No True Way

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Kasiath taught them to do that in less than a fortnight,” Daedrus stated, his rheumy blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Her teacher’s very proud of her, and so am I. You know she takes lessons with Master Clevin here these days?”

  Shaking off the birds’ spell with some difficulty, Hektor nodded. Believing Kassie had the gift of Bird Speech, before he’d died three months ago, their grandfather had arranged for her to take lessons as a Blue—an Unaffiliated student—at the Collegium next to the Palace itself. But the crowds of highborn youths had been too overwhelming for the shy girl from a watchman’s family, and so Daedrus, an old friend of her teacher, had stepped in, opening up his house for lessons for her and a few other like-minded students. He’d waved off any and all thanks; he enjoyed the company, he said, and so in return, the Dann family had taken it upon themselves to keep an eye on the aging Artificer. While Hektor and their oldest brother Aiden, himself a corporal at the Iron Street watch house, made sure Haven’s petty criminals kept their distance, Paddy ran Daedrus’ errands, Kassie saw to his birds, their middle brothers, Jakon and Raik, who stood the night watch, escorted him home from his various evening events, and their mother and sister-in-law, Suli, saw to his mending.

  Paddy maneuvered himself between his brother and the crammed bookcases lining the wall by the door. “I’ll make the tea if you like, Daedrus,” he offered. “I think I saw the kettle in the hall. That way, you can catch Hek—I mean Sergeant Dann,” he corrected smoothly as Hektor turned a frown on him, “up on what happened with yer books.”

  “Thank you, Padreic,” Daedrus replied. “I think the tea tin is in the garden.”

  “Why is it . . . never mind,” Kassie said. “I’ll fetch it.”

  “The thing is, you see, books come and go about the house,” Daedrus explained once Paddy had brought the tea and Kassie had returned to his birds. “Almost as if they had a life of their own, but I’m generally aware if they come and go out of the house. You know how it is—you lend a book here, or you lend one to a friend there, and you don’t miss them until you need them, and if your memory isn’t what it used to be, well, there you have it. Take The Life and Works of the Great Master Artificer Brayce of Travale, for instance. I lent it to my friend, Destrian, nearly twenty years ago now. Last spring I wanted to look up something Brayce had taken particular note of, and, well, Destrian had died just the week before, which was probably what brought Brayce to mind in the first place . . . Anyway, it was very awkward asking for its return, as you can imagine, and in the end I just borrowed a copy from the Artificer’s Guild library. Come to think of it, that needs to go back . . .”

  “But in this case . . .” Hektor prompted before Daedrus could head off on another tangent.

  “Oh yes. In this case, well it’s the Willot, you see.”

  “The . . . Will . . . ?”

  “Lady Willot’s Guide to the Wildflowers of the Forest of Sorrows.” Daedrus picked up a small, green book bound in leather from the pile beside his chair. “It isn’t mine, you see.”

  * * *

  “So, people are stealin’ his books and replacin’ ’em with other books?”

  Seated around the Dann family table that evening, Aiden gave him a disbelieving look from over his four-year-old son, Egan’s, head. “One oatcake in the mouth at a time, little man,” he added sternly, moving the plate out of arm’s reach. “You know better’n that.”

  Egan smiled an innocent mouthful of food at him as Hektor shrugged.

  “Maybe.”

  “Were they valuable books?”

  “Not as such.” Hektor took a bite of meat pie, opened his mouth at Egan when Aiden wasn’t looking, then shrugged again as the boy broke into peals of delighted laughter. “One might be about spinnin’ wheels and the other might be about weight-driven clocks,” he said, pretending not to see Suli’s exasperated frown as she and Aiden’s year-old daughter, Leila, pointed at her uncle and laughed as loudly as Egan.

  “Might be?”

  “Yeah, well, he thinks he remembers where he saw ’em last, but they might have moved.”

  “Moved?”

  “Moved.”

  “So, they might not be missin’ at all?”

