Beka Cooper 1 - Terrier

by Tamora Pierce

  I looked to see if the noble had noticed his missing gems. He was turning onto a side street, cursing a priest who crossed in front of him. No, he was too stupid to spot the theft. I disliked him too much to tell him.

  I looked at her. She was lean and weathered, but sharp-eyed, to bag three gems with that little knife. I was sure I'd seen her around the Lower City, begging in the markets and temples. Her name came to me. Mother Cantwell.

  I could turn her in for the stupid noble's vengeance, or I could make use of this opportunity.

  I rolled the gems in my hand, letting her hear them clink. "Mother Cantwell. This here is a caging offense. Mayhap that fat lordling back there will reward a good Dog like me for giving him his sparklers. Or I could reward myself."

  "You talk like a Dog as wants sommat, and you only a Puppy," she said, watching me with sharp old eyes. "It's shockin', how young folk grow up too quick anymore."

  I felt a quiver around my belt knife. I gave the wrist I clung to a slight turn so she'd know I was paying attention. Then I looked down. She took her hand from my belt. That was the trouble with talking close together. Still, I had to admire how limber she was, especially at her age.

  "I'm a Puppy as wants sommat. I'm willing to be forgiving in return," I said. Where had all my shyness gone? Was it that she reminded me of Granny Fern, and that gave me comfort?

  No, it was that I felt so comfortable doing a true Dog's work. For I'd never worried about shyness hobbling Orva and getting her knife back or fighting river dodgers.

  Now Mother Cantwell's eyes were on my free hand, the one with the gems. "Forgivin'? You mentioned forgiveness. I'm old, but I have my hearin' yet."

  I thrust the gems into my belt purse and twisted my belt to put the purse behind my back. "Not that forgiving, Mother. Besides, you'd just sell them to Crookshank for not even a quarter of the value. Trust me, he's rich enough. He don't deserve your custom."

  "You'll keep 'em for yourself. There's wickedness! Stealing from the Happy Bag already!" She shook her head in disgust.

  I tried my best not to grin. Being schooled in morality by this old mumper was the funniest thing to happen to me all day. "Mother, if you strive not to vex me, you'll not spend the next six days in the cages or however many years you've left working for the King. May we get to business?"

  She cocked a knowing dark eye at me and waited, like street sparrows wait for crumbs.

  "Nine men and women got a digging job in the Cesspool, Mother," I told her, keeping my voice down. The street wasn't busy, but I wanted no passerby to overhear me. I drew her partway into Meadowsweet Alley. "They were told it was a well, but it wasn't. They were killed maybe a week ago. They've families that only know they vanished. Have you heard aught of them?"

  Mother Cantwell curled her lip, disgusted with me. "Gixie, your nob is cracked up and down and side to side. Folk – "

  I cut her off. "I know folk vanish all the time in the Lower City! But this is different. Nine at once, all together. Even for the Cesspool that's a clutch. If you've heard naught now, that doesn't mean you won't hear it later, if you keep your ear flaps clean and turned."

  She smacked her lips like she was thinking.

  "Listen, Mother. They dug in a building somewhere. Think on the sparklers I took from you. A mage can put a truth spell on me to know I didn't take them, and you did. When that happens, you are on your way to royal justice." I smiled. "And I'd hate that. We could help each other."

  "Seemingly it's more me helpin' you," she said.

  "I'll have the odd present for you now and then." I'd have to manage extra sweetening somehow down the road, when her gratitude ran cold. "I'm not some Dog as will ask you to cough up for love of me."

  She grinned, showing naked gums. She'd been afraid she'd have to do it all for free. "You'd get spittle if you did, Fishpuppy."

  I do not want folk calling me that forever. "There's one more thing, Mother," I said as she tried to shake my hand off her arm. "The Shadow Snake."

  She drew the sign against evil, the light that drives back the shadows. I almost copied it but tightened my grip on her instead.

  "You don't know what you're askin' for, Puppy Cooper," she said, all serious now. "I know naught. I'll ask no questions as will get me floatin' bum up in the river. I've nothin' the Shadow Snake wants. Long as I keep from his business, we needn't even bow in the street. Not that anyone knows who to bow to." She turned sideways and spat.

