Fly Up into the Night Air (9 page)

* * *

Harte left the Red Rooster weaving just slightly. A few paces down the road, he began quietly to whistle a popular drinking song. As he moved slowly along, a figure detached himself from an alley entrance and paced him.

"That's not quite the whistle I expected. My ears aren't ringing from it."

"There has been a change of plan. Get your men and bring them to the alley next to the Peacock. You know the place?"

"Yes, of course. Why am I surprised that you do?"

"
My
knowledge is newly acquired. Wait in the alley, out of sight. I'm going there now. When I come out with the boy, you'll know what to do."

"I'll know what to do. Right."

Harte saw the flash of white as Griff rolled his eyes. "Oh all right, pickle puss. Here's what I'm going to do."

Stilian

Petar and Stilian passed through a stand of oak and out onto the open plain. The land dropped gently down to a hazy lowland, where he could make out the glint of water. It was the Bug. He need only follow her gentle progress downstream for another few miles, and he should be able to see Walford's Crossing. "Come on Petar, it's only a little farther and there'll be oats and a nice warm stall for you. I may be reduced to a horse's company, but I'll not see you suffer for it."

* * *

Some hours later, Stilian shifted uncomfortably on a straw-filled mattress. He knew from long experience that there was no point in trying to sleep. There were too many people around, and there was too much noise in his head. It was always this way, the first night in town. It took him at least a day before he could bring his training to bear and filter out the murmuring wash of people around him. As he often did on such nights, he got out of bed, slipped on his britches, tunic, and heavy cloak, and found his way out into the night. Walking would not drown out the noise, but it would help to tire him.

He stopped by to visit Petar in the stable behind the inn. The horse nickered softly as he reached the stall. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket, unwrapped the apple core he had saved from dinner, and held it out to the black cob. "There you go my friend. You see, I think of you all the time." He patted the horse's neck, then left the stable and headed down the hill, towards the river.

Harte

Harte sat down at the bar of the Peacock and looked around. His reaction to what he saw was visceral. The behavior of the men at the bar was not so different from the Red Rooster; each man who entered was fully examined, and, if not found wanting, treated to long, direct looks the meaning of which could not be mistaken. Those looks were easy enough to ignore. It was the stage at the back of the room that cramped Harte's gut. There seemed to be a sort of variety show in progress. A succession of boys in women's gowns, their faces painted to create exaggerated lips and large eyes, danced, sang, or told jokes to the raucous crowd. Another group of young men and boys circulated around the room, wearing only loin cloths. Periodically, their whispered communications with patrons resulted in a deal, and the patron and his chosen companion would take the stairs at the back of the room.

"Perhaps you are in need of my services, after all?" said a familiar oily voice. "After all, you have come to
my
establishment this time. Was my unfriendly colleague unable to meet your needs?" It was Blud, the man Soloni had expelled from the Red Rooster on the night they first met. Harte felt his expression stretch into a grim rictus. "It is only your bar that interests me tonight, sir."

"I'm sure they will line up to accommodate one of your quality."

"You misunderstand me,
sir
. I wish only to drink."

"Whatever your taste, a man of your rank makes a pretty ornament for my humble business."

"I have no wish to occupy your time, sir. I'm sure you have other things to do."

"Alas, that is so. Do let me know if you conceive any desire I may accommodate."

Harte simply stared into his drink until the man left. It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that he was aware of a draft from the door and turned to see who had entered. It was Peli. The boy was ragged, dirty, and thinner than ever. He looked around quickly, then moved towards the darkest corner of the room. Harte got up quickly and glided silently into step beside the boy. "Peli," he spoke quietly. "You look as if you could use a good meal. I think we could do better somewhere else, don't you?" Peli twisted and looked as if he'd like to flee. "There's no need to be afraid. I only want to speak with you."

"I already told you everything I know. I can't talk to you."

"Certainly not here. We should go somewhere you're not known."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you."

"Are you sure? You will do better with me than you will do with anyone you meet here.
I
only wish to speak with you." Harte removed a hand from his pocket and jingled some coins. Harte watched the boy's stomach enter the debate. "One of these could feed you for week."

Peli swallowed visibly. "All right. But I pick the place."

"Suit yourself." Harte led the way out the door and into the center of the street. Then, grabbing the boy's arm firmly, he made for the alley across the way, as if that had been their destination all along. When the boy resisted, he exclaimed loudly, "What? You would take my coin and refuse your duty? I'll not be cheated by the likes of you!"

"We made no agreement! Let me go!"

"I'll have you or my coin!" yelled Harte, his outrage complete.

Suddenly, from the alley emerged Griff and his troop of watchmen. "Halt! Who yells?" said Griff.

"I caught this thief picking my pocket," said Harte.

"I took nothing! He said he wanted to talk--"

"Hush Peli," whispered Harte. "It's for your own good." He continued loudly, "The boy is a thief!" Peli continued to struggle in Harte's grip.

