Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

  When the laughter had quieted some, Dawull bellowed, “Crookshank! I think they stopped watering the ale at the Mantel and Pullet, woman! We have no scales tucked under the tables, have we, friends?”

  “No,” came the replies. The comic Players, or those who pretended to be, made a game of looking under tables, benches, and the mots’ skirts. More than a few earned cuffs and boxed ears from the mots who objected.

  Goodwin waited for quiet to return. Then she said, “But we were certain we’d find him with you, Dawull. You have become his back scratcher. Clever trick, to act like you hustled the old man out of the Court. You saved your friend before Kayfer decided to carve him. Too bad riches alone can’t buy you the Rogue’s crown.”

  “Is this a jest?” roared Dawull.

  “Do I smile?” Goodwin asked, quick as a snake. “How does Crookshank buy you, Dawull? Where does he get coin enough to buy a chief of the Rogue?”

  One cove seated near Dawull lunged to his feet and cleared his sword from his sheath. “Mangy bitch,” he said. “You’ll eat your lies.”

  I heard another sword clear its sheath. This blade was in Aniki’s hand, resting there like a natural part of her arm. She could have drawn it to back up Dawull’s man, to help us, or to be ready for a fight.

  “Hold!” yelled Dawull, to them and to the others who were getting to their feet, weapons in hand. “Hold, curse you, or you’ll tangle with me.”

  “But sayin’ you was bought, Dawull, sayin’ you was in the service of that bloodsucker,” complained his guard. His sword hung from his hand, useless. “Dog or no, she’s got to be taught!”

  “What do I care what some fleabit gutter crawler says?” Dawull asked. “Unless you believe her?” He glared at his man.

  The killer shrank under Dawull’s glare. If he had an imagination, he was imagining his bones were cracking. “No, no. That’s why I was going to – “

  “Kill a Dog and a thousand Dogs have their teeth in your neck, ducknob! And you’d have to kill all three, besides them loaners back there.” He pointed to Lady Sabine and her two friends. “That’s why you need me to run this lot.” He glared now at all of his cronies. “I’m the only one of you with this.” He tapped himself on the head with a finger the thickness of my baton.

  “A head?” I heard Tunstall murmur for Goodwin and me alone. Goodwin shifted slightly on her legs. I knew she wanted to kick him to silence him. Some folk show that they laugh in the oddest ways.

  “Now sheathe that bread knife of your’n,” Dawull ordered his man, not knowing Tunstall had even squeaked. “You too, girl. Good that you’re eager, but whatever they do in Scanra, we don’t go dousing Dogs just because they’ve no manners.”

  It was only after the man put away his sword that I heard the music of Aniki’s blade sliding back into its sheath.

  “Crookshank was a mad old man that night. Kayfer remembered it when he cooled off – that’s why I got Crookshank out of there. We need the bloodsucker and them like him. But me being bought?” Dawull laughed, though not well. “You Dogs shouldn’t drink hotblood wine during your watch. It makes you think crazy things. There isn’t a cove or mot in Corus as could buy me, unless it was old Roger himself with the crown’s jewels.”

  I heard the scrape of wood as the knights started to rise.

  Dawull bowed toward them. “Gods save His Royal Majesty and his lovely Queen. I meant no disrespect,” he told them, oil nearabout dripping from his lips. I glanced back. Slowly – very slowly – the two men sat, their hands on their sword hilts. Knights could be touchy about respecting the King. Still, Lady Sabine had her head propped on her hand. If she’d made a move to get up, she had settled again quickly.

  Goodwin looked around the room. “Just remember, when it’s Crookshank you’re taking orders from, we warned you.” She turned to Tunstall and me. “Let’s sit for a time.” As we wandered back to the knights’ table, she muttered, “That’s why he has a head. Lout.”

  Lady Sabine grinned as we came near. “I thought we might have to fight our way out again. Have a seat. These two don’t mind. They diced with the soldiers under their command for the last year. Those people barely bathed.”

  “But it’s different in Corus,” protested the blond one, though he waved Goodwin onto the bench next to him. He was already giving Pounce a scratch, so I decided he couldn’t be too bad, for a knight. “Our families are sticklers.”

