Chapter 15
“Dictators often forget that they are only in charge until someone figures out how to overthrow them.”
- Thomas H. Locksten, High Prophet
“Magistrate.”
The magistrate’s unpleasant smirk did little to relieve my nerves. Two goons stood on either side of him as unattractive bookends, or guardians assigned to watch over a fractious child. “You aren’t an easy man to track down, Mr. Small.”
“What can I do for you this morning?” I chose to ignore his implication that I’d been hiding all this time instead of talking to my friend. I really wished I’d gotten some breakfast about now.
“Besides leave our beloved Duke Lear alone?”
“Yes, besides that. Speaking of your beloved duke, shouldn’t you be investigating his heir’s kidnapping?”
“We’ve talked to His Grace. Although it is understandable that there is some attachment to one’s child, he needs to let this one go. His pretty breeder can pop out another one if he doesn’t choose a different sow. Luckily, your position in his life can work to my advantage.” He leaned forward as if to impart a deep secret.
It took all of my resolve not to jump back. His breath reeked of things I’d rather not think too hard upon. “And how is that?”
“Because, pretty boy, you are going to use your questionable wiles to get the duke to stop his inquiries or I’ll shut down your shop.”
“You can’t do that!” I winced as soon as the words left my mouth.
“You’ll find I can. By the time you get your duke to act, I’ll have already sold off everything you own.”
My stomach churned queasily. He would do it too. Looking into his hard, beady eyes, I was convinced of this truth. “Why do you think I can put Lear off? He’ll just think I’m jealous.”
“I’d rather he thinks you’re jealous, than suspect me of anything.” The magistrate answered back. “Talk to him. If I find you’ve failed to convince him, I’ll impound your shop.”
He walked away chuckling.
His evil laugh was coming along nicely.
I debated whether telling Justin about Affie’s words would help or cause him to hunt down my crazy friend. It wouldn’t do any good asking Affie what he saw. His visions arrived in spurts and broken fragments. If he had more information, he would have given it up. At least I hoped he would.
After a few extra turns and more than one uncomfortable twitch between my shoulder blades, I made it back to my neighborhood.
A street from my destination, my stomach gave an ominous rumble. Despite all my running around, I had yet to eat. Mentally reviewing the contents of my cupboard, I winced at my pathetic inventory. Half a tin of crackers and some moldy cheese would not halt the angry storm brewing in my belly.
I turned left.
The small cafe around the corner from my place had a decent lunch special printed on its placard sign. Smiling at the selection, I sat down at a corner table and ordered a bowl of soup with a roll. Enough food to fill me, but not empty my thin purse. When the bowl of chowder arrived, I took a bite and tried not to imagine the sumptuous meals I could be having at Lear’s manor. If I only bent my pride a little, I could live a life of luxury the entire city would envy. Unfortunately, pride was one of the few things I could claim ownership of, and I held it dear.
I paid the serving girl directly, not willing to put money on the table and have it stolen. Oss had sneaked enough money that way when we were homeless and as much as I wanted to help the street kids out, the servers needed their wages. As I turned away from her professional smile, a flash of something metallic through the kitchen door caught my eye.
After making sure no one’s attention was on me, I slipped through the doorway and froze. Inside the kitchen stood a woman with a mechanical hand. As far as I could see from the wrist up, she was fully human. My gaze kept returning to her hand. Buster had been right. Some people were born mechanical…or at least partly.
“Excuse me,” I said.
She gasped. Before I could speak again, she ran out the back door. I took steps to follow her only for a large hand to pinch the back of my neck and drag me away.
“Whatcha doing in my kitchen, brat!” a deep voice shouted behind me. “You best not be botherin’ my help.”
I tried to turn and see my attacker. He shook me, rattling my teeth in my skull. My jaws clamped together, and blood filled my mouth where I had snapped the inside of my cheek between my teeth. “Stay outta here. If I see you again, I’ll snap your little neck.”
Before I could object to his rough treatment, he tossed me out onto the street. I barely had time to jump out of the way of a fast-moving carriage. I turned back around to watch a broad back slip through the door before slamming it shut behind him.
On my own, I wasn’t a strong enough force to get some answers. Not ones with any truth to them. I vowed to return with Justin. They would be more likely to speak with a duke than a commoner. Justin wouldn’t take no if it meant finding out what happened to his baby.