  Hektor sighed. “No.”

  “Did you check for any signs of a break-in?”

  “Top to bottom. Nothin’. Likely the thief just walked in an’ walked out again.”

  “Who would have that kind of easy access?”

  “Plenty of folk,” Paddy offered through a mouthful of spring peas. “So far this week there’s been Hadon, Linton’s apprentice, Deen, the butcher’s boy, the herbalist’s girl, her name’s Marti, I think . . .” As Kassie nodded, he continued. “Three book binders, they’re older folk, I don’t know their names, two book sellers, four gardeners, the chimney sweep with two helpers, the dustbin man an’ his son, Rik, the privy cleaner, he was by himself, the sweet spring water delivery man and his apprentice, Mern, and me. An’ that’s jus’ the trades. There’s been Kassie with these two other students, Janee an’ Alix, an’ their teacher, right, Kas?”

  His sister nodded again, and Paddy continued. “Then we got the highborns: his niece Adele an’ her friends, plus his own friends—Artificers, Bards, Healers, Scholars. His house has more comin’ an’ goin’ than the Palace, I reckon.”

  “So, couldn’t one of them have borrowed the books and left that wildflower one behind on one of their own visits?” Aiden pressed.

  Hektor shook his head. “Daedrus says not. He showed it to me. There’s a plate inside the front cover that reads . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut as he called the words to mind. “Gifted from the Private Collection of Lady Willot to her nephew, the Herald Navene.”

  “Who lives where?”

  “He has an estate north of the city near Westmark, an’ he hasn’t been near Daedrus’ house for years. Apparently he’s kind of a shut-in now.”

  “Right, so it ain’t him. What a surprise,” Jakon noted, spearing an oatcake with the end of his knife. “Why would anyone steal books, anyway? There’s lots more valuable things scattered all over his house that’d be a lot easier to pocket.”

  “An’ a lot easier to sell,” Raik agreed, deftly scooping the oatcake off his brother’s knife with his own.

  “Not in front of Egan, Raik,” his mother admonished.

  “Sorry, Ma.” Raik set the cake onto his twin’s plate with a contrite air, then scooped it back up with his fingers. “Better?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Not really at all,” Jakon added, snatching it back. “Get yer own.”

  “All the booksellers past Breakneedle Street know each other,” Paddy observed, bringing the subject back to the missing books. “An’ they all know Daedrus an’ what he buys, so they all know his collection. A stranger tryin’ to sell stolen books there would stick out like a sore thumb, an’ the secondhand shops nearer the outer gates haven’t the market for ’em.”

  “So, someone must be takin’ them for their own collection,” Hektor mused.

  “Which is also suspect,” Aiden argued. “Anyone with a book collection of their own’d be a friend to Daedrus. Why would they thieve from him?” He turned a stern gaze on the two youngest Danns. “Neither of you have borrowed any books, have you? Even with his permission? I know how you both love to read.”

  Both Kassie and Paddy glared back at him. “No,” Paddy retorted. “Hek made it plain when we first started goin’ up there: be polite, be friendly, but keep a professional distance, and don’t accept nothin’ more’n a cup of tea an’ a biscuit.”

  “You have to keep sayin’ no to him; he gifts things to people all the time,” Kassie added somberly. “Sometimes they quietly put ’em back when he’s not lookin’.”

  Their mother set another plate of oatcakes into the center of the table, then returned to her seat with a thoughtful exp
ression. “Many of his friends are his own age,” She noted. “Do you think he might have gifted these missin’ books to someone and forgotten, and they left the other book in its place forgetting it wasn’t his?”

  “Maybe,” Kassie allowed, but her tone was doubtful. “He an’ his friends talk books all the time, and most of ’em carry ’em about—”

  “Daedrus says he thinks a couple of his friends might have had the same thing happen to them,” Paddy interrupted. “Books missin’ and other books mysteriously showin’ up.”

