Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [202]
Grabar went paler still. “Mina!” he gasped. “Mina, she’s alone!”
She wasn’t—Galya had probably stayed with her, Batty Dol, too; and there was the Torch himself tucked up in the loft. But Grabar’s point was well taken. The three men strode along a dry creek bed that got them to the Hillside breaches and into the city.
The gate was shut and the stoneyard quiet, until Vex and the yard dog laid eyes on each other again. Mina came out to scream at the dog and fairly flew into Grabar’s arms when she saw him. Ten years living at the stoneyard and Cauvin couldn’t remember another time when his foster parents had embraced each other. Even now, it wasn’t affection or relief that held them together. Mina was wild with fear. Once they were inside the yard, the men found Galya and Batty Dol guarding the kitchen with a pitchfork and a mallet between them.
Galya explained: “We had a visitor while you were gone. You’d better come look.”
A boy Cauvin didn’t recognize—a boy about Bec’s age—sat by the hearth, looking as frightened as Mina. The first thing he did when he saw the men was leap to his feet.
“I don’t know who it was,” he proclaimed. “I never seen his face before. He asked me if I knew the way to Pyrtanis Street, and when I said I did, he said he’d give me ten padpols to carry a package to the stoneyard. Five padpols straightaway when I said yes, and another five when I came back. That’s all I know, all I did: I brought a package to the stoneyard. Follow me, if you’ve got to; I’m supposed to meet the man at Othat’s. But let me go. I’ve got to get home. I’ve got to get my five padpols; I earned them. I earned them honest.”
“We weren’t about to follow him ourselves, so we’ve kept him here, waiting for you to get back.” Galya finished her explanation.
“What was in the package?” Soldt asked, faster than Cauvin or Grabar could get the question off their tongues.
Galya shook out a wad of folded cloth which Cauvin immediately recognized as Bec’s shirt. One sleeve hung loose and a dark, hard-edged stain stiffened the collar. Mina wailed and would have fallen had Grabar not kept his arms around her. Batty Dol’s cries were softer, but there was no one to comfort her.
“Nothing else?” Soldt asked. “No message?”
“None,” Galya replied. “Other than the boy’s insistence that he’s owed another five padpols when he returns to Othat’s, wherever that is.”
“He sells oil in the Crook.” The boy volunteered the name of the notorious Hill-side market where, some said, slaves were still bought and sold in midnight transactions.
“How long has he been here?” Soldt asked Galya, then turned to the boy, “Did you come here straightaway?”
“Not long,” Galya answered quickly, but the boy hesitated before admitting that he’d gotten himself breakfast, then stashed what was left of his five padpols in an alley bolt-hole before making his way to Pyrtanis Street.
The boy’s voice faded as he realized his mistake. He was whispering when he said, “Maybe he’s still there? He never said I should come running. Maybe Othat seen him. Othat sees most everything in the Crook—for silver.”
No one in the kitchen answered the boy. They looked to Soldt, and Soldt just shook his head. The assassin was in favor of forgetting about Othat and either letting the boy go or locking him in the chicken coop.
“We know what they wanted us to know: They’ve got Bec, but they’re not ready to negotiate. When they are, they’ll send another message, with a reliable messenger.”
The Hiller boy had heard enough. He broke for the door, shoving Batty Dol hard against Soldt, scattering stools, and overturning anything he could reach. The boy was quick and, froggin’ sure, he’d had practice running away, but Cauvin had mastered the same lessons. Leaping and shoving himself, Cauvin reached the kitchen door a few strides behind the Hiller. His longer legs would give him the advantage across the stoneyard to the gate.
The boy was just beyond Cauvin’s grasp when someone—Soldt—grabbed his shirt.
“Let him go. We don’t need