Rogue's Home (19 page)

I'd expected some repercussion from the day's events, so I decided to strike first. “Good evening, Sheriff. Have you come to arrest me for almost getting torn apart by your peaceful, law-abiding citizens? Or are you looking for the real guilty party for once?”

Fisk's jaw dropped. I suppose I sounded more acerbic than usual, but I was tired of being abused.

Sheriff Potter only smiled, curse him. “Don't be so
twitchy, Master Sevenson. I might think you have something to hide. I came tonight in response to a householder's request.”

Max looked startled. “But I didn't—”

“I sent for him,” said Anna. “I wanted to report the assault Master Sevenson suffered today and find out what he's going to do about it.”

“As it happens, I've already heard about it. In fact, half Yareside came to my office to complain about a mob disturbing the peace. I did warn you,” he added to me.

His voice was genial, but the newly familiar chill of fear silenced me. Disturbing the peace is a legitimate charge. 'Twould hardly apply to this case under normal circumstances, but my circumstances weren't normal.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Anna demanded.

“Nothing,” said Potter mildly. He pulled out a chair and sat, but made no move to take off his cloak.

“What? A bunch of thugs chases a man through half Yareside, throwing stones, and you're going to do
nothing
? Sheriff?” The edge in Anna's voice on that final word could have sliced bacon.

Potter's lips compressed briefly, but his voice was
mild. “He's unredeemed, Anna. I have no writ to interfere with anyone on his behalf. You know that. And if you don't, Max certainly does.”

“Yes, but I know you, too, Rob Potter. I can't believe there's nothing you can do.”

“Oh, I could do something. I could lock Master Sevenson up and throw away the key. It's a tempting thought.”

“Are you going to succumb to temptation, Sheriff?” My voice was steadier than I'd expected. I had been prepared to be asked to leave town. But with so many who wished me ill abroad, the thought of being penned in a cage appalled me.

Potter tipped his chair back. “It'd please Yorick Thrope. He wants you restrained ‘for the good of Ruesport and all its citizens.' He says you probably hired someone to set the last fire, while you established an alibi to take suspicion off yourself. But then, he says, you couldn't resist showing up to watch it burn. His theory is that you're one of those who can't help setting fires; that that's what those circles on your wrists are for, to warn folk about you even if you did pay enough of your debt to escape the rope. It's a pretty good theory. I work for the judicary, you know. Yorick Thrope is one of my bosses.”

“You have our sincere condolences,” said Fisk. “What are you going to do?”

“Restrain Master Sevenson, of course. Master Sevenson, I forbid you to leave town without reporting to my office. There. Consider yourself restrained.” He rose and nodded. “Good night, all.”

“But what about—”

He shook his head and Anna broke off, flushing with frustrated outrage. He smiled again and left. A man could come to hate that smile.

“Well,” said Mistress Judith as the door closed behind Potter. “He dislikes being ordered about by Thrope, doesn't he? What is the man about?”

“He's fishing,” said Fisk. “He figures if Michael and I stir up enough mud, the fish he wants will be forced to the surface.”

Despite my dismay, my lips twitched, and I added fishing to the list of things I must someday teach Fisk. At the first sign of trouble fish go to the bottom and wait till the danger passes. I should probably do the same. And yet…Maxwell's enemy was more foolish than the fish, for Fisk's and my floundering
had
made him take action. On the other hand, none of those actions had revealed him. If he was so aware of our movements, surely he also knew how little
we'd discovered. So why was he trying to be rid of us? Could he have another motive for setting those fires?

 

After we'd gone upstairs to seek our beds, I decided to share my speculations with Fisk. He might know little of fishing, but he knew far more about criminals and their motives than I. I'd already put on my nightshirt, so I pulled my cloak over it and put on my slippers to pad down the hall to Fisk's room. I doubted he'd be asleep so soon, and when I reached his door, I saw lamplight shining beneath it and knocked.

Fisk called for me to enter. He too had put on his nightshirt, but he sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard with a pillow behind him and his knees pulled up.

I sat at the bed's foot, imitating his posture, and considered his thoughtful scowl. “You think I should leave the house too, don't you?”

