Rogue's Home (15 page)

Kline was smiling when he let us in. The room was so small that the meager coals that glowed in the fireplace almost heated it. In truth, meager was the word for everything from the thin blankets on the bed to the single small lamp on the desk. The cluttered desk wasn't meager, but it was so battered that most would have broken it up to assist the struggling embers.

“Very well, gentlemen, my next ten minutes are at your disposal. What do you want to know?”

How much do you hate the man who took you from a promising law career to copper-a-page copying?
I looked at Michael, who made a show of rubbing his ribs and said nothing.

“What actually happened between you and the Judicary Guild? We'd like to hear your side of it.”

“My side? Surely the facts are the facts. But it's your ten minutes.” Kline replaced his smile with a thoughtful expression. “Let me see. It began when one of our local fences retired to another town—or more accurately another fiefdom, where Sheriff Potter's writ doesn't stand. Our good sheriff had been showing considerable interest in his activities, and he decided a change of address might be salubrious.

“Nothing daunted, Sheriff Rob entered into correspondence with the man and persuaded him to offer up his client list—something about what our good sheriff would or wouldn't tell the authorities in the town where the fence had moved. In fact, I believe Potter threatened to hire an artist and a printer and send the poor man's portrait and an account of his activities to every sheriff in the realm. You must admit, Rob Potter is a veritable badger when he sets about catching someone. I've known him to—”

“We've met the sheriff,” I said. “Go on.”

“Well, the fence was understandably intimidated.
The judicary, at the sheriff's request, sent a clerk to take his deposition, and that clerk chose a promising young notary, myself, to accompany him and do the actual writing. I was flattered”—the smile returned—“because when the guild starts tagging you for these errands, it's usually a sign of promotion to come. And since the judicary offered the Saddlers' Guild one of their notaries to replace me, they had no objection to letting me go. Would you care to hear why I was working for the saddlers?”

“No,” I said firmly. I wondered if he could stretch his story for more than ten minutes. “Get on with it.”

“Just before the clerk and I set off, a man named Tocker called at my rooms—late at night, and with considerable stealth. He was a burglar by trade, quite a harmless little man. He'd heard that the fence was giving up his clients, and as one of those clients he was understandably concerned. Being brighter than his fellows, he'd hit on the idea of asking the notary who was to take down the names to exclude his. So simple, not to write those few small words. He offered me fifty gold roundels for this bit of nonwriting, and I said yes.”

He was still smiling.

“And did you?”

“Don't rush me. The clerk and I took ship and had
a very pleasant voyage. Only a month to get all the way to Lambington, where the fence had taken up residence. It was a lovely town, nestled amid rolling hills, the leaves just beginning—”

“Did you exclude the name?” Michael spoke this time, and he sounded as annoyed as I felt.

“Of course. I try to give value to all who hire me. There were over sixty names on that list and poor Tocker was near the end. The clerk never noticed my omission. Master Tocker went about his business untroubled by Sheriff Rob, and I was promoted to clerk myself. I went from the Saddlers to the Smiths' Guild, which was much more interesting, because—”

“So how did you get caught?” I demanded.

“With my new station I felt the need to improve my appearance. A few new doublets. New boots. Rooms in a better neighborhood. My salary was larger, but when the bills came due, it wasn't sufficient, and I went to my good friend Tocker for the difference. After all, I'd done him a considerable favor.”

“So you blackmailed him.”

“I did.” Kline's smile seemed to be engraved on his face. “Mind, I wasn't excessively greedy, having seen what happens when a blackmailer pushes his, ah…”

“Victims,” Michael supplied coldly.

“Victims too far. I asked only a bit here and there
and Tocker paid quite amiably. But I fear I must have angered him more than I realized, for one night he was working in a cobbler's shop…or was it a haber-dasher? No, I think—”

“Let me guess,” I interrupted. “He got caught.”

“As you say, he got caught. And was so irritated by my modest demands that he ratted me out to Sheriff Rob. He then set off for parts unknown—working passage, poor man, for after paying back all his victims, he was very poor indeed. But it was summertime, and I understand sailing then isn't—”

“Did the judicary just accept his word for it?”

