DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [54]
N’Rae and Holt!
Bardon bolted up the stairs and slowed halfway up for a moment as he remembered that Jue Seeno would act as chaperone. He hit the next step at full speed, thinking what good could a three-inch-high chaperone be.
He burst into the room to find N’Rae sitting in the chair, her eyes rimmed in red. Holt stretched across the bed on his back, snoring.
N’Rae jumped to her feet when she saw Bardon and ran to grab his arms. Her sharp fingernails dug into his flesh.
“I think Holt drinks,” she exclaimed. “He’s been useless. He came back after he had been here, and all he did was say we should wait for you. Then he fell on the bed and went to sleep.”
“After who had been here?”
“The constable.”
Holt snorted and twitched.
Bardon ignored him and frowned at N’Rae. “Why?”
“To arrest Granny Kye.”
“What?”
N’Rae nodded, tossing her blond locks. “For thievery.”
18
THE JAILHOUSE
“Can’t let her out without the magistrate’s order. Can’t see the magistrate without a registry permit. Can’t register to see the magistrate until nine o’clock tomorrow. Office is closed. Been closed for hours.”
Bardon turned away from the dirty little man in his squalid little office and bumped into N’Rae.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Bardon turned back to the jailer. He glanced at the nameplate on the table. Greasy chicken bones on a folded newspaper testified that the man had already eaten his dinner. The squire’s nose wrinkled at the mixture of unpleasant odors in the room. He identified one smell as the rank clothing on the jailer’s back.
This is beyond ridiculous! According to N’Rae, they arrested Granny Kye this morning. She’s been here for hours. What do the prisoners eat? Have they even fed her? He clamped down on his anger. He wanted cooperation from this ill-bred tumanhofer.
“Look, Bortenmiffgaten, we would like to see Granny Kye. She’s old and probably scared.”
The man leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. “I can let you see her if’n I have some guarantee you won’t be blabbing to all that I was derelict in my duty.”
“And what would the guarantee be?” asked Bardon.
“Half an ordend.” He spit the answer out under his breath. His eyes still scanned the cracked plaster above him.
Bardon shook his head. “I’ll not participate in the giving or taking of bribes, Master Bortenmiffgaten.”
The front legs of the jailer’s chair hit the floor with a whack, then screeched as the small man pushed back. He stood. His chin came to the edge of the table.
This office must have been furnished by his predecessor, Bardon observed as the jailer raised a fist to shake at him. N’Rae scooted behind Bardon as if the diminutive bundle of outrage intimidated her.
“Just who do you think you are?” ranted the tumanhofer. “Ain’t nothing wrong with those who have the ready giving a coin to those who do not.”
Bardon nodded. “I am Squire Bardon, in service to Sir Dar of Castle Pelacce, Dormenae, Wittoom. And I agree with you that giving you a coin is not a bad thing, but purchasing illegal entry into the jail is.”
The little man’s fist had come down, and the glower on his face changed to a look of puzzlement. “Sir Dar?” he whispered. “A fancy-dressed doneel? That’s your Sir Dar?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let you in.”
N’Rae gasped and peeked around Bardon’s arm. “Why?”
The jailer frowned and mumbled, “Sir Dar did a kindness to our family. Not to me, mind you. But to my sister’s children. I’ve got no use for do-gooders and don’t believe in those high teachings some people prattle about. But I’ll let you in.”
He patted several pockets and came up with a key. That key unlocked a door in a cabinet behind him. Keys inside dangled from a row of hooks. The jailer selected one and carefully put the padlock back in place. He crossed the room and unlocked a door. Bardon and N’Rae started to follow him. Bortenmiffgaten held up a grubby hand stained with tobacco juice.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m just getting another