The scowl deepened and I saw I'd guessed right. “In truth, I can think of a couple of advantages that might outweigh the drawbacks. And it's
we
, not
I
, if you please—I'll be hanged if I'll let you skin out and leave me to cope with this mess alone. If we go to an inn, whatever means he's using to find out what we're
doing might not be available to him. And as you pointed out, strangers make better witnesses than family. The downside is that we'd be more vulnerable in a public inn. And finally, this man is Max's enemy, not ours. I'm not sure I want to leave him alone with four women, two children, and an old man. Especially on Calling Night.”

I hadn't thought of that, but now I pictured streets athrong with revelers, some masked, some drunk, and all carrying torches. Not that that mattered; with torches mounted on every wall and post, there'd be no shortage of flame. And our enemy had no scruples about using fire, whoever he was. “But this is such a quiet neighborhood.”

“Yes, and Max's house is at the very end of this quiet street and backs onto an orchard. Unless one of the neighbors opens their house, we might as well be alo—”

The sharp rap wasn't overly loud, but we both froze, listening.

“Downstairs?” I asked softly.

Rap! Wood on wood or stone on wood, but so muffled by walls and distance, I couldn't be sure.

“Downstairs,” Fisk replied, and seized the lamp.

Mistress Judith was already in the hall when we
opened the door, and the Maxwells emerged from their room as we passed. Fisk's lamp was the only source of light, so we trailed after him, whispering speculations. The women wore nightcaps, and their nightgowns covered more of them than the dresses they wore during the day, but I was the only one wearing something warmer than a nightshirt, and I was the only one not barefoot.

We were halfway down the stairs when the crash of shattering glass broke the stillness. Fisk began to run, with me after him. We crammed ourselves through Max's study door in time to hear the sound of racing feet on the courtyard path, and the slam of the front gate.

“Quick!” Mistress Judith spun to Fisk. “Go after them!”

Fisk cast her an astonished glance. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You are the youngest, fittest man in the house. You might be able to catch them.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” Fisk set the lamp on Maxwell's desk and picked his way carefully among the shards of glass to lift a chunk of broken brick that lay under a chair. “Three tries just to hit a window. I'd say that makes them two thirds drunk, but it might be
more. Three quarters?”

Mistress Judith snorted. “Three quarters drunk, they couldn't have run like that. Half to two thirds.”

Fisk laughed, but there was a note in it I disliked.

“Stop it, Nonny.” Anna curled against her husband's side, her face pinched with anger and fear. “We'll have the windowpane replaced tomorrow.”

“With what? Glass is expensive. You and Max don't even have enough to pay the door tax.”

“True.” Max spoke gently, but Fisk flushed and bit his lip. “I'm afraid it will come off the price of the house when we sell. In the end, it makes little difference.”

A silence fell as we all struggled with raw nerves, and I was the one who broke it. “I'm leaving tomorrow.”

Fisk hesitated a minute, then nodded. “That might be best. We'll get a room in the Oldtown—it'll be cheaper.”

“But Nonny…” Anna bit her lip, concern for her children warring with concern for her brother. Mistress Judith simply watched, through thought-narrowed eyes.

“No,” said Max.

“What?” said Fisk.

“I said no.” The ghost of a smile touched his prim mouth. “I might throw you out myself, but I'll not let
anyone be driven from my house. This happened before”—he gestured to the shattered window—“when I was first disrobed. I didn't yield to intimidation then and I won't now. Come back to bed, Anna. We can patch the window in the morning.”

And he departed with his wife, looking amazingly dignified for a barefooted man in his nightshirt.

“The judicar has spoken.” Mistress Judith sounded amused, but I saw she'd started to shiver and laid my cloak over her shoulders. The draft from the shattered window was cold. The glance she gave me in return was more ironic than grateful, but she pulled the cloak tight. “Should you go, Fisk?”

“I don't know. What do you think?”

“Hmm. Good and bad each way. I'll feel better when Calling Night's past.”

“No lie. Judith, what will happen? Financially?”