  The Crone Goddess lit the tiniest witch light of a thought in my brain. "I can see not going to the kennel with this," I began slowly, choosing my words. "But what about the Rogue? Surely this Snake is poaching on the Rogue's ground, on the folk the Rogue is supposed to look after."

  The old mot actually smirked at me. "In long-ago tales, mayhap. You truly think Rogue Kayfer and his chiefs care for little bits of things like spell books and jewelry? He's booted so many poor folk from the Court they don't even go to him no more. His chiefs are the same. The last cove whose babe was took that went to Dawull got tossed in the river for a swim. Folk were laughin' and kickin' 'im back in when he tried to climb out. Long as the Snake don't go slitherin' around no big score, the Rogue and his chiefs will leave us low folk to manage as best we may."

  There is knowing and then there is knowing. "Folk went to Kayfer?"

  "More'n one, girl. Now d'you see? There's no tellin' who's the Snake, and none to care if I'm doused for nosin' about the Snake's business!" The mot yanked on my grip, and yanked hard.

  "But you can listen, can't you? You older folk are everywhere and hear everything. Listen and ask about the nine that went all at once. Mayhap someone's looking to hire more diggers. I'll need to know of that, too, soonest. I'll see to it you're paid."

  "Not much, I'll wager," Mother Cantwell said.

  I smiled. "I can give those gems to our mage. He'll find you and the owner."

  "Of course, I'll be happy to listen as I may," she told me, and sighed.

  "I'd appreciate your courtesy, Mother," I replied. "I'm hopeful you won't make yourself hard to find." I was certain any Dog at Jane Street could tell me where to meet her.

  "Of course I won't, for so sharp a wench as you," she said, her voice sour. With that I let her go.

  She went her way and I went mine, turning my belt to set my purse where I could see it. The Crone had put Mother Cantwell in my path, I was sure. I went straight to the Crone's shrine on Healall Close. There I left Mother Cantwell's sharp blade as a thank-you offering. The gems would go into the kennel's Happy Bag when no one was looking. It happened that way all the time when no one wanted to hobble a personal Birdie.

  Then I went in search of Mistress Noll's Daymarket stall.

  I didn't expect to see her there. Not when she worked at the Nightmarket all last week. Her children minded the Daymarket place. The stall was new, and easy enough to find, since it was on Bakers' Row. I was impressed when I saw it. This was a true building, no three-sided shed with room only for warming ovens and braziers. There were shelves with pasties, buns, and pies on display, with muslin over them to keep off the flies.

  Mistress Noll's youngest daughter, Gemma, was working the big paddles, pulling finished round loaves from the ovens and putting fresh ones in to bake. Her brother Yates leaned against the counter, talking to a blond cove and a brunette one who'd just placed sacks of flour on the floor. My hackles stiffened. I didn't like Yates. He was a bad Rat, in and out of the cages for brawling and theft. The other Noll sons were well enough, but Yates was trouble.

  I made choices for breakfast, small fruit loaves that could be split, depending on how many of us gathered at Nipcopper Close. I made sure to get spice buns, favored by Kora and Rosto, and the ones with plenty of raisins for Verene and me. Then I waited for those who were ahead of me to put down their coin. They were servants in good houses from their talk, who treated Yates like he was hardly there. He smiled like a sick fish at them and spat on the floor when they turned away.

  One of Yates's
friends who had been with him and his mother at the Court of the Rogue made some whispered joke that set the three coves laughing. Mistress Noll hired hard men to make her deliveries.

  "Gemma, 'member me?" I asked, quiet enough that she would be the only one to hear. "Beka Cooper."

  She smiled. "Everyone knows 'bout you. Livin' up in Provost's House and all. Lookit you, dressed all nice, like you wasn't from Mutt Piddle Lane."

  I looked down at my wrinkled and stained dress. "Mayhap you could say that," I said, watching her from the corners of my eyes. She had a bruise on her forehead, a healing cut on her lip. There were bruises on her arms, left bare when she'd pushed up her sleeves to work. Was her man knocking her about? Did she have a man? She was forty or so, old enough to be a grandmother at least, with plenty of gray in her brown hair.

  "If you're buyin', you're buyin'." Yates smashed a fist down on the counter. "You don't need to be botherin' my sister, wench."

  Gemma's eyes went from him to me and back like we both of us was monsters. "Yates, don't! You remember Ma tellin' us 'bout Beka Cooper – this's her!"

