Fly Up into the Night Air Page 7

  "Maybe he keeps it in his room?" he muttered.

  Harte returned his cloak to its place and was hesitating at the bottom of main staircase, when he saw Brin Greer reflected in a framed mirror across from the steps, coming down the hallway from the back of the house. Harte stifled a gasp, moved lightly back to the library door and stepped in, unsure whether or not Brin had seen him.

  "There you are, dear. Did you find it?" asked Amalia.

  "Yes, here it is. It was in my pocket the whole time. Silly of me." Harte took the hand written invitation out of his pocket and gave it to his mother.

  "Agatha, I wanted to give this to you in person, because I would so love for you to come. We are having a little party to celebrate the winter solstice next Sunday. You're all invited of course. I do hope your husband and Brin can come."

  As if on queue, Brin Greer opened the door to the library and swept inside. "Mother, I saw you have company. Who is--ah! Harte. Mrs. Walford. How pleasant to see you."

  Harte nodded stiffly. "How are you, Brin?"

  "Fine, fine. How is the family? Your father well?"

  "He's doing well. I'm terribly sorry we can't stay to chat. We stopped by to invite you to our solstice party next Sunday. I do hope you can come. I'm terribly sorry to rush, but we must be off. So much to do ... " He shrugged helplessly. "Mother, do come along." He took her arm and steered for the door.

  "Oh my, must you leave so soon?" said Mrs. Greer, ringing for the maid.

  "I do look forward to seeing you all on Sunday!" said Amalia.

  Harte and his mother stepped out into the hall to wait for the maid to retrieve their outerwear. Once properly attired, they rushed out into the fading light of the December afternoon.

  Back in the barouche, Amalia examined Harte. "You have gone pale! Did something happen?"

  "I could not bring myself to speak to him. I saw him come in. He was wearing the cloak with the black and white, striped collar."

  "Ah," sighed Amalia. "So it begins."

  * * *

  "We must find Peli." Harte and Griff were at the bar in the Ragged Crow, half empty mugs in front of them.

  Harte spoke urgently. "I don't dare bring the case forward, until we have him safe. He will have to testify, or we will have to find other witnesses. But if it was Brin that threatened him and I made an accusation now, I'd surely put him into jeopardy."

  "Do you want me to go to Greer House for the cloak?"

  "No, we need better evidence before I can go to a magistrate to get a warrant--even if the magistrate turns out to be my father." He murmured to himself. "Especially if it turns out to be my father. No, we have to find Peli. Then we have to get another witness, before we can proceed. And it's imperative that Brin not know what we're about, or he'll destroy the cloak. Pray he did not see me in the hallway."

  Griff drained his his mug. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Take this note to the Red Rooster. Give it to the barkeep. Round up a troop of your friends from the watch and have them meet us in front of the Red Rooster at eleven bells." He aimed a grin at his friend. "Tell them to wear their browns."

  Griff frowned. "What are you doing to do? We toe a narrow rail on Dock Street. If you upset the balance--"

  "I'll be careful." Harte raised a figure in the direction of the barkeep. When the barkeep slid a fresh mug into place he took a long pull. "I'm must speak to Sister Grace again."

  "Better you than I," Griff challenged in his gaming voice.

  Harte raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose. "I, better than you."

  "You are my better."

  Harte smirked. "I claim to better you--by a length."

  "An unsubstantiated claim."

  "A substantial claim."

  "A claim which had better wait for another place."

  "Better not Grace's place," said Harte.

  "Not a claim to place at Grace's place."

  Harte laughed. "Peace, friend, you have bettered me! Please go deliver that note. I must think."

  Griff grinned and trotted out, throwing over his shoulder, "See you at your favorite tavern."

  * * *

  At the hospital, Sister Magda, in bloodstained whites, led Harte to Sister Grace's office. "I'm surprised to see you here without Peli. She'll not leave you be until you find him, you know. She lost one, and that has made her mad."