“Max will sell the house, pay off his debts—there aren't many—and we'll go somewhere else and start over. Though Anna's right—Max would have more heart for it if…”

“If he was sure those men were guilty. Don't worry, Judith—that's the one thing I'm certain of.”

“Certainty,” said Mistress Judith, with the air of someone quoting an authority, “is all very well. But can you prove it?”

Her smile held an edge I didn't understand. She handed me my cloak and departed, leaving me wondering what she'd said to strike Fisk white and mute with anger.

N
ext morning we had to tell Lissy what had happened, for she slept on the top floor and had heard nothing. The issue of whether or not Michael and I should move to the inn was still undecided. Max's firm no was pitted against Michael's firm yes, with my sisters and I uncertain. I thought Michael would win; Max couldn't keep him by force and I've never seen anyone who could outstubborn Michael. Though if Judith quoted any more of Father's maxims to me,
I'd
be the one leaving.

We squabbled over the matter through breakfast. Then Michael went to give Becca and Thomas their horseback ride, and I went out to do something stupid. I had to wake Ham up, since tavern keepers have late hours, but I finally talked him out of a list of the town's forgers. He refused to name any arsonists, as
taverns are susceptible to fire.

The day might be the shortest of the year, but the weather was cool and clear, promising a perfect holiday night. Folk twined red and gold ribbons around the garlands that decorated their homes. The scent of cooking came from only about one house in five, but no one went hungry on Calling Night, when the rivers burned and the whole world blazed, calling the sun back from its annual decline. The tradition of burning lights on Calling Night was older than the realm itself, and modern astronomical theories about planetary rotation didn't affect it.

I managed to find three of the men Ham had named. To no one's surprise they denied being forgers and were quite shocked that Ham would play such a wicked prank on me. That out of the way they were willing to talk, for in giving me their names, Ham had also vouched for me, and most of the Irony's patrons accepted his judgment. As far as I could tell, they all disliked Thrope—again no surprise—though none seemed to have any close connection with him. Their feelings about Max were divided. They'd respected him before he was disrobed, though none entertained a liking for any judicar, but if those lads he hanged really were innocent…

I went home for mid-meal no wiser than I'd been
that morning. If one of those three had forged the ledger used to frame Max, they'd never reveal it to their victim's investigator, which was why the whole idea was stupid. Unfortunately, I didn't have a better one. The knowledge that I might fail had been growing these last few days, and I'd been trying to ignore it. I didn't care much about Max, though I'd come to like him better than I thought I could, but I hated to disappoint Annie.

I noticed the air of tension the moment I entered the house, and deciding to forgive Judith, I pulled her aside to find out what had happened. It seemed that several householders had come to express their “concern” over what might occur in their respectable neighborhood with an unredeemed man living here. Michael was in the orchard and Max dealt with them, but…“He was upset, Fisk. These men weren't drunken rabble, and Max cares about his reputation. What's left of it.”

I snorted. “Tell me about it.” But in truth, trouble from the neighbors was the last thing we needed.

We sat to eat mid-meal in the warmth of the kitchen. The only reason Michael wasn't instantly aware that a secret was being kept from him was that Becca monopolized the conversation. She hadn't fallen off once, or Thomas either, so it didn't matter that Master
Michael's wrist was all sore.
And
her legs didn't hurt in the least, so he was wrong and she
could
have another ride tomorrow.

“That's because your muscles haven't had time to stiffen.” Michael had to swallow a mouthful of leftover pork sandwich in order to speak. “'Tis when the morning comes that we shall see.”

“Phooey,” said Becca. “You said Thomas wouldn't hurt, and he's younger than me.”

“Master Thomas had the good sense to stop when I recommended it.”

“Yes, but
I'm
older, so I can ride longer.”

“Alas, Mistress Rebecca, I fear you'll find—”

“Master Maxwell.” For the first time since I'd met him, Trimmer sounded less than gloomy, though excited would be too strong a word. “Master Lewis Sawyer, councilman for the Ropers' Guild, has called. I escorted him to your study. Perhaps—”

“Lewis? What in the world?” Max rose hastily, abandoning his sandwich. “We should ask him to dine.”

