“What are you doin’?”
All five started guiltily; three made to run until Aiden shot them a warning glare, then subsided with sullen expressions as the other two tried to look innocent. The largest of the youths squirmed under the watchmen’s scrutiny, then raised one shoulder in a brief shrug. “Uh . . .”
Hektor glanced down, his eyes widening slightly. “Is that cheese?”
“Uh . . .”
“Why are you kickin’ cheese in the street?”
“Uh . . .”
“Words, Brandin, words.”
“’Cause it’s . . . uh . . . round?”
Aiden snorted. “Not any more,” he observed in a dry tone while Hektor gave another youth trying to hide behind Brandin a raised eyebrow. “Does your father know what you’re doin’ to his prize-winnin’ blue cheese, Mazin?”
The youth started as if he was surprised that Hektor had seen him.
“Uh . . .”
“Never mind. Just clean it up.” Hektor glanced down. “And why are you barefoot?”
Mazin pointed mutely to where a pair of soft leather shoes, tied by the laces, were draped over a shop sign. The others snickered.
“They’re new, see,” Mazin explained, “so I didn’t wanna get ’em dirty, so I took ’em off an . . . Brandin kinda . . .”
“Put ’em somewhere safe,” the larger boy stated with a disarming smile both men knew was patently false.
Hektor closed his eyes briefly. “Just get ’em down and get all this cheese cleaned up.”
“And then get gone,” Aiden added. “You all have work to be doin’, so get doin’ it before I set you to cleanin’ the rest of the street.”
As they carried on their way, Hektor ignored his brother’s nostalgic smirk. “Don’t,” he warned.
“Wasn’t gonna.”
“Liar.”
* * *
• • •
An hour later, Paddy burst into the Iron Lily’s back room where Hektor was trying to tackle a mountain of dusty paperwork.
“Hek, we found treasure! That is, the workmen found treasure! You gotta come!”
* * *
• • •
“A treasure chest, see!”
Two of the laborers were muscling a large strongbox onto the duty officer’s desk. Workmen, watchmen, and bystanders crowded around it excitedly, and Hektor used his elbows to clear a path.
Although covered in cobwebs and spotted with rust, the box looked both solid and sturdy; made of heavy, cast iron, banded with studded metal, and sporting two odd-looking locks. The top was engraved with a simple crest Hektor had never seen before: two unfamiliar crossed objects, one twisted, the other L-shaped, superimposed over a cityscape that might have been Haven.
“T’were tucked behind concealed door in attic wall,” the foreman announced. “My youngest boy, Jazper, found it.”
Beside him, a man of at least thirty beamed happily. “Musta been there for decades, what with all the junk piled in front,” he supplied.
“Did you try to open it?”
“Sure, but it be locked, see, an’ no keys. Eban an’ me wanted ta smash it open, but Da reckoned it prob’ly belonged ta Watch House, what with it being in Watch House, so we should bring it down to ye.”
“What about finder’s fee, tho’?” one of the carpenters piped up.
“Finder’s fee don’t apply, Mertin,” Hydd shot back before the foreman or his sons could answer. “Jazper dug it outta our wall. Might as well say a finder’s fee applies to the kettle since you found it in our cupboard this mornin’. And by the way, we’ll be wantin’ that back.”
Mertin made to answer, then, after a glance at Hydd’s face, thought the better of it.
“Kettle aside,” Eban said thoughtfully, running his fingers along the metal banding, “Watch Houses don’t use strongboxes like this.”
“How would you know?” one of the junior constables demanded.
“’Cause our cousin has the contract, that’s how!”
The two men squared off until a cough from Aiden reminded them where they were; then they subsided, muttering.
“If Watch Houses don’t use them kinda strongboxes, then it aint Watch House property,” one of the tilers persisted. “Leastways what’s inside aint. Up for grabs, I’d say.”
“Up for passin’ about to the folk whose trade has suffered while you lazy gits have been muckin’ about pullin’ boxes out of walls instead of cleanin’ up that street out there,” Linton growled.
