by JM Guillen
This was the cart of a ragman.
Teredon had thousands of the rag-and-bone men. They were a vital part of the city’s economy, helping to make certain we re-used as many of our resources as possible. It was an honest, hard-working occupation, and it looked as if one of them had been robbed.
“What to do with this?” I pulled on the cart; it rolled easily. It was an odd situation—who would rob a ragman and then leave all of his things intact?
It looked like I would need to ask about. I wondered how much time it would take to track down the good Kaiser Fallowson. If anyone would be able to recognize the cart, it should be the Warren’s master rag-picker.
But I was burning time.
Once, ragmen would simply gather what they could and then bring it to the local rag and paper makers. However, as the city grew, so did the ragman population. Soon there were so many of them that having individual sellers come to the various rag paper makers all throughout the day quickly began to eat up the paper makers’ time. As soon as they realized their profit was less because production was less as someone always had to deal with the current ragman at the door, the paper makers’ guildmen got together and appointed a master rag-picker. Today, those groups dealt only with the Kaiser.
The ragmen got the picture pretty quickly and started dealing with the master rag-picker themselves. They turned in their best rags and old clothes, got paid through him, and then the master turned over the rags to the paper makers and got paid himself.
The master rag-picker would certainly know all the ragmen in the area. I hoped he would also know their carts.
I bent and reached for the handlebar when there was a scuffle at the alley entrance. I paused, straightening up once again and turned in time to see two young ruffians dart into the alley.
“—lef’ it here for us, didn’t I? C’mon! I’ll push you firs—” The younger boy was shouting to the taller lad as he rounded the corner. When he saw me, he blanched, and his feet skittered out from under him as he tried to reverse direction. He hit the ground and scrambled back, scuttling like a fresh-caught crab.
I tilted my head to one side and watched as the taller boy tripped over the crab impersonator. He tried to catch himself but ended up landing on the dirt, his chest on top of the younger one’s legs while one foot rested on the other’s shoulder. The tall boy set up howling immediately, while the one on bottom ceased trying to escape and just stared at me as if the boggelmann himself had come to take him away.
“Boys.” I nodded a greeting. “I don’t suppose you happen to know who this cart belongs to and how it escaped him?”
2
In the end, the rag and bone man was extremely grateful to have not only his cart returned but the use of two young backs to haul his finds around for the next month. It seemed that he had just turned away from his cart to pry a few horseshoe nails from between some cobbles over on Elmin Way the day before, when two street boys ran past him and stole his cart of fripperies and rags.
“Just a bit of funnin’!” the shorter, younger one tried to defend the pair. “We ’re out for a lark. Wind in the hair on a day like this.” He gestured to the sky.
I squinted at the few clouds studding the still too-bright day.
“We’d’ve brought ‘er back, master, uh, Judicar, sir.”
I narrowed my eyes.
Theft of a non-guildman’s equipment was a tier five offense, therefore it was within my power to fine the boys or their families or even file a writ of probate, notifying the Offices of the Just that I had taken an official interest in the boys.
Fining them would be a waste of time. It was clear that these children were barely eking out a living, surviving on what the streets threw their way. It was doubtful that they had any family they’d admit to, and if they did, it seemed unlikely that costing them more funds would be in the boy’s best interests.
Without putting the boys in the Havens, filing a writ would be a waste of my time. They would simply wait until evening and set off for another little street-shelter and blend in. I’d never see them again. I could put them in the Havens, but they were ever full, and these two boys looked to be nearing their ‘prenticing years. They’d be right back out on the streets.
The ragman in question, one Coryn Koas by name, finished looking over his cart and wandered near. He fixed the boys’ with a gaze like that of a kyte on the wing.
“These the stripling larceners?”
They shrank away from the wiry old man. He wasn’t much bigger than they were, but the old man carried himself with such an air that an eagyl would have been envious.
I nodded. “They are.”
He looked up at me. “Were I in charge, I’d rake ’em over the hot ones. Full punishment ’llowable by law. I know it’s naught but a tier five ’r six ’ffensive, but that’s not the point! The laws are in place to protect the citizens. Well, now, I’m a citizen too! These ruffians done stirred me up for nigh on two whole days. You know how much coin that cost me? I’m lucky I’m frugal minded and store up some hold-me-overs.”
I nodded slowly and nudged at the boys.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Aarne, the taller boy.
“What was that?” snapped Coryn.
I tried to suppress a grin as the old man leaned into the boy. He’d clearly had experience with young rebellious types before.
“I’m sorry. I… I ap’logise.” Aarne managed a bit louder.
“Me too,” chimed in Tau. “I beg your pardon, ser. I never wanted any harm to come from my actions, and I sorrow if it did.” His tones had turned mournful, and I wondered if he’d considered the play-shows.
“Humph,” Coryn grunted, apparently mollified.
I smiled as an idea struck. “Mister Koas?”
He looked up and preened at the title of respect.
“You are absolutely correct. The laws are in place to protect the citizens and sometimes they fail. I hope to correct that.”
“Well now,” he gave me a canny grin. “What did you have in mind, Judicar?”
