Part 37 (2/2)

”It's not so bad,” he said. ”The most surprising people pop in to see me.”

The guard was glaring at me in brutish impatience, and as he edged me toward the door, Durrel called my name. I hung back. ”Can you get a message to my father?”

”I'll try. What do you want me to say?” The guard had hold of me now and was pulling me into the hallway. Durrel looked fl.u.s.tered, perplexed. ”Think on it,” I said. ”And tell me next time.”

”You can't come back here! It's too dangerous.”

”There are visiting days every week,” I said. ”I'll come then.”

The guard slammed the door hard between us, but I watched over my shoulder as pale fingers curled through the bars in the tiny window.

CHAPTER THREE.

Outside the gates, across the drawbridge, a lanky young man in a ridiculous powder blue satin suit leaned casually against a rain barrel.

”Rat?” I raised my arm against the piercing sunlight. ”What are you doing here?”

”I believe that's my line. G.o.ds!” Rat jumped as I lowered my arm from my face. ”Marau's b.a.l.l.s, Digger. I hope somebody's bleeding in the street somewhere thanks to you.”

”How did you find me?”

”Were you expecting someone else? It hurts just to look at you.” Rat winced, leaning in to inspect my bruised eye and gashed cheek. ”I have a boat, thank the G.o.ds. If they'll even let you on. You smell like -”

”I know what I smell like.” A hired river launch bobbed nearby, and I hobbled toward it. ”How did you know where I was?” I repeated, lowering myself into the boat - without any help from Rat, I'll note. He hopped down after me and told the boatman where to take us.

Rat, properly Halcot Granthin, my roommate, produced a slip of paper from his doublet. ”They sent a note.” I unfolded the page, a crisp sheet of stationery so white it was almost too bright to look at directly. Your lodger has been arrested. Fifty marks bond to release her from the Keep. ”Aunt Grea found it under the bakery door this morning. By all the h.e.l.ls, what were you doing?”

”Working. Red guards pinched me in Markettown.”

”Entertaining,” he said, obviously waiting for more.

”You do it next time.” There was nothing on the paper to give up its origins.

”Recognize the handwriting?”

”No.” It was neat and featureless schoolroom calligraphy, carefully anonymous. And unsigned, of course. ”Thank you,” I added belatedly. ”I owe you fifty marks.” Not that I had any idea where it was going to come from.

”Lucky again. They sent the money too. But you do owe me new trunk hose. You've ruined my favorite pair.” He leaned in distastefully and plucked at the stained fabric near my knee.

”Oh, they weren't either. I pulled these out of the fireplace.”

”Evidently.”

The pier where we were moored was crowded, mostly with Watch craft unloading prisoners. I seemed to be the only one getting out of the Keep this morning. In among the city boats were two long, gilded vessels packed with soldiers in green livery - more of the king's army being s.h.i.+pped into the city to remind us all to stay in line. Above the horizon of buildings on the opposite sh.o.r.e, a sliver of green gla.s.s dome colored the sky: the Celystra, visible from nearly every point in the city.

Tensions in Gerse had always been high, but now that we were finally, openly, at civil war, it was even worse. Soldiers patrolled the streets and waterways, and the city had closed down most of the markets, lest we citizens gather and start a riot. There was hardly anything to buy now, anyway, with the troops outside Gerse diverting most of the food and goods from the farms of Gelnir for their own use. Neighbors kept their doors and windows closed fast, and n.o.body met each other's eyes. Everyone was afraid of glancing up and recognizing enemy sympathies in people they'd lived and worked beside all their lives. As the summer days grew hot and long, the king's grip on the city grew so tight we could barely breathe.

The boat slipped into the current, and I settled back into the cramped seat, reaching to pull my cap over my eyes. My fingers closed on air; I must have forgotten it in Durrel's cell. I couldn't shake that final image of him watching me, one hand reaching out as I walked away. What had happened to him? It was hard to reconcile the hopeless young man I'd just left with the gallant, good-humored n.o.b who'd plucked me from the riverbank and swept me to safety last fall.

Rat was watching me. ”What?” I said crossly.

”Just making sure you weren't going to careen out of the boat,” he said. ”You're about to tip over, you know.”

I hunched lower. ”Have you heard anything about the murder of a n.o.bleman's wife recently - a Talth Ceid?”

The expression on Rat's face was immeasurable, and even the boatman turned to stare at me. ”Where have you been, then?” the sailor asked, then reddened under his sun-weathered skin, the shadow of the Keep still darkening the water before us. ”Oh.”

Rat wasn't so polite. ”Honestly, don't you pay attention to anything? Lord Durrel killing Talth Ceid is the only thing anyone's talked about for the last two weeks!”

”Just fill me in,” I said. ”My head hurts.”

”I should think so,” he said. ”Well, it's brewing into quite the scandal. It seems that things behind closed doors at the Ceid household were not so dignified after all.”

”What kind of scandal?”

”Talth's daughter, to start,” Rat said in a low voice. ”They're saying there might have been more than paternal affection between Talth's oldest and her stepfather.”

”What?” It took a moment for my sluggish brain to work through that. ”You mean, Durrel and -?”

”Koya,” Rat supplied. ”And it's not quite as seedy as it sounds. She must be well into her third age by now, and Lord Durrel's only just a man. Or so I've heard.”

”And that's why he supposedly killed her? For this Koya?”

”Or for the money. You can pick your motive - no, really, odds makers on Bonelicker Way are taking wagers for it - but apparently the Decath got the marriage settlement back and the house on Garrison Street when his lords.h.i.+p's wife was so conveniently dispatched. Not that any of them will do him much good where he's at now. The Ceid are screaming for Lord Durrel's blood, and the way things look, I think they'll get it.” Rat's gaze had gone narrow. ”Why all these questions?”

I scratched at the back of my head, gingerly probing one of the bruises. ”Apparently I've just spent the night in a cell with the city's most celebrated murder suspect.”

Rat's expression was carefully neutral. ”That's what this is about? How do these things happen to you?”

”I know him,” I said. ”Oh, don't give me that look. You've heard that story a dozen times.”

”I didn't realize he was that Durrel Decath.”

I turned the anonymous note over in my hands. ”I don't think he did it,” I said.

”He should find that encouraging, since you're obviously an expert on the case.”

”Maybe I am,” I said, fingering the ink on the paper. Maybe whoever'd had me arrested really was trying to give Durrel a gift - the gift of a light-fingered sneak thief all too adept at digging up n.o.bs' secrets. ”Can you find out where this paper came from?” I handed the letter back to Rat. He was the son of a cloth merchant, but he had a talent for procuring any number of oddments - contraband wine, rare imported tobacco, more exotic entertainments - at below-market prices, without ever technically stealing any of it. If I wanted expensive white notepaper, or information about it, Rat could get it for me.

”Isn't that your area of expertise?” he said. ”Very well. And if I find your mysterious stationer, then what?”

”We figure out who wrote this note.” And had me arrested, and be one step closer to unraveling the tangle that Durrel and I were both in.

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