I waved to Miss Marchin, who did at least wave back, and my giant took a pair of steps into the street so the door could shut before he put me down on my feet.
Passers-by laughed and pointed. I adjusted my jacket and caught my breath.
“I hope you’ll forgive that, Mr. Markhat.”
“Oh, I enjoyed it. My thanks for not throwing me over your shoulder. That would have been undignified.”
He laughed.
“I know who you are. Markhat the finder. Why would you be wanting to speak to the boss?”
“No offense, but that’s between him and me. And speaking of names, I missed yours.”
“Dey calls me Pratt.”
“What’s with the dey and the den?”
He shrugged. “It suits the character. People are more comfortable with big dumb men than big smart ones. I like to keep people comfortable.”
“My ribcage disagrees. Look. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you already know why I need to see your boss. Can we leave it at that?”
He regarded me for a long moment.
“You have a reputation, Mr. Markhat. So I’ll arrange something. But not here. Somewhere private. You know the Troll’s Den?”
“Fancy cigar place? Off Trotline?”
“The very same. Can you be there tonight, around Curfew?”
“I can do that.”
“Den we’ll see you dere. You have the nice day.” He turned, opened the doors, and shouted over his shoulder. “And don’t be comin’ round no more. You ain’t welcome.”
I turned on my heel, managed to fill my lungs with a wheeze and a cough, and marched away with my head held high.
I didn’t march home, though. I decided I’d sample another cup of good Fields coffee and see if I could find Tamar. She wasn’t my client, technically, but keeping her informed seemed like a good way to keep my actual client happy.
The walk to the bakery wasn’t a long one. I got there well after the lunch rush and well before the pre-Curfew scramble for supper, which meant there were a half-dozen diners scattered about the place, talking in groups of two over steaming cups of coffee or tea.
Mr. Fields was behind the counter. He looked up when the bell attached to the door rang, saw me and failed to break out into a warm welcoming smile.
“She’s not here,” he said. “Not going to be here, either.”
I settled onto a stool right across from him just as Mr. Tibbles yapped from the kitchen.
Mr. Fields shrugged and cussed. “Damn that animal.”
“Causing you grief is not my intention, you know.”
He set a cup of coffee before me and turned away.
“I’m just trying to find out what happened to your daughter’s fiance. I know you don’t like the young man. But I suspect he’s in trouble.”
“If he is, he’s in it because the Lethways themselves are trouble. I don’t want my daughter taking their name, finder. If she does, trouble is going to find her too.”
He’d spoken so softly I’d barely heard him.
“Sounds like you know more than I do.”
“What’s this going to cost me?”
I leaned in closer, lost.
“I don’t follow.”
“How much will it cost me to have you let this go, finder? How much will it take to make you go away, and let things settle down on their own?”
“I don’t like talking to your back.”
He turned.
“I don’t like talking to you. At all.” Something like menace blossomed on his puffy face. “Name your price. Or maybe you’ll find trouble yourself. Real soon.”
I took a swallow of coffee and dropped a couple of coppers on the counter.
“Needs sugar.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.” I raised my voice. “Tamar? Miss Fields?”
From the kitchen came a renewed yapping, and then Tamar popped through the swinging doors, Mr. Tibbles struggling and growling in her grasp.
“Mr. Markhat. I was hoping you’d drop by. Say hello, Mr. Tibbles.”
The mutt bared his teeth and growled.
“He’s warming up to me. Care to take a stroll? We need to talk.”
“Of course. I was just leaving anyway. Goodbye, Father. See you at home.”
She planted a kiss on Mr. Field’s flushed cheeks, and I escorted her through the door, feeling her father’s glare on my back with each step.
I mourned my last cup of his coffee, because I’d not dare drink another. My palate is overly sensitive to hemlock.
Tamar’s breathless narrative continued all the way to a sidewalk cafe a full two blocks from her father’s listening ears. Along the way, I learned that she despised trumpets but adored flutes, that she felt this season’s hats were far too enamored of lace, and that Mr. Tibbles was experiencing one of his frequent bouts with gas.
The latter I didn’t need notification thereof, since most of the walk put me downwind of Mr. Tibbles.
I took us to a table and sent the waiter away with orders for hot tea and a plate of cookies. “Nothing with nuts, please,” added Tamar. “They’ll just make Mr. Tibbles worse.”
The waiter nodded, as though the dietary habits of Tamar’s dog were common knowledge among Rannit’s finer eateries.
“Now then,” she said as the waiter hurried off. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
I told it all. I did neglect to mention the bribe her father had offered me, or the threat he’d made when I’d refused it. Both could wait, hopefully forever.
Hot tea and cookies arrived. I sipped the tea, and remembered my huffing and puffing of late, and let the pastries go. Tamar dived in and ate four, and Mr. Tibbles polished off the rest.
“So you’re breaking Curfew tonight,” she said. “Where?”
“A place that caters to Curfew breakers. The name doesn’t matter. The fact that Lethway wants to talk is all that’s important.”
“How do you know the Colonel will come? You didn’t speak to him, but to that large person.”
I shook my head. “Men like Lethway don’t let their hirelings arrange their social schedules. He knew I would be coming around. He had Pratt watching out for me.”
“How could he have known that?”
“I’ll ask him when I see him.”
Tamar laughed. “You don’t much like the man, and you haven’t even met him yet. Men are so funny. How do you keep from killing each other, all the time?”
“Good question. Mainly we don’t because it’s a lot of work. Now. How many florists and caterers and tailors have you sent up the Hill, Miss Fields? They weren’t surprised to find another one on their doorstep.”
“I’m only sending them the ones any groom’s family would traditionally pay for. And they’ve paid them all, Mr. Markhat. That in itself is significant, is it not?”
“It might be.” I was thinking Lethway gladly paid them just to avoid scandal. Tamar was convinced they were paying them because the wedding was still on. I couldn’t share her enthusiasm, but I saw no need to wound her, either.
“I’m going to make a couple of assumptions now, Miss. You aren’t going to like them. But I need you to consider them, even so.”
“Carris has been kidnapped, is that what you mean?”
I nodded.
“I’m also going to assume that the kidnapper or kidnappers may have reached out to more than just the Lethways,” I said. “It’s possible they might also have demanded payment from the father of the bride.”
Tamar’s eyes went wide, and for the briefest of instants, she was silent.
“Oh my.”
“Oh my is right. Think carefully. Has your father’s attitude toward Carris always been hostile, or has it taken a sudden turn for the worse? If so, when?”
She thought. She bit her lower lip and Angels bless her, she thought carefully before she replied.
“Oh my.”
“Tell me.”
“When we first started walking out, Father was…cold. He didn’t want to hear me talk about Carris. He didn’t want him coming around. But he was at least civil. Civil but no more. When we announced our engagement, he was the same. Mother said he was just sad at losing his little girl. We thought he’d get over it. And of course he’s always hated the Lethways.”