"We'll be the judge of that!" Griff directed his men, "Hold them both, while I search the boy." He patted the boys pockets, then reaching into one, he seemed to pull out a small gold coin. "What's this then? If you are no thief, you are a wealthy ragamuffin. I think you will come with us tonight. Sir, I must ask that you come along as well, if I am to collect your story."

"There's no need. If you'll just return my coin, I need no further redress."

"I must insist. If you want your coin, you must come give us your story."

Harte become angry again. "I would continue my evening in better company!"

"You,
sir
, are insulting. Bring him too--by force, if he will not comply otherwise." The troop marched quickly down the torch lit street, towards the bottom of Hill Street.

"Let me go! Let me go!" cried Peli, increasingly frantic. Harte tried again to reassure him, but the boy was too frightened to listen or comprehend.

It was then that a new voice spoke out quietly, but with an intensity that penetrated the tumult. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

Harte's first impression was of height and leanness. Then he looked to the man's face and saw sharp cheekbones and angular features, in a face like an cracked statue.

"What concern is it of yours?" asked Griff.

"The boy's distraught. He feels himself betrayed and threatened. I can perhaps help determine the truth of the matter." The tall man swept open his cloak and displayed the blue tunic and insignia of a judge veritor.

Explanations

Griff spoke with some feeling. "Of all the times ... "

Harte nearly buckled at the knees. After a few deep breaths to recover himself, he spoke quickly and quietly. "Sir, your assistance would be very welcome. But the safety of this child depends on us getting off the street." He looked directly into the man's dark eyes. "Will you trust that I have the boy's best interest at heart?"

"I believe you have--" The man paused and surprise briefly cracked his impassive facade. "It seems there's a more complicated story here than I thought." He addressed Griff and his men. "I'll accompany you to your destination. Let's not delay here. What's the boy's name?"

"Peli."

"Peli. I'll see that nothing bad happens to you. Do you know what a judge veritor is?"

"Some kind of lawyer?"

"Well, yes, but it's my particular job to see that everyone tells the truth." He looked at Harte again. "I believe this man wants to help you."

"Then you must not be very good at your job. He lied about me."

"We shall have to see about that. But for now, we are all going somewhere where we can talk." He put his hand on the boy's neck. "I think some food might be in order as well, Officer."

"You'll get no argument from these lugs, Judge. Let's go."

They marched up the hill and across the square to Watch House. Once inside, Griff directed them to a ready room that had a suitable table, chairs, and roaring fire. He directed one of his troop to bring hot tea and something from their kitchen.

Stilian waited until all the watchmen had left except Griff, then turned to Harte. "I am Judge Veritor Cast. Now, sir, you have an explanation to make, for you may not want to hurt the boy, but the boy is utterly certain that you have betrayed him."

* * *

"My name is Harte Walford. I am a presenter advocate for Walford's Crossing. This is my colleague, Watch Patrol Leader Griff Tarren. Patrol Leader Tarren is assigned to help with my investigations. You have been introduced to Peli. To explain our interest in Peli, I must first tell you about Raf."

Stilian examined the man across from him carefully as he listened to his story. Presenter Advocate Walford was young for his position--about the same age as Stilian. He had a narrow face, straight brown hair, lush eyelashes. He was shorter than Stilian, but had broader shoulders. Kit would have called him fine.

More interesting, he was hard to read. He was definitely not lying; his light did not seem muddy or mottled. In fact, he shone uncommonly bright, but there were layers. It was like watching a theatrical production with scrims. As he talked, one would light up, and then slide away to reveal another. It was distracting but oddly soothing, perhaps because other people seemed to fade in his presence.

Now that's interesting!
He would swear that the presenter advocate was feeling a bit heated. Nor was it Patrol Leader Tarren or the boy who attracted him. No wonder he had responded so strongly when Stilian appeared. Stilian wanted to laugh; the man had been worried about the boy, caught in a deception before a judge veritor, and--to top it off--finding his britches tight.

Harte faltered. "Does the situation amuse you?"

Stilian tried to relax his expression to deadpan. "No, it does not. But Sister Grace does rather remind me of someone I know. Please forgive me. You were speaking of Peli's visit to Raf at the hospital. Please continue."

"I was taught that speaking about someone as if they were not present is not polite," said Peli, peevishly. "And you both told me that I would get something to eat, and yet I'm still sitting here with my stomach growling like a mountain cat in heat."

Harte smiled. "Fair enough. We did promise you something to eat, Peli. Griff, could you see what's--" At that moment, the door opened and one of Griff's men came in to bend at Griff's side and whisper in his ear. Griff looked at Harte sheepishly, while tapping on his purse. Harte sighed, took out a coin and gave it to Griff, who gave it to the watchman.

"That ought to cover your expenses."

"Yes, sir!"

"You didn't have any trouble finding a coin in
my
pocket, even when it wasn't there," said Peli.

"That was theater," said Griff.

"I wasn't playing," answered Peli.

"Peli, perhaps you'd like to tell me about your visit to see Raf, at the hospital," said Stilian.

