In which our heroine sees much of her fair city.
Harkley had the good sense not to go back to my flat, I found. This qualified as ‘good’ not only as it decreased the chances of further incriminating his incarcerated host, but because it separated his body from my wifely wrath for at least a little while longer. But not as much as he likely hoped. You don’t become sort of buddies with a detective without learning a few tricks. Thus, the second place I stopped at was Frederick’s favoured drinking establishment, the Glorious ’49.
As could be expected of a pub that catered to teachers unwinding after a day or week of educating ruffians and future criminals, the Glorious ’49 was an immaculately kept, orderly place. No tracks of dirt, no sticky floors. The serving staff refrained from bothering the patrons, as it was understood that the pub was in spirit the extension of the staff rooms in all of the schools of the city. To interrupt them in their rantings and ravings would be considered to be sacrilege akin to using the chalice of Eila to spit in after gargling mouthwash.
The pub was in an uproar today. Quelle surprise. Packed to the brim, not only with what seemed to be the entire educational force of Lafontaine that wasn’t currently arrested and behind bars, but with a few fellow members of the watch who stuck out like bent nails. I could barely hear for all the shouting and singing – songs that were of the undiplomatic sort, being about the struggles of the workers and the lack of sexual prowess to be found amongst members of the ‘man’. Sergeant Mauser had joined in, which was good, because he had such a wonderful, hearty singing voice. Bad, because he was getting quite familiar with Arshada Dune, i.e., just the woman I needed to see.
I stole a chair from someone who had just stood up to go relieve themselves and shoved it right next to Dune. I then sat on it and said, “Mauser, that’s very nice and if you go away for five minutes, I’ll buy you another pint.” Normally, this would work all but immediately, but both Dune and Mauser were regular humans with the regular sort of urges. They gave me foul looks and kept singing. Very uncalled for. So I picked up their existing pints and took long, passionate swigs of each, at the same time.
“What the hell, Calvin?” spluttered Mauser, ruining the chorus. The singing ceased entirely, to be replaced by shouting. And staring. At me. How awkward.
This included quite a lot of stares from the watch in the vicinity. Now, was it common knowledge that my husband had been arrested or not? Impossible to say. If it was, would they be sympathetic or suspicious? Again, impossible to say, in those times. So I took a quick peek inside my wallet, took stock of its contents, and cried a little inside. I ordered a round for the table, at which were crowded twenty bodies. “Huzzah!” went the cheers and everyone got back to their business.
Except for Mauser and Dune, despite their efforts. This was because I had jammed both of my elbows in between the two. “Five minutes,” I said. “That’s all I ask. Please.”
To my relief, Dune groaned. “All right, but that’s all you get. Start talking.”
“Mauser?” I said. “Start singing.” It may have been the greatest rendition of ‘The Giant’s Fiddle’ ever to pass from earthly lips, but I wasn’t paying attention. I leaned in close and whispered into Dune’s ear. “I need to find Ilon Harkley.”
So much for the direct approach. The conversation nearly ended right there and then, Dune putting her back to me with unseemly haste. “Now hold up.” I jerked her back around. “Frederick’s been harbouring him in our flat. Frederick’s been arrested and guess what? Harkley’s not anywhere near the flat, so far as I can see. Now, as far as I’m concerned, seeing as he’s slept under my roof and ate my food, he damned well has a duty to tell me what the hell happened today and to help me get my husband out of prison. Capiche?”
“How do I even know Frederick’s been arrested?” she asked, not unreasonably.
But it still ticked me off. “Because I am very angry right now and very much inclined to make a scene, which would not be the case if he were out of the cells. For gods’ sake, if he isn’t here and he’s not at home, where the hell else would he be?”
Dune seemed to consider this. I doubt it was the reasonableness of my arguments which eventually swayed her, so much as the way my facial muscles and fists kept twitching. Entirely involuntary, I swear, but it did bring her around, without any tiring questions along the lines of, “How do I even know he’s not at your flat?”
“I can’t tell you where Harkley’s at,” she began. “That’s because I don’t know for sure. Go talk to the metalworkers. Last I saw him, he was being dragged along by one of their lot.” And that was all I got out of her, unless you count the second verse of ‘The Giant’s Fiddle.’
Drinks paid for, pint drained, I went on my merry way.
~
As it turned out, Mauser’s name turned out to be a bad omen.
Harkley was not with the metalworkers. Oh, he’d been with them all right – for half an hour max, until such a point in time arrived that he decided that he was placing them in too much risk by having them harbour him. I wished he’d thought of that before he decided to camp out on my chesterfield, but fair’s fair, no one knew he was in town then. Anyway, they gave me the name of an a surgeon whom he had apparently absconded with.
The surgeon lived clean on the other side of the city, in nicer outskirts than poor, pitiable Toynbee had to make do with. She let me in readily enough – Harkley had told her that I might come by, she said, and that she was to help me insofar as was reasonable. “I need to find him and speak with him,” I explained. “My husband’s been arrested and he needs to help me get him out.”