  “Never mind your families,” Sabine told them. “I want to know who Crookshank is.”

  “Who cares about a cityman?” the redheaded knight asked. “He’s not a real problem, is he? Not like the hill raiders.”

  Tunstall raised an eyebrow. “Anyone I might know?”

  The redheaded knight leaned forward. “We had this one clan – “

  The blond knight got to his feet. “Excuse me. I didn’t come home to talk about the hills. A green-eyed wench over there wants to fall in love with me.”

  “For now,” Sabine murmured as he crossed the room. The wench who’d gotten his attention was one of the higher-priced doxies there, wearing a dress and earrings that did not come from Cheappretty Row.

  Pounce grumbled and walked over to me. “I hope he’s got coin in his purse,” Goodwin told Sabine. “Elsewise he’ll turn up missing his gems and gold.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Sabine told her as Aniki slid into the seat the knight had left. “None of the hill doxies could pluck him, and they use clubs. Besides, Joreth is all kinds of fat in the purse, and he loves to pay double when he’s happy.” She turned. “Are you sure it’s wise to sit here?” she asked Aniki, who had come over to us.

  “I can always tell him I was sounding you out for possible robbing later,” Aniki said with her usual cheerful grin. “Besides, he knows me’n Beka live in the same lodging house. Or he will later, because I’ll tell him. Or did I tell him last night?” She laughed. “I’m Aniki Forfrysning.” She smiled at Goodwin. “Hullo, Guardswoman.” She leaned down and kissed Pounce on the head. He glared up at her and said, Stop that! in cat. Aniki glanced at Tunstall, but he and the redheaded knight were deep in talk concerning hill people they both knew.

  “Actually, I’m glad you came over,” Sabine told Aniki. “I wanted a look at that blade of yours, if you don’t mind. It sounds like an Anjel sword.”

  Aniki nodded. Standing, she removed her sheathed blade from her belt and laid it before Lady Sabine. “One of Master Watson’s own forging,” she said with pride. “I won’t tell you who I had to kill to be able to afford this.”

  I think she was joking.

  When Pounce, Goodwin, Tunstall, and I left, Aniki and Lady Sabine were still talking swords. Moreover, Tunstall had promised to return for drinking and more conversation about what was going on in the eastern hills of Tortall.

  “Is that why you’re going back?” Goodwin asked. “Just catching up on the other barbarians that survived their yearly bath? I’m not going with you, Mattes. And I won’t like it if one of Dawull’s idiots decides to kill a Dog anyway, even an off-watch Dog.”

  We walked out into mist so thick we could barely see. Pounce grumbled that he hated this kind of weather.

  “I’ll be with two knights, Clary,” Tunstall said. “And I’ll take a sword from the armory after we muster off watch.”

  It did seem that Tunstall with a sword was more comforting to Goodwin than Tunstall on the street without her. “Just don’t get hurt,” she warned him as we walked along. “Me and Cooper aren’t going to shake the trees for whoever’s hiring diggers all by ourselves.”

  You’re not, Pounce said. You’ll have me. He looked at me, his strange purple eyes gleaming. Of course, they don’t know that. And don’t you tell them.

  I wouldn’t dream of it, I said as we wandered down the street to the kennel.

  Thursday, April 9, 246

  Before training, afternoon.

  When I opened the door this morning, before I even had my hair braided, Kora stood there with a jar of pear
s pickled with currants and almonds. Her long eyes were flashing with anger. I could swear I saw blue-green sparks stuck in her lashes.

  “A lily pendant on a gold chain,” she told me. “Enamel on gold. Maybe so big.” She held a thumb up, bending the first joint. “There was a mot at the Glassman Square fountain who was trying to get bacon grease from her man’s shirt. We got to talking of the Shadow Snake. She said her neighbor’s girl was taken. The lass’s father gave up the necklace he bought his wife to the Shadow Snake.”

  I took the jar. “And the little girl?”

  Kora picked up my cat and cuddled him as if she needed to touch something soft. “The Snake gave her back. She wet the pallet she slept on after, though. And it wasn’t two moons later, my Birdie told me, before the whole family packed their things and moved from Corus altogether. They said they were going to Barzun, where the only snakes could be killed with a spade.” I think I heard her sniff. “He did that to a little girl for a necklace.”

