Bloodhound

by Tamora Pierce

  The smell got into my nose – scummer, mold, rotting muck, the gods know what else. I heard squeals when at last we stepped onto the walkway in the tunnel's side below the streets. Achoo lurched ahead. She liked to chase four-legged rats as much as the two-legged kind. "Tumit!" I whispered. She dropped into place, tail between her legs.

  "Don't she bark?" the gixie asked.

  "Sometimes," I said. "Mostly we work quiet. Behave," I whispered to Achoo. "You're on duty, same as me."

  The gixie's eyes flashed as she looked back at me. "Ain't you off duty?"

  "Not till I've caught my prey," I told her.

  "As bad as Sergeant Haryse and his lot," she said over her shoulder, stepping past a heap of something or other. Achoo and I jumped it together. I landed too near the edge of the walkway, my boot slipping in muck. Achoo clamped her teeth on my belt and dragged me onto the stones.

  "You know Nestor Haryse?" I asked the gixie, trying to keep my voice steady. I'm no delicate mot like my sisters, but the thought of landing in the soup beside us made me want to puke up my tripes. I ruffled Achoo's neck fur and gave her a strip of dried beef in thanks.

  "All the city knows 'im. One day Pearl will tire of toyin' with the sarge and she'll serve 'im up flayed. 'S a shame," the gixie added as we turned down another, bigger tunnel. "He's one o' the good 'uns. He gives you 'is word, he's told you true – hush!"

  We ducked into a deep tunnel I hadn't even known was there. The gixie closed metal shields over the lantern's sides, leaving us in the dark. We shrank back and waited as I heard the same thing she had, voices in the big tunnel. Six Rats, carrying torches, passed the opening of our hideaway.

  "She's losin' 'er grip, I tell yez," one of them said, his voice a growl. "She's not keepin' Rogue business inside the court. She's lettin' Dogs into it, an' cityfolk, an' who next? The guilds? The Council o' Mages? The sarden King?"

  "Hesh yer gab," a mot whispered. "Ye're makin' Stormwings fer yerself."

  They were out of my hearing. I dared not follow to listen, but I wanted to. Instead I waited until I could hear no sound of theirs before I whispered to my guide, "Are they like the rest? Worrying about the attention Pearl is drawing?"

  "Course they're afraid," the gixie said. "We belong in the shadows. Cityfolk don't look there. But Pearlie keeps drawin' their attention, d'ye see? What good are shadows if cityfolk start lookin' in 'em?" She led us out into the bigger tunnel again.

  We had to hide twice more as other folk used the sewers to get where they were going. You'd think I'd grow accustomed to the stink, but it only bothered me more as we plodded along. By the time the gixie took Achoo and me up a narrow stair, my eyes watered so much I could barely see. I had to breathe with my mouth open because my poor nose was beyond stuffed. When we reached cleaner air inside the Eagle Street court, I was so happy I nearabout cried.

  We entered quiet, like mice, but there was no need. The place was deserted, with Pearl being elsewhere that night. The only person to enter as we hid beneath a table was the lad.

  "Plenty of them that was searchin' have stopped in the drinkin' dens an' eatin' houses," he told us when we stood. "They've set watchers in case Her Majesty comes by, but they're not wastin' time huntin' a runaway Dog. On'y Pearl's closest folk are still huntin'. You must worry them."

  "So I should," I muttered. "Now, where's this room you told me of? Or was that just fumes?"

  The lad took us behind a pair of storerooms. No one would come here to find the smaller room behind the first two unless they knew it was there. Once he'd closed and locked the door, the boy lifted the gixie up on his shoulders. She tugged on a grip set into the ceiling, then jumped as she clung to it. Her weight pulled down not just a large trapdoor, but a set of stairs built in.

  "No ladders for Her Majesty?" I asked as Achoo bounded upstairs ahead of us.

  "Her?" the gixie asked, and snorted. "That'd be work, and she don't work no more."

  Up the stairs we went.

  "Now, this part is tucked away, like," the lad whispered to me. He showed me how to grip the rope that would draw the heavy trapdoor-and-stair back up after us. Before I so much as touched it, I got the gloves I kept in my pack and put them on. They were special made, leather over silk with signs of protection woven into it, a gift from Goodwin and Tunstall when I was made a true Dog. Nothing I touched would hold a trace of my essence, should Pearl have a mage go over this place later. Such gloves are illegal, but magistrates look the other way when it's a Dog that wears them.