Leaving the ragman in charge of the youngsters would provide them food and shelter, at least for a time, and it might spark an interest in becoming a ragman. Keeping Teredon’s streets may not be a glorious career, but warm clothing, food, and shelter made a powerful argument.
It took a judicar token and nearly a quarter bell to settle out all the details, but finally I was once again on my trail.
Finally. Perhaps soon I would be finding the Smiling Lady in my visions.
I strode down the street, turning winterward toward the Wyndhaus. With a single signal, Scoundrel flapped ahead again, and we were on patrol.
“Thom! Thom Judicas!” The man’s voice was insistent and desperate. “Judicar!”
I stopped and closed my eyes briefly. I clenched my fist and took a deep breath.
“Judicar, your assistance!”
Sweet Elsador.
I opened my eyes and turned around, a smile wheat-pasted on my face. “Yes? How can I help you?”
This was a completely typical day in the Warrens.
It was a fact that we needed new judicar squires, particularly here in my borough. Wil and I were the only two official presences in all of the Warrens, which made things difficult. Every citizen wanted an official opinion on the matters that plagued them and would much rather seek out a judicar than deal with the dozens of guildmen that could just as easily take care of most situations.
This was just such a time.
It was easy for such duties to cause me to drift wayward from the things that actually mattered in my borough. In this instance, it took me almost a quarter bell to realize that each of these men thought that the other one was robbing him in a business deal they had made. Never mind the fact that I was in no way capable of making choices regarding fishing rights in the Er’meander or the truth that the appropriate guild was right down the street, these two men had a quarrel, and they wanted it resolved right then.
After tha
t of course was the young woman who was missing some of the wares from her perfumery. She had apparently already taken it up with one Mr. Wil Sommers, but strangely enough, he had not returned to her shop with the criminal in hand since she’d spoken with him only the night before.
I promised to give her concern all the attention it deserved before excusing myself.
Fortunately, by this point I was quite close to the Wyndhaus. I reined Scoundrel in, so that no more citizens would see a Judicar’s bird about. I set her on my shoulder, forced a grim expression on my face, and took long purposeful strides.
I knew that none of the citizens thought they were wasting my time, but I had already lost more than a day of the serum’s potency. It was time to sharp up, and put my judicar pants on.
The Twilight Blades were somehow at the root of all this, and I needed to know why.
If anyone had answers, it would be Booker Dox.
The House of Wind and Secrets
Riddling, First Bell, Morningtide
I entered the Shipman Slums, up near Dockside, a short time later. Many of the more established guilds took advantage of the fact that the Slums were full of the larger manses that used to pepper the Warrens. Several of them had guild-sanctioned businesses in this area, taking advantage of the well-heeled patrons that would often drift in from Dockside. These places weren’t often official guildhouses, but more like way stations that catered to a specific clientele.
The Wyndhaus had been a rambling country house once upon a time. It looked like the kind of home that a wealthy family might retreat to for a holiday. Or perhaps an elderly couple had lived there, their many descendants forcing the original dwelling to expand to the sprawling edifice that stood before me.
Time and use had not been kind to the old place. Its ancient, weathered oak beams and moss covered stones looked like they might have been new about the same time as the bounds awoke.
As I approached, I noticed that, while there was a large crowd of people milling around, more seemed to be leaving than arriving. It wasn’t particularly odd; Teredon is a city that keeps odd hours, nevertheless, I sharped up and studied the throng.
Slipping around the tallhats and brass-buttons were a different sort of folk: scars, dirt, large muscles, and torn clothing were common among the men, but the women who were sneaking away were quite a different show. Low hanging, thin blouses barely held up by tight corsets, skirts drawn up like a stage theatre to reveal long legs in lacy stockings, faces highlighted by cosmetics to appear rosy and eager. These women left a perfumed cloud in their wake just trying to get away from me.
I saw one blond woman scramble into a foot cab and gave her a tip of my hat. She blanched and turned her face away, revealing a purple bruise on the edge of one otherwise rosy cheek.
My fist clenched, and I grit my teeth. I surveyed the rabble, seeking out the brightly costumed mollies, searching for more signs of violence.
I found them. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises, all carefully covered with cosmetic or an artistically draped bit of fabric, decorated most of the pleasure-ladies I saw. Making the pillow-guilds illegal had certainly not stopped the prostitution but made it a more dangerous and unsavory business instead.
I saw one delicate-looking girl glide toward a horse and four, escorted by two men. One was frail with greying hair, and the other was a brute of a man, perhaps not as tall as me, but twice my girth and not a bit of fat.
The large man helped the old one into the carriage and then the woman. He then took a step back before entering the cab, which revealed a man some way behind him, walking away from Wyndhaus.
A familiar man.
I let out a soft whistle. “Well now, Scoundrel, isn’t it interesting that Grith is here?” I asked in an undertone.
“Corn! Corn!” she demanded, since that was all that mattered.
“Not now, you greedy thing. We’ve got work to do.” I gestured her up to a nearby rooftop.
Grith was stomping down the cobblestones on Stone Glen Avenue, his shoulders hunched and his head down like a man fighting a storm wind. I could have easily followed him. I could have had Scoundrel tail him from above, as I nearly did. But it had taken me most of the morning just to get to Wyndhaus, and there was no telling how far Grith could take me from it.