  "I don't care if she's a knight in armor. We're workin' folk here, and my sister's a respectable mot, not some Rovers Street trull." Yates smirked at his friends. He thought he'd become a wit. "Buy or shake your wares someplace else, wench."

  I set my loaves on the counter and my coins beside them. "Gemma, have I got the right change?" I asked. I began to tuck the loaves into a pack I'd got at the house, settling them careful so they wouldn't be crushed.

  She counted and gave back a copper. Her hand was shaking. "Don't mind Yates, he's got a rough manner," she whispered. "He don't – "

  He knocked her sideways, sending her sprawling on the floor. Now I knew where her bruises came from. "Shut yer gob," he ordered her. He turned to me and raised his hand.

  I blocked his swing with my forearm, though it jarred my teeth. While he gaped, I grabbed that wrist with my free left hand and yanked him toward me over the counter, jamming my right hip into it to steady myself. When he grabbed at me with his free hand, I seized it and twisted so he'd stop thrashing. Then I rested my weight on my left hand, using it like a lever. The problem for him was, it was his elbow on the edge of the counter at the end of my lever. If he moved, I could throw all of my weight on his wrist and see what happened to that elbow, or keep turning his other hand. If he behaved, all that he got was cramps in his wrists and his right elbow, and some shame before those looking on. If he misbehaved, he would suffer the consequences.

  His friends seemed to think he ought to do something. "I've not hurt Yates yet," I said to them. I felt that same clear-headed bravery that had come on me as I'd chased Orva and fought the river dodgers. "I will if you hurry me. I'm surprised this place gets any custom whatever, with Yates and you being so friendly with customers."

  Just then I heard a familiar woman's voice say, "I have to say, I'm not impressed." Sabine of Macayhill walked to the counter, putting herself between Yates's friends and me. "I was told I might buy Corus's best apple-raisin patties at Mistress Noll's. Nobody warned me about the service." She looked at me. "Maybe you should kill him. I would."

  "It's against the law," I said, keeping the pressure on Yates. I wasn't at all sure if she was joking.

  "Oh, I forgot – I'm in Corus again. People care about things like that here. You being a Dog, I suppose you care more than most." Lady Sabine smiled crookedly at me and looked down at Yates. "She's a Provost's Dog, you know."

  I let him go as I said, "Trainee. I'm only a trainee, excuse me, my lady. But he's a full-blooded Rat, and no mistake."

  Yates scrambled away from the counter and us, so fast that he fetched up against the ovens. He yelped and jerked away, rubbing first one arm, then the other. He threw himself toward his friends. They left through the side door, glaring back at Sabine.

  "Please, you don't know what you've done." Gemma was still on the floor. "They'll pay you back one night, Beka. Yates, his friends – they be hard coves."

  Sabine leaned on her elbows. "I told you we should have killed him." I saw that her brown eyes were just – interested, as if she talked about cropping her hair. "Have you got apple-raisin patties, mistress?"

  "Still warm, my lady," Gemma told her.

  Sabine laid out her handkerchief. "I'll take four, if you please."

  As Gemma opened an oven and laid four patties on the lady knight's handkerchief, she told me, "I'll keep tellin' him you're with the Dogs now, Beka, but you want to watch for him. And I'll tell Ma. He listens to Ma." She curtsied. "Two coppers, my lady."

  Lady Sabine gave her three. "An unusual sort of baker's assistant they're hiring in Corus nowadays," she remarked. "Very tidy work on the wrist grabs, Cooper. Nice, using the counter to anchor yourself and compensate for your weight difference."

  I looked down, not knowing what to say. The feeling of doing Dog work had left me in a rush, and I was shy again.

  "I was impressed in that hole on Rovers Street, too. I just think you'll regret only holding this Yates fellow instead of breaking a joint or three," she added. "It rarely pays to be easy on that sort." She pointed a finger at Gemma. "You, mistress, should throw yourself on the mercy of the Goddess's temple. No woman needs to let a man knock her about as you have done. They will protect you, hide you, even, if need be." She waited, watching Gemma.

  "You don't understand, my lady," Gemma said at last. "I have no choice."

