The Broken Bell

by Frank Tuttle

  I nodded. “I’ll do everything I can to have him under the Bell for you, Miss. So. When was the last time you saw him? Details. Everything you can remember.”

  Tamar took a deep breath and launched into it. Mr. Tibbles listened in silence, and then began to snore.

  I sat on that park bench so long my backside bore the imprint of the slats. Most of the time, I have to wrestle people to the ground and pull on their tongues in a search for pertinent details. With Tamar, the problem wasn’t a lack of information, but a veritable flood of it. Trying to latch onto the useful bits was akin to snatching gnats out of a windstorm.

  But I knew more than I did before I’d ruined the opening of the Fields’s new bakery.

  Carris liked dogs, even Mr. Tibbles. Carris disliked the sound of bugles. Carris knew ten words of Ogre. Carris was once struck by a Watchman’s truncheon after he punched the Watchman for making a lewd comment about Tamar, and he’d spent a night in the Old Ruth for the pleasure.

  I was beginning to like this Carris.

  But I was no closer to finding him. He’d said nothing about a trip, business or otherwise, before he’d vanished. The last time Tamar saw Carris had been a dinner date, at which they’d talked wedding plans and decided to fire a caterer and had enjoyed roast beef that was a little too chewy. Then they’d lingered on the porch of the Fields home, said their farewells and made plans to meet for lunch the next day.

  Tamar swore Carris hadn’t been bothered, or worried, or distant. She had no inkling anything was wrong until he missed their lunch date.

  That had been two days shy of two weeks ago.

  Tamar had gone to the Lethways, and had been told by a butler that Carris was called away on urgent business, and no, the master of the house was not able to receive visitors, and no he couldn’t divulge any details, certainly not.

  And that had been that. Tamar’s conversation with the Watch had been equally fruitless. Which didn’t much surprise me, since the Lethways clearly outnumbered the Fields in butlers and money. The Watch is careful with whom they dispense their justice.

  I left Tamar with a promise I would start looking at once. I’d been elated when she hadn’t asked me where I planned to start looking, because as I walked back toward Cambrit I wasn’t entirely sure.

  The obvious destination was the Lethway house. But if the Lethways had been willing to stonewall their only son’s lady love, I doubted they’d be any more receptive to a finder wandering in off the street.

  The late afternoon sun left the bustling street half in cool shadows. People were smiling and laughing. Even the Watchmen failed to scowl and bellow. I should have been enjoying the walk, but my legs grew heavier with every step and I could hardly keep my mouth shut from yawning.

  I’d started my day by being attacked by Sprangs. I’d taken a ride in the Corpsemaster’s black carriage. Sweated under a sun that didn’t feel like mine. Slept some forced hex-borne sleep. Hell, I’d been drafted into the Army.

  I decided my work ethic could take the afternoon off. No point in trying to dazzle the Lethways with my verbal charms when the best I could muster was a puzzled yawn.

  I wished I’d asked the dead cabman to hang around. The walk back to Cambrit was going to be a hike. But the cabs in this part of town would charge extra just for visiting my humble neighborhood, and I’d tipped the Fields too generously to allow myself that luxury.

  So I walked, hands in pockets, hat turned down. People gave me room. When I’m grumpy, it shows.

  I tried to keep my mind off all things Army. Tried to forget sleeping in tents, fighting in the rain, freezing every night and going hungry every day. I’d thought that was over and done.

  I kicked at a loose cobblestone, had a brief, terrible vision of Rannit’s walls coming down, of that foul-smelling cannon smoke sailing ghostlike down its streets, heard people screaming, flames roaring.

  I was so preoccupied I didn’t even notice the cab rattle to a halt on the street beside me.

  “Boss?”

  I shook off my vision. It was Gertriss, in a plain brown hat, leaning out of the window, smiling.

  “Boss, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over.”

  “Lunch with the Regent. The man never shuts up. Nice cab. Room for two?”

  The door swung open. I clambered inside, barely getting my butt on the bench before the cabman snapped his reins and the cab lurched ahead.

  “Boss, you look awful.”

  “We’ve got to work on your flattery skills.” I took off my hat and rubbed my eyes. “Did you catch Smithy with his lady of the afternoon?”

