you for your trade. But it isn’t one a child ought learn.”
“What’s the harm in getting me breakfast?”
Adolphus shrugged, unconvinced. I finished my second orange and started on the apricots in relative silence.
It’s always unsettling when Adolphus is in an ill humor. Partly because it reminds me that if he ever lost his temper it would take half the hoax in the city to bring him down, but mostly because there’s something unpleasant about watching a fat man mope. “You’re in a hell of a mood today,” I began.
The flesh on his face dragged downward, menaced more than usual by age. “The child,” he said.
It was clear he wasn’t talking about the one who had just left. “It’s a sick world, but this isn’t the first we’ve had evidence of it.”
“Who will do right for the child?”
“The guard will look into it.” I could well appreciate what dubious comfort that was.
“The guard couldn’t catch pus in a whorehouse.”
“They called in the Crown. Two agents in their prettiest bits of finery. Even sent for scryers. They’ll find something.”
“If that child has to rely on the Crown for justice, her soul will never know peace.” He let his one eye linger on mine.
This time I didn’t flinch. “That’s not my problem.”
“You will allow her violator to walk free?” The traces of Adolphus’s Skythan accent hardened during his frequent moments of melodrama. “To breathe our air, foul our wells?”
“Is he around here somewhere? Send him over, I’ll find something heavy and brain him with it.”
“You could look for him.”
I spat an apricot pit onto the floor. “Who was it pointing out that I operate on the other side of the law these days?”
“Shrug it off, make jokes, play the fool.” He banged his fist against the counter, setting the heavy wood shaking. “But I know why you went out last night, and I remember dragging you off the field at Giscan, when everyone had fled and the dead choked the sky.” The planks of the bar settled to equilibrium. “Don’t pretend it doesn’t bother you.”
The trouble with old friends is they remember history you’d prefer forgotten. Of course, I didn’t have to stick around and reminisce. The last of the apricots disappeared. “I’ve got things to look in on. Throw the rest of this junk out, and give the boy supper if he returns.”
The abrupt end of our conflict left Adolphus deflated, his fury spent, his one eye drawn and his face haggard. As I left the tavern he was wiping at the countertop aimlessly, trying not to weep.
I started out from the Earl in a sullen mood. I rely on Adolphus for a dose of morning levity and felt ill equipped without it. Between that and the foul weather, I was starting to wish I’d kept to my original inclination and spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped in bed and burning dreamvine. Thus far, the best that could be said for the day was that it was half over.
Last evening’s unexpected encounter had interfered with my intention of visiting the Rhymer-a circumstance I needed to rectify. He’d forgive my absence, likely he’d already heard the reason, but we still needed to speak. This time of day he’d either be working the docks or up at his mother’s house. His mom had a tendency to try and set me up with women in her neighborhood, so I decided he was at the wharf and hobbled off in that direction, the pain in my ankle proving as reluctant to dissipate as the one in my skull.
Yancey was likely the most talented musician in Low Town, and a damn good contact besides. I had met him during my time as an agent-he was part of a clique of Islanders that performed at balls for court officials and aristocrats. I helped him out of a bust once and in return he started to pass me information-little shit, background chatter. He never rolled on anyone. Since then, our career trajectories had trended in opposite directions, and these days his skills were in request at some of the most exclusive gatherings in the capital. He still kept his ears open for me, though the uses to which I put his intelligence had changed.
The irony of the situation was not lost on either of us.
I found him a few feet off the west quay, surrounded by a handful of indifferent bystanders, playing a set of Kpanlogo and spouting the rhythmic poetry for which he was named. For all his skill, Yancey was about the worst street performer I’d ever seen. He didn’t take requests, he set up in spots unused to traffic, and he was surly to onlookers. Most days he was lucky to make a few coppers, a modest reward indeed for a man of his abilities. Still, he was always cheery when I saw him, and I think he got a kick out of displaying his dizzying abilities to an ungrateful public. He made enough coin playing to the upper crust to make whatever he got busking meaningless anyway.
I rolled a smoke. Yancey hated to be interrupted in the middle of a performance, regardless of the setting. I once had to pull him off a courtier who made the mistake of laughing during his set. He had that unpredictable temper common to small men, the kind of rage that flares up before fading away just as quickly.
After a moment he finished his verse, and the tiny audience responded with muted applause. He laughed off their lack of enthusiasm, then looked up at me. “If it ain’t the Warden himself-finally managed a visit to your friend Yancey, I see.” His voice was thick and mellifluous.
“I got caught up in something.”
“I heard.” He shook his head regretfully. “Bad business. You going to the funeral?”
“No.”
“Well I am, so help me pack this up.” He began breaking down his set, wrapping each of the tiny hide drums in a collection of cotton sacks. I took the smallest of his pieces and did the same, slipping in his fistful of product as I did so. As a rule, Yancey was apt to injure any man foolish enough to touch his instruments, but he knew what I was up to and let it pass without comment. “The noble folk were disappointed you didn’t show last night.”
“And their sorrow weighs heavy on my soul.”
“I’m sure you lost sleep. You want to make up for it, you can come by the Duke of Illador’s estate Tuesday evening round ten.”
“You know how important the opinion of the peerage is to me. I suppose you’ll be expecting your usual cut?”
“Unless you feel like upping it.”
I did not. We continued in silence until the onlookers were out of earshot. “They say you found her,” Yancey said.
“They say things.”
“You steady on it?”
“As a top.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Bad business.” He finished packing up his set in a thick canvas bag, then slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll talk more later. I want to get a decent spot in the square.” He bumped my fist and walked off. “Stay loose.”
The docks were virtually deserted, the usual mass of workers, merchants, and customers long departed for the funeral, like Yancey happy to set aside a few hours of work to take part in a spectacle of public mourning. In their absence a dull quiet had settled over the area, a distinct contrast to the usual bustle of commerce. Making certain no one was watching I reached into my satchel for a hit of breath. My headache eased and the pain in my ankle receded. I watched the gray sky reflect off the water, thinking back to the day I had stood on the docks with five thousand other youths, preparing to board a troop ship to Gallia. My uniform had looked very fine, I’d thought, and my steel helm had glittered in the sun.
I contemplated lighting a joint of dreamvine but decided against it. It’s never a good idea to get faded in a maudlin mood-the vine tends to heighten your anxieties instead of blunting them. Solitude was proving an ill fit, and my feet found themselves shuffling north toward the church. It seemed I was attending the funeral after all.
By the time I got there the service had started and the Square of Benevolence was packed so tight you could barely see the dais. I skirted the crowd and sneaked into an alleyway off the main plaza, taking a seat on a stack of packing crates. It was too far back to hear what the high priest of Prachetas was saying, but I was confident it was very pretty-you don’t get to a point in life where people put gold on your outerwear unless you can say very pretty things at opportune moments. And anyway the wind had picked up, so most of the crowd couldn’t hear the speech either. At first they pushed closer, straining their ears to make him out. When that didn’t work, they got anxious,