  “But why would any of them just slip one of their own books into someone else’s house an’ not tell ’im about it?” Kasey shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Then most likely it didn’t happen at all,” Aiden answered. “Daedrus’ll probably find the two he’s missin’ in the privy.” Handing Egan to Suli, he stood. “I’m be downstairs, puttin’ a few hours in on the new flat ’afore bed. I could use your help, Hek, if you’ve the time.”

  Hektor started. “I . . . suppose.”

  A smile cracked Aiden’s usually frowning demeanor. “But you were plannin’ on callin’ on Ismy, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me a few minutes help buildin’ Egan’s new bed frame, an’ I’ll let you loose with plenty of time left to get over to Saddler’s Row ’afore dark. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  As the two oldest Dann boys made for the door, Hektor paused to glance back at the rest of the family still seated about the table, talking, laughing, and eating. His mother rose to straighten his collar, then gave him a fond smile.

  “What are you thinking about so seriously?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothin’ really. I was just tryin’ to keep this memory in my head. With Aiden and Suli movin’ downstairs with the twins this week, it’s gonna be lot quieter around here.”

  “Well, then, you and Ismy will just have to fill it up again. It’s high time I had more grandbabies, anyway.”

  Hektor reddened. “I don’t think we’re ready for that just yet, Ma.”

  “We’ll see. Give her my love.”

  “I . . . yes, Ma.”

  * * *

  “You look tired.”

  Ismy Smith glanced up at Hektor as they walked along Saddler’s Row together, and he felt his head begin to spin with the same sense of lightheaded elation he’d felt since he’d been reunited with her last autumn.

  “No, not tired, just . . .”

  “Just . . . ?”

  “Worried a bit. It’s Daedrus.”

  “Your family’s Artificer friend. Is he all right?”

  When Hektor filled her in, she frowned. “It sounds like you’re worried that his mind is failing?” she noted.

  “A little, maybe. He’s old and forgetful, an’, well, you know how it is.”

  “Perhaps, but I might remind you, Hektor Dann,” she answered sternly, “that not all that long ago, you—all of you—thought my father was gettin’ old and forgetful just because he was missin’ items from his shop and believed that people might be stealin’ them.”

  “And it turned out his own granddaughter, Zoe, was playin’ shopkeeper with his things right under his nose. That doesn’t make me feel any better, Ismy.”

  “It’s not meant to make you feel better, it’s meant to remind you to take your friend’s concerns seriously, whatever his age.”

  “I am.”

  “Good.” As they turned onto Iron Street, she bumped him slightly with her hip. “And speakin’ of my father . . .”

  Hektor felt an involuntary thrill of if not fear then at least foreboding travel up his spine.

  “Yeah?”

  “Judee wants us all to have a meal together ’afore the weddin’.”

  He gave a faint snort. “So Edzel doesn’t think she’s stealin’ from him anymore either?” he asked. The rows between Edzel Smith and Ismy’s third ex-stepmother were legendary in the area, and both Hektor and Aiden had been called in to referee on numerous occasions.

  Ismy dismissed the question with a flick of one hand. “Of course he doesn’t. They’re gettin’ along just fine these days for Zoe’s sake an’ for the sake of our weddin’,” she added.

  Hektor raised one amused eyebrow at her. “You don’t mind if I doubt that last part, do you?” he asked. “Edzel’s never liked me.”

  “Maybe not, but he loves me and wants me to be happy.” Her tone brooked no rebuttal, from either him or her father, and Hektor smiled.

  “True enough,” he allowed. “So, how soon ’afore the weddin’ was she wantin’ this dinner?”

  “The night before.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that all right?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, sure.” As Ismy tucked her arm more securely in his, he bent down to kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair with an intoxicated smile. “Course it is.”

  * * *

  “Unless I get buried under a mountain of reports before then,” he sighed, glancing around at the untidy piles stacked all over his office the next morning. “Makes me wish I’d never learned to read.”

  A knock interrupted his grumbling, and he smoothed his expression quickly as Paddy put his head in the door.