  Gertriss looked anything but awful. Since giving up her career as a swineherder and settling in Rannit, she’s made an amazing transformation. Blonde hair, green eyes, trim figure—I’m always surprised she’s able to go unnoticed in a crowd like she does.

  “I’m afraid so. She’s not the lady from the bank, either. It’s his wife’s younger sister.”

  I grimaced. “You’re sure?”

  “They took a room at the hotel. I took the next one. The walls are thin. I’m sure.”

  Rannit rolled past my window, happy and unfaithful and well fed and warm.

  “Hell of a way to make a living.”

  “Boss, what’s wrong? And where have you been? You’re filthy. Where did you find red dust?”

  I followed Gertriss’s gaze down to my shoes and my knees. Both were dusty, with that strange red earth from the Battery.

  “Never mind that right now. Have you been home yet? Talked to Mama?”

  Her eyes flashed. “No. Why? Something happen?”

  “The Sprangs happened. All the way from Pot Lockney. Showed up at the office early this morning, looking for you.”

  She went pale, licked her lips, measured her words.

  “Oh no. Boss, I’m sorry. Were they rude?”

  “You could say that. But don’t worry. I’m sure their manners are much improved. They’ll be spending some time in the Old Ruth for assaulting one of Rannit’s most beloved citizens.”

  “Assaulted? They went after you? Why would they do that?”

  “It seems Mama has been her usual helpful self. She let word get back to Pot Lockney that you and I share more than just an office.”

  Gertriss reddened.

  I waved it off. “Look. What’s done is done. You had nothing to do with it. The Sprangs are locked up. We have plenty of time to figure out what to do with them when they get off the work crew. If you cry you’ll ruin that mascara. Anyway, it could be worse.”

  “Worse? Boss, you don’t know them like I do. If they think you and I…if they, um…what could be worse?”

  I put my hat back on. “Not the time or the place, Miss. Tell me about the errant Mr. Smithy. That’s an order.”

  I put my head back and suffered the bumps and didn’t listen to a single word Gertriss said.

  Chapter Five

  I fell asleep again halfway back to Cambrit. Gertriss says I dreamed, and they must have been troubling dreams, because I clenched my fists and mumbled. If she caught any of the words she had the good grace to pretend otherwise.

  I stumbled out onto the sidewalk while Gertriss counted coins. The cabman made a pass at her, which she ignored, and when I saw he meant to repeat it, I glared and he snapped his reins and took his leave.

  I had just enough time to thank my errant guardian Angel that Mama wasn’t outside on her stoop waiting for us when Mama flew out of her door and stomped toward us, her grizzled old face set into a wrinkled scowl that would have turned Trolls, had any been lingering nearby. She had Buttercup by the hand, and though the tiny banshee tried to resist Mama’s pulling, she was dragged along anyway, blinking in the light, her false wings sagging and drooping.

  I ushered Gertriss inside and said the magic word—beer.

  I have an icebox in the back now. It’s a tiny one, barely big enough to hold a chunk of sawdust-covered ice and eight tall, dark glasses of Biltot’s best, but it will
keep them chilled for a week.

  “Boss? Now?”

  “Two. One for me, one for you. If Mama doesn’t like that, tough. Go. I’m in a mood.”

  Gertriss went, vanishing about the time Mama came stomping through my door.

  “Where the Hell you been, boy? And where is that niece of mine? I reckon we all got to have a talk.”

  She let Buttercup go. Buttercup did a little hop-skip and hugged my knees, looking up at me with something like worry on her fragile little face.

  “Your dolls are in the back, honey,” I said. “Go play while the grownups talk. Scoot.”

  Buttercup nodded and vanished.

  I could see Gertriss’s shadow under my backroom door. I knew she had the beers, and I knew she was lingering, probably giving Buttercup a hug, taking a few extra seconds before facing Mama’s inevitable assault.

  I sank into my chair and threw my hat at the rack and missed and didn’t give a damn. My joints ached, my head was stuffed with cotton, and I was thinking it was time to remind one and all whose hospitality it was they were abusing.

