The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter Page 19

  I’ve got to find out who this is.

  When he reached the top of the pier, Royce’s rival swung around the little pointed cap and ran up the incline of the flying buttress. If the long, rising arm that held up the side wall had been a bridge, it could have spanned half the Roche River. Running up its slope, they both gained significant height. Reaching the top, they jumped a stone railing that protected a long balcony just below the eaves of the main roof. They were above the great oculus window, above the creepy statues of old men in draped robes who glared down with stern indignation, but above them still more gargoyles jutted from the edge of the roof—no two alike.

  Royce’s adversary raced down the length of the open walkway, which ran along one side of the churchlike battlements on a castle. At the balcony’s end, the hood-and-cloak had only two choices: up or down. Stakes were literally higher now. The wind at that height was brutal, and unlike all the previous roofs, Grom Galimus’s pitch was sharp as a miserly wedge of cheese. Royce trotted up, waiting to see which way his prey would choose. When his opponent went up, Royce found himself oddly pleased. This game of cat and mouse wouldn’t end with a whimper.

  Far too steep to walk up, the roof offered vertical ribbing that divided the sets of shale shingles. Royce’s opponent used them to pull himself along the slick surface. What the roof didn’t offer was a usable ridgeline. A tall fin of decorative metalwork crowned its peak. Royce’s enemy shimmied higher, kicking the slates and creating an avalanche with his heels. Displaced shingles cracked, and the broken bits fell down toward Royce. Shifting left and then right between the ribs, he dodged the cascade. With each shift, he climbed higher until he, too, reached the ridgeline.

  “You’ve run out of places to climb,” Royce shouted above the rush of wind that snapped both their cloaks. “What now?”

  His adversary’s hood tilted up, assessing the bell tower. As far up as the two of them were, the tower of Grom Galimus went up half again as high. While not the height of the Crown Tower, it was nothing to scoff at.

  “You’ll never reach it before I get you,” Royce told him as he continued to inch closer. “And what good would it do?”

  His quarry turned to face him, and as he did, the wind caught the hood and blew it back. A pale face adorned with arched eyebrows accentuated a pair of angry, angled eyes. Swept-back hair displayed a broad forehead and ears that came to sharp points.

  That explains a lot. In at least one sense, we are related.

  The two faced off with cloaks snapping back and forth like cat’s tails—two male tabbies having a deadly dispute over territory.

  “Who are you?” the mir demanded with a harsh eastern accent, the words kicked out from behind clenched teeth.

  “You don’t know?” Royce was puzzled. “I’m the guy you tried to crush with a rock. Is that something you do to random strangers?”

  “You shouldn’t be in Rochelle. Our business is our own. Leave now and you can go in peace. If you continue to interfere, you and your friend will be added to the list.”

  The mir looked off to his right, searching for an escape and finding none.

  “There’s a list?”

  Royce lunged forward, hoping to catch his prey’s wrist. Just as quickly, the mir jerked away. He tried to switch his grip but missed with the other hand, his balance off, his footing lost. Down he went on the far side of the roof, sliding across the surface of the slates on his back like a kid riding a sled. He pushed out with his feet against the ribbing, trying to stop, but the momentum was too great.

  Royce held his breath as he watched. Hanging onto the wrought-iron crown of the peak, it was all too easy to imagine taking that trip, the conclusion of which Royce already knew.

  Coming to the end of the roof, the mir made a desperate grab for the railing of the balcony but missed it by more than a foot. His speed skipped him well away from the walls of the cathedral. There wasn’t a scream. Royce appreciated that. He had no idea who had just died, but under different circumstances he might have made a valuable addition to Riyria.

  Just as well, he thought. We’d have had to change the name.

  Taking a more deliberate and far slower route, Royce descended to the balcony and peered over the railing. Below, lay buttresses. The dead man had most likely missed hitting them. Below that lay the river.

