Chapter Four

VINCE SAT IN the sickly yellow gloom of the Watch House while his dog slept on the feet of a thief. Not exactly how’d he pictured his first night in his new role. Walter squirmed in his chair, trying to get comfortable without waking Crabmeat. The ticking of the clock on the wall grew louder every hour, Vince would swear it.

“I really do think I should go,” Walter said. “I’m sure you have bigger things to worry about than me.”

“He can’t stay here forever, you know,” Mr Norton said. “He’d be better off in the gaolhouse. At least he’ll be fed and watered regularly. Which is probably more than can be said for his home life.”

Walter rolled his eyes. “That’s the best I can hope for, is it? Just to be fed and watered? Like an animal? That’s all I am to you?”

“Oh, no,” Mr Norton said. “Animals are useful.”

“Gaolhouse,” Vince said. “Learn to be a better thief in the gaolhouse.”

“People like him have to learn it somewhere,” Mr Norton said, “since you will no longer be teaching them.”

“Not as if I trained each and every gang member,” Vince said. “Only the special ones.”

“There goes what’s left of my self-esteem,” Walter said, rolling his eyes.

Mr Norton’s quill scratched across the pages of the book in front of him. The shelves behind him held stacks of similar books, all bound in indigo covers.

“Didn’t know you kept records,” Vince said.

Mr Norton held up his quill. “Everyone who comes through our door goes in here. I expected you to be in here, sooner or later. Though not on the roster, I must admit. Why are you sitting here, by the way? Shouldn’t you be out on patrol?”

“Waiting for the right time,” Vince said. “No sense blundering around, picking off strays. Need to strike at the heart of the gangs.”

Mr Norton rolled his eyes and returned to his writing.

“You lot waste your time on people like me—victims of circumstance—when the real criminals run riot,” Walter said.

“You are a real criminal, Walter,” Mr Norton said. “You’ve picked every pocket in the Entries.”

“But it’s not as if I’ve killed anyone,” Walter said.

The door to the Watch House suddenly slammed open, thumping against the wall. Ruth held one hand on the frame, panting for breath. “The docks,” she said. “We’ve found a body at the docks.”

Vince and Mr Norton glared at Walter.

He held up his manacled hands. “It wasn’t me, I swear!”

Vince leaned in and snarled at him. “Better not have been. Else you’ll be a victim of more than just circumstance. Crabmeat, stay. Keep an eye on him.”

Vince followed Ruth out of the Watch House and down Rope Burn Road, his boots scraping on the cobblestones. It would still be a few hours before the sun rose but every taverner, barber, apothecary, and chandler in town hung candle lanterns outside their doors until daybreak. They provided much-needed light, for even at such a late hour, the town had plenty of life about it.

Bakers struggled with their ovens, bedworkers plied their trade, and drunken people staggered home, had arguments, and relieved themselves in doorways.

“I suppose this is a new experience for you,” Ruth said.

Vince frowned at her. “Don’t understand you?”

“Hurrying towards a dead body, instead of away from one?”

A deep growl rumbled in Vince’s chest. She wasn’t frightened of him in the slightest. “Seen you before,” he said. “From the other side of the law.”

“Oh yes? I can’t say I’ve ever set eyes on you before.”

“By design,” Vince said. “Some of my best people have run afoul of your mace. Always thought one day I’d have to buy you off or put you down.”

Ruth smirked at him. “Pity you never got the chance to try. Down there, between those old barrels.”

Under the pier, Alfie Exeter stood guard. Vince shooed some gulls away from the corpse. A man in his late twenties or early thirties, Vince guessed.

“Poor bugger got drunk and drowned when the tide came in,” Ruth said.

“Not likely,” Vince said, leaning the body forward. “Unless he could sleep with a knife in his back.”

“Looks recent,” Exeter said. “Plenty of blood around. No sign of the knife, though. What about his purse?”

“Gone,” Vince said, checking the victim’s pockets. “No jewellery, either.”

“A robbery, then,” Ruth said. “They can turn nasty, sometimes.”

The dead man wore the black boots, cream breeches, and emerald-green overcoat of the Chase Trading Company.

“Didn’t mention he was a greencoat,” Vince said. “Complicates things. Just stumbled across him?”

Ruth shook her head. “We overheard some men talking in the Tangles. A sailor named Winkleigh said he’d seen a body down here but didn’t want any fuss so he didn’t report it to anyone.”

The sea sloshed towards them, kissing the corpse’s feet.

“Need to speak to the harbourmaster,” Vince said, looking out to sea. “Don’t move the body soon, it’ll be washed away.”

“The harbourmaster won’t be on this late,” Ruth said. “There’s an undertaker on Crowstone Row. I’ll go fetch them.”

“Won’t still be open, surely?” Vince asked

“They’re used to working late these days.”

THE HALF-TIMBERED town hall, like most places in Port Knot, sat askew, as though it were a cake threatening to topple over. Unlike most places, it had a ring of iron railings and a smattering of marble columns. Not long after dawn, Vince adjusted his eyepatch as he climbed the half-dozen stone steps and passed through its front doors.

