No True Way (19 page)

“I . . . yes, Ma.”

*   *   *

“You look tired.”

Ismy Smith glanced up at Hektor as they walked
along Saddler's Row together, and he felt his head begin to spin with the same sense of lightheaded elation he'd felt since he'd been reunited with her last autumn.

“No, not tired, just . . .”

“Just . . . ?”

“Worried a bit. It's Daedrus.”

“Your family's Artificer friend. Is he all right?”

When Hektor filled her in, she frowned. “It sounds like you're worried that his mind is failing?” she noted.

“A little, maybe. He's old and forgetful, an', well, you know how it is.”

“Perhaps, but I might remind you, Hektor Dann,” she answered sternly, “that not all that long ago, you—all of you—thought my father was gettin' old and forgetful just because he was missin' items from his shop and believed that people might be stealin' them.”

“And it turned out his own granddaughter, Zoe, was playin' shopkeeper with his things right under his nose. That doesn't make me feel any better, Ismy.”

“It's not meant to make you feel better, it's meant to remind you to take your friend's concerns seriously, whatever his age.”

“I am.”

“Good.” As they turned onto Iron Street, she bumped him slightly with her hip. “And speakin' of my father . . .”

Hektor felt an involuntary thrill of if not fear then at least foreboding travel up his spine.

“Yeah?”

“Judee wants us all to have a meal together 'afore the weddin'.”

He gave a faint snort. “So Edzel doesn't think she's stealin' from him anymore either?” he asked. The rows between Edzel Smith and Ismy's third ex-stepmother
were legendary in the area, and both Hektor and Aiden had been called in to referee on numerous occasions.

Ismy dismissed the question with a flick of one hand. “Of course he doesn't. They're gettin' along just fine these days for Zoe's sake an' for the sake of our weddin',” she added.

Hektor raised one amused eyebrow at her. “You don't mind if I doubt that last part, do you?” he asked. “Edzel's never liked me.”

“Maybe not, but he loves me and wants me to be happy.” Her tone brooked no rebuttal, from either him or her father, and Hektor smiled.

“True enough,” he allowed. “So, how soon 'afore the weddin' was she wantin' this dinner?”

“The night before.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all right?”

He sighed. “Yeah, sure.” As Ismy tucked her arm more securely in his, he bent down to kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair with an intoxicated smile. “Course it is.”

*   *   *

“Unless I get buried under a mountain of reports before then,” he sighed, glancing around at the untidy piles stacked all over his office the next morning. “Makes me wish I'd never learned to read.”

A knock interrupted his grumbling, and he smoothed his expression quickly as Paddy put his head in the door.

“Capt'n wants you, Hek—I mean, Sarge.”

*   *   *

Captain Travin Torell glanced up as Hektor entered his office, then finished the report he was reading before setting it carefully on the top of a very neatly stacked pile.
Promoted from a far more affluent watch house just over a year ago, it had taken the highborn captain some months to recognize that competency as well as tradition had seen generations of Danns at the Iron Street Watch House, and it had taken an equal number of months for the decidedly tight-knit community of locally born watchmen to trust their
outsider
commander. Now both managed a restrained formality that was only just beginning to meld into a smoothly running unit, due in no small part to the efforts of Day Sergeant Hektor Dann, the captain's first, if at the time, somewhat reluctant, promotion.

“I understand you've been to see Daedrus, Sergeant. Something about missing books?” he asked.

Hektor eyed his commander thoughtfully. The captain and Daedrus were friends; the two often dined together at the White Lily, an inn so far above Hektor's station that he'd never even seen the inside of it. The captain hadn't mentioned the Dann family's relationship with the old Artificer, but Hektor had no doubt that he knew all about it. Mostly, he admitted silently, because Daedrus was a dreadful gossip.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, opting for a neutral tone.

“And . . . ?”

“Investigations are proceeding, sir.”

“Proceeding how?”

“Sir?”

The Captain frowned. “What have you discovered, Sergeant?”