  Royce climbed the rest of the way down, taking his time, not only because he’d seen the repercussions of a tiny mistake, but because he felt no urgency. He expected to spot the mir’s body impaled on one of the gargoyle snouts or at the very least on the bank of the Roche River, but Royce had found neither. He walked the length of the riverbank, first south then back north, and saw no evidence of a body.

  Could he have hit the river? Royce looked up at the slope of Grom Galimus’s roof. Theoretically, it was possible. Still, the fall would have been painful and likely fatal.

  Royce scanned the surface of the moonlit water for any floating, body-sized object. Nothing.

  It was as if his bird had flown away.

  Royce spent more than an hour searching the base of the cathedral and the banks of the river just to be thorough. Satisfied, he returned to Hemsworth House and walked up a deserted Mill Street just as Hadrian was walking down. Only those up to no good, or people with no place to go, would be outdoors at that hour. Royce had to remind himself that he didn’t fall into either group, at least not that night. It felt strange, and yet it was an altogether too common reality as of late. Over the last few years, Royce had found himself acting within the limits of the law. They were making more money with less risk, yet it felt wrong, like writing with his left hand or walking backward.

  The two met in front of the boardinghouse in a bank of fog. “Any luck?” Hadrian asked.

  Royce shook his head. “Had a fun run. Got a squirrel’s tour of the city.”

  Hadrian looked shocked. “He got away from you?”

  “He took a tumble. Pretty sure he’s dead.”

  They spoke just above a whisper. The fog demanded it. Royce always enjoyed a good fog. It reduced visibility while increasing the distance sound traveled. And since it usually occurred during the shifting temperatures of night or early morning, it proved a thief’s friend and an assassin’s weapon. Spring and autumn were the seasons for lowland mist, and rivers were its breeding ground. That night the river was working overtime, and the oil lamp in front of Evelyn Hemsworth’s home served to do nothing but illuminate the white haze.

  “Any idea who he was?” Hadrian asked.

  “A mir,” Royce replied. “Said we should leave or we were going to be added to a list.”

  “There’s a list?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And why both of us? I didn’t chase him.”

  Royce smiled. “Maybe he didn’t want you to feel left out.”

  “Oh, well, at least someone thinks about me.”

  “What happened to the dwarf and the Calian?”

  “They bolted in different directions.”

  “You followed the Calian, right?”

  Hadrian nodded. “Chased him clear across town, almost to the docks.”

  “And?”

  “He went around a corner. I lost him for a bit; then I tripped over his body.”

  “He was dead? Did you see who killed him?”

  “Nope.”

  “Was his throat slit?”

  “No, worse.”

  “How so?”

  “His face was gone. Looked like it had been eaten.”

  Royce had excellent hearing. At that moment, he could tell a mongrel dog was padding its way along the alley one block up, but he still wasn’t certain he’d heard Hadrian correctly. “Did you say eaten?”

  Hadrian adjusted his scarf, tucking the ends inside the leather of his tunic. “Chewed up pretty bad.”

  Royce leaned in. “Is that new?” He gestured at the knitted garment.

  Hadrian grinned and hooked his thumb, showing the blue-dyed wool in the hazy
lamplight. “Like it? I was down in the Calian section of town. That place never goes to sleep. All sorts of merchants still selling everything imaginable. Honestly, you should go there. I’ll help you shop. We could get you a nice new cloak, didn’t see any polka dots but there was a sweet lemon-yellow one. You’d look good. What do you think?”

  “You stopped to buy a scarf in the middle of the night?”

  Hadrian shrugged. “An impulse buy. I just happened to spot it at the fourth cart I went to. Actually, I was hoping for a whole cloak, but this was all I could find. You should get yourself one.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s blue, and because I think having a face is a good thing.”