  “Where I’ve been is working. Same for my associate. She answers to me, and I don’t answer to anybody. She and I are going to drink a beer. You can have one, or you can not, or you can leave. But I’m not about to be yelled at or have my staff yelled at by the general public. Is that clear?”

  Mama made strangled snuffling noises, but stood her ground.

  “Gertriss, our beverages. And bring the folding chair for our guest. If she’s staying. Are you staying, Mama?”

  Mama surprised me. “You knows I am, boy. And, boy, I reckon I’ll have one of them fancy beers. Seein’ as we’re all drinking to excess these days.”

  I heard glass tinkle as Gertriss pulled another Biltot out of the icebox.

  “I didn’t know you liked beer, Mama.”

  “I reckon there’s lots you don’t know about me, boy.” Gertriss came in, beers and chair filling her hands, and Mama helped her without a word, save for a single “thank ye” that was neither dripping with sarcasm nor delivered in a hiss between clenched gums.

  “Mama’s being polite, Gertriss. I think we’re in for some bad news.”

  “That you are, boy. Miss. I reckon your boss has done told ye about the Sprangs?”

  Gertriss nodded. She hadn’t touched her beer. Mama guffawed and drained a quarter of hers in one loud draught.

  “This ain’t half bad.” Mama wiped her lips. “Go on, drink it. It ain’t like you’re a little ’un no more.”

  Gertriss nodded and took a sip.

  “I done wrong, to both of you,” said Mama. “I told things I hadn’t ought to have told. I done it thinkin’ I was protecting you, niece. I didn’t have no way of knowing it would bring them Sprangs all the way here, to do what they come to do.”

  I shut my mouth by filling it with beer.

  “Mr. Markhat knows you didn’t mean any harm.”

  Mama took another expert swig of my uptown beer. “And what about you, child of my sister? You have a right to be angry. And a right to say so.”

  Gertriss clenched her beer so hard her knuckles went white and shook her head.

  “You didn’t kill anyone, Mama. I did that. That’s why they came.”

  “We both knows why you kilt that man, child. Neither of us blames you.”

  I nodded. “He had it coming. I’d have killed him myself, had I been there.”

  Gertriss was shaking. She couldn’t speak. I wasn’t surprised—she’d been with me for more than a year, and we’d never discussed this in any but the most oblique terms. Getting it out wasn’t going to be easy.

  “I still can’t believe I ever agreed to marry…him.” She spoke in a whisper, after a long bout of shaking. “I never…loved him. But all the other girls were married, and there weren’t many men left, and I’d given up on coming to Rannit, did you know that, Mama? I hated Pot Lockney. Hated the pigs. Hated it all—but I was afraid. Afraid of leaving. Isn’t that stupid?”

  “No, child, not at all,” said Mama. Her voice had no rasp, no bluster. “I was afraid too. They sold me to a tinker. Did you know that? Nine years old, and sold to a man my grandfather’s age, because I was stunted, and had the Sight. I really ought to send a pox upon them.”

  Gertriss laughed despite herself. I raised an eyebrow at Mama. She didn’t respond, so for all I know that story was the truth.

  “So when Harald started coming around, I went out walking with him. I knew what he was. I’d heard the stories. But he was sweet. Brought me flowers. Said I was pretty.”

  “He was right about that,” I said.

  Mama shushed me with a glare.

  “He said he’d buy us a farm. Said I could raise the swine, and he’d herd the cattle. Said we’d have a big fine log house and two horses and a well of our own.” She took a big draught of beer, and her face went pale. “Might have been the promise of a well that pushed me over the edge. All those years of hauling buckets.” She shook. “And then one night he came around drunk. He wasn’t talking flowers and log houses. He…He…”

  “I reckon we knows that part,” said Mama. “So you kilt him. And rightly so. Harald Suthom was a mean drunk, quick to rape, and from what I hears quick to kill. Ain’t nobody cryin’ no tears for his worthless ass, child.”

  I’m not sure Gertriss heard. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide. She was looking at me but not seeing me at all.

  “I tried to just get out of the house,” she said. “All I wanted to do was get away from him. Come to Rannit. Get away from him. But he wouldn’t let me go, Mama. He hit me, knocked me down. I kicked him but he was too drunk to even feel it. He pushed me down on my bed, and I always sleep with a knife under my pillow. A good plain sharp knife, that’s what Daddy always taught us girls. A good sharp knife, put where you can reach it when you need it most.”

