Thief With No Shadow (26 page)

“Madam, he nearly killed a man,” Michaud said.

“He had a right,” she insisted, her face plain and fierce. “Claupry wouldn’t pay.”

“Then your husband should have spoken to his alderman.”

The baby began to cry, a thin, hiccupping sound. The toddler joined in, clinging to her mother’s skirt. The blacksmith paid no attention to his family. He spat into the straw at his feet.

Michaud jerked his head towards the door at the back of the room. Bastian nodded.
Come, Endal. We’re going upstairs.

The drunk raised his voice in querulous complaint: “I can sing if I wan’ to.”

“Not in my watch house,” Michaud said curtly, as he crossed the room. He held open the door for Bastian. “As many buckets as it takes, Vaspard.”

The door was thick and solid and bound with iron. With it shut, there was silence. Bastian heard the
click
of claws on stone as Endal climbed the stairs, the pup scrambling to keep up.

Upstairs was another square room, with bunks instead of cells. The windows were unbarred and the floor not strewn with straw, but the table and chairs were as scarred and stained as those downstairs. Half a dozen staves leaned in one corner, sturdy, their grips bound with leather. Two watchmen slept fully clothed. One lay with his face to the wall. The other slept on his back, snoring softly.

“Tell me,” Michaud said, picking up a chair and carrying it over to the window. “And it had better be good, Bastian. I don’t have time for—”

“Neither do I,” said Bastian. He didn’t sit. Urgency kept him on his feet. Liana had been alone with the wraiths for too long. He needed to know that she was safe.

Michaud grunted. “So?”

“Ronsard and Julien are lying. The lad killed her.”

“Her?”

“The girl. The dockside girl.”

“Her name was Helene,” Michaud said, stretching out his legs. Hobnails studded the thick soles of his boots. “You saw her mother downstairs.”

Bastian remembered the shine of tears in the woman’s eyes, the way her fingers had groped for the doorframe. He felt swift shame that he’d begrudged the time to come to the watch house.

Michaud watched him, his eyes assessing, his face weary. “Tell me why you think Julien killed the girl.”

“I don’t think it, I know it.”

“Really? How?”

Something in his friend’s voice made Bastian stiffen. “Endal told me.”

“Really,” Michaud said again, flatly. He stood. “Bastian, I don’t have time for—”

“Wait.” His voice was equally flat. He grabbed hold of Michaud’s arm. “Listen to me.”

The watch captain shrugged off his hand. He exhaled sharply through his nose. Bastian didn’t need Endal to tell him that Michaud hovered on the brink of anger.

“You know I can speak with dogs.” He held the watch captain’s eyes until he nodded, a short, stiff movement of his head. “Endal can see when people lie.”

Michaud exhaled through his nose again, a frustrated sound. “Bastian, I can’t—”

“Let me show you.”

Michaud hesitated for a long moment. Behind them, a watchman snored, a whistling, snuffling sound.

“Fine.” The watch captain sat. He folded his arms across his chest. Leather creaked and chain mail clinked. “Show me.” His expression was closed.

He didn’t want to believe. Bastian looked away, disappointment sharp in his chest.
Endal, come here please.
Not everyone was comfortable with magic, but he’d never thought the watch captain fell into that category. He always seemed to enjoy hearing Endal’s comments relayed.

The dog rose from where he’d been lying in a patch of sunlight, Lubon nipping at his ears.
Yes?

Tell me if Michaud lies.

Endal cocked his head to one side. Bastian sensed his confusion. Friends didn’t lie to each other.
It’s a game
, he told the dog.

Endal understood the concept of games. He wagged his tail and sat, his gaze fixed on Michaud.

“The day we met. Do you remember the brawl?” Bastian had watched the fight erupt, several farmers’ sons rounding on a youth in the crowded marketplace.

The watch captain lifted his chin in a nod. Even then, ten years ago, his arms had been thickly muscled. Bastian had seen him land some solid punches before going down on the cobblestones.

“Three against one.”

Michaud grunted.

It hadn’t been the unevenness of the odds that had made Bastian come to his aid. He’d wanted to fight, to hit someone with all his weight behind him. And he’d enjoyed it, had enjoyed the solid, painful thud of his fist on a bony jaw and the breathlessness of being punched in the stomach. He’d enjoyed grazing his knuckles on someone’s teeth and wrestling on the cobblestones, knocking into stalls and scattering apples and baskets of nuts. He’d even enjoyed the taste of blood in his mouth from a split lip. For a few minutes he’d been able to forget about Vere and the curse and his responsibilities and concentrate on shoving his knee into a fleshy stomach and bouncing his fist off the broad, freckled face of a farmer’s son.

“They said you’d goosed a girl, one of their sweethearts.”

Michaud grunted again.

It wasn’t until they’d been hauled into the watch house, all five of them, that Bastian learned what the fight had been about, and Michaud’s name.

“Did you?”

“No.”

It was what Michaud had said ten years ago, emphasizing his point by spitting on the straw- covered floor downstairs.

Endal?

He tells the truth.

“I always thought you’d done it.”

Michaud glanced at Endal. “He says I don’t lie?”

Bastian nodded.

“No point goosing a girl who doesn’t have a bonny figure.” Michaud made as if to stand. “Bastian, I need more than—”

Bastian held up his hand. “Just wait.”