But she shook her head and smiled, a little apologetically, at me. “You shan’t find him here. I had a look at his arm and he wouldn’t stick around. He told me that he’d be heading to the South Wind Brewery.” The surgeon gave me the option of searching her house – oh yes, she was one of those happy few that claimed an entire house for her and her kin – but I gave her a pass for the time being. Off to the brewery I went.
And of course, the South Wind Brewery was back on the other side of the city, attached to my familiar tavern. Their product had improved substantially since it first caused Prime Minister Lark’s lip to curl in distaste, I’m pleased to report. Nevertheless, their secretary stopped me at the door.
“Please tell me Harkley is here,” I said. “Or at the very least, get me something to drink. It’s hot and I’ve done a lot of walking.” The secretary, either foolishly or wisely depending on your perspective, fetched me some water. This, I downed in some short seconds. “Well?” I asked, when I’d finished.
The secretary failed me as well. “Jane Calvin, right? He told us about you. But he’s already gone, you see. Left not twenty minutes ago.”
A pause. “Did he say where he was going to be?” I asked, more than a little exasperated.
“Not… exactly. Not as such. ‘Someplace to get out of the heat’, he said, and he seemed to think that you’d understand exactly what he meant by that, but do you? It all sounds a bit vague. I’m sorry.”
I grinned then – an action which, judging by the secretary’s face, must have spooked her some – and shook her hand too hard. It was so wonderfully obvious. Why hadn’t I checked it first off? “Many thanks, you’ve been a wonderful help,” I told her, sticking around for just one more glass of water before I tore off. Lark and Hammersmith, where we first met. Of course! How ‘sweet’.
~
Now the question of the hour was, once I made it over there, how would I uncover a manhole in the middle of a somewhat busy intersection without being incredibly obvious? More to the point, how did Harkley manage it? Did he? Simply standing around and thinking hard about it didn’t net me any helpful ideas, so I did the sensible thing and just asked some random youth who had shoved as much of his body as possible into a small patch of shade. “Did you see anyone go into that manhole over there?”
The youth shrugged, or rather, shrugged more. His entire frame was engaged in a permanent act of shrugging and slouching. “Rightly, I did. Caused a ruckus, but then they all went on and forgot about it. Spare some change so I could get a cheap bit of ice, miz?” An expensive day this was proving to be, but if I didn’t oblige him, it wouldn’t be long before no one of his age in that city would tell me anything out of sheer peevishness. A five penny piece was his and he sauntered off slowly, still slouching.
I did what the youth said. It was either that or wait until ten after ten. I won’t claim that it wasn’t nerve-wracking dodging the carts and horses and whatnot while I heaved the cover off, but I did manage it and hurried down the ladder as quick as could be. Someone replaced that cover before I was even halfway down, without a word shouted down about what the hell I was doing there.
The chamber was still circular and still had the four locked doors and still was lit with a sourceless blue light. It no longer smelt of nothing, though. It smelt of roast chicken.
Harkley had set up a sort of picnic about five feet away from the foot of the ladder. There was the aforementioned roast chicken, of course, which made me salivate to an animalistic degree, but there was also fresh baked bread and cheese and cherries from the Joleda Valley and two big bottles of South Wind brand beer. All laid out nicely on the grey stone, all served in an environment in which it was not too damned hot to eat anything warm. With napkins.
I sat crosslegged in front of him, the food between us. One of my hands took a bottle, the other took a chicken leg. Liquid and meat both took their turns in my mouth, sometimes jostled to the wayside by speech. “I’m a bit cross with you,” I said.
“Frederick was an accident,” he responded. “Had I my druthers, the man would be with you right now.”
“Then what happened, exactly, that got him arrested? What did ‘he’ do?”
He got my meaning sure enough and he was quick to shoot it down. “I didn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to do, if that’s what you’re wondering. He saw that some of your lot were zeroing in on me and he decided to be a distraction. If I hadn’t taken advantage of it, what good would that have done? Frederick would still be in the clink, I’d be right there alongside him, and he’d be looking around for something to beat me with.”
My silence indicated to him that I might have found that set of circumstances preferable to the one we had all found ourselves in.
“Then what exactly should we do about it?” he demanded. “I can’t let myself be caught yet; there’s still work to be done!”
Silence, silence, chew, swallow, silence, sip, silence, and so on.
“Oh, be reasonable.”
Burp, silence.
“Have it your way, then,” he growled. “I’m assuming you at least have the seeds of a plan, because I’m not doing all the work for you.”
That, I did. Conjugal visits, remembers? So we sat, drinking, eating, and planning, preparing for the coming day. Many interesting diagrams were drawn. Many arguments were had. Many fingers were pointed.
At ten past ten, we packed up and emerged into the dark, warm air.
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