  She blinked and was back with us.

  “Daddy would have been proud. A good sharp knife, where I could reach it. Harald didn’t even know I’d cut him at first. He was laughing when he died. Laughing and cussing. Then he just fell on me. Dead. Stinking. Dead.”

  Mama rose and went to Gertriss and hugged her and whispered for a long time. I sat there awkwardly and drank beer.

  When Mama let Gertriss go, they were both crying, both trying hard to hide it.

  I rose. “We all need another beer.” I left and took my time.

  When I came back, beers in hand, Three-leg Cat was perched on Mama’s lap, purring and preening as she scratched him behind his one intact ear. Gertriss was fussing with her makeup, squinting into one of the new tiny glass mirrors ladies have begun to carry in their purses this season.

  I distributed beers. Mama’s first bottle was empty. Gertriss had hardly touched hers. I hate to see good beer get warm, so I took it.

  I gathered the emotional storm was over. But there were still things I needed to know. “So the Sprangs came here looking for money.”

  “Mostly.” Mama took a draught and belched, loud as any man, and Gertriss laughed. “Vengeance, too, after they heard Gertriss had took up with a man. They can’t take no vengeance on women. But they’ve got their eyes set on you, boy, thanks to me.”

  I shrugged. “How much money are we talking here?”

  “Mama’s eyes went hard. “You ain’t thinking about paying them road apples, ’ere you?”

  “Why not? If the price is right, it seems like a good way to get rid of them for good. How much?”

  “Eight crowns,” said Gertriss softly. “In Old Kingdom coin. They won’t take Regency paper, or anything but gold.”

  I snorted. “Hell. Eight crowns. Fine. I can afford that. I’ll pay them, when they get out of the Old Ruth. By then they’ll be so ready to get the Hell out of Rannit they probably won’t stop running long enough to count it.”

  “I can’t let you do that, Mr. Markhat.”

  “What is it with Hog women? I said I’d pay them. It’s not a fortune. If you want, call it a
loan. Even on what your cheapskate boss pays you, eight crowns won’t take that long.” I frowned. From their expressions, I was missing something fundamental to the situation. “This is some Old Law country thing, isn’t it? Do I also have to give them an ear? Agree to consort with their oldest, ugliest daughter? Spill it. I’m a city man, remember?”

  Mama sighed. “Tell him the rest, child. I’m liable to tell it wrong.”

  I put my beer down a little too hard.

  “Wrong or right, ladies, somebody better start telling me something right now.”

  Gertriss cleared her throat. “I didn’t know this, until today. I swear I didn’t, Mr. Markhat. Mama just told me.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “Harald. Harald—he had a brother.”

  “Lots of people do. So?”

  “He’s dead too.”

  Silence. Gertriss was on the verge of tears. I looked to Mama.

  “Kilt with the same knife that kilt Harald,” she said. “On the same night. The Suthoms reckon Gertriss kilt him too.”

  Gertriss wouldn’t meet my eyes. My mouth went dry.

  “I have to ask, Gertriss. You know I do. Did you kill them both?”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t know nothing about the other Suthom boy ’til today,” said Mama. “The Sprangs got big mouths. They talked it all up and down the Old Ruth, about how they come to Rannit to put the vengeance on the man what took up with the woman what killed the Suthom boys. I reckon they aims to kill you, boy, and then go home and collect a reward from the Suthoms. So I ain’t sure eight crowns is going to stop this mess. I ain’t sure at all.”

  I swallowed the rest of Gertriss’s warm beer, opened my cold bottle, and took a swig of it too.

  “And I thought my day couldn’t get any worse. Funny old thing, life.”

  Gertriss burst out crying, and I thought seriously about joining her.

  It was nearly Curfew before I got the women settled enough to finish talking things out.

  We were all out of beer. My throat was dryer than the Regent’s tears. Gertriss had cried away most of her make-up, leaving nothing but dark circles under her eyes. Even red-nosed and a bit raccoonish, she was still fetching.