by Hilari Bell
Todd stopped, his hand on the doorknob. He turned slowly. “Why do I get the feeling that you want something?”
“ ’Tis the same thing you want,” said Michael. “To capture those villains before they kill again. I’ve an idea that might accomplish that, if you’ll listen.”
Instead of returning to his chair, Todd leaned against the door. His eyes were hard. “Why?”
I didn’t like the man, but he wasn’t a fool.
“Why what?” asked Michael blankly.
“Why do you care about catching the wreckers? You’re already up for the reward. Why should I trust any plan you put forward? In fact, why shouldn’t I believe that you’re in league with the wreckers yourselves, and trying to put the blame on Mistress Boniface because you’re about to be caught?”
I took it back—he was a fool. “Maybe because you aren’t anywhere near catching anyone. Maybe because you couldn’t find your own—”
Michael’s upraised hand cut me off. “You were there, Sheriff, when we found that girl’s body. Did you ever learn her name?”
“Of course,” said Todd. “Rebecca Chase. She was a maidservant. The family she worked for was moving to another town, but her master got seasick, so they traveled overland, sending only their possessions by sea.”
“Including their jewels,” I said, the picture taking shape. “And their other valuables.”
“And the money to open a new branch of their fur-importing business,” said Todd. “But money’s not easily identified, unlike a ruby necklace with numerous small stones, six round-cut stones, and one large oval stone, pendant, centered. We have good descriptions of the other jewels as well. Good enough to convict anyone who’s caught with them.”
But he didn’t really believe it was us. At least I hoped he didn’t.
“So Rebecca Chase was in charge of her mistress’s valuables?” Michael asked.
“No, those were in the keeping of a company clerk and two guards,” said Todd. “Along with the money. Mistress Chase’s charge was the family’s clothing and household goods. She was only a maid, after all.”
“Lord Fabian might think that,” said Michael. “I might even believe you felt that way, if I hadn’t seen your face when we brought her body in.”
Todd’s gaze fell. He’d seen Michael’s face then, too. “All right, Sevenson. What’s this plan of yours?”
Michael’s explanation sounded convincing. It was convincing, but it wasn’t quite enough. Not that Michael wasn’t capable of the lunacy he was proposing simply on moral grounds. But he was too . . . eager? As if he thought success would not only prevent more tragedy, and avenge the dead, but actually right some wrong. As if it would . . .
He couldn’t think that, could he?
“Are you thinking that if you catch the wreckers, Rosamund will fall in love with you?” I demanded.
I had waited till we left Todd’s office—the sheriff already thought we were mad, and I’d no desire to confirm it. Though perhaps I should have. He might not have agreed to help us, and Michael might have given this up. Or he might have gone ahead on his own. I was glad I’d waited.
We were on our way out of town. The streets were busy, but a breathless silence lurked behind the bustle.
Michael sighed. “Not fall in love with me. I know ’tis not so simple. But she might at least see me as something other than her foolish cousin. Without that, I have no chan—Um, I’d like her to see more in me than she does now.”
“Michael, my sisters still call me Nonny.”
It made him laugh. “Rosamund isn’t my sister.”
She thinks she is. But I didn’t say it aloud.
“Besides,” he went on, “ ’tis not as if we sought to capture them single-handed. We need only befool Burke into confessing his part; then we can signal the deputies.”
He turned in the saddle, looking over his shoulder. A street sweeper leaned on his broom, gossiping with a woman who’d set down her yoked pails to chat with him. An older woman and a young girl held a rug between them, while a young boy beat dust from it with a stick.
“We are being followed,” I said. “I knew it. Michael, there’s something wrong here.”
“If we’re being followed, ’tis probably just that the deputies picked us up early,” said Michael. “They’re supposed to follow us.”
“Not this morning when we left camp.”
“Fisk, you know how little these feelings can mean. It could simply be that someone’s thinking of me. It could be naught but my own nerves.”
“I wish you had the sense to be nervous,” I grumbled.