  Once the gloves were on my hands, I grabbed the rope and dragged at it. Hauling that curst trapdoor up was no light piece of work. "We checked the building all round," the lad told me. "Unless ye measure the halls on all sides, ye'd never know there's rooms tucked between 'em. Figure this is where they useta hide them that's on the run from the Dogs, or them that was kidnapped for ransom, or them that was held for... other things."

  "There's spells in the rooms so's ye can't hear what goes on inside," the gixie explained to me.

  Down the narrow corridor we went, past three other doors. I had to ask, "You're certain no one's here? No one will pop out and put a magic on us or come after us with swords?"

  The lad pointed to a black stone like a gem set in the center of each door. "When some'un's within, this lights up all blue."

  So I felt like twice the fool, guided by these two who knew so much more than me.

  The fourth door had a dark gem at its center, like the others. It also had a lock. I took out my picks. Luckily for my pride, I opened the lock as fast as my guides might have done.

  "Pretty," the gixie told me with a pat on the shoulder. "If Doggin' don't work out for you, our chief might give you work burglin'. He's easier t' live with than Her Majesty."

  "Thanks," I muttered as Achoo and I followed her inside.

  The lad barred the door once we were in. The gixie used her lantern to light others inside the room, so I could see clearly what was there.

  Even a little bit of it would have sent Pearl and anyone who helped her with this straight to the Rattery, and to the oil pots from there. With so much evidence, even the most pinch-coin bookkeepers at Guards House will pay for good-quality mages to lay spells of search and naming on it all, to find who helped Pearl. There were crucibles and tongs for metalworking, and a furnace made for the heating of small amounts of metal. The furnace was set into the wall. I was certain it would share a chimney with either the main room or a kitchen. A kitchen, more like, so no one would suspect the smoke that poured from it yearlong.

  On the worktable someone had placed trays of block-shaped molds. The metals would be poured into them to cool. Under draping cloths I found metal stamps with King Roger's profile on one side and the sword-in-crown on the other, the most perfect copies of the legal stamp as anyone could want. Chests on the floor held rounds of brass like heaps of thin noble coins, thousands of them. Small blocks of metal, blackened with soot to make them pass as charcoal with inspectors, turned out to be silver under the dirt. I counted only ten of those. None bore the Crown Treasury's mark, without which they were as illegal as those metal stamps.

  What will Pearl do now that she is down to ten blocks of silver? Her fresh silver shipment is in the Deputy Provost's hands. Mayhap she'll try to steal it back.

  "But this is mad," I said. "If she turns all those brass rounds into coles, she'll make no one rich, not even herself. She'll need a barrelful to buy a loaf of bread, because a silver noble won't be worth spit. The more coles that's on the market, the less they're worth." I looked into the trunk. It was full of red leather purses, the ones her filchers swapped for purses of good coin. "She gives these false coins to her enemies, did you know that?" I asked the lad and the gixie. "They get hobbled and questioned for colemongering, when they was set up by her. Innocent folk are tortured and killed while she ruins the money."

  They both shrugged.

  "It's naught to us," the lad told me. "We've got neither coin nor friends. No one helps u
s."

  "We helped you, but that's b'cause I owes you, and I hates t' owe," the gixie added.

  I shook my head and closed the trunk. Around the room I went, seeing what else was there. Smiths' gloves and aprons, files, cloths for polishing, buckets of water and buckets of ash, account books. Account books! Pearl was so prideful she never thought anyone might come here and use any of this against her!

  "Speakin' of what's owed," the gixie said.

  I came to myself and picked up a chisel from a shelf. "She has clothing stores, you said. She hasn't forgotten that much of what she owes her folk?" Rosto had clothes rooms all over the Lower City. The Rogues always kept stores of garments, so their people might get clothes for cheap, or even for free, if they were in a fix.

  "Sure," the lad told me. "There's one downstairs. I was just thinkin' I need a coat, what with it gettin' cold, like."

  The gixie grinned at him. "We can help ourselves and never pay Her Majesty a copper."