“More questions than answers, sir.” Hektor admitted. “Ordinarily we'd be makin' inquiries with the other householders in the area as well as the local booksellers, but . . .”

“But?”

“Well, sir, Daedrus' home and the booksellers stalls are in Breakneedle Street's jurisdiction. I wouldn't want to . . .” He paused, uncertain of what words to use to the former Breakneedle Street officer without giving offence.

The captain nodded. “I'll speak with Captain Rilade. His officers can interview the householders. They're known, many of them are younger sons who come from the local surroundings. As they do here,” he added wryly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your brother, Padreic, often accompanies Daedrus to the booksellers, yes?” the captain continued.

“He does, sir. When he's off shift, he goes with him to carry his packages.”

“Well. then, perhaps he can make those inquiries for us.” The captain inclined his head stiffly. “It will be good experience for him when he's ready to move up to lance constable.”

Hektor allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. “He'll be thrilled at the opportunity, sir,” he noted. “And fully discreet.”

“I'm sure he will be.” The captain met his gaze sternly. “And, Sergeant, if your inquiries turn up nothing more than say . . . an old man's forgetful nature, I would appreciate it if you would keep it between us. I'm very fond of Daedrus, as you may know. He was a brilliant Artificer in his day, and I would hate for his reputation to suffer now that he's getting on in years.”

“I understand, Captain.” Snapping off a rigidly formal salute, Hektor made for the door, then decided to simply speak his mind. “The Danns are very fond of him too, sir,” he said, turning back to meet the captain's gaze no
less firmly. “An' we don't let the people we care about get hurt.”

For the first time, the captain gave him a tight but genuine smile. “I'm sure you don't, Sergeant. Very well then, I'll leave the investigation in your capable hands. Let me know what you find out.”

“Yes, sir.”

*   *   *

The next day, Paddy stood beside Daedrus in Booksellers Row, gently leafing through a volume of street ball stories while the Artificer flipped through a bin of engineering manuals.

“Our young watchman can read very fast indeed, can't he, Michen?” the neighboring bookseller called out, winking at the stall owner, who was eyeing Paddy suspiciously. “Why, I've seen him polish off most of a Rethwellan epic poem before Daedrus had finished passing the time of day.”

“Well, it's a good thing he's careful with them, or I might expect him to buy one for a change, Ivarra!” Michen snapped back. “Get back to work, Erlan, you lazy wretch!” He aimed a swipe at his twelve-year-old son standing beside Paddy. The boy danced out of the way with a grin, a book on griffins clutched in one hand.

“I was dusting it, Papa,” he protested, winking at Paddy.

“I'll dust you! I swear if I sold apples, I'd have no stock left! Younglings! It's a wonder I can make any kind of a living with the amount of trade they read for free!”

Setting the book down carefully, Paddy backed up a step, his face burning. “Er, do a lot of folk just read 'em an' put 'em back?” he asked, trying to mask his embarrassment with an attempt at an official question.

Michen gave an unimpressed snort as he straightened the books on the counter. “Enough! The Scholars are the worst!”

“You can chase them off while they're still students,” Ivarra explained at Paddy's confused expression, “but once they come into their own, it's harder to demand payment without giving offence and risk losing their trade for a time.”

“Only for a time?”

“Where else are they going to go?” Erlan answered, elbowing the other boy in the ribs as he pointed out an elderly woman so absorbed in a copy of
The Myths of Valdemar
that she hardly blinked as she dropped a coin into Ivarra's hand.

“Buying books is like buying sweets, lad, so beware,” Michen said with a hideous scowl. “Once you've gained a taste for it, you'll never stop wanting more. Forever.”

“Some collectors'll buy books before they buy food,” Erlan added, then burst out laughing at Paddy's appalled expression.

“Mind you,” Ivarra allowed as the woman wandered off, still reading. “Most of us don't mind if the reader is careful with the books. There are some, students mostly, who can't afford to buy very often, but they can't stay away either. They'll come every day just to snatch up a few pages before lessons, and sometimes, if it's obvious they love the book so much that it would just about kill them if someone else bought it before they reached the end, we'll tuck it behind the counter until they've finished with it.”