“Not in the kitchen!” Anna leapt to her feet. “Stall him for five minutes, then bring him to the dining room. We can pretend we're just ready to start.”

Max nodded and left so quickly that Lissy had to run after him to pull his napkin out of his belt.

Mrs. Trimmer picked up the children's plates and
took Becca and Thomas to the nursery. Judith slapped together new sandwiches, and uneaten soup was poured back into the kettle. Anna, Michael, and I headed to the dining room and whisked dishes onto the table, while Lissy forked pickled beets into a serving bowl and Trimmer carried food to the table.

Then we heard the study door open. Anna stuffed her apron into an empty vase and pasted a gracious smile on her face as Trimmer dove for the kitchen in a most undignified manner. The dining room looked perfect when Max led Councilman Sawyer in, and Lissy and Judith made their calm and tidy entrances, just as if we were sitting down for the first time. I never cared for burglary, but I love a good con. I smiled at Max's introduction and shook Councilman Sawyer's hand.

The councilman was broadly built, and someone should have told him that men with high complexions shouldn't wear red. But since the buttons on his doublet appeared to be made of solid gold, I doubt that anyone told him anything he didn't want to hear.

If he was disturbed to meet Michael, he didn't show it, and he spoke civilly with everyone throughout the meal. He said he'd been glad to hear about the investigation to exonerate Max and asked how it was going. I told him we had several promising leads
and then reached under the table to pinch Michael's knee. A pinch is far less obvious than a kick in the shins, but it's possible only when your victim is sitting beside you.

Councilman Sawyer ignored Michael's startled glance and said he was glad of it. He went on to reiterate the ropers' offer to employ Max as their charities clerk, if he could clear his name.

Max thanked him, though as Sawyer moved the conversation smoothly on, his expression grew more and more puzzled. The councilman lingered for tea after the meal and then departed, leaving us gazing at each other in bafflement.

“Max, what did he want?” Anna demanded.

“I have no idea.”

“But earlier, in the study…”

“He said nothing. Well, he offered me a loan, but that's been a standing offer for some time and I'd rather borrow from Ben. He repeated his personal belief in my innocence, and his offer to employ me if I could clear my name and, ah…” His eyes slid away from Michael and me. “…put my household in order. He didn't—”

“I bet I know!” Judith exclaimed. “But I'll have to see his horse to prove it.”

She threw down her napkin and raced up the stairs
in a way that brought our childhood forcibly to mind. Anna, Lissy, and I chased after her, and it seemed Max and Michael had once been children, too, since they were hot on our heels.

We fetched up at the window in the sewing room, which had the best view of the street.

“Yes!” Judith's voice was a hiss of satisfaction.

Councilman Sawyer's gold-buttoned doublet was too rich for an afternoon call, but his horse put him into the shade. It was draped in old-fashioned barding, with looping ropes of gold thread embracing the ropers' crest. I'd seen it before, during the parade of guilds that takes place in Birthingtime, but never outside of a parade.

“'Tis very, uh, impressive,” said Michael. “But I still don't understand.”

“That,” Judith told him, “is the ceremonial tack of the ropers' councilman. And I'll bet he tethered his horse in the street, so it's been standing in front of our house for over an hour. He's just made it plain that Max has the full support of the Ropers' Guild without ever saying a word.
That
for the neighbors!”

Max blinked rapidly. “I didn't know…I didn't…”

Anna touched his arm. “They're only returning the loyalty you've always given them. Just as you'd have volunteered to serve on their charity boards, they're—”

“Now what?” Judith demanded.

Ben Worthington was riding down the street. He turned in the saddle to stare after Councilman Sawyer's horse.

“Does this mean we have to have mid-meal again?” Anna sounded just a nudge from hysterical giggles.

“Surely not,” said Max. “He must have eaten by this time. I wonder what he wants.”

Happily, Worthington had already dined, so Anna offered him tea. It took him a while to get to the point, but he'd heard about Michael's run-in with the Yareside bullies. He'd also considered the risks of Calling Night, and what he wanted was to move everyone into his house for as long as they cared to stay.