No one had the courage to gainsay the much larger man except Aiden, who shot him a warning look.
“It was in our wall, it’s our property ’til we open it an’ see if there’s anythin’ that identifies the original owner inside,” he said bluntly.
“So, can we open it then, please?” Paddy asked, hopping from one foot to the other with impatience.
“No keys,” the foreman reminded him.
“There’s plenty of keys hangin’ about. Maybe hundreds.”
“We should probably wait ’til the Cap’n gets back,” Hektor suggested, much to the dismay of the gathered. He glanced about, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the sudden, tense silence. “Still . . .” he mused. Everyone held their breath. “There’s no tellin’ how long he’ll be gone for . . .”
“Likely until the work’s done . . .” Kiel supplied.
“Which’ll be at least another couple of weeks . . .” the foreman added.
“You said it would be a month six weeks ago,” Aiden growled.
“No sense . . .”
“So, are we gonna open it, Hek—I mean Sarge?” Paddy demanded, refusing to be distracted by another pointless argument.
Hektor smiled. “’Course we are. I want to know what’s in it same as you do. Get your runners together and search out every key in the place.”
With a whoop of delight, Paddy took off, the younger members of the Watch tight on his heels.
* * *
• • •
But several hours and dozens of keys later, the box remained stubbornly locked.
“I had no idea we had that many keys lyin’ about,” Aiden noted, poking at the pile with one finger. “Now what?”
“A locksmith?” Hektor suggested.
His older brother barked in derision. “You got authorization for that kinda money? They’re the most expensive trade in the city.”
“You could sell them keys,” Mertin suggested.
“Don’t you have a roof to fix?” Hektor shot back.
“Shift’s over,” he replied with a grin. “We was just waitin’ to see if you could get it open a’fore we left.”
“Well, obviously we can’t, so clear off,” Hydd snapped.
“For that matter, our shift’s over too,” Aiden noted. “What do you want to do with it, Hek?” He jerked his thumb at the strongbox.
“Leave it on the duty desk.”
“You figure it’ll be safe there?”
“If it isn’t, we don’t deserve it to be.”
“Good point.”
* * *
• • •
The next morning, the main hall was once again filled with people come to watch and make suggestions ranging from the dangerous to the ridiculous.
“You could toss it off the roof.”
“Or let a cart run over it.”
“Or smash them locks with a hammer.”
“How ’bouts I hold it for you ’til you find a way in.”
* * *
• • •
By midday, no more than half the crowd had wandered off. Hektor looked over their heads to see Aiden opening the door for their mother, come with their noon meal. Once again using his elbows to clear a path, he joined them just as Hydd greeted her with a huge smile.
“Anything in that big basket for me, Cousin Jemmee?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, there were enough currant buns for those on duty,” she answered, “but not for this many.”
“Half a minute. I’ll arrest the lot.”
“Hey, Ma.”
As Hektor caught the basket up and moved it out of Hydd’s reach, she kissed him on the cheek.
“So where’s this mystery box of yours?” she asked.
“Through here.”
A stern glance was all Jemmee needed to clear a path for her and her sons to the duty officer’s desk.
“Looks like we may have to call for a locksmith,” he said gloomily.
Jemmee laughed.
“A whole house of watchmen, and no one remembers that we have one of the most infamous lock-pickin’ family livin’ a stone’s throw away from here in Littlewell Court.”
Hydd smacked his forehead. “A course, the Tyvers!”
The Dann brothers exchanged an equally puzzled look.
“Tyvers? Ol’ Jeb’s brood? Aren’t they brewers?” Hektor asked.
“They are now,” their mother answered with a knowing smile. “But in your great-granther’s day, there wasn’t a home nor a shop they couldn’t get into. He never could bring ’em to justice.”
“No one could,” Hydd agreed grudgingly. “There was some talk they was protected.”
“Protected? By who?” Hektor asked.
