The wagon rounded the corner. Mama trundled away, muttering.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” I said as four blue-capped Watchmen approached, wiping the remains of the breakfast I’d so rudely interrupted off of their thick wool shirts. “Let me tell you about the morning I’ve had.”
Chapter Two
I didn’t have to make the trip downtown to file an official complaint. Turns out half the neighborhood had seen the altercation, and in a rare display of civic mindedness, people had actually lined up to give their accounts to the Watch.
I attributed that more to Mama’s presence on the scene than to any affection for the neighborhood finder.
Even so, the evidence was clear-I had been the subject of an armed, unprovoked attack.
And so I was sitting in Mama’s tiny parlor, Buttercup at my feet, while the Sprangs were enjoying the dubious hospitality of Rannit’s least accommodating public house, the Old Ruth Gaol.
“And then the Watch left,” I said while Mama stirred that enormous black pot she always has on the boil in the back of the room. Today it stank of rotten eggs and burnt hair.
Mama sighed. “How long you reckon they’ll keep ’em locked up?”
“Hard to say. If they can pay the fine, maybe a couple of weeks. If they have to work it off, could be a couple of months.”
Mama grunted. “I was hopin’ it would be a mite longer than that.”
“Spill it, Mama. You knew that man. Bet you also know why he came looking for me.”
“He don’t care nothing for you, boy.”
“Gertriss, then?”
“I fears it.”
Damn. Gertriss had started to tell me once why she’d left Pot Lockney, the pastoral ancestral abode of Hog women since time began. We’d never finished that conversation. I’d never asked, assuming she’d finish the story when she was good and ready.
Now, though, I’d need to press for answers.
I started to speak, but Mama raised a bony finger to her lips and nodded toward Buttercup, who played with dolls at my feet.
I forget sometimes Buttercup is a centuries-old banshee who understands far more Kingdom than she chooses to speak.
“I need to know this, Mama.”
“Tried to tell you once, didn’t I? And as I recall you got all uppity about people needin’ their privacy.”
“That was before the Sprangs tried to carve out my kidneys.”
Mama stirred. “Well. From what I hears, and this is all third-hand mind ye, I reckon she kilt a man who-,” Mama hesitated, picking words carefully, “-who got determined with her. I ain’t got no use for a man what mistreats woman. No use at all.”
Whatever was in the pot threatened to come sloshing over the side. Mama cussed and slowed her stirring before continuing.
“Sounds to me like she did what she had to do.”
“There’s some what don’t see it that way.”
“These Sprangs. They his family?”
“That’s where it gets bothersome, boy. The man she kilt was a Suthom, from over Gobbler way. Ain’t no relation to the Sprangs.”
I frowned. Buttercup saw and handed me the doll she was cooing wordlessly to.
“Thanks, sweetie.” I took the doll by its hands and made it dance on my knee. “So why did these Sprangs come looking for Gertriss?”
“That Suthom boy she killed. Word is he had bought a big patch of farmland from the Sprangs. He was figurin’ on settin’ up with Gertriss there. Well, he paid them half, promised the rest. But she kilt him before he delivered. I reckon they figure she took the half of the money he was holdin’, and I reckon they wants it.”
I nearly forgot to keep the doll dancing.
“Whoa. They came all this way looking for Gertriss because they think she has half of the money a dead man promised them for a farm he’ll never live on?”
“You a city boy. Listen. That Suthom promised that there money to them Sprangs. In their way of thinking, Gertriss was his, and that means she promised it too. So he might be dead, but she ain’t, and by old law she still half-owns that patch of dirt and she owes them half that money.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“Them Sprangs look like they was jokin’, boy?”
“No. No, they didn’t.” I gave Buttercup’s dolly a big dance finish and handed it back to her. She clapped her hands and giggled and hugged me before scampering off to Mama’s back room.
“So if that’s all true, why jump me? They figure I owe them money too?”
Mama grumped and looked away, but I got a glimpse of her face before she turned, and I’ve been a resident of Cambrit Street long enough to recognize Mama’s many faces. I was seeing the rarest of all her faces-the guilty one.
“Mama.”
“Well, they must have got word Gertriss is workin’ for you now.”
“That isn’t reason to start carving on me, is it?”
Mama gave the contents of her pot a glare.
“I reckon word might have got around that she was a mite more than any ol’ employee.”
I groaned. I’d surmised that myself before she spoke the words.
I’d also surmised how the Sprangs, and everyone else in rural Pot Lockney, might have gotten those particular words.
“Why, Mama? Tell me that.”
“Boy, I didn’t think they’d come stomping to Rannit aimin’ to spill blood. I swears I didn’t. A man from the city? A man what knows city people, knows the Dark Houses by name?” She gave her potion a savage turn. “I reckoned them stump jumpers would stay put and let that damn land sit fallow for five seasons, and then it would be theirs and no trouble for us. You.”
“I hate to point out the obvious, Mama, but that isn’t the way things are turning out.”
“I knows it. I’m sorry, boy. But there’s something else a goin’ on here. Something I don’t know about.”
“Do tell.”
“But I aims to find it out. I aims to put it right.”
“I hope you aim to do that before the Watch cuts the Sprangs loose.” I shook my head and had a disturbing thought. “How many Sprangs are there, anyway, Mama? Are there are more of them out there, sharpening their knives and planning trips to Rannit?”
“I don’t know, boy. But I will be a findin’ out.”
“You know we’ll have to tell Gertriss.”
“I know. I’ll be the one.”
“I’ll come back around when I’m done with a bit of snooping. Don’t worry, Mama. She’ll be mad, but she’ll get over it.”
Mama shrugged, unconvinced. Her relations with her niece hadn’t been what Mama was hoping for. This incident wasn’t going to help, not one bit.
Kids. They grow up, whether anyone likes it or not.
I rose, waved goodbye to Buttercup, and headed for Mama’s door.
“Back before Curfew,” I said. “Better make sure you check the peephole before you open up.”
“I ain’t stupid, boy. And I ain’t likely to get bushwhacked by the likes of no Sprangs, neither.”
I bit back a retort and headed for the street.
My plan was to head downtown and pay Darla’s friend Tamar a visit. Darla would be hurt if I sent Gertriss instead, and even more hurt if I kept Tamar waiting all day.
That was my plan.
I had to change it when the Corpsemaster’s black carriage came rolling down my street.
People scattered. Doors and shutters slammed. Hell, the crows picking scraps off the street took to the air and flapped away, all business, without so much as a single harsh caw.
Fool me, the only one left standing when the horseless black carriage rolled to a buzzing halt.
The buzzing came from the cloud of flies that engulfed the accursed contrivance. The cabdriver was a dead man, who sat atop the carriage and grinned down at me from a face that was mostly skull. I wondered what small fault won him his place atop the black carriage.
He clacked his lipless teeth in greeting. I think he would have dismounted and opened the door for me had I not reached out and opened it myself.
There’s no point in denying Hisvin’s carriage.
Not unless you wish to wind up sitting atop it.