No. I would rook the man.
I set off down a side street, Scoundrel winging in behind me. I set a brisk pace but judged that I didn’t need to out and out run. I slipped down side streets and alleyways, noting the entire time exactly how clean and well repaired they weren’t. Still, I stepped quick, looping around Grith. This way, just before he reached the place where Stone Glen split to become Shepherd’s Glen going one way and Rock Creek the other, I could step back onto the main road.
I all but appeared in front of him like fairy-tale magic.
Grith stopped dead and goggled at me.
“Greetings, Grith.” I pushed at my hat brim with one finger. “Imagine meeting you here.” I stepped over to him and warmly put one arm around his shoulders, exactly like the friend he wasn’t. Gently, I guided him to the little café behind the street split. “Come, have a chat with me over a cup, chum.”
We sat at Jorge’s Café’s outdoor seating area. Grith fidgeted in his chair while I ordered a cup of horxata and pretended that the man didn’t smell like a saloon.
Our waitress was a true citizen of Teredon, a wide and wild mix. She had the thick, black hair of the Esperan people but with deep brown skin, darker than a pure Esperan heritage would leave her. Her most stunning features were her eyes, however. Almond shaped eyes were common traits from those that claimed Nimjemin ancestors, but hers were as blue as sapphires. She delivered my sweet, creamy drink with a wink and a smile.
“Enjoy, Judicar,” she purred.
I am. I gave her my sweetest smile as she walked away.
I turned to Grith. “I think I will.”
He simply sat, his arms crossed.
I considered telling him that he looked like a toad, but then realized that he probably already knew.
“So, Grith, tell me, what were you doing over at Booker’s this morning?”
He scowled at me. “That’s not really your concern now, is it?”
“Grith, I’m hurt. I’m concerned about all my citizens.” I pressed one hand to my heart. “Especially ones that are missing. You do remember that, don’t you, Grith? I’m on the look for a missing girl.” I made a few gestures to Scoundrel, out of Grith’s sight.
“Looking!” she croaked.
He startled and stared at my girl as if she were holding a snake in her beak.
“I—’course I remember.” He glanced at me but only briefly. It seemed Scoundrel had gained his wary attention. “I took ya to talk to the Filch, didn’t I?”
“Filch!”
Grith’s eyes couldn’t be more round.
“So then, tell me what you were doing up at the Wyndhaus. Or are you withholding information that would lead me to find out you’re involved?”
His eyes jerked to me. “Wot? No! No, I’d…” His eyes flicked to Scoundrel for just a beat. “I’d never…” Again his eyes strayed to my bird.
I sighed. I’d never get answers out of him like this. I set Scoundrel on the ground, just out of Grith’s sight.
He looked me in the face. “I just don’t like you pokin’ ‘round my business, right?” He tugged at his lapels.
I noticed his speech had improved markedly.
Scoundrel spied some crumbs under the next table over and hopped over to snatch them up.
“You wouldn’t want me doggin’ you all over.” He gave me a foul look. “Shovin’ in, askin’ all the why’s and wherefore’s. Too right you wouldn’t.”
Scoundrel looked like she was about to leap up onto some of the occupied tables and steal some of the pastries there.
I glared, and gave her the tiniest shake of my head.
She cocked her head at my movement.
I narrowed my eyes and gave h
er a sign. No. Bad bird.
She hopped closer to the tables. I looked back to Grith.
“The difference between you and me—” I glanced at Scoundrel and scowled. “—is that I am oathed to the city, to safeguard her citizens.”
“Judicar. You can’t think—” He scowled at me and opened his mouth.
I abruptly glanced away, shaking my head at the greediest bird in the world. I glared toward her with my fiercest, most frown-laden glare. She pecked at the ground, and then fluttered back to my chair, landing on the back of my seat to groom her feathers, the very picture of innocence.
“Thing is—” I looked back toward Grith, my smile all edged shadow. “I actually want to find the girl.” I reached back and scooped Scoundrel out of it. I dumped her on the table and sat.
Grith pushed back from the table just a touch, his eyes on Scoundrel. “I want to find Rebeka!” His eyes flicked to me. “I do; she’s like a sister to me.”
“Then you should be happy to assist.” I kept my tone sweet. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“Fine. If you must know, I’m doin’ your job, ain’t I?”
“My job? What do you mean?”
Scoundrel hopped onto my shoulder and settled in to take a short nap.
“You knew that Doc Thane’s shop went up a bit back, right?”
“Right.” Wil had actually handled the fallout from that situation, so I mostly heard about it second hand.
“Did ye know it happened the same day Rebeka was taken?”
I stopped short. I hadn’t put that together.
Grith continued, “Well, Ol’ Doc Thane was done in when his alchemy and potives shop blowed up, and Senír Santiago asked me to peek into things. Doc owed Santiago a touch of money, and it seems like a nice time for the Doc to end up dead. Then, Rebeka was taken, same day—”
“Doc Thane owed Santiago?” Wil had told me that the shop went up, but I hadn’t heard anything about this.