his movements as he lifted the second. “So . . .” he began, settling comfortably against his chair back. “Let’s us see now, the Watchman’s Ball reports. What to get to first, eh? Ah, yes . . .” He glanced up as the gathered leaned forward, waiting with a stern expression until they fell back into a sort of loose parade rest. “Clay Marcher’s gran and granther were at it again this year.”
“Runnin’ amok were they?” the same person from the back shouted as Constable Marcher’s face flushed red.
“Running amok, no, not at all,” Sergeant Jons answered. “Dancing amok, yes. Without benefit of clothing, again, yes. But they came quietly after the dance was done and were escorted home without incident. Clay, you might want to head over there on your break and retrieve Constable Farane’s cloak.”
“Yes, Sarge.”
“Right, where was I?” the sergeant continued before he could be interrupted by more laughter. “Fourteen sets of undergarments retrieved from various trees and fences, some of which were quite . . .” Again he lifted his head and pursed his lips as if to find just the right word. “Finely made. That’s up from ten sets last year in case anyone’s keepin’ score.” He pointedly ignored a number of watchmen exchanging money. “As no one ever comes forward to claim their property, they will be donated as has become tradition. I’m not sure to which temple this year.” He glanced up with a rare smile. “I think we’d best leave that up to the Captain.”
His words were greeted with a ripple of snickering and a number of surreptitious glances toward the Captain’s closed office door.
“Seven people apprehended runnin’ through the streets without benefit of clothing,” he continued.
The gathered leaned forward again.
“Students, the lot of them,” he finished to general disappointment. “Two of ‘em Bardic Trainees from the Collegium.” Again, more money changed hands. “All reclothed, lectured, and escorted home again. These incidents are also up this year by . . .”
“Two, Sarge,” Watchhouse Runner Padreic, Hektor’s youngest brother, supplied.
“Two.”
“An’ it took some doin’ to get the last one,” Raik noted sourly. “He climbed right up atop the statue of King Valdemar and got his stupid self stuck. Had to go up and fetch him down. Took the better part of an hour.”
“Just about froze his manhood right off him, the silly bugger,” Jakon muttered.
“Just about froze mine,” Raik added. “Had half a mind to leave him up there.”
“If I might continue before the Captain returns from his morning meeting with the Breakneedle Street Watch Captain?” Sergeant Jons said loudly enough to quiet them. “Sightings of the Lightning . . .”
All eyes turned expectantly.
“None.”
There was stunned silence.
“What? None at all?” Corporal Wright asked.
“None at all.”
The gathered slumped as if the air had been let out of them.
The entire capital passed the day in an air of dejection and speculation. Even those who had declared their disdain for the Lightning in the past were seen standing about with glum expressions. Much of the talk was of his past antics, and most agreed that nothing—not storms, not fog, and certainly not the Watch—could have stopped him. He must have been “topped.”
As Hektor and Aiden headed for a local pie shop at noon, the older of the two Danns shook his head.
“I s’pose that’s it then,” he noted.
“Two rabbit, thanks, Jess. What’s it, then?” Hektor asked, handing a pie over.
Aiden accepted it with a grimace. “The Lightning.” he declared, shaking his fingers to cool them. “He’s been showin’ up on the first night every year for . . . years, and suddenly nothing. He’s topped, like they say.”
“Makes sense.” Hektor blew on his own pie with a reflective expression. “Ismy says if he’s been doin’ it for that long, he must be really old. He probably is topped.”
Aiden grinned at him. “Ismy huh? So that’s where you snuck off to so early this mornin’. Ma was wonderin’.”
Hektor shot him a dark look. “Liar. I told Ma where I was goin’.”
“All right, I was wonderin,” Aiden admitted still grinning.
“I just wanted to see her before my shift, is all.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Aiden shook his head in disgust. “If you have to ask me, you didn’t ask her. I told Suli you didn’t have the bollocks. She owes me a pennybit. Do you two even have a proper understandin’ yet?”
Hektor frowned at him. “I don’t know,” he answered slowly. “I think so. She asked me to supper after all this was all done.”
“Well, that’s a start. Maybe she’ll ask for you.”
“Jerk.”
“Coward.”
“Eat your pie.”
“You gonna stand night watch?”
Hektor shrugged. “Probably. Some of it anyway.”
“Waste of time. He’s topped.”
“The Captain still has the extra hands on just in case.”
“Waste of money.”
“Maybe, but it’s not like we couldn’t use it. Beside, there’s all the other idiots runnin’ amok out there to deal with.”
Aiden finished his pie with a grimace. “Well, they better get it outta their systems early then,” he growled, a martial light growing in his eyes. “ ‘Cause come midnight tomorrow, most of us are gonna be damned ugly.”
The rest of the day passed quietly, as if the entire capital were holding it’s breath, waiting for nightfall. Waiting to see if the Lightning would make an appearance or if he really was topped as most people believed.
Hektor arrived at the tenement house where he shared an upstairs flat with four generations of his family as the city bells tolled six. He figured he had just enough time to eat and catch a couple hours’ sleep before he was due back at the Watchhouse. Jakon and Raik, on regular night duty, should be up and out of the small bedroom they shared with him and Padreic by now. He took the three flights of stairs two at a time, already anticipating the bowl of his mother’s soup and his own warm blankets.
He met the local herbalist coming down.
“Sergeant.”
“Sir.”
“I’ve just been to see Thomar.”
Hektor felt himself grow still. “Oh?” he managed.
“Your granther needs to see a Healer,” the man said bluntly. “An actual Healer.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
The herbalist ran a hand through his hair in an impatient gesture. “He had a dizzy spell and a bit of a fall. Nothing too serious. A bump on the head,” he added as Hektor’s expression went from worried to alarmed. “Years of breathing in the droppings from those messenger birds of his has compromised his lungs, and a packet of herbs once a week isn’t going to be enough to set things right at his age. He needs to see a Healer, but he’s resisting.”
“He’ll say it’s too dear,” Hektor ventured.
“Rubbish. He’s just being a stubborn old fool. I say this in all respect, Hektor. I’ve known Thomar for forty years. He was friends with my own father as I was with yours, and I’ll tell you what I told him. He needs to see a Healer soon or he’ll die.” His voice dropped. “It may even be too late.”
He straightened. “I was sorry about Egan,” he added as he headed down the stairs. “I miss your Da, as I’m sure you all do.”
“Thanks.”
The flat was in an uproar when he arrived. Padreic was pacing the front room, squeezing the pig’s bladder