“I've got more room than anyone could use, and so many servants, I sometimes think I should fire half the lazy idlers. And the children would cheer the place up. I know you think I'm overreacting, and I probably am, but humor me on this one. Please?”

The answer was already plain in Max's relieved expression, but he said, “I thought you were opening your house this year.”

“I am, and a cursed nuisance it is. Anna could do me a great service if she'd play hostess—especially if Judith and Miss Lissy would help out. Or if you'd rather not party all night, you can hide out in the west wing and
never set eyes on the festivities. Frankly, Max, I want the lot of you out of here tonight, and you know I'm right.”

Max nodded. “I accept your offer gratefully, for the others, but this house is the only valuable property I own, and I can't leave it unattended. However—”

“No,” said Anna and Michael together. Judith laughed.

It took over an hour to reach the sensible agreement that Michael, Trimmer, and I would stay to watch the house while the others went with Worthington. Once it was settled, a frenzy of packing broke out. Worthington, gazing in dismay at the growing mound of baggage, sent for his carriage. Finally Mrs. Trimmer herded the children out the door. Anna grabbed my arm and started to give me all sorts of complicated directions concerning the chicken she'd set to roast before Sawyer arrived.

I grabbed Michael, who'd been helping the groom strap bags onto the carriage roof, and told Anna he was the one who could cook. Michael started to say he only did camp cooking; then he remembered what my attempts at cooking turned out like and paid attention to Anna's instructions.

I stood back to enjoy the chaos and caught sight of Lissy stuffing a warm scarf and her thickest cloak into
one of her bags. She meant to go out with the revelers tonight. With young Fowler? I frowned, for a whole night spent wandering about in Fowler's company was different from a short stroll in a cold orchard.

But then Anna kissed me and told me to take care, and the coach rattled away before I could decide whether or not to rat Lissy out. It had been too long since I'd been a brother. I was out of practice.

 

Michael, Trimmer, and I spent the afternoon doing what every household in town was doing—pulling buckets of water from the well and filling barrels placed at strategic locations. There hadn't been a serious Calling Night fire in Ruesport for two hundred years, and no one wanted to break that record. We dropped three empty grain sacks beside each barrel, and our precautions were complete. Then Michael offered to leave again, thus removing the worst danger.

“And how do you plan to get word of your absence to every thug in the city before nightfall? Well, don't worry. When they show up with their torches, I'm sure they'll be happy to believe Trimmer and me when we say you're not home.”

Michael gave me a dirty look and said no more about leaving.

I thought we were all overreacting. A couple of drunks throwing a brick through a window is one thing; coming in force to assault a house is quite another, especially since all the deputies patrol on Calling Night. I was even more reassured when we saw that a neighbor two doors down was opening his house, for that meant plenty of witnesses and help, if it should be needed.

Michael must have managed to follow Anna's directions, for the roast chicken was delicious. We worked out a watch schedule that called for Michael to patrol the house early, and for me to take the middle hours and Trimmer the predawn, when most of the revelers had gone home to bed. But I was too tense to fall asleep—and anyway, nobody sleeps on Calling Night.

Michael and I made the first round at dusk, lighting the torches in the wall brackets. Trimmer lit the candles in the windows after pulling the draperies well back.

The quiet street glowed in the torchlight, and the ribbons twined through the garlands glittered with gold embroidery, for this was a rich neighborhood.

The first group of revelers, half of them masked, appeared at the end of the street. They made their way to a house whose gates stood open for friends to stop by and while away the wait for the sun with good food
and good cheer. The light from the revelers' torches glinted like laughter on the women's satin skirts, and the plumes in the men's hats rippled.

The sewing room window provided the best view of the spectacle, and if I couldn't see the burning of the rivers, well, that was the fate of those who stood house watch. It would be childish to whine about it, even if this was the first time I'd been home in five years.

We watched folk come and go for an hour, made a second round and replenished the torches, and had just gone to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea when Trimmer came in through the dining room door.

“A note for Master Sevenson. A boy just delivered it.”

The paper was folded but not sealed, and Michael frowned as he reached for it. “I didn't hear anyone knock.”