The older man shrugged. “Dunno. Some said the Crown.”
“Talk sense,” Aiden scoffed as the crowd gave a collective gasp. “Why would the Crown protect a family of lock-picks?”
“No idea,” Hydd shot back. “T’was a different world back then. All I know is what my granther tol’ me, that Jeb’s da, Connon Tyver, suddenly had enough brass to go into legit business with his wife’s brother, who was a brewer by trade, an’ the whole clan pulled up stakes from down by Exile’s Gate an’ moved up to Littlewell Court.”
“If they’re legit now, how can one of ’em help us?”
Jemmee smiled. “Because Connon Tyver’s little sister, Morag, was the best charm-dubber in Haven, and I wouldn’t say she went too strictly legit.”
“Charm what?”
“’Twas the old word for lock-picks,” Hydd explained.
“Who you callin’ old, Hydd Thacker?” Jemmee demanded.
“Uh . . .”
“She married Albert Vinney of Littlecotte Lane,” she continued, chuckling at the panicked look on her cousin’s face.
“Yeah, but is she even still alive, Ma?” Aiden asked.
“I wouldn’t be tellin’ you about her if she were dead, son.”
He reddened, much to the general amusement of those listening. “Right. Uh . . . we can send Paddy to ask her to come if she’s up to it.”
“Oh, she’ll be up to it. She never could resist a challenge. And there’s no need for you to go anywhere, young man,” she added sternly toward her youngest son as Paddy made for the door. “You just step outside and send Brandin. He’s her great-grandson,” she added for Hektor and Aiden’s benefit. “He’s kickin’ a cottage loaf about in the street for some reason.”
* * *
• • •
Once he understood that he hadn’t been dragged into the Watch House because of the bread, and that his errand would net him a pennybit but no more, so he was to stop asking or he’d get nothing, Brandin ambled off. Half an hour later, the gathered hushed as he returned with one of the best charm-dubbers in Haven on his arm.
Morag Vinney was a slight, stooped woman in her eighties with wisps of gray hair peeking out of a brown knit cap and a black shawl wrapped tightly about her shoulders. The hand that clutched Brandin’s wrist was dark with liver spots, but her eyes were clear and she gave Hektor a shrewd look as her great-grandson muttered his name in her ear.
“Dann, huh?” she said with a snort. “Figures. You lot’ve never been able to do nought else but interfere in the doin’s of other folk. You one of Thomar’s brood? He married Tansy Wright as I recall.”
“His grandson,” Hektor answered, used to such interrogations by the elderly citizens of Haven.
She nodded. “I knew yer great-granther, Dolan. He were a proper gentleman him. Not like Thomar. A right little bastard, he was. He still with us?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Pity. He were a fine fella.”
Also used to such changes of opinion in the elderly, Hektor just nodded.
“And this is the mystery box?”
Something in the way she said it caused him to give her a shrewd glance of his own, but she ignored him.
“We found it in attic wall,” Jazper piped up.
“No doubt.”
“Can you get into it, ma’am?” Paddy asked eagerly.
“What’s it worth to you, boy?” she snapped back. “I don’t come cheap. Never did.”
Brandin leaned down and whispered something in her ear.
“Cousin Kidda’s Rosie, huh?” Morag turned a look on Paddy that made him blush right up to his ears. “He good to her?”
Brandin shot his friend an evil grin before nodding. “Yeah, Granny, he is.”
“Well, all right then. That makes him close enough to family for a reduced rate. I’ll have a look.”
They set the strongbox on a small table and fetched her a chair. She peered at the double locks for a long time, lost in thought.
“Watch Houses don’t use them kind of boxes,” Eban pointed out to her.
She sniffed at him but didn’t bother to answer.
“An’ we couldn’t find any keys that fit the locks,” Paddy added.
“That’s ’cause the one on the left’s a screw lock,” she replied.
“A what?”
“Takes a key fashioned like a screw. I haven’t seen one of them in a donkey’s age. Brings back a pile of memories, I must say.”
