiss on Mr. Field’s flushed cheeks, and I escorted her through the door, feeling her father’s glare on my back with each step.
I mourned my last cup of his coffee, because I’d not dare drink another. My palate is overly sensitive to hemlock.
Tamar’s breathless narrative continued all the way to a sidewalk cafe a full two blocks from her father’s listening ears. Along the way, I learned that she despised trumpets but adored flutes, that she felt this season’s hats were far too enamored of lace, and that Mr. Tibbles was experiencing one of his frequent bouts with gas.
The latter I didn’t need notification thereof, since most of the walk put me downwind of Mr. Tibbles.
I took us to a table and sent the waiter away with orders for hot tea and a plate of cookies. “Nothing with nuts, please,” added Tamar. “They’ll just make Mr. Tibbles worse.”
The waiter nodded, as though the dietary habits of Tamar’s dog were common knowledge among Rannit’s finer eateries.
“Now then,” she said as the waiter hurried off. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
I told it all. I did neglect to mention the bribe her father had offered me, or the threat he’d made when I’d refused it. Both could wait, hopefully forever.
Hot tea and cookies arrived. I sipped the tea, and remembered my huffing an
d puffing of late, and let the pastries go. Tamar dived in and ate four, and Mr. Tibbles polished off the rest.
“So you’re breaking Curfew tonight,” she said. “Where?”
“A place that caters to Curfew breakers. The name doesn’t matter. The fact that Lethway wants to talk is all that’s important.”
“How do you know the Colonel will come? You didn’t speak to him, but to that large person.”
I shook my head. “Men like Lethway don’t let their hirelings arrange their social schedules. He knew I would be coming around. He had Pratt watching out for me.”
“How could he have known that?”
“I’ll ask him when I see him.”
Tamar laughed. “You don’t much like the man, and you haven’t even met him yet. Men are so funny. How do you keep from killing each other, all the time?”
“Good question. Mainly we don’t because it’s a lot of work. Now. How many florists and caterers and tailors have you sent up the Hill, Miss Fields? They weren’t surprised to find another one on their doorstep.”
“I’m only sending them the ones any groom’s family would traditionally pay for. And they’ve paid them all, Mr. Markhat. That in itself is significant, is it not?”
“It might be.” I was thinking Lethway gladly paid them just to avoid scandal. Tamar was convinced they were paying them because the wedding was still on. I couldn’t share her enthusiasm, but I saw no need to wound her, either.
“I’m going to make a couple of assumptions now, Miss. You aren’t going to like them. But I need you to consider them, even so.”
“Carris has been kidnapped, is that what you mean?”
I nodded.
“I’m also going to assume that the kidnapper or kidnappers may have reached out to more than just the Lethways,” I said. “It’s possible they might also have demanded payment from the father of the bride.”
Tamar’s eyes went wide, and for the briefest of instants, she was silent.
“Oh my.”
“Oh my is right. Think carefully. Has your father’s attitude toward Carris always been hostile, or has it taken a sudden turn for the worse? If so, when?”