“By no means. I denied it with great indignation, and the clerk honestly didn't remember Tocker's name being mentioned. But Maxwell, who'd heard Tocker's case, didn't accept the guild's ruling. He sent two more clerks, at his own expense, all the way to Lambington to talk to the fence, who did remember mentioning Tocker. He'd made notes before we came, so he wouldn't forget anyone Sheriff Rob might already know about. When the clerks checked his notes against my list, it was the same in every particular except that Tocker's name wasn't on it. So I was convicted of bribe taking and had to pay the money back—to the Judicary Guild, since Tocker had gone by then. And I was disrobed, of course. Is there anything
else? You still have”—he went to look out his window—“two minutes left.”

“Thanks, we've got what we came for.” He'd told us nothing we couldn't have learned elsewhere. I only hoped my smile was as annoying as his. “Michael?”

“Just two questions. The name of the fence, and the clerk you traveled with.”

“Names? My dear gentlemen, I said I'd tell you what, not who. Names cost another silver roundel each.”

Michael flushed with anger. “We have two minutes left.”

“But not for names. Names are extra.”

“Forget it,” I said. “We can get the names anywhere. Come on.”

Michael sputtered for ten minutes after we left Kline's rooms, even after I pointed out that we could get the names from Max for nothing. And we had learned what we wanted to know.

“He's devious enough,” I said. “But I'm afraid he's not rich enough to have paid to have Max framed. Though the shabbiness could be an act.”

“He hates enough, too,” said Michael. “Beneath his smiles, he burns with it. Mayhap he was blackmailing others, and so amassed enough to buy his vengeance.”

I cast Michael a surprised look, for I hadn't sensed
hatred. But Michael was Gifted, however erratically those Gifts worked. And it wasn't a bad theory.

“We'll ask Max tonight, about the names and the possibility that Kline was blackmailing others. Though Max might not know. Blackmail victims almost never come forward to claim redress.” Maybe I should consider taking it up?

Nate Jobber, the forger who was next on our list, wasn't at the tavern where he worked nights. The tapster gave us directions to his rooms, but he wasn't there either. The elderly lady who lived below him didn't know where he was.

Michael and I gave up and went home to dinner, resolving to catch the elusive Nate Jobber at work that evening.

We arrived home late and found Benjamin Worthington present and the children absent. I was disappointed, for I'd trade Becca's conversation and Thomas's shy giggles for the presence of any guest. On the other hand, I wasn't the one scrounging for money to pay the door tax. And I had to admit he treated pork stew, bread, and applesauce as if it was the finest meal he'd ever eaten. Indeed, he claimed that his servants were readying his house for Calling Night and his only other recourse was a tavern. “And you know how I hate
eating in taverns.” From the conversation I gathered he opened his house to friends every year, which can run from expensive to ruinous depending on how many friends you have. It seemed Worthington had a lot of friends.

As the meal finished, he asked Max if they could talk a bit of business over tea, in the study perhaps, “…and if they don't mind, I'd like Fisk and Sevenson here to join us.”

Business? With us? Michael, Max, and I exchanged startled glances.

“We'd be most gratified,” said Michael politely.

We'd be cursed curious! And we weren't the only ones. Anna brought the tea herself, and took so long serving it that Worthington finally laughed and said, “You can get it out of him later, Anna. You always do.” She crinkled her nose at him before she left.

The study was cozy, with the lamps lit and the warmth of the stove. Michael, Worthington, and I pulled up straight chairs to sit before Max's desk, and something about the way Worthington glanced at his made me wonder if once there had been cushioned chairs for visitors in this room.

“I'm not sure if it's worth making a pother about,” Worthington began as he picked up his teacup, “but I
wanted to warn the two of you—all three of you—that the most interesting rumor in town right now is that Sevenson here started that fire in the Oldtown last night.”

“That's quick for gossip, even from the sheriff's department,” I said. “Potter seems more competent than old Halverson. You'd think he could stop those leaks, or at least slow them down.”