  "We share that affliction, Sister. I hope we can achieve a cure together."

  "God's grace, then."

  "Yes, that one."

  Sister Magda permited herself a small smile as she opened the door to the office. "Sister Grace, Presenter Advocate Walford is here to see you." She motioned to Harte.

  "Please come in, Mr. Walford. Tea?" Sister Grace remained seated at her little desk. She looked tired, but her whites were immaculate.

  "Please no--no thank you Sister. You are well?"

  "I'd hoped I would see you next when you delivered Peli to our care."

  "Yes. I would consult with you on that matter."

  Sister Grace raised her eyebrows.

  "I believe I have made a contact who might help in bringing the boy back to our care. However, I may need to--I feel that some reassurance ..."

  "You stutter like a patient describing the pox."

  Harte cleared his throat. "You are very direct. Well, then. The boy is known to be of the sort who are attracted to persons of their own sex. While the law does not speak to this matter, the Church is--"

  "Sometimes inclined to forget its own teachings." Sister Grace's eyes were hooded.

  "You understand my problem then."

  "I wonder if you do." She examined Harte for a moment, then sighed. "I believe we are all God's children. To love and to be loved is God's greatest gift. I would deny that to no one. But I also do not mistake carnal activity with love, particularly when the transaction in question is of a commercial nature. I would protect the boy from that degradation."

  "How would you care for him? Where would he stay?"

  "We have rooms for staff on the upper floor. I intend to offer him room and board, in return for help in the wards."

  "He would have a choice then?"

  Sister Grace rose in irritation. "This is not a gaol."

  "I'm sorry. I did not mean to accuse you of--"

  "You think me intolerant."

  "I have no evidence of that."

  "No, you don't." She sat down again. "However, you are quite right about the Church. It has adapted very slowly to change. Since Grayholme was founded, it has begun to remember its origins. I believe the church is not without its own experience of sensitives." She tapped the side of her head. "Some of the saints exhibited a very--canny--sense of those around them. I believe their compassion was driven by great empathy. Their tolerance and love are part of our teachings."

  "The boy may continue to seek the company of men."

  "I would give him time to be a child a little longer--and an education if he would have it. After that, he must find his own way." She pointed to the table and chairs in the center of her office. "Others have benefited from my efforts here."

  "Yes. I begin to understand that, Sister Grace. I hope to bring Peli here tonight. It may be very late--"

  "We keep a watch all night. I will instruct my sisters to wake me when you arrive."

  "Good." Harte stood. "I--"

  Sister Grace shook her head. "Get the boy. I am impatient."

  "Yes, Sister."

  * * *

  Harte stepped from the shadow of a brick entranceway as Griff sauntered up to the Red Rooster with a troop of four watchmen at his back. They were dressed in the earthen brown uniforms of their service, each with a baton and insignia glinting in the torchlight. "Oh dear! We will have to find some place to hide you, or Soloni will surely complain about lost business, won't he?" Harte was in the most bland of his old clothing, including a hooded cloak that left his face mostly hidden.

 
"You asked for uniforms, didn't you?"

  "I did, indeed." Harte inspected the men. "We'll have use for you tonight, I expect. But until we do, do you suppose that you could find somewhere to remain out of sight? Not too far away; I'll whistle when I need you." He turned to face the Red Rooster and demonstrated with a piercing whistle that might have woken the dead. Shadowy figures could be seen fleeing down Dock Street like cockroaches scuttling from a sudden light.

  "Make up your mind! Are you trying to attract attention?"

  "That will do, I think. Now if you would please be so good as to disappear?"

  "Appear, disappear. Am I a jack-in-the-box, that I should pop in and out for you?" Griff said, frowning.

  "Hush now. Off you go. I'll explain later. Thank you very much." When the men were out of sight, Harte entered the Red Rooster and took up a place at the bar. There was a wary undertone to the conversation in the room. In short order, a space opened around Harte that was only filled when Soloni appeared at Harte's right hand.

