And that was the least alarming paperwork I had to deal with.
We’d found the evidence against Roseman that the chandler had collected—his neighbors complaints were mostly vague, and all unsigned.
“It’s not enough for a judicar,” I told Michael. “Much less the High Liege’s court.”
He didn’t look as depressed by this as I thought he should. “Then we shall have to hunt up better evidence.”
“Have to? Why?”
Michael said nothing, but his silence was eloquent.
“Fine. Whatever. But I’m not going to burgle Roseman’s townhouse to get it. You understand that?”
“Of course, Fisk. Whatever you say.”
It should have taken him several weeks to figure out an alternate plan, but Michael came up with an idea just three days later—a new record for lunatic schemes. And it didn’t involve burglary, so I couldn’t object. Much. The only thing that delayed him was the need to wait for the second payment to be collected—and now, time had run out.
* * *
I’d been hoping that the same thugs would come to collect our payment, which might have bought us a few more weeks—though we’d been told they were an “elite” group, who only came when someone gave the Rose trouble. But they might have wanted to show up a second time, make sure I paid.
No such luck.
It was Jack who’d taught me how to deal with bullies without getting the crap kicked out of me, and my act had been too good.
The men—only two—who came through the door two weeks from the day Michael and I had first passed the chandler’s shop, were merely slightly tough clerks.
“You have the city tax?” one of them asked.
The other consulted a list and added, “Twelve silver roundels.”
“I have it, yes, I do.” I fumbled a bit with the cash box, letting them see my hands shake—you have to keep up appearances. “It’s not all in silver. I’ll have to give you some brass, but the sum is right.”
They counted it with a skill that told me I was right about them being more clerks than thugs, roundels, quarts and octs flowing though their fingers with practiced speed.
Then they dropped it into a large purse, checked me off their list and departed. They’d been so professional I almost expected them to give me a receipt, but of course the Rose was too smart for that.
If we wanted evidence, we were going to have to hunt for it—just as Michael had said, curse him.
I went back into the shop, to run over our what-to-do-if-it-all-falls-in-the-crapper plan one more time.
It shouldn’t. Michael was more competent than he seemed, and those two had never set eyes on him before.
On the other hand…things had been going way too smoothly.
The two thugs came out of our shop and went on to the next, with only a glance up and down the street. I was tucked into a narrow gap between two buildings, some distance away, and wearing the drab coat and britches Fisk had found for me. They were most unlikely to see me, lurking in the shadows.
Fisk didn’t like my plan. He claimed ’twas too dangerous, that we were moving too fast, and that we didn’t know enough. I replied—accurately—that Fisk wouldn’t think we knew enough about our mark, even if we’d lived in Roseman’s pocket for a year. I then asked if he had a better plan. His lips tightened in irritation, but he turned away without a word. So ’twas my plan we now followed.
I lurked for some time before I had to move on, and might have become bored watching them move slowly from shop to shop—but after a time, outrage seized me.
This was theft. Theft outright, and backed by the threat of violence, as much as any bandit’s. But they performed it openly, in broad day, on a busy street, in a good neighborhood. And if those who saw them glanced swiftly away, ’twas more as if they sought to ignore some social embarrassment, like public drunkenness, than daylight robbery.
How had this Roseman managed to corrupt a whole town—the largest city in the Realm—this
We’d found the evidence against Roseman that the chandler had collected—his neighbors complaints were mostly vague, and all unsigned.
“It’s not enough for a judicar,” I told Michael. “Much less the High Liege’s court.”
He didn’t look as depressed by this as I thought he should. “Then we shall have to hunt up better evidence.”
“Have to? Why?”
Michael said nothing, but his silence was eloquent.
“Fine. Whatever. But I’m not going to burgle Roseman’s townhouse to get it. You understand that?”
“Of course, Fisk. Whatever you say.”
It should have taken him several weeks to figure out an alternate plan, but Michael came up with an idea just three days later—a new record for lunatic schemes. And it didn’t involve burglary, so I couldn’t object. Much. The only thing that delayed him was the need to wait for the second payment to be collected—and now, time had run out.
* * *
I’d been hoping that the same thugs would come to collect our payment, which might have bought us a few more weeks—though we’d been told they were an “elite” group, who only came when someone gave the Rose trouble. But they might have wanted to show up a second time, make sure I paid.
No such luck.
It was Jack who’d taught me how to deal with bullies without getting the crap kicked out of me, and my act had been too good.
The men—only two—who came through the door two weeks from the day Michael and I had first passed the chandler’s shop, were merely slightly tough clerks.
“You have the city tax?” one of them asked.
The other consulted a list and added, “Twelve silver roundels.”
“I have it, yes, I do.” I fumbled a bit with the cash box, letting them see my hands shake—you have to keep up appearances. “It’s not all in silver. I’ll have to give you some brass, but the sum is right.”
They counted it with a skill that told me I was right about them being more clerks than thugs, roundels, quarts and octs flowing though their fingers with practiced speed.
Then they dropped it into a large purse, checked me off their list and departed. They’d been so professional I almost expected them to give me a receipt, but of course the Rose was too smart for that.
If we wanted evidence, we were going to have to hunt for it—just as Michael had said, curse him.
I went back into the shop, to run over our what-to-do-if-it-all-falls-in-the-crapper plan one more time.
It shouldn’t. Michael was more competent than he seemed, and those two had never set eyes on him before.
On the other hand…things had been going way too smoothly.
The two thugs came out of our shop and went on to the next, with only a glance up and down the street. I was tucked into a narrow gap between two buildings, some distance away, and wearing the drab coat and britches Fisk had found for me. They were most unlikely to see me, lurking in the shadows.
Fisk didn’t like my plan. He claimed ’twas too dangerous, that we were moving too fast, and that we didn’t know enough. I replied—accurately—that Fisk wouldn’t think we knew enough about our mark, even if we’d lived in Roseman’s pocket for a year. I then asked if he had a better plan. His lips tightened in irritation, but he turned away without a word. So ’twas my plan we now followed.
I lurked for some time before I had to move on, and might have become bored watching them move slowly from shop to shop—but after a time, outrage seized me.
This was theft. Theft outright, and backed by the threat of violence, as much as any bandit’s. But they performed it openly, in broad day, on a busy street, in a good neighborhood. And if those who saw them glanced swiftly away, ’twas more as if they sought to ignore some social embarrassment, like public drunkenness, than daylight robbery.
How had this Roseman managed to corrupt a whole town—the largest city in the Realm—this
Similar Books