Worthington laughed. “You'll never stop gossip, lad. It's like trying to stop the moons from circling. But I thought you should know it's stirring up a lot of the feeling against you. You'll want to be careful.”

“We will,” I promised, wondering how I could keep Michael from leaving the house.

Worthington rubbed his chin. “Well, it wasn't entirely intended for your benefit. The fact that you're living with Max, and investigating the crime he was accused of, is being talked about as well. In fact, more people are talking about that than about the arson. To put it bluntly, your investigation is making people remember the accusations against Max, and that's not a good thing. I'm afraid it might stir up the same kind of trouble he had before.”

Max sighed. “I'll stay in. Thanks for warning me, Ben.”

“Trouble?” I asked.

“There were some…difficulties when I was first disrobed.” Max sounded more embarrassed than indignant. “The townsfolk were unhappy, and rightly so in my—”

“Unhappy?” Worthington snorted. “He was beaten by one mob, and might have been killed if the deputies hadn't arrived. And there was vandalism here at the house, stones thrown through windows, manure dumped in the fountain, that kind of thing. And the fact that Sevenson's accused of arson can only make it worse,” Worthington added. “Since the docks burned, that's a very serious crime. The whole town suffered from that fire, one way or another.”

He didn't bring up the fact that Michael was unredeemed, but Michael understood the implication anyway. His gaze had fallen to his hands, which were clenched in his lap. In about five more seconds he would offer to leave.

“But the only reason Michael's being accused of arson is
because
we're investigating!” I said hastily. “Someone's trying to stop us, and we can't afford to let them win.”

When I said “afford,” I meant more than just money, but Max's gaze strayed to his ledgers. “I was a fool to invest so heavily in one venture, no matter how sound it looked.”

Worthington smiled comfortably. “You've got plenty of company. I'd have been in it to the teeth, but when you trade from Landsend to D'vorin, you don't always have cash on hand. At the time I was upset that I couldn't invest more. It wasn't your fault, Max. Just bad luck.”

“Well, luck has nothing to do with what's happening now,” I said. “If someone's trying to stop us from investigating, then we must be on the right track.” I wished I knew what track it was. Whom had we spoken to, what had we asked, that had frightened our enemy into taking steps? “And if they want Michael gone, then that's the best reason I've heard yet for keeping him around,” I added firmly.

“That's ridiculous.” Michael's voice was quiet enough to make me nervous that he might leave town altogether. I'd have to watch him day and night, which was impossible. I'd have to convince him that his presence would be better for Max than his absence, and that might be even more difficult.

“Maybe Fisk could contact some of the town's arsonists,” Max said thoughtfully. “If you could discover who started those fires, Sevenson would be cleared, and it might give you a link to my enemy.”

“No,” I said firmly. “It's one thing to go poking around an old case, but Potter's deputies are investigating the
fire. They'll do a better job than we could.”

The last thing we needed was to have the house burn down, especially with two small children and my sisters in it.

“Potter's a sound man,” Worthington assured us. “I'm sure he'll find the real culprit. But until he does, you should all watch your step.”

“We're always careful,” I said. “No, that's wrong.
I'm
always careful. Michael's a lunatic.”

Michael still wasn't meeting my eyes, but he nodded farewell as Worthington took his leave. And with no company to put on a brave face for, Max looked almost as depressed as Michael did.

“Speaking of investigating,” I said determinedly, “we talked to Erril Kline today. Michael was wondering if he was, or is, blackmailing people other than Tocker.”

“I wondered about that myself,” said Max wearily. “But I can't give you an answer. A dishonest clerk has chances to commit all sorts of crimes. Everything of importance flows through the law clerk's hands: contracts, marriage settlements, wills. Even charitable contributions. As the clerk in charge of the ropers' charity accounts, I learned more about the private affairs of the wealthy guildsmen than years of gossip could have told me. Not directly, mind you, but it's all in the
ledgers. A change in the timing or amount of a donation, especially combined with a bit of rumor…The possibilities for abuse are unbelievably vast. That's why I took the possibility of Kline's malfeasance so seriously. But he could have been perfectly honest right up to the moment Tocker bribed him. There's no way to know.”