Michael pulled Chant to a stop. “Our plan is sound, and we act on it with the sheriff ’s support. What harm can Burke do us in his own house, among his own servants, with dozens of deputies only a cry for help away? I’d have thought you’d approve of this. What troubles you so?”
“Nothing,” I said, urging Tipple onward. Todd and Michael had decided it would be less conspicuous if we left the city and came back later, instead of going straight from the sheriff’s office to Burke’s bank. “Do you realize that this plan depends on you being able to lie? To a very clever and desperate killer? Convincingly? And you wonder why I’m worried?”
“For this,” said Michael, “I can and will lie. You know I can do so if I must.”
I did, too. When it absolutely mattered, Michael could lie almost as convincingly as I could. As long as he didn’t have to keep it up too long.
“You’re the one who keeps looking behind us,” Michael went on. “More often than I am. And starting at sudden movements. And generally acting like a boy who’s put a snake in his tutor’s bed and not yet had time to dispose of the sack. What’s wrong, Fisk?”
“Nothing!”
Michael lifted his brows. “Which is why you haven’t asked about the reward? Todd said we’d earned it, and you didn’t even ask how much it was. You can’t tell me nothing is wrong.”
We rode in silence till the tall brick arc of the town gate came into view.
“I don’t know,” I admitted finally. “I just feel . . . This plan isn’t half as safe as you seem to think, but it’s not that. There’s something . . . familiar about this.”
Familiar, and deeply disturbing.
“Familiar about what?”
“The pattern of events. It’s something Jack taught me, but it’s more than that. I’ve been trying to put my finger on it for days, but I just can’t.”
“Mayhap ’tis similar to a dream you’ve forgotten,” said Michael.
The clop of the horses’ hooves on cobbles gave way to the thud of hooves on earth as we passed through the city’s protective wall. It was unlike most towns, in that only a handful of buildings had moved outside the gate, and orchards and fields commenced in a few hundred yards. The sea was to our left, but I couldn’t see it from here—just fields, rolling away. Soon, we’d find a farmhouse and buy something for mid-meal. And then turn around and go back.
“I don’t have any Gifts. I don’t have prophetic dreams.”
“Then mayhap ’tis similar to something that happened in your past. Something that frightened you.” Michael’s voice held only sympathy, but a chill shivered over me.
“I never did anything like this before,” I said. “I’m not that crazy. Maybe it’s just the storm.”
I gestured toward the unseen sea. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Nutter prophesied ’twould come in tonight, didn’t he? And I don’t think the Night Heron has made port. We have to do this, Fisk. Or at least I have to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t possibly pass yourself off as a criminal without my help.” Though I was half tempted to take him up on it. It wasn’t the storm. It wasn’t a dream, or a premonition, or any such foolishness. There was something wrong. Something that was right in front of me, but I couldn’t see it. Something . . .
Or maybe there was nothing, and being with Michael so long re
ally had driven me mad. Be hanged to it.
“Let’s get a meal,” I said. “Unlike some people, I missed breakfast.”
The storm was coming in. The sun still beat down, but the morning’s pleasant breeze had risen to a wind that tossed the horses’ manes and blew Michael’s hair into his eyes. The people in the streets hurried about their errands.
Michael and I drew our horses to a stop before Lionel Burke’s bank. It was a medium-size building, brick of course, with the windows covered by wrought-iron grills, in a finely made pattern of vines and leaves with the Bankers’ Guild’s crest in the center. This, not his mansion, was the heart of Burke’s power. I’d bet most of Burke’s magica hounds spent their nights here, and probably most of his guardsmen as well—when they weren’t out wrecking.
I took a deep, panic-stilling breath and summoned up a confident smile.
“Can you still see the deputies?” I murmured, sliding from Tipple’s saddle and tying the reins to the hitching post.
“The three we spotted,” Michael confirmed. “And I think I’ve identified two more, though I’m not certain.”
For once, I found being followed by a large number of deputies reassuring.