Portraits of past council members, each wearing their mask of office and long since dead, hung on the walls with an air of historic significance laced with displeasure. Vince felt they were all disgusted by his presence in their expensive mosaicked hallway.

Mrs Agatha Samble, chairwoman of the island council, had been talking with two dreary men when she spotted him. A sombre woman with grey hair worn in a simple style and with deep wrinkles about her eyes, he addressed her by her official title of Rabbit.

“Mr Knight, this is a surprise.”

“Need to talk,” he said. “Privately.”

She beckoned him to follow her to her office on the next floor. They passed by more than a few council workers who gave them a wide berth. Vince ducked under the beams of the bright hallways.

“Wasn’t expecting a personal welcome.” Vince sat in a leather chair that likely cost more than he could expect to earn in a year.

“And I wasn’t expecting to provide one. But I think it will be for everyone’s benefit,” Rabbit said. “It may take some time before people get used to seeing you about the place.” She sat at a high desk covered in documents. Behind her, a crescent window overlooked Trivia Place, where the three main roads of Port Knot converged.

“Makes my hair stand on end, walking in the front door,” Vince said. “Used to be I had to sneak in through the cellar.”

“Those days are behind us,” Rabbit said, a touch too quickly. She put on her best politician’s smile. “A new start for all of us, Mr Knight. A new start. Now, I hear you’ve already made your first arrest. It must be a nice change of pace, being on the right side of the law.”

“Might get a taste for it. Knocking heads to help people instead of hurting them.”

Rabbit cleared her throat. “I hired you to break the gangs in any way you see fit. I suppose I should have known it would involve violence. But you will at least try to bring them to justice, won’t you?”

“Course. But if some heads get cracked…”

Rabbit templed her fingers and fixed her faltering smile. “What can I do for you, Mr Knight?”

Vince picked some dirt from under his fingernail. “Found a body last night. Displayed under Quither Pier.”

“Displayed?” Rabbit narrowed her eyes. “Talking from experience, are we?”

Vince raised his eyebrows. “Really want to know? Can’t say for certain but feels almost like the killer left him for someone to find.”

She picked up some paper to avoid looking at him. “You don’t need to run to me to report every crime in the town.”

“Don’t intend to. Special case, this.”

“Why? Who was it?”

“Don’t know yet. But he was a greencoat.”

Rabbit tutted and set the paper down. “Damn. The C.T.C. will have to be informed.”

“Thought so. Leave that part to you.”

Rabbit sighed and balled her fists on the table. “They’re going to want to become involved in the search for the killer.”

“Let them,” Vince said, shrugging. “Enough on my plate with the gangs.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask one further thing of you, Mr Knight. I intend to stop the C.T.C. from becoming involved in the hunt. And I’m going to have to insist the Watch steers clear of them. You must not enlist their help in finding the culprit.”

“Because?”

Rabbit licked her lips. “Can I trust you, Mr Knight?”

Vince crossed his arms. “Seem to be the only one who does.”

“I suspect there are those on the council who would like my time as Rabbit to come to an end. And I believe they are making plans for it to come about sooner rather than later. Having to rely on the C.T.C. to find one simple murderer would make the Watch look…inefficient. Having you fail as commander would go quite some ways to making my judgement appear flawed. Without me to voice support for you, you would be removed from the Watch before you had time to unpack your belongings. In short, it behoves both of us for you to succeed in this matter. And quickly.”

VINCE HAD BEEN slowly pacing the floor of the Watch House for some time when Sorcha arrived.

“Oh, you’re here already,” she said. “Wait, have you been here since last night?”

“Went to talk to Rabbit, first thing,” Vince said. “And someone needed to keep an eye on him.”

Walter lay fast asleep in his chair, still manacled to a desk, a line of drool on his chin.

“I forgot he was still here. He can’t stay in that chair forever,” Sorcha said. “And you need some proper rest.”

“Don’t need much sleep.”

The rest of the Watch arrived soon after, and Vince gathered them around. “Suppose our first order of business should be the body at Quither Pier,” he said. “Want everyone keeping an eye and ear out for information.”

The Watch exchanged glances with one another.

“What do you mean?” Exeter asked.

“Want to catch who done it.”

“I know but who’s going to tell us?”

Vince sat in a cracked leather chair and frowned.

Sorcha cleared her throat. “If I may? I believe in your day-to-day life, you must have been privy to all manner of information from the underbelly of the town. The Watch never has been. Is it at all possible you haven’t stopped to consider how this new role has cut you off from that sort of information?”

Vince’s icy blue eye darted up and down. He would have liked nothing more than to leave the hunt for the killer to the greencoats. He grunted. “Gangs are what I’m here for. Been running the place since I left. Ends now. Killer is probably one of them. First target—the Clockbreakers. Soft. Should be easy enough to take care of. Know how many there are?”

“As far as I know, there’s only about a dozen left,” Sorcha said.

“Fourteen,” Walter said, wiping his mouth. “We’ve been recruiting.”

“So few?” Vince asked.

“A lot of them didn’t want to sign up to the new structure,” Sorcha said, drawing her thumb across her throat. “They weren’t asked twice.”