  “But that’s why no one’s cared about this Snake, love.” Rosto leaned against my door frame. He could be so quiet on my creaky stairs.

  I nodded. “Because he goes after folk whose lives are so small no one else thinks they have aught of value,” I said. Like herb women with lung rot and five little ones who live on Mutt Piddle Lane. Mama’s last man had been kin to the Shadow Snake, thinking no one would take vengeance for her. And just as he did, the Shadow Snake would learn how wrong he was.

  “I like Lady Sabine, Beka,” Aniki said, coming over from her rooms with a cheese and bread halves from yesterday’s breakfast. “You should have come back to the tavern after your shift last night. She and Tunstall were doing sword dances like they have in the eastern hills. It was fun.”

  I shivered. The thought of Tunstall throwing his long legs about in any kind of dance is fearsome. Still, it makes me wonder if Goodwin shouldn’t maybe get used to the idea of him and Lady Sabine being friendly, or more than friendly. Tavern dancing usually leads to dancing at home, Mama always said.

  I opened the shutters. The pigeons fluttered down, just a handful so early – Slapper, White Spice, Pinky, Mumper, Ashes. None of them said more that was new as I gave them the last of my cracked corn and some bread. They mourned the loved ones who thought they had been left behind. They whispered of the pink city rock. They fought each other over space on my ledge and strutted, cooing as if they had naught in their minds but eggs and feathers.

  Of my other, human friends, Verene and Phelan arrived holding hands and carrying hot fritters. Ersken brought half a ham and a cheese tart. We’d invited some of our fellow Puppies, but none of them lived as close as Verene or Ersken nor wanted to roll out of bed so early.

  Rosto not only brought more twilsey and raspberry jam, but he gave me a good-sized bag of cracked corn for the silly birds. If he’d given me aught for myself, I could have said no, but corn for the idiot pigeons I’d never turn down.

  He didn’t try to take advantage, either. In fact, he was the first to go, saying he’d errands to run. The others, too, scattered early. Kora was the last to stand. She lingered, helping me to finish the straightening up.

  “Would you remember the mot who told you about that pendant?” I asked her. “Might she be at the fountain again soon?”

  Kora gave me her tricky, sidelong smile. “I can do better. I can take you to her home.”

  “How do you know where she lives? Did you follow her?”

  Kora picked up Pounce and laid him across the back of her shoulders. “I put a spot on her, that I might find her again at need.” She raised a fingertip. A circle of green-blue light appeared there. It vanished. “I can always find my spots again.”

  I hardly knew what to say, but I knew I should tell her something. Finally I said, “That is a good idea.”

  Kora scratched Pounce’s chin, not looking at me. “A child killer got my older sister. Not a cold Rat like the Snake, who kills for gain. A mad one. But I hate all child killers, whatever their reasons.” She took a breath. “You’ll need to dress like a gixie. In plain breeches you give off a whiff of Dog.”

  I put my hand on her arm for a moment. Quietly I told her, “I have two sisters. Whenever I pass the Goddess’s shrines, I thank the Lady they live safe in Provost’s House.”

  Kora nodded.

  I went to my clothespress and took out a gown.

  Kora’s glowing spot led us into the streets beyond Glassman Square. The mot she’d spoken to yesterday had a small house of her own, on an alley lined with them. I heard children in the back and the thump of a butter churn. A woman spun flax on the stone path to the side yard. A big, short-haired dog slept on the doorstep. When we walked through the gate, the dog rose and growled, hackles rising. I reached for a baton I did not carry. Kora’s magic glowed around her fingers.

  Pounce walked forward and meowed forcefully. The dog looked at him and whuffed. Pounce called him what sounded to me like a name. The dog’s tail began to wag. Mayhap Pounce just had to prove he was a Lower City cat. I was not sure.

  The mot halted her spinning. “My Brute hates cats.” She watched Pounce and the dog, a strange expression in her eyes. She then inspected Kora and me. To Kora she said, “I know you. You are the laundress and herb girl. You gave me the salve that healed those burns of mine.” She pursed her lips. “And you asked me about stolen children.”