“And sometimes we might take another in trade, if it's been kept clean and undamaged,” Erlan added. “Right, Aunt Ivarra?”

“That's right, lad.”

Paddy frowned. “Take another in trade?”

Michen snorted again. “I've had some try to trade me my own books back again, week after week, as if I could afford to sell naught but one volume every three months!”

“It does help if they move around between us,” Ivarra admitted, “so that no one stall gets touched up too often.”

“Moves around?”

Michen glared at Paddy as if he suspected he was poking fun at them. “Have you got a hearing problem, boy?” he demanded.

“No, sir,” Paddy stammered. “I were just thinkin' out loud.”

“A bad habit to get into.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyway, looks like Daedrus has made his choices today, so get gone.”

Paddy turned to see Erlan wrapping up a dozen manuals for the Artificer, who handed over his money with much the same expression as the woman had, then turned back, his own expression torn.

“I, um, was wondering . . . how much is the street ball book?” he asked casually.

Michen wordlessly held it up to show him the price prominently displayed on the back cover and Paddy's face fell. “Oh, um, thank you. Maybe next week.” As the boy accepted Daedrus' parcels, Michen rolled his eyes, then deliberately tucked the book behind the counter.

“What!?” he demanded of his son who was now openly grinning at him. “Get back to work, or you'll find yourself apprenticed to the very next swineherd who passes by!”

The boy's smile grew. “Yes, Papa, just as soon as I finish this one last story, all right?”

“One. Only.”

“Thanks, Papa.”

*   *   *

“So, I thought maybe the thief starts out by just snatchin' a bit of readin' here an' there,” Paddy explained to the three other on-duty Danns gathered in Hektor's office later that afternoon. “But finally the waitin' to finish gets to be too much for 'im an he borrows one, brings it back right away the next time, does it again, an' again, an' then he does it at someone else's house, only this time he brings the wrong book back to Daedrus' because he's got 'em all mixed up.”

“Seems a bit complicated,” Aiden pointed out. “Besides, these weren't storybooks, they were books on what things are or how they work.”

Paddy shrugged. “Readin's readin'.”

Beside him, Kassie nodded.

“So we're lookin' at someone who has regular weekly, or monthly access to more than one private library, no money to buy his own books, and no chance to ask for the loan of one,” Hektor summed up.

“And has a few moments alone to read without being detected,” Aiden included.

Kassie and Paddy put their heads together for a moment.

“Well, it can't be a privy cleaner, chimney sweep, gardener, or dustbin man,” Paddy noted. “They'd leave marks on the books.”

“And it can't be Hadon, Deen, or Marti,” Kassie added. “Because they're not there long enough.”

“And they're only ever in the pantry, anyway.”

“And it can't be Janee or Alix, because they could ask Daedrus to lend them anything they were interested in.”

“An' it can't be one of the book folk, because it would hurt their trade with Daedrus, an' their apprentices can read all they want at their masters' own stalls without payin' a single pennybit.”

“That leaves Mern. Daedrus has water jugs all over his house that need fillin'.”

Both brother and sister shared a triumphant smile that quickly became stricken expressions.

“Oh, poor Mern,” Kassie breathed.

Hektor glanced from one to the other. “Why poor Mern?”

“Well, because . . .” His sister shrugged. “Because he's nice.”

Paddy nodded. “He's from Sweetsprings. He wanted to be a Scholar but had to quit lessons when his older brother died, an' he had to start workin' deliveries with his Da.”

“He's smart, too,” Kassie added. “He thinks about things before he says 'em.”

“Doesn't sound like he thinks about things before he does 'em, though,” Aiden observed.

“I guess not. But if it is him stealin' books, I'll bet he just means to borrow 'em for a bit an' then bring 'em right back.”

Aiden gave her a stern look. “That's how it always starts, Kasiath,” he said, not unkindly.