  Royce rolled his eyes. “Let’s try to keep focused, shall we? What about the box? Let me guess; it was taken and you didn’t get a chance to look inside?”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “It’s just the way these things always seem to go,” Royce grumbled. “You either have a day when everything works out or one when nothing does. Following the dwarf turned up only that he has a family and likes to carve wood; the guy you went after led nowhere, and the phantom who tried to flatten us with a slab of stone killed himself, denying me the opportunity to check his body. With such a grand set of circumstances, I must assume the box also vanished, thereby putting the perfect finish to a miserable day.”

  “We know where the dwarf lives. We can—”

  “He’ll be gone, along with his whole family. You saw that place. They’re as tight-knit as a sweater knotted out of human hair.”

  Hadrian looked at him with that appalled expression he so often wore when Royce talked about drowning loud dogs or eliminating witnesses. “A sweater made out of—”

  “I’m just saying, it’s going to take a lot of torture to get anyone in that neighborhood to talk.”

  “We aren’t torturing anyone.”

  Royce rolled his eyes. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be taking you along if I was. But it doesn’t matter, they would only lie. To get the truth I’d have to launch a complex operation where I could—”

  “No torture, Royce.”

  Royce frowned. “So, to reiterate . . . the perfect finish to a miserable day.”

  “So pessimistic.” Hadrian shook his head slowly, frowning. “I was thinking just the opposite. About how good the day turned out to be.” He raised his hand, spreading his fingers. “Count with me.” He held back a finger. “First, we managed to discover where the dwarf lived.” He held back another. “Second, we found two more suspects he was colluding with, and where they were meeting.” Another finger. “Third, we didn’t get crushed by a block of granite.” He bent another back. “Fourth, the fellow you were chasing fell to his death—not you. Nor did you kill him, so we are also not wanted for murder this morning. I consider that a plus even if you might not.” He held back his thumb. “Best of all, I still have a handsome face.” Hadrian shook his five fingers at Royce like a child waving an enthusiastic hello. “So you see, we had a very good day, and to prove it let me put forth the evidence of the box. It wasn’t taken, Mister Grim. I found it on the ground beside the Calian. Apparently, all his assailant was after was the man’s face.”

  “And inside?”

  Hadrian’s expression lost its buoyant sarcasm. “Rocks.”

  “Rocks?”

  Hadrian rolled his shoulders. “Just a box of gravel. That’s all that was inside. I dug through it, which I should get credit for. Especially given that I was in a dark, foggy alley next to a faceless corpse, but yeah, it was just gravel.”

  “So, the box wasn’t taken, but it turned out to be empty for all practical purposes, and you claim that as evidence that we had a good day?”

  “Still have a face, see?” Hadrian grinned at him.

  “Yes, I see. I see very well, in fact, which is part of why I don’t accept it as conclusive proof that things worked out for the best.”

  Hadrian scowled.

  Royce reached Hemsworth’s door, and as expected, it was locked.

  “You just hate being happy, don’t you?” Hadrian asked.

  “I have no idea. What’s it like?”

  If Royce needed any more evidence Hadrian was wrong about the day, he found it the moment he popped the lock and opened the door to the boardinghouse. Inside, Evelyn Hemsworth stood before him. She was dressed in a beige robe, her hair wrapped in a floral-print scarf, her arms folded. She stared with a surprised expression that quickly soured.

  “How did you get in?” she asked accusingly. “I locked that door.”

  “I guess I used the key you gave us.”

  “I gave you nothing of the sort.”

  “We rent a room here. How can you expect us to get in if you lock the door and don’t give us a key?”

  “I told you, I expect those under my roof to arrive during civilized hours. I don’t approve of you slinking in at all hours like a pair of burglars. There’s no legitimate reason for a body to be on the streets at this time of night. No reputable excuse. Now, as I did not—as I said—give you a key, how did you open that door?”

  “You must have forgotten to lock it.”

  Evelyn took a menacing step forward, glaring at Royce with a stern-faced expression. She jabbed at him with her forefinger. “Don’t get smart with me, young man. You know full well that door was locked, and that I never gave either one of you a key. Now, explain yourself.”

