I expected to be released before lunch. The Regency’s case against me hinged on the murder of a small, furry man who resided in a hatbox, and even the kind of lawyers I can afford can easily handle that.
Guards came, new prisoners shuffling before them. Doors screeched and then clanged shut. Men shouted and hooted and laughed. Guards left, bleary-eyed and yawning.
That is the rhythm of life in a jail. Endlessly repetitive, unbearably boring. I wondered how many men died trying to escape not to freedom but away from the awful unchanging sameness of the jails.
After an eternity, light began to creep in from the narrow windows set well out of jumping reach along the wide hallways. A sparrow flew inside and was greeted with a brief, reverent silence. Then the light grew bolder, and the breakfast carts came bumping down the hall, and before I’d even had a chance to sample what appeared to be scrambled eggs and hard biscuits a pair of guards approached my door and set me free.
In the end, I got Toadsticker, my shoes, my coat, and all the contents of my pockets-even the loose coins-back. I signed a receipt and was told the charges against me had been dropped and if I ever pulled a damn fool stunt like that again the warden would personally shove my ass down the nearest shithole, head-first.
My belongings were shoved in my hands and I was hustled through a tall armored door and then I was blinking in Rannit’s morning sun, a free man at last.
Free but in his sock feet. I was struggling to get my shoes on when Gertriss came darting around the corner, breathless and grinning.
“Boss.” She hugged me, nearly knocking me over since I was standing on one foot. “Boss, are you all right? I thought they’d changed their minds. I’ve been waiting out front for half an hour.”
I looked around. They’d put me out the back door, like a common criminal.
“Their way of saying ‘and don’t come back,’ I suppose. Thanks, Miss. I’m fine.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No offense, boss, but you don’t smell so good.”
“I smell like jail. Which is perfectly acceptable, since that’s where we’re going next. Would you rather stick with me and face the Sprangs, or head back to Mama’s?”
“I’ll take the Old Ruth, Boss. I’ve got a cab waiting.” A Hooga popped around the corner, dipped his eyes at me, and then withdrew. “He insisted on coming, at least until you were out.”
“I knew he would.” I got my shoes tied, refilled my pockets, got Toadsticker strapped to my waist. It was too warm for the coat so I threw it over my shoulder.
And then I put my back to Number 19 Municipal Holding and told the cab driver to make for the Old Ruth.
He raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“Touring a lot of jails, are we, sir?”
“Trying to pick a favorite.” I flipped him a couple of coins. “I can’t recommend this one. The bed linens weren’t ironed.”
He laughed, and I climbed aboard with Gertriss and we rattled away.
Chapter Nine
Gertriss was right. The stench from the hole in my cell had pervaded my clothes. We brought both cab windows down and that helped, but everything I was wearing was going to need the tender attention of old Mrs. Chong and her secret magic laundry mix.
Gertriss filled me in on the youngest Sprang, who Mama had tied to a chair before dabbing him liberally with some malodorous potion she’d finished brewing about the time I’d poked Toadsticker into someone’s gut. The Sprang kid thrashed and yelled, Gertriss reported, until Mama finished dribbling three full handfuls of her brew over him.
“After that, he calmed right down,” said Gertriss. “He quit cussing. Quit yelling. He was confused for a little while, but then he asked for water and said please, so Mama untied him. He drank. He ate two biscuits, and then thanked Mama and asked if he could see the ogre again.” Gertriss shook her head. “He was a different child, Boss. Probably even a polite one, by Sprang standards. Buttercup even peeked out at him and smiled.”
“So you think he really was hexed?”
“Mama thinks so. I tried my Sight. Never saw a thing.” She seemed troubled by that. I wondered if she was losing touch with her Hog-born Sight, and from the way she bit her bottom lip I guessed she was wondering the same thing.
“Mama have any idea who might have hexed a kid?”
“If she does, she isn’t saying. But she’s angry, boss. Really angry. I wouldn’t want to be whoever she thinks did that. Even if they’re still in Pot Lockney, that might not be far enough away to keep Mama from taking a whack at them.”
I hadn’t considered that. “Think she might try? Is that even possible?”
Gertriss shrugged. “A year ago I’d have said no. Now, I’m not sure. Mama isn’t what I thought she was.”
“Mama is Mama.” I didn’t need to say more. “But the kid-does he have a name, by the way? — he’s fine?”
“His name is Rainy. Mama swears he’s free of whatever was riding him. He’s calm and perfectly rational. Boss, Mama thinks the hex was designed to make the Sprangs want to murder me and you. It started small. Just a little voice whispering how awful we are. The longer it goes, the more powerful it gets.”
“So the elder Sprangs like me less today than they did when I was kicking them around Cambrit. Lovely.” My morning’s plan, to free the Sprangs, revolved wholly around gaining their trust. If they were hexed to hate me against reason, that was likely to be a hard sell.
“Mama got any of that potion left?”
Gertriss nodded. “She knew you’d ask. She made a big batch. Enough to bathe them in it. She said that it hit Rainy so hard because he’s a child. No hex works that well on adults. So maybe they hate you, but by now they probably hate jail more.”
I grunted. I hoped so. I didn’t see the Sprangs accepting my invitation to come over and have a nice bath without Hooga and Hooga holding them by the scruffs of their necks.
We were close to the Old Ruth. The streets were rough, the pedestrians ragged, the smells of the crematoriums pungent.
“I guess we’ll have to hope for the best. You brought the release papers?”
She produced the wax-sealed folder.
“You sure you want to do this, Miss? You can wait in the cab, if you want. Might even be the best idea.”
“No, Mr. Markhat. I’m coming with you. I did what I did, but I had reason. I’m not running anymore.”
I smiled. “Good for you. Just don’t get within grabbing distance.”
The cab rolled to a stop. The weathered, stained wall of the Old Ruth engulfed us in sudden shadow.
“Let’s get this done, Miss.”
“Yes. Mr. Markhat?”
I paused, half-in and half-out of the cab.
“Thanks.”
“We’re partners,” I said, offering her my hand. “Now, come on. Sooner we get these road apples heading home, the sooner I can get a bath.”
She laughed. We headed inside.
The Old Ruth isn’t a cheerful place. Despair and rage have sunk into the stones. The place reeks of human waste.
Local lore claims that thirty or so weedheads a day expire inside those walls. I no longer question that figure, save to say it’s probably too conservative. Number 19 Municipal was an Old Kingdom palace compared to the Old Ruth.
Gertriss and I were shuffled from guard to supervisor to jailer to magistrate. Each visit required a review of the papers I’d procured yesterday and payment of some obscure and likely fraudulent fee.
Gertriss chipped in on those, or the Sprangs would be in the Old Ruth yet.
Our journey took us from the street level offices to a hall two stories underground. In the bad old days, when the Old Ruth had been a fortress, construction had gone down instead of up. Nowadays, the lower you go, the darker and damper and fouler the Old Ruth gets.
The air was enough to choke a Troll. Gertriss was having trouble speaking without gagging. I was faring little better, though the smoke from the numerous torches was burning my throat. We hadn’t seen a single magelamp since leaving the stairs.