  Sabine rolled her eyes. "So they all say." She scooped up her handkerchief and its contents, then took a patty out and bit into it. "Gods, this is good!" she said, her mouth full. She handed me one, and when her mouth was empty, told me, "Mattes was right about this place. So maybe I'll be back." She gave me the tiniest of smiles. "And maybe I'll follow Master Lout to his lair. Dispose of him without your disapproving eyes looking on, Cooper. In the interest of the public good, of course."

  She left before I thought to curtsy.

  "Lady knights." Gemma shook her head.

  I looked at her. "What?"

  "They think the river will part for them." Gemma was rubbing her arms as she looked at the floor. I think she'd forgotten I was there. "She doesn't know, the men always get their way in the end. That's why I never married. I see what my sisters get every day."

  I sighed. I wanted to go home and cuddle my cat. Today suddenly felt longer than all last week. "Would you tell Mistress Noll I said hello?" I asked.

  Gemma looked at me, then turned and opened the oven. "If Yates doesn't do it first, of course. Good day to you, Beka."

  I shouldered my pack and left that odd little shop, eating the patty. It was very good. As I finished it, my mind kept circling back to Yates. Does it prosper Mistress Noll to hire the likes of Yates and take delivery from men who look like veterans of the cages?

  Wednesday, April 8, 246

  I was putting the cloth on the floor this morning when I thought, What if the others tire of breakfast? They keep later nights even than I do. What if the fun of eating pasties with Puppy Dogs and the odd older Dog like Phelan is not as good as an hour or two more of sleep? Then Kora, Aniki, Ersken, and Phelan came all at once, and I knew I was a fool. We had barely filled the cups when Verene and Rosto walked through the door, Verene with a basket of extras from her mother's workplace and Rosto with pickled eggs.

  "I missed breakfast these last two days," Rosto said, once we were settled. "It's a nice start to things. Quiet-like."

  Everyone nodded, mouths full. Even I had to agree. I felt easier here, with half of our number on the other side of the law, than I'd felt at Provost's House.

  "Did they admire your bruises?" Verene asked me. "Did they want all the details of the fight? Because you ne'er told us. You were too giddy with the healin'."

  "You had a lady knight," Aniki said, feeding sausage to Pounce. "Lady Sabine. A bunch of the bully boys who came by Dawull's court last night and the night before looked like they'd been mule-kicked. They said her and a bunch of her friends w
ho just came back from the east bailed out you and your Dogs."

  I snorted and almost choked. "It was just my lady on her own, and my Dogs, and me. They wished it had taken more than the four of us," I replied. As Aniki lifted Pounce in the air, my own curst honesty made me add, "Actually, mostly it was her and Tunstall and Goodwin. I did a bit, but they did the true damage."

  "Don't go all modest," Ersken said as Aniki kissed my poor cat's head. "By rights all of you should have been killed. My Dogs say someone ought to do the city a favor and burn the Barrel's Bottom down, there's so many fights there. The Night Watch calls it 'the Barrel of Blood.'"

  "My Dogs say your Dogs allus do stupid things like that, to make the rest of us look bad," Verene said. I glared at her. She held up both of her hands. "I'm just tellin' you what they said."

  Phelan slung an arm around Verene's shoulders and kissed her temple. "Your Dogs are worthless scuts, sweeting. Don't listen when they talk scummer like that. Study the good pairs, like Beka's Dogs."

  Verene batted her eyes at Phelan. "That bein' you and your partner?"

  Phelan laughed. "We aren't even nearly so good."

  "Why try, when it's such an uphill battle?" Rosto asked, and yawned. "When you get in trouble someplace like the Barrel's Bottom, and other Dogs take forever to come to lend a hand?"

  I nudged him with my foot. "Why take the trouble to serve any of the Rogue's chiefs when they won't fight to move up at the Court?" I asked him. "Because you're a rusher. Because we're Dogs."

  "You speak of bein' a Dog like it's somethin' that's in the blood," Verene said with a laugh. "I just didn't want t' fish!"

  "It's in Beka's blood," Ersken said. "And I have to tell you, I get to meet more interesting people this way."

  "And Beka will never change her mind?" Rosto asked, trying to hold my eyes with his dark ones. "Never, ever?"

  I looked back, even though his way of looking at me makes my skin prickle all over. I've had a sweetheart or two, but none of them gave me the tingles like Rosto. He's bad for you, I keep telling myself. Bad, bad, bad.