  "Are you content? You could have hired a troupe to perform a morality play, and it would have cost me less business than that little show you put on out there. The Watch is not welcome here."

  Harte was unmoved. "Don't you think that's part of the problem? I am sorry about your business. I take it you received my note?"

  "Let's discuss it upstairs. You make my customers nervous." Soloni ushered Harte firmly towards the back.

  Upstairs, seated with a glass of wine in his hand, Soloni still managed to look hurt. "I thought we had an understanding."

  "Where is Peli, then?"

  "These things take time. The boy is frightened. He wishes to remain where he is."

  "I'm afraid he is not safe where he is. I believe I know who beat Raf. But to bring him to justice, I must have witnesses. Getting those witnesses will call attention to Peli and quite possibly endanger him."

  "You mean to pursue this vendetta."

  "It is not personal."

  "So you say. Yet I wonder if I have misjudged you. My friends tell me that you were once connected to certain young swell's sister. Could he have had something to do with your subsequent disconnection?"

  "No. I'm afraid we came to a mutual understanding without any aid from Brin--" He came to a precipitous halt. "I wonder why you should choose to mention this person just now. We are talking about Brin Greer, are we not?"

  "It was his sister you were seeing, was it not?"

  "I am more concerned with recent events."

  "So am I." Soloni stood and went to the window. He looked down at the touch lit street, before turning back to Harte. "What do you intend to do with the boy?"

  "I have spoken to Sister Grace. I believe she has the boy's best interests at heart. She offers room and board at the hospital, and she proposes to educate him. You need not look so skeptical. She told me that she believes that 'to love and be loved is God's greatest gift.' She would deny it to no-one."

  "A pleasing sentiment. What will she do when he brings home a boyfriend?"

  "I don't expect she'll allow that in the hospital, but I think she'll not condemn him for anything he does outside of it."

  "He'll be lucky if the rest of the world takes such a benign stance. Will you vouch for her?"

  Harte held Soloni's gaze. "Yes."

  Soloni wavered. "Do you think he'll be safe in the hospital?"

  "I propose to keep him out of sight for a while." Harte proceeded to explain his plan. "All that remains is for you to get him here tonight."

  Soloni began to pace. "No, I cannot permit you to do that here. You must take him somewhere else. You have done enough damage bringing your troop here tonight." He thought a moment, then smiled. "There's a better place for this drama to occur. You may appreciate the idea."

  * * *

  Harte left the Red Rooster weaving just slightly. A few paces down the road, he began quietly to whistle a popular drinking song. As he moved slowly along, a figure detached himself from an alley entrance and paced him.

  "That's not quite the whistle I expected. My ears aren't ringing from it."

  "There has been a change of plan. Get your men and bring them to the alley next to the Peacock. You know the place?"

  "Yes, of course. Why am I surprised that you do?"

  "My knowledge is newly acquired. Wait in the alley, out of sight. I'm going there now. When I come out with the boy, you'll know what to do."

  "I'll know what to do. Right."

  Harte saw the flash of white as Griff rolled his eyes. "Oh all right, pickle puss. Here's what I'm going to do."

  Stilian

  Petar and Stilian passed through a stand of oak and out onto the open plain. The land dropped gently down to a hazy lowland, where he could make out the glint of water. It was the Bug. He need only follow her gentle progress downstream for another few miles, and he should be able to see Walford's Crossing. "Come on Petar, it's only a little farther and there'll be oats and a nice warm stall for you. I may be reduced to a horse's company, but I'll not see you suffer for it."

  * * *

  Some hours later, Stilian shifted uncomfortably on a straw-filled mattress. He knew from long experience that there was no point in trying to sleep. There were too many people around, and there was too much noise in his head. It was always this way, the first night in town. It took him at least a day before he could bring his training to bear and filter out the murmuring wash of people around him. As he often did on such nights, he got out of bed, slipped on his britches, tunic, and heavy cloak, and found his way out into the night. Walking would not drown out the noise, but it would help to tire him.

