City of Lies - Lian Tanner [6]
“May I—may I sit down?” The Fugleman’s voice—his glorious voice, which had once swayed crowds—was so weak and hoarse that he sounded like an old man.
“Last time you were here,” said the Protector grimly, “you did not bother to ask. You put your feet up on my desk as if this office were a common beerhouse.” She bared her teeth in a humorless smile. “Perhaps you recall the occasion? It was just before you had me imprisoned in the House of Repentance.”
The Fugleman swallowed. “You are right to remind me, sist—”
“Don’t call me that!”
“I beg your pardon.” He bowed his head. “The truth is, I am a broken man—Your Grace. Broken on the rocks of my own foolish ambition. I am—I am deeply sorry for the crimes I committed.”
“Is that it? You’re sorry? You try to sell the city into slavery, and all you can say is—” The Protector broke off, biting down on her fury and wishing wholeheartedly that the Fugleman had not chosen this particular moment to return from the dead.
The last six months had not been easy for the people of Jewel. So much had changed in such a short time. The Blessed Guardians had been put on trial and cast out of the city. The House of Repentance had been boarded up. The silver guardchains that children wore to keep them safe were banned, and the heavy brass punishment chains vanished as if they had never existed.
At first, unable to get used to the new freedoms, many parents simply tied their sons and daughters up with lengths of rope, or followed them whenever they left the house, ducking around corners so as not to be discovered.
Gradually, however, they grew bolder. The ropes disappeared. Some families bought cats or dogs. Birds returned to the city. For the first time in her life, the Protector heard the sound of children laughing as they played in the street.
But then, just three weeks ago, a boy had broken his leg. Six days later, a girl fell into Dead Horse Canal and nearly drowned. The accidents shocked everyone. The Protector had begun to hear mutterings. This would never have happened under the Blessed Guardians.
And now the Fugleman, the leader of the Guardians, was back. The Protector wished she could see inside his head. She knew that he was a superb actor. Was he acting now? Was he as humbled as he seemed to be, or was it a trick? She rapped her fingernail on the desk.
Outside the window a dog began to howl. At the same time, someone knocked on the door of her office. “Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace,” said one of the militiamen, poking his head in, “but there’s a messenger from the Museum of Dunt. Name of Sinew. He said it was—”
“Urgent!” A tall, awkward-looking man in a long black cloak and a red woolen scarf pushed past him. “They’ve gone, Protector, vanished overnight—”
He saw the Fugleman and his mouth snapped shut—then, quicker than a thought, split open again in a foolish grin. He threw his arms wide. “Yes, my worries have vanished overnight,” he proclaimed, “because the Fugleman has returned! And I am filled with joy!”
He grabbed the Fugleman by the shoulders and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. The Protector’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and she was about to protest. But then she saw the uprush of blood in the Fugleman’s face, and she pinned her lips together, sat back in her chair and waited to see what would happen next.
Sinew draped his arm around the prisoner’s shoulders. “So,” he burbled cheerfully, “where on earth have you been? The Protector here was convinced you were dead, but I said, ‘No, he’s just wandered off to do his murdering and looting somewhere else for a change. He’ll be back, never fear, like a bad smell.’ ” He wrinkled his long nose. “Speaking of bad smells …”
A pulse throbbed in the Fugleman’s temple, but he stared at the floor and said nothing. Outside the building, the howling went on and on.
The Protector stood up and unlatched the window. Sitting on