  “Capt’n wants you, Hek—I mean, Sarge.”

  * * *

  Captain Travin Torell glanced up as Hektor entered his office, then finished the report he was reading before setting it carefully on the top of a very neatly stacked pile. Promoted from a far more affluent watch house just over a year ago, it had taken the highborn captain some months to recognize that competency as well as tradition had seen generations of Danns at the Iron Street Watch House, and it had taken an equal number of months for the decidedly tight-knit community of locally born watchmen to trust their outsider commander. Now both managed a restrained formality that was only just beginning to meld into a smoothly running unit, due in no small part to the efforts of Day Sergeant Hektor Dann, the captain’s first, if at the time, somewhat reluctant, promotion.

  “I understand you’ve been to see Daedrus, Sergeant. Something about missing books?” he asked.

  Hektor eyed his commander thoughtfully. The captain and Daedrus were friends; the two often dined together at the White Lily, an inn so far above Hektor’s station that he’d never even seen the inside of it. The captain hadn’t mentioned the Dann family’s relationship with the old Artificer, but Hektor had no doubt that he knew all about it. Mostly, he admitted silently, because Daedrus was a dreadful gossip.

  “Yes, sir,” he answered, opting for a neutral tone.

  “And . . . ?”

  “Investigations are proceeding, sir.”

  “Proceeding how?”

  “Sir?”

  The Captain frowned. “What have you discovered, Sergeant?”

  “More questions than answers, sir.” Hektor admitted. “Ordinarily we’d be makin’ inquiries with the other householders in the area as well as the local booksellers, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “Well, sir, Daedrus’ home and the booksellers stalls are in Breakneedle Street’s jurisdiction. I wouldn’t want to . . .” He paused, uncertain of what words to use to the former Breakneedle Street officer without giving offence.

  The captain nodded. “I’ll speak with Captain Rilade. His officers can interview the householders. They’re known, many of them are younger sons who come from the local surroundings. As they do here,” he added wryly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your brother, Padreic, often accompanies Daedrus to the booksellers, yes?” the captain continued.

  “He does, sir. When he’s off shift, he goes with him to carry his packages.”

  “Well. then, perhaps he can make those inquiries for us.” The captain inclined his head stiffly. “It will be good experience for
him when he’s ready to move up to lance constable.”

  Hektor allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. “He’ll be thrilled at the opportunity, sir,” he noted. “And fully discreet.”

  “I’m sure he will be.” The captain met his gaze sternly. “And, Sergeant, if your inquiries turn up nothing more than say . . . an old man’s forgetful nature, I would appreciate it if you would keep it between us. I’m very fond of Daedrus, as you may know. He was a brilliant Artificer in his day, and I would hate for his reputation to suffer now that he’s getting on in years.”

  “I understand, Captain.” Snapping off a rigidly formal salute, Hektor made for the door, then decided to simply speak his mind. “The Danns are very fond of him too, sir,” he said, turning back to meet the captain’s gaze no less firmly. “An’ we don’t let the people we care about get hurt.”

  For the first time, the captain gave him a tight but genuine smile. “I’m sure you don’t, Sergeant. Very well then, I’ll leave the investigation in your capable hands. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  The next day, Paddy stood beside Daedrus in Booksellers Row, gently leafing through a volume of street ball stories while the Artificer flipped through a bin of engineering manuals.

  “Our young watchman can read very fast indeed, can’t he, Michen?” the neighboring bookseller called out, winking at the stall owner, who was eyeing Paddy suspiciously. “Why, I’ve seen him polish off most of a Rethwellan epic poem before Daedrus had finished passing the time of day.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing he’s careful with them, or I might expect him to buy one for a change, Ivarra!” Michen snapped back. “Get back to work, Erlan, you lazy wretch!” He aimed a swipe at his twelve-year-old son standing beside Paddy. The boy danced out of the way with a grin, a book on griffins clutched in one hand.