lieutenant before been being promoted to Iron Street’s captaincy last year after the inquiry into the events surrounding Charlie Woar’s injury. Hektor had done his best to avoid the tension between first his father and then his older brother, and the new captain. Now he closed the door, waiting to see what he wanted with as neutral an expression as possible.
“You’ve been with the Watch for some time now, haven’t you?” the captain said at once.
Hektor nodded cautiously. “Came on as a full watchman five years ago, sir,” he allowed. “I was a runner before that.”
“And before that a sweeper like your brother Padreic,” the captain added. “Like every Dann on the street, or so I’ve been told. A family tradition, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes.” Staring out at the watchhouse yard beyond his window, the captain tucked his hands behind his back. “The Danns have been an integral part of the Watch since time immemorial,” he said almost to himself. “And I’m sure that, in the past, their methods served the city well enough, but times have changed, and so must all our methods.”
He turned. “The veterans speak highly of you. They say that you have an even temper and a decent grasp of the law. You should go far.”
Hektor’s eyes narrowed cautiously. “Thank you, sir.”
“And the Watch needs men with even tempers in these uncertain times,” the captain continued. “Men who can lead by the proper example. This trouble between Iron Street and Candler’s Row, for example; I doubt whether anyone even remembers how it began. But I will tell you this, Watchman, it’s going to stop.” He jabbed a finger in Hektor’s direction. “I won’t tolerate acts of retaliation, not by the populace and most certainly not by the Watch. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, well, on that note, I’d like to offer you the rank of sergeant. What do you think about that?”
Hektor blinked. “Are you postin’ my name, sir?”
The captain frowned impatiently. “No, I’m not, not yet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know what the Watch expects, what the entire street expects for that matter,” he said peevishly. “but I’m not running a popularity contest, and I don’t believe seniority should have the final say in something this important. Aiden’s a hothead. Last year’s events proved that.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Hektor said, a spark of anger causing him to scowl. “But nothin’ of last year was proven at all.”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of the inquiry’s report, Watchman,” the captain answered stiffly. “And why it read as it did. But there’s no honor in covering up unlawful behavior.
“Now I understand that this might put you in an awkward position,” he continued before Hektor could voice another protest. “But I expect you to do what’s right by Haven and not just what’s comfortable for your family. I want your answer by the end of the dayshift.”
Hektor snapped to a sarcastic attention. “Sir.”
“And I will be posting your younger brother Padreic’s name for watchhouse runner,” the captain continued before Hektor could turn for the door. “He seems a diligent and hard-working lad who merits the position. I trust he’ll do his best to bring honor to the Watch.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I am not out to get the Danns, Watchman, whatever the rank and file may think.”
“No, sir.”
“Yes, well, that will be all.”
“Sir.”
Hektor left the captain’s office with all eyes upon him. Shifting his expression to one similar to Aiden’s, he glared at them until they all found something else to do, then signaled curtly to Kiel and headed out the door. But it didn’t matter. The rumor mill had already begun to turn; the speculations would be all over the street by noon.
He fretted over what the captain had said—and what Aiden would say—for the rest of the day. Around him, the street seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for an approaching storm to break above the city. As his brothers had noted, the people fell silent as he and Kiel approached, then huddled together, talking quietly after they’d passed. As the afternoon sun touched the tops of the western roof-tops, the two watchmen turned their steps back toward Iron Street with visible relief and walked right into a smash and grab.
Two youths were squeezing past an elderly man in a heavy muffling cloak, arms overladen with packages. Just as they came alongside him, one of the youths seemed to stumble, falling against the old man, while the other threw out a hand with an exclamation of alarm to steady him. As one of the smaller packages disappeared into the first youth’s open shirt, Kiel gave a shout. The youth immediately took off running, and Hektor leaped after him.
The youth pelted down the street, but Hektor was one of the fastest runners in the Watch, and he gained on him quickly. Usually more than happy to partake in the hue and cry, the people made room for them, shouting encouragement. One single dive was all it took, and Hektor brought the youth down hard, knocking the breath out of him as they hit the cobblestones.
The crowd cheered. For a moment Hektor smiled; then as someone shouted “Iron Street!” his expression dropped to a frown once again.
By the time he returned, dragging the youth by the collar, Kiel had taken his accomplice into custody, and Aiden had arrived on the scene, trying to placate the old man, who was upbraiding him in an accent that showed plainly that he was not from the Iron Street area. A crowd of people had already begun to gather in response to the sound of indignant scolding.
“I am not inebriated, Corporal,” the old man now snapped, weaving slightly.
“No, sir, of course not, sir,” Aiden answered with exaggerated politeness, casting a jaundiced eye across the crowd as this statement provoked an murmur of laughter.
“And I do not require a Healer,” the old man continued. “I’m right as rain.”
“Yes, sir.” Aiden eyed the blood trickling down from an abrasion just visible above the old man’s hairline. “Pardon the liberty, sir, but rain isn’t always right.”
The old man drew himself up to glare at him through a pair of rheumy blue eyes. “And when isn’t it right, pray tell?” he demanded.
“When there’s too much of it, sir.” Aiden offered him his handkerchief with a neutral expression, and the old man took it in grumbling acceptance, pressing it against his forehead with an involuntary hiss of pain.
“At least let one of us see you home, sir,” Aiden offered. “The night comes on fast this time of year, and you’ll want to be indoors afore the sun goes down.”
His unspoken words hung between them, but the old man cast him a shrewd glance. “You mean you want me off your streets and safely home before the end of your shift, Corporal,” he accused.
“As you say, sir.” Aiden gestured at Hektor. “Watchman, see the gentleman home,” he ordered, piling the old man’s parcels into his younger brother’s arms until he could barely see over them.
As the crowd began to laugh, Hektor sighed. “Yes, Corporal.”
Leaning heavily on his shoulder, the old man directed them toward an area much more affluent than the ones Hektor was used to. It was slow going, but eventually they fetched up before a sturdy, well-maintained house with a small front garden planted with flowers. The old man fished a key from his voluminous cloak and, opening the door, gestured Hektor inside.
“Just set the parcels on the table there by the largest of the cages.”
Hektor did as directed, then stared about in undisguised awe. The front room was huge, more than twice the size of his own, and was crowded with large, ornate birdcages housing tiny yellow and brown birds that filled the room with music. Floor-to-ceiling book-cases marched along every wall, with complex bits of wood and metal and strange objects he couldn’t possibly identify competing with books, scrolls, and maps on every surface. A number of open doors hinted at more overstuffed rooms beyond.
The old man threw his cloak in the general direction of a chair stacked high with books. “A lifetime’s collection,” he said in response to Hektor’s expression. “I’m a bit of a pack rat, I’m afraid. Comes with the territory. I’m an Artificer ... was an Artificer ... am a retired Artificer. The sight goes with age,” he added, poking a finger dangerously close to one eye. “Couldn’t see a drawing now to save myself. But life goes on, doesn’t it?”