  Royce pointed at Hadrian. “He did it.”

  Hadrian’s brows went up. “Did not.”

  Evelyn’s eyes narrowed on Royce. “You’re dancing on the edge of a very steep cliff, my boy.”

  “What happened to treading on thin ice? I only ask because I don’t dance.”

  She ignored him. “I don’t like these late-night shenanigans the two of you have been conducting. I also don’t like being woken from a dead sleep by someone banging on my door!”

  Royce glanced at Hadrian, who showed he was just as puzzled. “We didn’t knock.”

  “Not you.” Evelyn shook a hand at them. “The other one. Got me up by threatening to break down my door. Hammered on it with his fists, which was utterly futile. My husband was a tax collector, you see. He took precautions against home invasion. Would take a battering ram to break this door. So, after tiring himself out and getting frustrated, he tried to convince me he was your brother.” She sniffed indignantly. “As if I couldn’t tell the difference.”

  “I don’t have a brother,” Royce said.

  “Well, if you did, I wouldn’t let him in, either. Not at that time of night. I told him I didn’t care if he was related to the duke. It was far too late to be banging on proper people’s doors. If he had business with you, he would have to conduct it in the morning at a decent hour.”

  “What’d he say?” Hadrian asked this time.

  “That he knew you weren’t back, and he’d wait quietly in your room so I could go back to sleep.”

  “You didn’t let him in, did you?”

  Evelyn rolled her eyes. “What do you take me for? Of course not. The fellow was dressed up like a bandit in a dark hood and cloak, and soaking-wet as if he’d just taken a bath in his clothes. And he was a mir.” She whispered this last bit as if it was a dirty secret. “Which is proof he was lying about being your brother. I certainly wasn’t opening the door for a dishonest, drenched marauder. Do you think me a fool? That person was up to no good. Dangerous is what he was, and while you’re under this roof, you’re under my protection.”

  The bird is still alive? And he knows where we’re staying.

  Evelyn Hemsworth didn’t look like any sort of bodyguard Royce would have picked, but there was no denying that she’d defended them from the most dangerous adversary Royce had encountered in years.

  “So, he finally left.” She leaned in toward Royce, her arms still folded, her eyes locked on his. “The two of you had better mend your ways. I can see you’re falling in with a bad crowd. You both seem to be decen
t boys, granted a bit dim-witted and slow, but the captain of the city guard vouches for you, and—”

  Royce and Hadrian both raised their brows.

  “Don’t look so surprised. When I heard you were picked up by the watchmen, I was planning on throwing you out into the street. But then I asked Captain Wyberg about it, and he said it was all a misunderstanding. He also said that you two”—she nodded rather than pointed in Hadrian’s direction—“had served together. Still, this city has bad elements. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up in trouble. We don’t want that, do we?”

  “No, ma’am,” Hadrian said.

  “And I won’t be having any more late-night visitors banging on my door, will I?”

  “No, ma’am,” Hadrian repeated.

  “And no more fiddling with my lock,” she said to Royce. “Agreed?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Good.” She nodded curtly. “And don’t be late for breakfast. I’m making waffles.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Looking Away

  Genny had a razor-sharp edge on four of the silver coins. The key was a bigger issue. It made more noise when she scraped it, and the metal was much harder. She also couldn’t grind it just anywhere as she did with the coins. Those she scraped across the floor, and then covered the marks with the straw. The key, she had to file down carefully. Genny needed to grind away all the teeth except the top one. That meant she could only use rocks that protruded, providing an adequate edge. The rocks comprising the floor were flush and smooth. She was instead forced to scrape it against one of three stones that jutted far enough out from the wall. Luckily all three were hard and abrasive. And with nothing else to do, Genny managed to reduce her trunk key into little more than a cylindrical barrel with a single tooth at the end like a tiny, mouse-sized hoe.