The doors to the station house were opened as the sun climbed over Aransa, inviting the citizens inside to file their complaints and concerns. A long line had already formed, and many of them Ripka picked out as sympathizers of Thratia come to put in a good word for the would-be warden in an official manner.
Ripka grimaced and slowed her pace. She was in no mood to plaster on fake smiles for the sake of diplomacy. “Let’s go around back.”
Banch heaved a relieved sigh and they skirted the sprawling building, coming up to the locked door through which prisoners cleared of their wrongdoings were spewed back into the city. Ripka produced the key and led Banch into a dark hallway. It was cool within, the yellowstone still holding onto the chill of night, and the cooking aromas of early morning Aransa had yet to penetrate. Ripka took a deep breath, felt some of the tension ease out of her temples.
They slogged past dozens of wood and iron doors, ignoring the plaintive voices behind them. Banch peeled away from her at the end of the hall, going to check his new notices, while Ripka followed the same weary path she did every morning to check on the late-night intakes. Drunks and domestic disturbers, mostly. The average scum of any city, skimmed from the top for the evening and dispersed back into the system the next morning.
She found Taellen on a stool beside the drunks’ communal cell, his head lolling and his eyes forced wide as he fought off sleep.
“Morning, watcher,” she said, hiding her smile as he jerked upright and nearly kicked over his stool.
“Captain! I, uh, didn’t hear you come in.” Taellen straightened his skewed seat and pulled the loose flaps of his coat tight.
“That’s all right,” she said, and resisted the urge to tell him not to worry – that all of them had dozed off watching the night holds at least once. She’d leave that information for his colleagues to share when they were ready to accept him fully as one of their number. “Any standouts?”
He handed her a stack of files with far more care than was necessary and gave her a tight, albeit belated, salute. “Nothing too out of the ordinary. More than usual, due to Commodore Ganal’s party. The guards down at Milky’s had a rough night, seemed the clients were more interested in fighting than fucking.” A sunset spectrum of embarrassment painted Taellen’s cheeks. “I mean, uh, they were a rowdy lot. Ma’am. Uh. Sir.”
Ripka hid her grin behind an opened folder. “Sir is appropriate, watcher. And as for Thratia, remember she carries no title here. She is no longer a commodore.”
While Taellen stammered an apology she took the intake sheets to a nearby desk, dipped a pen, and began the wrist-aching process of signing off on each morning release. If she got them all out before the eighth mark of the morning, the Watch wouldn’t be obliged to supply their breakfast.
Rabble released, she abandoned Taellen to the task of ushering them back to the street and turned toward the station’s meager break room. There she found a cup of thick black tea fresh from Mercer Agert’s purloined ship awaiting her, curls of steam wafting from the anise-dark surface. Thank you, Banch. She scooped it up and stole into the interrogation room to drink it in silence before anyone else had need of her.
A single lamp was left from the night before, the second missing. Sighing at the negligence of her staff, she struck it to life with her flint and then settled back into one of the two thick chairs. The one with considerably less bloodstains.
Ripka eyed the other, her thoughts drifting to the woman they’d arrested at the warehouse. Banch seemed convinced they would have to make her questioning hard to extract anything of value.
The rusty stains on the back of that chair turned her stomach. Ripka glanced away, pushing such unpleasantness from her mind. Those stains were old, from a time well before her tenure as watch captain. She would not add to them. It would not come to that. They had the sensitive, and he had already proven anxious to be free. It wouldn’t be long before he talked. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and sighed.
“Hullo, Rip old girl.”
She bolted upright, upending her tea, and whirled on the holding chamber door. There, framed in iron and oak, was a face familiar enough to make her whole body tense with tightly reined-in rage.
“What in the sweet skies are you doing in my holding cell, Honding?”
“Why, you put me here last night. Funny, you never did tell me what I was charged with. Mind giving me a recap?”
She scowled and righted the still dribbling teacup, gave the wood a perfunctory swipe with her sleeve, then abandoned the effort. Another stain on the desk wouldn’t matter. “I did no such thing. How did you get in here? If one of my watchers brought you in they’d throw you in with the rest of the night intakes.”
“Special treatment just for me? Oh Rip, you shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t.”
A heavy knock sounded on the door, followed by an equally heavyset watcher. Ripka clenched her teeth. It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing – Belit was heavy with child, the sharp edges of her coat pushed wide by the swell of new life. How long had Belit been working like that? Ripka had known the woman was pregnant, but things had clearly progressed faster than she’d anticipated. Or had she simply forgotten? Blue skies, she really was losing her connection with the Watch as a whole. Ripka forced herself to calm.
“What is it, Belit?”
“Pardon, captain, I didn’t know you had a man in the box.”
“Neither did I.”
Belit frowned at that, confusion wrinkling her forehead. Ripka sighed and snapped her fingers twice to move her along. “What do you need?”
“Banch sent me to warn you that Mine Master Galtro demands you speak with him right away.”
“Yes, fine, thank you.”
“Do you need anything, captain?”
She scowled at Detan. “Yes. The intake records for this room from last night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Belit?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Talk to Banch and arrange for someone else to take over your patrols until well after the child is born – whatever you need.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” A real smile flitted across the woman’s face as she saluted and stepped back into the hallway.
“Nice lass. Bit big for the ole uniform though, don’t you think? I bet it costs the city extra, all the fabric.”
“None of your business, Honding. Now tell me what happened last night.”
“Why? You know it! You picked me up on Thratia’s airship and marched me in here like a common crook.”
“You are a common crook.”
“I am not common.”
She was considering the merits of throwing her teacup at him when Belit returned with the files. She shooed Belit away and flipped through, looking for the number of Detan’s current cell. Sure enough, there was his name neat and clear, and on the appropriate line a signature that looked very much like her own, but most certainly wasn’t. Her jaw clenched. She snapped the folder shut and strode closer to the cell door.
“I’m afraid you were detained by an imposter.”
His brows furrowed. “Are you sure? She looked an awful lot like you. Well, she smiled more, but I just figured you were drunk.”
“That. Was. Not. Me.” She slammed her palm against the door, the impact startling her back into calm. Detan just blinked at her.
“Oh!” He slumped forward and let his forehead rest against the bars, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Was it the doppel?”
“Quite possi– wait. Who told you about a doppel?”
Detan poked her in the face.