Frank Tuttle - The Broken Bell

She gave the basket lid a good thump. To my amazement, the creature within stopped struggling.

I seized the silence and lowered my voice.

“You’re not going to like my next few questions, Miss Fields. But I have to ask them anyway. I hope you understand that.”

“I’m not pregnant. We didn’t fight over money. I haven’t cheated on Carris, and he isn’t cheating on me. The wedding was as much his idea as it was mine. I know my father isn’t thrilled about me marrying Carris, but he’d never hurt a fly. Does that cover most of what have to ask?”

I lifted an eyebrow. Tamar grinned and did the same.

“I’m not as dumb as people think, you know,” she said. “I talk a lot, yes, but that’s because other people talk so little. Carris talks as much as I do, did you know that? Not to everyone, but to me. Getting married at Wherthmore was his idea. ‘We’ll kiss just as the Broken Bell sounds,’ he said. That’s how he proposed. Do you know about the Broken Bell, Mr. Markhat?”

I may not be a good churchgoing Wherthmore man, but I know about the Broken Bell and the age-old tradition that says couples who marry as it peals out on Wrack Day are twice-blessed by the Angel Fury. Why an Angel of Matrimony would be named Fury is not something I ponder much.

I nodded. “I’ll do everything I can to have him under the Bell for you, Miss. So. When was the last time you saw him? Details. Everything you can remember.”

Tamar took a deep breath and launched into it. Mr. Tibbles listened in silence, and then began to snore.

I sat on that park bench so long my backside bore the imprint of the slats. Most of the time, I have to wrestle people to the ground and pull on their tongues in a search for pertinent details. With Tamar, the problem wasn’t a lack of information, but a veritable flood of it. Trying to latch onto the useful bits was akin to snatching gnats out of a windstorm.

But I knew more than I did before I’d ruined the opening of the Fields’s new bakery.

Carris liked dogs, even Mr. Tibbles. Carris disliked the sound of bugles. Carris knew ten words of Ogre. Carris was once struck by a Watchman’s truncheon after he punched the Watchman for making a lewd comment about Tamar, and he’d spent a night in the Old Ruth for the pleasure.

I was beginning to like this Carris.

But I was no closer to finding him. He’d said nothing about a trip, business or otherwise, before he’d vanished. The last time Tamar saw Carris had been a dinner date, at which they’d talked wedding plans and decided to fire a caterer and had enjoyed roast beef that was a little too chewy. Then they’d lingered on the porch of the Fields home, said their farewells and made plans to meet for lunch the next day.

Tamar swore Carris hadn’t been bothered, or worried, or distant. She had no inkling anything was wrong until he missed their lunch date.

That had been two days shy of two weeks ago.

Tamar had gone to the Lethways, and had been told by a butler that Carris was called away on urgent business, and no, the master of the house was not able to receive visitors, and no he couldn’t divulge any details, certainly not.

And that had been that. Tamar’s conversation with the Watch had been equally fruitless. Which didn’t much surprise me, since the Lethways clearly outnumbered the Fields in butlers and money. The Watch is careful with whom they dispense their justice.

I left Tamar with a promise I would start looking at once. I’d been elated when she hadn’t asked me where I planned to start looking, because as I walked back toward Cambrit I wasn’t entirely sure.

The obvious destination was the Lethway house. But if the Lethways had been willing to stonewall their only son’s lady love, I doubted they’d be any more receptive to a finder wandering in off the street.

The late afternoon sun left the bustling street half in cool shadows. People were smiling and laughing. Even the Watchmen failed to scowl and bellow. I should have been enjoying the walk, but my legs grew heavier with every step and I could hardly keep my mouth shut from yawning.

I’d started my day by being attacked by Sprangs. I’d taken a ride in the Corpsemaster’s black carriage. Sweated under a sun that didn’t feel like mine. Slept some forced hex-borne sleep. Hell, I’d been drafted into the Army.

I decided my work ethic could take the afternoon off. No point in trying to dazzle the Lethways with my verbal charms when the best I could muster was a puzzled yawn.

I wished I’d asked the dead cabman to hang around. The walk back to Cambrit was going to be a hike. But the cabs in this part of town would charge extra just for visiting my humble neighborhood, and I’d tipped the Fields too generously to allow myself that luxury.

So I walked, hands in pockets, hat turned down. People gave me room. When I’m grumpy, it shows.

I tried to keep my mind off all things Army. Tried to forget sleeping in tents, fighting in the rain, freezing every night and going hungry every day. I’d thought that was over and done.

I kicked at a loose cobblestone, had a brief, terrible vision of Rannit’s walls coming down, of that foul-smelling cannon smoke sailing ghostlike down its streets, heard people screaming, flames roaring.

I was so preoccupied I didn’t even notice the cab rattle to a halt on the street beside me.

“Boss?”

I shook off my vision. It was Gertriss, in a plain brown hat, leaning out of the window, smiling.

“Boss, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over.”

“Lunch with the Regent. The man never shuts up. Nice cab. Room for two?”

The door swung open. I clambered inside, barely getting my butt on the bench before the cabman snapped his reins and the cab lurched ahead.

“Boss, you look awful.”

“We’ve got to work on your flattery skills.” I took off my hat and rubbed my eyes. “Did you catch Smithy with his lady of the afternoon?”

Gertriss looked anything but awful. Since giving up her career as a swineherder and settling in Rannit, she’s made an amazing transformation. Blonde hair, green eyes, trim figure-I’m always surprised she’s able to go unnoticed in a crowd like she does.

“I’m afraid so. She’s not the lady from the bank, either. It’s his wife’s younger sister.”

I grimaced. “You’re sure?”

“They took a room at the hotel. I took the next one. The walls are thin. I’m sure.”

Rannit rolled past my window, happy and unfaithful and well fed and warm.

“Hell of a way to make a living.”

“Boss, what’s wrong? And where have you been? You’re filthy. Where did you find red dust?”

I followed Gertriss’s gaze down to my shoes and my knees. Both were dusty, with that strange red earth from the Battery.

“Never mind that right now. Have you been home yet? Talked to Mama?”

Her eyes flashed. “No. Why? Something happen?”

“The Sprangs happened. All the way from Pot Lockney. Showed up at the office early this morning, looking for you.”

She went pale, licked her lips, measured her words.

“Oh no. Boss, I’m sorry. Were they rude?”

“You could say that. But don’t worry. I’m sure their manners are much improved. They’ll be spending some time in the Old Ruth for assaulting one of Rannit’s most beloved citizens.”

“Assaulted? They went after you? Why would they do that?”

“It seems Mama has been her usual helpful self. She let word get back to Pot Lockney that you and I share more than just an office.”

Gertriss reddened.

I waved it off. “Look. What’s done is done. You had nothing to do with it. The Sprangs are locked up. We have plenty of time to figure out what to do with them when they get off the work crew. If you cry you’ll ruin that mascara. Anyway, it could be worse.”