  I pointed at the second door. "Is that another way out?"

  The gixie nodded. "Goes right down by the clothes room, even."

  I opened the door we used to enter Pearl's colesmithy carefully, making sure no one had come along. Then I used the butt of my chisel to smash the gem that glowed if folk were inside. Now any Dogs I sent here would know which room to break into.

  Stepping back inside, I closed the door and bolted it. Then I stuffed the lock full of a special clay I carried in a small jar in my pack. It would dry fast and as hard as stone, making a lock useless. Anyone who wanted to enter would need a ram to break the door down. I would make sure my Dogs had that.

  I broke the gem on the other door as my two Rats went out. I locked it with my picks, then stuffed that lock, too.

  This time we took a real stairway. When the gixie undid the catch that opened the secret door at the bottom, the lad slid out. A moment later he beckoned to us.

  We went out and closed the hidden door behind us. I marked an iron cresset set in the wall. The gixie thrust it back to close the door. When I tugged it, the door opened again. A push of mine shut it. The door fit snug in the wall, its sides scarce visible.

  The lad used his lock picks on the clothes room just across the corridor and used the gixie's lantern to light some lamps inside. Achoo and I followed them. Achoo quickly fell in love with the place, sniffing everywhere, while I closed the door behind us and looked around. My hound also did a small, rude act in the corner. I pretended not to see.

  The light showed off crates and crates of garments and footwear, some good, some worn. I even saw fighting gear in a row of its own – no weapons, but padded leather jerkins, arm and leg braces, and armored caps. The lad went straight to that. The gixie dove into a crate heaped in velvet. I found a crate of religious habits. These rooms didn't just supply a Rogue's folk with new clothes when their old rags fell apart. Sometimes, when a gang was putting together sommat special, they needed special garb. With the right payment to the Rogue, they could have it.

  As I'd hoped, there was a priest's robe for the Black God's order that would fit over my own uniform. Better still, this was a high priest's robe, with a thin veil stitched inside the hood to hide the face. My pale eyes would be hid as well as my uniform. I'd hoped to find the Black God's clothes. Being's that I was already in his service, he wouldn't be vexed, or so I hoped. The other gods might well be cross if I wore the habits of their servants. Achoo might give me away, or she might not. There were plenty of curly-haired mongrels running the streets of town.

  I picked up a basket and a scarf. Into the basket went my pack, after I took what I owed my two friends out of it. I tucked the scarf over and around the pack, so it looked as if I carried foodstuffs.

  "Achoo, kemari!" I called softly. "Jaga." Achoo sat beside the basket, panting happily. She didn't seem to mind that I called her away from interesting smells. I've never had so cheerful a partner.

  The gixie had pulled a rich red velvet dress over herself, tangling the sleeves. The lad was trying to free her as he laughed. They went still as I came close.

  "I said I'd give you more coin," I told them. On the floor I set ten silver nobles, each scored down the front to show it was good. I set another ten silver nobles beside that, then added my last bit of food, a good-sized hunk of cheese.

  They stared. Then both lunged for the coin, ignoring the cheese. They tested each coin again with their belt knives.

  "They's real" the lad said, staring at me with awe.

  I just hope Goodwin thinks that their saving my life is worth it. Of course, they showed me where Pearl is making her coles, too. It seems to me the price is a proper one.

  "I said I'd pay right. Now, if you're wise, you'll go to a bathhouse," I told them. "You don't want Pearl having a mage look at you and him sniffing out you was near me. Lavender oil in your wash water should do. And fresh clothes."

  "Then yez need t' go afore we picks some," the gixie said.

  I nodded and collected my basket. "Achoo, tumit. Lavender oil, you two. Don't forget." Achoo followed me out the door. Once in the hall, I listened until I heard the door lock behind me. Then I called my memory of Okha's map of this place to my mind. Once I knew where we were, I lit one of the wall lamps using my flint and steel and took it down to light my way out. Achoo marked the trail in her own way.

  "I doubt we're coming back," I whispered to her at yet another stop. Achoo whuffed softly and wagged her tail. "I suppose you're one of them as says it never hurts to be sure." Achoo wagged her tail again and danced, which I took as meaning I had the right of it.