“Do you recognize the crest as well, ma’am?” Hektor asked.
She ignored him, her gaze turned inward. “So long ago it was,” she said. “Long before the rheumatism made it all a thing of the past. Connon an’ me had such a time, we did. Could dance on a ridge pole in a wind storm, us two. Da always said we were the most talented of the whole family until that blasted girl, what was her name . . . Sara, Sonya, something like that; yup, ’til she got involved.”
“Ma’am?”
Again, she ignored him. “That’s when everythin’ changed. They say for the better, but I don’t know. That blasted girl did what no watchman, nor guardsman alive could ever do. She neutered the entire Tyver family. Turned us soft. All in the name of Valdemar.” She gave a snort. “All in the name of easy livin’ an’ no adventure. What kind of life is that?” She glanced at Brandin. “You have no idea what your daddy coulda been, boy. What you coulda been. What you coulda done an’ you coulda seen.”
“The inside of a cell, Morag?” Hydd asked gently.
“Ha. For a few minutes maybe. You lot never could keep a Tyver, even overnight. We were that good.”
“So, you do recognize the box, ma’am?” Hektor asked again.
“Oh, aye, I recognize it, Dolan. But I ain’t seen it for years. It was so long ago, an’ everyone else involved is long dead now.”
“Can you open it?”
“I can open anything, boy.” Her voice held a flash of temper as she glared up at him. Fishing into her sweater, she pulled out a small, silver key on a fine chain around her neck. “Brandin, go home and pull the wooden box out from under my bed; not the little one, the big one. Here’s the key.” She passed it over to him. “Fetch the black leather bag from it. And my sweets.” She fixed him with a stern glare. “Touch nothin’ else in that box, an’ I’ll leave you the contents when I pass. Touch anythin’ else, an’ you get nothin’, understand?”
<
br /> “Sure, Granny.” He grinned at her.
“Good boy. Go.”
As Brandin passed Paddy, he smiled at his expression, then jerked his head. “C’mon. I might need yer help to get past Granny’s dogs.”
Paddy glanced at Hektor, who nodded distractedly, and the two boys took off like a shot.
Aiden watched them go. “Might want to bring him on as a runner,” he mused.
“Might as well,” Morag growled. “He’s already ruined, hanging out with watchmen as he is. Not good for anythin’ else now.”
Hektor chuckled. “It’s settled then. I’ll speak to the Cap’n when he gets back.”
“You do that. And you,” she pointed at Kiel. “Fetch me a cup of tea an’ a biscuit or two. Not those hard, nasty ones from the kitchen, mind, the nice ones Cap’n Fernlow keeps in his desk drawer.”
“Uh . . .”
“Bottom drawer on the left. Bang it in the center with yer palm. That’ll spring the lock. Cheap piece of junk.”
“Uh . . . Hek?”
“Cap’n Fernlow retired, ma’am,” Hektor explained. “It’s Cap’n Torell now.”
“Still the same desk?”
“I . . . maybe.”
“Bottom drawer on the left.”
Hektor gave Kiel a tiny shake of his head. “Kriss?”
One of the younger runners pushed his way to Hektor’s side. “Yeah, Sarge?”
He handed him a penny. “Go to Nanny Agga’s bake shop an’ get some nice biscuits.”
Kriss gave the coin in his palm a dubious look. “How many, Sarge?”
“Two.”
“But she sells a dozen for five pennies an’ two dozen for ten. That’d be enough for all of us.”
“You got ten pennies?”
“No, Sarge.”
“Neither do I. Two.”
Morag gave Hektor an amused look as Kriss left, his shoulders slumped in misery. “Better not be thinkin’ of payin’ me with two measly biscuits, Thomar Dann,” she said sternly. “I expect to be paid with proper coin of the realm. Petty cashbox is in the Cap’n’s top middle drawer. Takes no more’n a hatpin to get into it, even for a watchman.”
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