“And you remember that I’m going to do most of the talking?”
“Yes, Fisk.” Michael sounded amused, curse him. “You can do the talking.”
But he was the one who walked up the steps to the dark wood door, leaving me no choice but to drag my reluctant feet after him. I told the bank clerk, at his desk near the entry, that we wished to see Master Burke, no we hadn’t an appointment, but we’d wait.
I hoped the deputies would wait too.
The suspense told more on Michael than on me. Now that the scam was on, the clerk’s attentive eyes upon us, I found my heart beating steadily, the discipline of the act relaxing my tight shoulders so no signs of nervousness should pass themselves on to my mark.
If you’re tense, they’ ll tense up too, Jack had taught me. Without even knowing why. And then they’ ll start to wonder why.
Michael’s tension wasn’t obvious, but he was too quiet, his eyes darting to follow the men who came and went from the bank’s inner offices.
Then a boy, in a sailor’s rough britches and soft shoes, rushed in to cancel his captain’s appointment—they were battening down for the storm—and Master Burke could see us now.
His office was opulent, the brocade of the drapes alone worth enough to make a burglar a goodish haul. The chairs before his desk were padded, and I relaxed into one and gave him a confident smile. I ignored the bored-looking guard who stood behind him.
Burke’s doublet today was a deep green linen, cheaper than velvet but much cooler. Though there was no lace at his cuffs—bankers have to sign the contracts their clerks write—the finery dripping from his wide white collar made up for it.
“Good day, gentlemen. I understand this is an unscheduled—Wait a minute.” His small eyes narrowed. “Don’t I know . . . You two are from that player, Makejoye. I thought I told him to settle everything with Dawkins.”
“You did, Master Burke.” I put enough assurance into it to stop his gesture for the guard to show us out. “We’re not here on Master Makejoye’s business. We’re here on yours.”
He looked from Michael to me, interest replacing indignation. “Very well, Master . . . Fisk is it?” He glanced at the door clerk’s note on the desk before him. “And Sevenson. I’ve had profitable tips from less likely sources. But I warn you, I’ve no patience with rogues who waste my time.”
“I suppose this counts as profit,” I said. “You get to keep your life.”
Burke’s shrewd face tightened. The guard, suddenly alert, stepped forward, but I smiled and waved him back.
“No, no, nothing like that. All we’re offering you is silence. And our services. Callista got sloppy. We think you could use better couriers, Master Burke. Such as Michael and myself.”
“Callista,” said Burke slowly. “That remarkable puppeteer?”
“We found the jewels,” said Michael. “We could have gone to the sheriff, but we didn’t. We came to you.”
“Jewels?” Burke drawled. His expression was very contained. “In Callista’s possession, I take it?”
“You should know,” I said. “And it should be profitable for both of us if the sheriff doesn’t. Know, that is. Isn’t that reasonable?”
“Hmm,” said Burke. “This is blackmail, then.”
“No, no,” I said. “This is the beginning of a long and rewarding partnership. We’re not blackmailing you—we’re offering to take Callista’s place. For a slightly larger cut, but that’s only fair because we won’t get caught. And she did.”
Burke’s eyes were on his pudgy hands, clasped on his desk. “I see. But Master Fisk, what makes you think these jewels have anything to do with an honest banker like me?”
“I believe that kind of candor is only given to partners. Don’t you?” My smile was wide, and the nervous sweat wetting my shirt didn’t show.
“And you, Sevenson.” Burke turned to Michael. I’d hoped he wouldn’t do that. “What’s your part in this?”
“An equal cut,” said Michael coolly. “But I can also offer proof of our . . . good character.” With a somewhat bitter smile, he unbuttoned his cuffs and held out his wrists, the broken circles dark on his pale skin.
Burke drew back as far as his heavy chair would let him. “Very well, gentlemen,” he said. “You’ve convinced me.”
Triumph flashed in Michael’s eyes as they met mine.