The watch captain settled impatiently back in the chair.

“When you trained in Desmaures, was there a girl?”

“No.” Michaud pushed up out of the chair. “I’ve had enough of this, Bastian.”

Endal?

He lies.

The watch captain headed for the door. “I’m too busy for this nonsense—”

“You had a girl.”

“What?” Michaud swung around to look at him.

“Endal says you’re lying. You had a girl in Desmaures.”

Michaud’s cheeks reddened above his beard. “Lower your voice,” he said, coming back across the room.

Bastian leaned against the window sill. “What does it matter? So you had a girl. All the recruits do.”

“I was courting Geneve.”

“Courting, yes. Betrothed, no.” Michaud had waited until he’d come home with his watchman’s leather jerkin and wooden stave before he’d asked his sweetheart to marry him.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Michaud said, his face and voice stubborn.

Bastian shrugged. He glanced down at Endal. The dog sat patiently while Lubon chewed on his tail. “Convinced?” he asked.

“No. I’m sorry, Bastian. Ronsard’s an alderman. I need good cause to question his word.”

Bastian’s head swung up. “Curse it, Michaud! Endal was right twice!”

One of the sleeping men stirred.

“Lucky guesses.”

Anger flared in his chest. He wanted to grab Michaud by his burly neck and knock some sense into him.
Don’t be a
fool
, he told himself, gritting his teeth, curling his fingers into the palms of his hands. Words, not punches, would make Michaud see reason. “Fine,” he said tightly, unclenching his hands and reaching down to pick up Lubon. “What about the pig?”

“What pig?”

“The one that was tied up in the square last year. Dressed like the mayor.” Lubon squirmed in his grip and tried to lick his face.

“What about it?”

“Do you know who put it there?”

Michaud folded his arms across his chest. “No.”

The truth?

No.

“Endal says you’re lying.”

Michaud glanced down at Endal. His mouth tightened.

“Was it you?” Bastian asked.

The words jerked Michaud’s head up. “I am not going to answer that question.”

“Was it you?” Bastian asked again, while Lubon wriggled in his arms. The pup’s tail beat against his chest.

Michaud cast a quick glance behind him at the sleeping men. “No,” he said. “No, it wasn’t me.”

The truth?

No.

“Liar,” said Bastian.

The watch captain’s eyes narrowed. He leaned close, his bearded face fierce. “Don’t you dare tell anyone!” The words were low and hissed. “I’ll lose my job!”

Endal whined, anxious.
Bas?

It’s all right
, Bastian told him.
Don’t worry.
And then he said the words aloud to Michaud, “Don’t worry. You know I won’t tell.”

The seconds stretched, while Michaud scowled at him and the pup wriggled in his arms. One of the sleeping men muttered.

Michaud released his breath in a sharp exhalation of sound. He shook his head, the anger falling from his face. “Looked like him, didn’t it?” His teeth flashed as he grinned. “The pig.”

“I didn’t see it,” Bastian said, patting Lubon. It had been the morning of spring equinox. He’d been waiting for the psaaron, hoping it would come.

Michaud grunted. He rubbed his face. “All right. I’ll talk to Ronsard and Julien again.”

Bastian pushed away from the window sill. “The lad killed her,” he said, setting the pup on the floor.

“I can’t just arrest him. You know that. I need proof, or a confession.”

“I know,” Bastian said, following the watch captain across the room.

They walked down the stairs in silence, Lubon scrambling ahead with clumsy eagerness. “She was only fifteen,” Michaud said at the bottom, while the pup scratched at the door.

“The girl?”

Michaud nodded.

Bastian thought of Julien, cocksure and arrogant, lying. “You’ll get him?”

Michaud nodded. His face was hard. “Yes. I’ll get him.” He opened the heavy door. The smell of vomit and unwashed bodies enveloped them. The blacksmith’s children were still crying. The drunk sang, loud and tunelessly.

Michaud’s expression became even grimmer.

“Give Endal my thanks,” he said.

Bastian nodded.
Stay here
, he told Lubon, as the pup tried to follow them outside. On the doorstep he met Vaspard, puffing, another bucket of water slopping in his grip.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

B
ASTIAN RETURNED WHILE
Melke was in the kitchen. Broth simmered on the stove and mutton roasted in the oven. She stiffened when she heard his footsteps. Her fingers tightened on the spoon she held. She turned her head.

Endal trotted across the kitchen, his tail wagging, and touched his nose to her leg.
Hello
, the gesture seemed to say.

Bastian didn’t greet her as he came in out of the dusk. “Shoes,” he said, placing a string-tied bundle on the table. His voice was flat. “And your change.” The small copper coin clinked thinly as he put it down.

She nodded. A cool nod. Mam’s nod to the guards.

“And this.” He set a small basket on the table and pushed it towards her.

Melke put down the spoon. “What is it?”

He made no answer, merely opened his hand in a gesture she understood.
See for yourself.

Melke stepped towards the table. Straw and... “Eggs.” An insult. She reached into the basket and took one in her hand, brown and smooth, and flexed her fingers around it. “They won’t spoil, if that’s what you think. It’s a fishwives’ tale.”

Bastian shrugged, a slight movement of one shoulder, His face was expressionless.