Vince paced over to where Walter sat, stretching and yawning.

“Don’t know you,” Vince said.

“I, uh, I know you though,” Walter said, squirming in his seat. “Or least, I know about you. Flowers recruited me a couple of years ago, before you, uh, abdicated. I’ve heard stories about you. I hoped I’d never meet you.”

The window shattered, scattering glass across the floor which crunched under Vince’s boots as he bolted out of the front door. Ten or more people had gathered on the road outside the Watch House. Each one brandished a cudgel of one kind or another—something short, hefty, and easily concealed. In the centre of the group, a man with a horseshoe hairline and red moustache adjusted his spectacles.

“Littletar.” Vince raised his fists.

“It is true, then,” Littletar said. “You are working with the Watch. When I tell you I never thought I’d see the day, I’m underselling it. The thought never even crossed my mind. It’s like finding out King George is pulling pints in the Jack Thistle.”

The rest of the Watch filed out onto the street. Ruth swung her mace, Clive grasped his Watch staff in both hands, Frank threw his staff between either hand, and Exeter pulled a knife from his belt.

“Surrender,” Vince said.

Littletar stared at him, his mouth open. “You’re serious. You think we’re just going to hand ourselves over to you?”

“Know what’ll happen if you don’t.” Vince set himself in place, shoulders hunched, fists raised to his face.

Littletar scratched the top of his own head with his fingernail. “Funny, before, I would have known exactly what would happen. But I keep thinking about the eyepatch you’ve taken to wearing. I keep thinking it means someone got the better of you. I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, you’re not quite the man you used to be.” He retreated to the back of the crowd as his people rushed forward.

Ruth swung her mace, connecting to the side of a man’s head and sending him clattering to the ground in a quivering heap. Vince swung his fist at the young man advancing on him and missed. The young man laughed, and Vince swung again, and again, missing each time. Clive’s staff found the young man’s throat and made him stagger backwards, coughing. Vince snarled and defended against his next attacker. He swung out again, this time landing a blow on his attacker’s face. And the next.

Exeter slashed furiously with his knife with little regard for who he injured. Indeed, he caught Clive’s woollen cloak in one of his arcs, tearing a hole in it. Exeter pranced forward, cutting all around him. “Who else wants some, eh? Come on, then!”

Littletar had scarpered shortly after the fight had begun. Those of his gang who could, now scattered in every direction.

“After them!” Exeter said.

Vince grabbed his arm. “Let them go.”

Exeter pulled himself free. “Get off me, you coward!”

“Could be a trap. No idea who else is waiting around the corner.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take them all on!”

Vince leaned over Exeter, letting his shadow engulf him. “No.”

Exeter stopped bouncing around on his heels and stood still. “Have it your way…Commander.”

On the road, several of Littletar’s gang lay unconscious, or bleeding, or both.

“Here we go.” Clive helped one up. “Off to the magistrates with you, boy.”

“Wait,” Vince said. “No sense bringing them there. Magistrates use greencoat guards. Know for a fact some of them are on the take. Bribed more than a few of them myself in my time. Want somewhere we can keep an eye on them.”

“What do you suggest?” Sorcha asked.

Vince paced into the Watch House. “Rooms over there, what’re they for?”

“It’s where I store the Watch records,” said Mr Norton. “I have books going back decades.”

“Move them,” Vince said. “Someone get down to the blacksmiths and order iron bars and good, sturdy doors. Tonight, we’re making some cells.”

THE CLOSEST SMITHY was a couple of roads away in the area known as Ironworks and had everything Vince needed. Iron rods had a dozen uses in a busy harbour town and were always on hand. He spent a long night putting bars on the window and installing cell doors with help from whichever member of the Watch wasn’t out on patrol or guarding the prisoners.

The beadle Norton sat with his nose in his ledger the entire time and didn’t lift a finger to help. “We never needed cells before,” he said. “We’re not a gaolhouse.”

After installing Walter as the inaugural occupant, Vince turned his attention to his desk. He held up his cane to the wall, nodded to himself, then marked two spots with chalk. Over these he placed two metal hooks, driving them into the stone wall with Sorcha’s hammer. He took his octopus-handled cane and lay it over the hooks.

Mr Norton tutted. “It’s skew-whiff.”

Vince grunted at him.

Sorcha locked the cell door behind the injured gang members. “Won’t you be needing it to walk with?”

Vince shook his head. “Injured a couple of months ago. Stick was a gift from a friend. Healed now.”

“Fair enough. You can always use your staff instead. Have you got yours yet? Every Watch member gets issued with a staff. And a lantern, too. The roads can get very dark at night. And the Entries. Especially the Entries, actually.”

“Not one for weapons.” Vince held up his fists. “Started life as a boxer.”

“Well, in case your hands don’t glow in the dark like two fubsy moons, there are spare lanterns in the cupboard over there. And given how you fared against Littletar’s Pennymen earlier, you might want to rethink your position on weapons.”

Vince scowled at her.

She shrank slightly from him. “I’m just saying—I didn’t expect the great Vince Knight not to land his punches.”

Vince sniffed sharply and turned away. “Eyepatch,” he said. “Not used to it yet.”