Burke opened his desk drawer, pulled out a small bell, and rang it briskly. “I’ll send for—”
The door behind him burst open and his guards raced in. The guard behind Burke dragged his master’s chair back—no small feat—and leapt in front of Burke, drawing his sword.
“Master Burke, no need for this.” I kept my voice as calm as my pounding heart allowed. The tip of a sword came to rest just above my collarbone. I heard more guards coming, in response to the clerk’s urgent shouts. “You’re far too clever not to realize that we’d have, ah, obtained some insurance before we came here.”
“Since the two of you are obviously deranged,” said Burke, rising to his feet, “I don’t much care. Rogers, take them to Sheriff Todd. They’ve got some bizarre idea that they can blackmail me over something or other—well, they’ve been babbling about jewels, so it may be related to those cursed wreckers. And this one”—he gestured to Michael—“is unredeemed. Barrow here heard the whole conversation—he can tell Todd what they said.”
My confident smile vanished. I sat up, despite the sword pricking my throat. “You want them to take us to the sheriff? But that’s . . .” Insane, impossible, some sort of trick . . .
“That’s right,” said Burke. “Now, if you please, Rogers.”
Michael’s jaw had dropped, but no words emerged. It was up to me.
“Wait,” I sputtered. Firm hands pulled me from the comfortable chair. “I don’t . . . You can’t . . .”
He could. The guardsmen dragged us down the corridor, through the outer office, and into the street.
“What’s going on here?” I cried.
“We’re taking you to the sheriff,” said Rogers. He looked to be in his late forties, with a soldier’s scarred hands and hard-muscled arms. “Shut up about it. Or we’ll make you.”
I shut up, not resisting as they pulled us down the street to the town hall, ignoring the startled, interested stares of the people they passed. They passed a lot of people, I was glad to see—enough to provide plenty of witnesses if our bodies should turn up unexpectedly. Not to mention the deputies, who followed, wide-eyed, behind our procession. So they probably didn’t intend to kill us, but that made it all the more confusing. Unless, of course . . .
They led us up the town hall’s steps, and then down to Lester Todd’s office.
Todd listened patiently to Barrow’s account of our conversation with Burke—perfectly accurate, allow
ing for the difference in point of view, though I rather objected to hearing myself described as “this slimy fellow.”
Michael stood, his gaze on the floor. He bit his lip once, when the testimony was particularly damning. Eventually Todd dismissed Burke’s men, with thanks to them and their master, whom he promised to thank in person “when this strange affair is settled.”
Then he dismissed his deputies, came back, and sat down at his desk. “So, gentlemen,” he said mildly. “You were wrong.”
“So it seems.” Michael’s voice quivered . . . with laughter. “As wrong as it gets. He’d never have reacted thus if he’d anything to do with the wreckers.”
Todd was grinning too.
“But we weren’t wrong about Callista.” Michael sobered. “Nor Dawkins. . . . Or some man who wears spectacles.”
“Some man who wears spectacles,” said Todd, “about sums it up. But it was worth a try. Now I’ll have a talk with your Mistress Callista, she’ll tell me who hired her, and we’ll arrest them before they kill again. The reward’s still yours—you did well. But I’d rather capture Mistress Callista without your . . . assistance. If you don’t mind.”
He then departed, detailing a brace of deputies to keep us for at least an hour, so he had a clear shot at Callista whether we minded or not.
It was an hour and a half before they let us go, and I was delighted to be out of it.
“That was embarrassing,” I remarked. I took Tipple’s reins from the deputy who’d fetched the horses from Burke’s at Michael’s request. Michael had grown quieter, his original humor fading as my heart lightened.
Swinging into the saddle now, he looked downright glum. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Cheer up,” I said. “They’ll have Callista arrested and out of the way before we even get back. We’ll probably pass them on the road.”
“ ’Twill be hard on Makejoye and the others, to lose a troupe member in such a terrible way.” Michael set Chant toward the town gate at a trot. The streets were almost empty now. Shops had closed, or at least looked closed, with stout shutters fastened over their windows.
