City of Lies - Lian Tanner [38]
The little man laughed with relief. “That’s better.” He winked at Goldie. “It’s one of the Festival rules, you see. Touch an animal and you can tell the truth. Now—”
His face grew solemn. “That certain person—no, don’t say his name! It’s not safe! He has people in the most unlikely places.” He looked around nervously, as if some of those people might be listening even now.
“I told you, did I not,” he murmured, “that I worked for him? Then let me tell you something else—it was a mistake I have regretted ever since. He pays well, but he’s a vicious employer. And as for his second-in-command, Flense—”
The cat growled at the name. The bandmaster’s voice rose in anger. “Many a time I have longed for revenge for the insults and whippings she ordered—”
He broke off, lifted his mask and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. When next he spoke, his voice was a little calmer. “But that is my business, lad, rather than yours. You want to know about that certain person. Well, there has always been something mysterious about him. For years he has come and gone from Spoke, with no one knowing when or where to expect him. Recently I heard his name associated with an army of ruthless mercenaries in the Southern Archipelago. It did not surprise me in the least.” His voice sank. “I know of at least a dozen murders that you could put down to his name.”
Goldie felt an awful coldness in the pit of her stomach. Harrow was a murderer. And Bonnie and Toadspit were at his mercy.
Faster! We need to go faster!
“There’s more,” said the bandmaster. He took his hand off the cat momentarily, and rapped Dodger on the shoulder with his baton. “Keep the noise down,” he bellowed.
Dodger’s cheeks puffed out like balloons. Old Snot walloped his drum. The crowd roared with approval.
The bandmaster’s hand dropped back onto the cat, and he put his mouth close to Goldie’s ear. “There was a device—a bomb, in your own city of Jewel last year. That was him! He planned it, every step of the way. His men carried it out.” He shook his head. “That was the last straw for me. When I learned about it, I got away from him as quickly as I could.”
Goldie stared at him, unable to speak. It had shocked everyone in Jewel, that bomb. The explosion had destroyed the Fugleman’s office and killed a girl from Feverbone Canal. The militia had never discovered who was responsible. But now she knew. It was Harrow.
The bandmaster gripped her arm. His lips were pale, as if he was already regretting telling her so much. “What business could you possibly have with a man like that, lad? No, don’t tell me! I don’t want to know. But whatever it is, wherever it takes you, I beg you—I beg you not to get me and my people mixed up in it. Do you understand me? Do you?”
Goldie felt as if she was going to be sick. She could not meet the bandmaster’s eyes. Despite his desperate plea, she was about to get him mixed up in Harrow’s business. Which was looking more terrifying than ever …
She glanced up to see where they were, and her fingers tightened on the cat. They had arrived! There was the five-story house, right in front of her. And there was the fire bell, hanging from its rusty bracket.
“Dowwwwn!” demanded the cat, and Goldie let it go. Then, without a word to the bandmaster, she ducked away into the crowd.
All around her, people laughed and sang. The sailors danced a drunken jig. Children dived between them, trying to trip them up. The air stank of wine and sweat and burnt thunderflashes.
Goldie pushed open the gate that led to the side passage and slipped through, with the cat at her heels. She closed the gate and fumbled in the shadows until she found the scuttle. “Morg?” she whispered.
There was no answer. She took the scrap of rope and the tinderbox from her pocket. “Morg? Where are you?”
Suddenly the cat squalled a challenge, its spine arching in fury. Goldie looked up to see enormous wings filling the passage.
“Morg, no!” she hissed. “It’s a friend.”
Morg’s wings beat at the air. The cat lashed out with its claws. “Fffowl!” it spat.
“Stop it!