"I suppose. I went because I was scared, you see. I've been sleeping under this old boat by the river, not far from the Angry--Red Rooster. Anyway, this man came by in the morning, while I was washing in the river. He came right up while I was butt naked and freezing my arse off in the river and sat down on top of my clothes. 'What do you want,' I asked him. But he just watched me shivering and grinned. I was about ready to make a run for it, naked or not, when he said, 'If you know what's good for you, you'll forget you ever knew anyone named Raf.' I said I didn't know anyone named Raf, but he just looked at me. Finally, he stood up, picked up my clothes and threw them into the river. He must have left while I was scrambling around to pull them out before they sank or floated away. That was right cruel, it was! It took me all day, shivering in the kitchen at the Angry--Red Rooster--to get dried out and warm again. Anyway, I went to see Raf the next day. I told him what happened, so he'd know it wasn't because I didn't like him anymore, if I didn't see him again for a while."

"What did this man look like?" asked Harte.

"He was like a big black bear. He had a back beard and his clothe
s were all black and he had a fu
r-lined cloak.
He
wasn't cold."

"Would you remember his face, if you saw it again?"

"I guess. I was mostly wanting to get out of that river, but I think so."

"Do you remember anything else about him?"

"He was wearing those hobnailed boots."

"Was there--" Harte broke off as the door opened again. This time, the man who came in was bearing a large platter of stuffed crescent rolls and a generous bowl of winter stew. Peli did not require an invitation to help himself.

"I take it that you and Griff cooked up this idea to rescue Peli?" said Stilian.

"He did the cooking; I just stirred the pot," said Griff, happily throwing Harte to the wolves.

"And what were you going to do with him, once you got him away from Dock Street?"

"Sister Grace wants him at the hospital. She'll give him room and board in return for help in the wards." Harte thought it prudent not to mention the schooling part in front of Peli.

"You could have mentioned that to me," Peli grumbled, from the depths of the stew bowl.

"I apologize for that. I thought it important that your arrest look convincing."

"It did look that," said Stilian. "What do you think of the idea of staying at the hospital for a time, Peli?"

"I don't know. Sister Magda seemed all right, when I went to visit. But religious folk, they don't like my kind very much. That's why I had to--why I don't have any family any more."

Harte watched Stilian's eyes narrow at this. "This Sister Grace. Is she intolerant? Would she blame him for his feelings?" said Stilian.

"I don't believe so, but I think perhaps Griff could tell us more, couldn't you, Griff?"

Griff sat up in his chair. "Sister Grace is all right."

"Surely, you have more to say than that. She raised you, didn't she?"

"She told you?"

Harte allowed the hint of a smile to curl the sides of his mouth. "No."

"Oh." Griff looked chagrined.

"Why are you reluctant to speak of it?"

"Not all orphans achieve their condition by accident," Stilian murmured.

"I don't know," said Griff. "I--Sister Grace treated me well enough."

"You believe she will treat Peli well?"

"Yes, of course. I would never have agreed to the arrest--rescue, if I didn't trust her."

Stilian examined Griff. "No, I don't believe you would have. Peli, are you satisfied?"

After Peli had finished eating, his head had drooped lower and lower towards the table. Hearing his name, he jerked upright and blinked. "Huh?"

"He doesn't seem overly concerned to me," laughed Harte.

"Perhaps we'll ask him again tomorrow. In the mean time, I am satisfied," said Stilian, finally returning Harte's smile. "You may deliver him to his sanctuary."

"Good. It's late, and Sister Grace will be ready to personally introduce us to God, by now. Judge Veritor, may we escort you to your rest as well?"

Stilian blinked. "You may have to. I'm not quite sure of the way ..."

"Where are you staying, anyway? Usually the circuit riders stay with one of the council families. Had you done that, I would have known you were here."

"I did not want to impose so late in the day. I took a room at the Plucked Duck."

Harte looked at Griff in dismay. "We could do better than that here at Watch House," said Griff.

Harte shook his head. "No, the judge will want some place quieter, I think. Why don't you come home with me, Judge Veritor? We have a plenty of room. There are only my parents, Cook, and Theobald at night. The rest of the help live at home."

"Please, enough of
Judge
for now. Call me Stilian--at least in private."

"That will take getting used to," said Griff.

"Will you come to Walford House?" repeated Harte. Harte hoped that the appeal of a big house, nearly empty of people, would be hard to ignore.

Stilian shrugged. "I cannot refuse your generosity. However, I must retrieve my horse and saddle bags from the inn."

"I have a better plan. Why don't you come with me, while I deliver this drooping sprig to Sister Grace. It's not far from the hospital to the house. Griff can round up some help to retrieve your horse and belongings."

Griff raised his eyebrows, but agreed readily enough. He turned to go, but swung back with a shrug.

"What now? Oh." Harte fished in his purse for another coin and placed it in Griff's outstretched hand. "Apparently, the council has forgotten to award you an income."

"Expenses, you know," grinned Griff.

Harte looked at the now sleeping Peli, sighed, and picked him up gently. "Follow me. It's not far."