Part 24 (1/2)

That scared Erna more than anything.

The s.p.a.ce outside the bakery was empty. They loitered in the area until well past the time that they had seen Willi before. Gotthilf watched as Byron's lips tightened in frustration.

A large woman appeared in the doorway of the bakery, looking up the street. Byron elbowed Gotthilf.

”Come on.” She looked to them with a frown as they approached.

”Your pardon, Frau . . .” Byron began.

”Frau Kreszentia Traugottin. And you are?”

Byron introduced them as city officials looking into various irregularities. ”I see that the boy is not here today.

The woman's frown turned thunderous. ”You're not looking to hara.s.s Willi, are you?”

”No, no, indeed not,” Byron soothed. ”We want to talk to him because we think he knows something that will help us. And we want to make sure he's being taken care of. It bothers us that a child that young is begging in the streets.”

Gotthilf watched as Byron's conversation with Frau Kreszentia-”call me Zenzi”-elicited the information that no, she didn't know where Willi lived; no, she didn't know anything about an uncle; yes, the last few months he had been here almost every day; and yes, he always came from one direction, often with another youngster leading him.

The conversation drew to a close. ”Bide,” Frau Zenzi said as she stepped back into the bakery. She returned a moment later with two rolls, to hand one to each of them. ”You find my Willi, you make sure he is all right, you tell him his place is still here. Yes?”

They a.s.sured her they would do exactly that and took their leave. Munching on his roll, Gotthilf looked back to see her standing in the door of the bakery, looking after them.

Gotthilf swallowed the last of his roll. ”For someone who doesn't like to talk,” he commented to Byron, ”you certainly are proficient at it.”

Byron paused in licking his fingers. ”Just because I can do it doesn't mean I want to.” He finished the finger licking, and continued, ”And you'd better have been paying attention, because you're going to start doing all the talking and question asking soon.” Gotthilf stared at the up-timer with wide eyes. Byron returned a grin. ”Yep. Count on it. You'll talk; I'll just stand around and look threatening.”

”Ha.” Still strolling down the street, Gotthilf looked up and stiffened. ”Byron.” He tried very hard not to shout or act excited. ”Isn't that the boy who pulled Willi away from us?”

Byron directed a casual glance that direction. ”Yep. Now look away.” They did so. ”The trick is to not stare at the person, but to look that way just often enough to keep him in sight. Except in this case I think it's a her.”

”What?” Gotthilf absorbed another surprise. ”Are you sure?”

”Yeah. I've been around girls in pants all my life, so to me they're not the automatic disguise for a girl they are for you down-timers.” That was the first time Gotthilf could remember Byron using that term. He noted in pa.s.sing that it was used in a neutral manner. ”Girls move differently than boys, even that young.

And if you look at her hands, from what I remember they're slenderer than a boy's usually are. So, I think that's a girl.” Gotthilf absorbed that as well.

There was a moment of silence.

”Gotthilf?”

”Aye?”

”What's she doing out here? I mean, it looks like she's sound and healthy. She ought to be in school, right? Or in some kind of service?”

”Yes. She should definitely not be out on the street in boy's clothes.” Gotthilf was starting to understand what Byron had meant about looking for things that didn't fit the pattern.

”So,” Byron hissed, ”we have two weirdnesses now-a boy begging who shouldn't be, and a girl dressed in boy clothes who is . . .”

At that exact moment they both saw the girl s.n.a.t.c.h a kerchief from the pocket of a man she b.u.mped into. She was so fast they barely caught a flash of it before it was stuffed inside her jacket.

Gotthilf saw that Byron's face had gone very grim as he muttered a string of words in up-time English.

Gotthilf didn't recognize the words, but he recognized the tone. If some of them weren't blasphemous, he'd eat his hat. ”Okay,” Byron said after he had to stop for breath, ”that's the third strike. Now I really, really want to talk to Uncle.”

”So do we take the girl now?” That was Gotthilf's instinctive reaction, but he'd been with Byron enough by now to realize that might not be the best thing to do.

”No.” Byron shook his head. ”No, I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this. I want you to hustle back and get Captain Reilly and at least a couple more guys, either army or city watch, I don't care, as long as they've got pistols. No muskets. You get there and back as fast as you can. If Bill wants to know what's going on, you just say I said to get here now.” Gotthilf opened his mouth. ”Go!”

Gotthilf went.

It was over half an hour before Gotthilf arrived back at Byron's side, accompanied by Bill Reilly, two of the city watch and another up-timer. Completing the crew was Otto Gericke, who had been talking to Bill when Gotthilf had burst into his office, panting and wheezing from his run.

Byron met them back up the street, waving them to the side of a house on the west side.

”Is she still here?” Gotthilf asked.

”What's up?” Bill was matter of fact as the men gathered around.

”Possible f.a.giny racket. Got a girl in boy's clothes working as a dip down the street. Pretty sure she's got a mule-think I've got him pegged. We think the same bunch had a blind kid out here begging a few days ago. Girl came and pulled him away, n.o.body's seen him since.”

Bill pulled at his chin. ”So, what do you want to do?”

”Follow the girl home. Both she and the boy mentioned someone named 'Uncle.'”

”Ah. You think he's the f.a.gin?”

”Best guess.”

”What is this 'f.a.giny'?” Gericke asked. Gotthilf listened closely as Captain Reilly described a plan to teach children to perform criminal acts for the gain of those who taught them. He also explained that a 'dip' was a pickpocket and a 'mule' was someone who would take stolen goods from the 'dip,' reducing the risk that the pickpocket would be caught with them.

”This 'Uncle' is the man who would do this?” Gericke was frowning. The captain nodded. ”I want this man.”

”So do we, Master Gericke. So do we.” Reilly turned back to Byron. ”So, what's the plan, Lieutenant?”

”Gotthilf and I go first. The rest of you follow at least a half block behind, in more than one group. Once we find the place, we figure out what to do next.”

”I am a magistrate,” Gericke said. ”You will be under my authority.”

Byron's smile was sharp-edged. ”Thank you, sir. That will make things easier.”

So it was that Gotthilf found himself once more at Lieutenant Chieske's side, walking down the street with the girl barely in sight ahead of them. The late afternoon shadows were unfolding, and she disappeared and reappeared as she moved in and out of them.

Unfortunately, her route was not straight. Turning the third corner, Byron muttered, ”Man, I wish we had radios.” Gotthilf was confused again-a state that was all too familiar the past few days of working with the up-timer. Byron caught his expression. ”No, I don't mean the crystal radios, I mean . . . oh, forget it, I'll explain later. Might as well be wis.h.i.+ng for cars, while I'm at it.”