  “I did,” Kora said. “This is my friend Beka. She, too, is interested in stolen children.”

  “She is a Dog,” said the woman. “Dress or no, she stands like a Dog.”

  “Work on that, perhaps,” Kora murmured to me.

  “Beka?” the woman asked suddenly. “Cooper? As works with Tunstall and Goodwin? The terrier Puppy, that chased Orva Ashmiller to Northgate?”

  I looked at the four-legged dog. I did not want to talk about Mistress Ashmiller. “Is he friendly, your Brute?” I stepped forward, my palm held up. Kora took a breath, but seemingly Pounce had opened the way for us. Brute came up, his tail wagging slowly. He smelled my hand, then let me scratch his ears. “You’re a fine boy,” I told him.

  “I have children of my own,” the woman whispered, to me or to Kora, I wasn’t certain. “They could be taken from me.”

  I scratched Brute on the rump. “There are plenty of folk with children in the Lower City, mistress.” I kept my voice low. “Many of them already lost children to the Snake who took your neighbors’ girl. Too many of those did not see their children come home alive again. When the Snake frightens more of you into silence, you make it possible for him to do it again. And again.” I met her eyes with mine this time. “Right now all anyone can see is that you have friends to visit, the laundress from the square and one other. They must be friends, because this fine, handsome guard of your house is wagging his tail. What they think elsewise depends on you.”

  The woman ladled water onto her flax to moisten it, taking time to think. At last she said, “Come around here. There is a bench.” It was placed so she could talk with us as she spun. Once we were settled, she began to work again, though her thread was uneven. She was frightened. I understood that.

  Brute followed us. I scratched his ears and rump. Kora talked about people from the fountain square until the mot was calmer. When Kora nudged me lightly, I leaned forward over Brute’s heavy shoulders.

  “Has anyone you can name given you cause to fear since your neighbors’ child was taken?” I asked, keeping my voice soft. Only two of the children I’d heard outside had come to peer at us through the house’s open door. They ran away the moment I looked at them. Their mother had trained them to be wary of strangers. I suspected the wall out back was high and mayhap covered with thorny vines.

  The woman shook her head. “Brute was a year old then. He guards us well.”

  I nodded. “Mistress, you told my friend about a necklace.”

  She halted her spinning. In the distance, we all heard thunder’s distant boom. We looked up. There was a thin arm of black clouds reachin
g over the wall. Mayhap there would be a good spring rain later.

  “We were all jealous of it, we mots,” she whispered. “Such a pretty thing. Her man had a second job for weeks to pay for it. She thought he was helping a friend to build his house for naught. He give it to her for her birthday, the same day as they’d been married five year. Enamel work and gold. She wore it everywhere. ‘Fine work is meant to be seen,’ she told us, which scorched our feathers, didn’t it? Then the Shadow Snake took her little girl and demanded the necklace.”

  So quiet were we that I could hear Brute’s tail stir the dust as he leaned against my knees. Behind the house I heard the children squabble.

  Gently I moved Brute and went to stand next to the mot. “Mistress, what did the pendant look like?” I asked her. “So pretty a thing, you must remember. Can you draw it for me?” I picked up a stick and handed it to her.

  “I’m no hand at picturing,” she whispered, but she took the stick. She didn’t need to be the greatest hand at drawing. The design was simple, the kind of thing that stayed before the eye in a person’s mind. Curved lines turned up, like cupped hands. I would remember it if I saw it again.

  I thought of something. We’d been taught what questions to put when a crime had been done recently. No Dogs had asked about this crime. No one had reported the child’s kidnapping to Jane Street. Still, why not ask? “Did you see anyone, the days before the child was taken, or the days before she was returned? Anyone as didn’t live here? Folk delivering aught, lazing about? Folk talking with the children?”

  “It was forever ago,” she whispered. “No. I am a liar. It were two year, three months, eighteen days. I was so afeared. I’ve never been not afeared ever since, but I’ve no coin to go to Barzun, nor family to help me get a new start there.”

  “You remember it to the day,” I said. “You remember the necklace. And this is the Lower City. We always watch down here. Especially folk with comely children.” The two little ones who’d come to peer at us had been golden-haired and blue-eyed, slavers’ meat.