  He stopped by to visit Petar in the stable behind the inn. The horse nickered softly as he reached the stall. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket, unwrapped the apple core he had saved from dinner, and held it out to the black cob. "There you go my friend. You see, I think of you all the time." He patted the horse's neck, then left the stable and headed down the hill, towards the river.

  Harte

  Harte sat down at the bar of the Peacock and looked around. His reaction to what he saw was visceral. The behavior of the men at the bar was not so different from the Red Rooster; each man who entered was fully examined, and, if not found wanting, treated to long, direct looks the meaning of which could not be mistaken. Those looks were easy enough to ignore. It was the stage at the back of the room that cramped Harte's gut. There seemed to be a sort of variety show in progress. A succession of boys in women's gowns, their faces painted to create exaggerated lips and large eyes, danced, sang, or told jokes to the raucous crowd. Another group of young men and boys circulated around the room, wearing only loin cloths. Periodically, their whispered communications with patrons resulted in a deal, and the patron and his chosen companion would take the stairs at the back of the room.

  "Perhaps you are in need of my services, after all?" said a familiar oily voice. "After all, you have come to my establishment this time. Was my unfriendly colleague unable to meet your needs?" It was Blud, the man Soloni had expelled from the Red Rooster on the night they first met. Harte felt his expression stretch into a grim rictus. "It is only your bar that interests me tonight, sir."

  "I'm sure they will line up to accommodate one of your quality."

  "You misunderstand me, sir. I wish only to drink."

  "Whatever your taste, a man of your rank makes a pretty ornament for my humble business."

  "I have no wish to occupy your time, sir. I'm sure you have other things to do."

  "Alas, that is so. Do let me know if you conceive any desire I may accommodate."

  Harte simply stared into his drink until the man left. It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that he was aware of a draft from the door and turned to see who had entered. It was Peli. The boy was ragged, dirty, and thinner than ever. He looked around quickly, then moved towards the darkest corner of the room. Harte got up quickly and glided silently into step bes
ide the boy. "Peli," he spoke quietly. "You look as if you could use a good meal. I think we could do better somewhere else, don't you?" Peli twisted and looked as if he'd like to flee. "There's no need to be afraid. I only want to speak with you."

  "I already told you everything I know. I can't talk to you."

  "Certainly not here. We should go somewhere you're not known."

  "I don't want to go anywhere with you."

  "Are you sure? You will do better with me than you will do with anyone you meet here. I only wish to speak with you." Harte removed a hand from his pocket and jingled some coins. Harte watched the boy's stomach enter the debate. "One of these could feed you for week."

  Peli swallowed visibly. "All right. But I pick the place."

  "Suit yourself." Harte led the way out the door and into the center of the street. Then, grabbing the boy's arm firmly, he made for the alley across the way, as if that had been their destination all along. When the boy resisted, he exclaimed loudly, "What? You would take my coin and refuse your duty? I'll not be cheated by the likes of you!"

  "We made no agreement! Let me go!"

  "I'll have you or my coin!" yelled Harte, his outrage complete.

  Suddenly, from the alley emerged Griff and his troop of watchmen. "Halt! Who yells?" said Griff.

  "I caught this thief picking my pocket," said Harte.

  "I took nothing! He said he wanted to talk--"

  "Hush Peli," whispered Harte. "It's for your own good." He continued loudly, "The boy is a thief!" Peli continued to struggle in Harte's grip.

  "We'll be the judge of that!" Griff directed his men, "Hold them both, while I search the boy." He patted the boys pockets, then reaching into one, he seemed to pull out a small gold coin. "What's this then? If you are no thief, you are a wealthy ragamuffin. I think you will come with us tonight. Sir, I must ask that you come along as well, if I am to collect your story."