  I opened the exit door I'd found remembering Okha's map and looked around. Outside was a pitch-black alley with no guards in view. Had I been Pearl, I'd have some sharp things to say to guards who left their stations even when she did not hold court there. An assassin could break in and wait for her return. I was me, though, so I left the door open. Even though the place belonged to the Rogue, folk wouldn't refuse the chance to help themselves to what was there.

  Achoo and I walked onto a larger side street, then onto Barbers' Walk. I tucked my gloves into my basket and lowered the veil over my face, then doused my lamp and left it there. I moved forward at a slower priest's walk, my basket over one arm. Carefully, turning briefly down side streets or alleys if we saw any who might recognize Achoo and guess that the veiled priest was me, we moved uphill until, at last, the Waterlily came in view.

  The rushers who kept rowdies from entering the place frowned at the sight of me. Since it's bad luck to offend the Black God's priests, even though they aren't thought to be lucky for gamblers, they let me in. One of the menservants came at me, fluttering, trying to offer me a table, private and unseen. I stopped him with a copper noble and a whispered request to see the Amber Orchid on sacred business. I knew I'd have to wait. I could hear Okha singing, his voice clear and beautiful on the too-hot air.

  The servant was so glad to be able to hide me away that he not only escorted me up to Okha's room, he fetched me a pitcher of warm cider and a basket of cakes. Once he closed the door behind him, Achoo and I sat on Okha's couch. I leaned back gratefully.

  Of course I went to sleep. All that excitement, with the running and crawling beside, tired me out. The room was warm, the hound curled up with me was reassuring. Anyone would have taken a nap.

  I was roused by Achoo's quiet whuff. I sprang to my feet, forgetting I was in a habit, not a uniform. I tangled in its skirts and went sprawling on the rug. I rolled over, fumbling for my sleeve knives, hidden by the habit's folds. Only then did I see that the butterfly-bright creature in a bronze silk gown was Okha. He wore a wig of marvelously looped white hair, each loop secured with a jeweled butterfly clasp.

  Swiftly he closed the door and helped me to my feet. "Friend, I beg forgiveness," he said quietly. The Black God's priests are always called Friend. "I was not expecting so auspicious a guest." His fingers and his voice were trembling. He thought I was a real priest bringing news of a death.


  "Okha, it's me." I tugged at my hood and felt the veil drag at my face. I hooked my fingers under the fine cloth and dragged the whole thing back. "Beka Cooper."

  Okha collapsed onto a chair. "Beka! Gods preserve me, I nearly fainted!"

  Somehow I doubted that.

  Okha went on in his mot's mellow and golden voice, "Do you know how many people are looking for you? Pearl Skinner herself is downstairs with her guards, playing cards with Dale and watching his every move. When he went to the privy, she had Jurji follow him. Her people came to Nestor's house, hunting you. So are Dogs from Guards House. They have a writ from Sir Lionel that says you are mad and must be taken up for your own safety."

  I flinched. I hadn't thought the milk-blooded cull would be so nasty as to label me mad.

  "No one believes him, Beka," Okha reassured me. "Not when he sends Ives, his very own bully boy, to track you down. But plenty want to know what you did to cross Sir Lionel."

  "It's hardly safe for folk to know, if I've got the Deputy Provost on me, right?" I asked him. "But I do need Nestor as soon as may be, and unseen by anybody. It's important."

  Okha hesitated. I grabbed his hand. "If you don't," I told him, as serious as I could, "if you try to keep him safe in all this, he'll never forgive you."

  "Curse you," Okha whispered. "When did you get so knowing?" He turned to his desk and wrote something, then opened the door. I scrambled to pull the veil and hood over my face. Okha whispered to whoever came to the door whilst I sat, gazing at a tapestry. Then Okha turned back to me when the door was shut and locked. "How did one young Dog cause so much trouble?" he asked me.

  "I do my work," I said. "I'm going to need a place to hide tomorrow. Do you know one?"

  "Right here is good enough," he said, gesturing to take in the small room. "No one comes here during the day. I'll tell my servant to stay out after the last meal of the night. You can turn anything in that chest into a disguise. Use the red or black wigs if you like. I have to say, going as one of the Black God's servants is brilliant. Don't you fear his wrath?"