Chapter Twenty-Nine

SORCHA PICKED UP the enamel eyes of a tin flamingo from the floor and apologised to Ms Frost for Vince’s actions. “I didn’t know what he was planning to do.”

“He doesn’t seem the planning sort,” Ms Frost said. “More a wild animal acting on instinct.”

Vince’s boots clanged on the metal steps of the spiral staircase, and Sorcha braced herself for another altercation. Instead, he simply walked straight past her and Ms Frost without a word. She forced a smile, handed the eyes to Ms Frost, and then ran after Vince.

He stared at the floor of the carriage on the journey back to the shop. Sorcha fiddled with her braces as she tried to work up the courage to ask him if he’d left Quaintance alive.

“Wasn’t easy,” Vince said. “Not one of mine. Never has been. But everything’s different now. All have to try to adapt.”

“Did you find out about the killings?”

“Lieutenant Hancock paid for Spradbery’s murder.”

Sorcha crossed her arms. “And we know where she gets her orders from.”

“James isn’t responsible,” Vince said a little too quickly.

“Are you sure? Think about it for a second. The murder of gang members is unfortunate but understandable. But to murder an officer of the Chase Trading Company? On Blackrabbit? It’s horrific. Unconscionable. Outrageous. Sergeant Spradbery’s murder was one more nail in the Watch’s coffin. One more reason to get rid of us. One more piece of evidence we weren’t up to the task of protecting the town. It must have helped the council to decide to give the greencoats control. Who benefits most? Captain Godgrave.”

Vince shook his head. “James isn’t that ruthless.”

“Are you sure?” Sorcha asked. “You know him that well, do you? Because I was under the impression you’d only just met him recently.”

Vince glared at her and said nothing for the rest of the way. When they reached the shop, Sorcha disembarked but Vince didn’t. He slammed the door and banged the side of the carriage. It carried on its way.

Inside the shop, Sorcha pulled up a chair to the locked door of the sewing room. “Now, what are we going to do with you?”

The voice from the other side was muffled but tinged with anger. “You’re not the Watch anymore. None of us are.”

“We’re still citizens of Port Knot. We still have a civic duty to protect the people from murderers.”

Alfie’s piercing laugh cut right through her. “What about the one you’re working for?”

Sorcha didn’t have an answer. Vince was a murderer; there could be no getting around the fact. She’d heard the stories, of course, but could have easily dismissed them as tall tales. If she hadn’t heard it from his own lips.

Orla shook her head. “Can I have my sewing room back now?”

“I’m not opening this door until Vince comes back,” Sorcha said.

“Good girl, do what you’re told,” Alfie said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Good little Sorcha, always willing to please,” Alfie said.

“I think Mr Norton would disagree with you there,” Sorcha said. “And Orla.”

“Hah! You fall over yourself to make your sister happy.”

“If only that were true,” Orla said.

“She stays in this shop for you, you know, Orla. She tells people you’re suffocating her. She wants to get away and see the world, not live and die in this squalid little hole. But deep down she knows she can’t because she couldn’t live with the guilt of leaving you alone.”

“That’s not true,” Sorcha said. “It isn’t.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“I know you better than most,” Alfie said. “You told me so much about yourself, hoping to worm your way into my favour.”

Sorcha covered her face, her shoulders rattling as the tears flowed down her face.

“Stop it,” Orla said, slapping the door with her palm.

“As if I’d ever be interested in the likes of you.”

Orla rapped the door over and over with her fist. “Stop it. That’s enough. Horrible little man. Leave the door locked. Let him starve in there.”

VINCE BANGED ON the door of the townhouse until Mr Norton opened it wearing only a tawny cotton banyan. Vince barged past him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Need to check your books. From the Watch.” He barrelled upstairs and into the room he and James had used to spy on the Gunbrides robbery. He pulled some books from a crate, checking the years.

“Don’t just throw them on the floor! You’re making a mess. Do you need a hand?”

“Know what I’m looking for.”

Mr Norton stood with his hands on his hips, tutting.

Two women hurried out from another room, barely dressed. The older of the two, wide-mouthed with sharp cheekbones and a pile of golden ringlets atop her head, led the way. “What’s all the ruckus?”

“Oh, nothing,” Mr Norton said. “Just my former Watch Commander come to rifle through our things.”

“Not things,” Vince said without looking up. “Records. Detailed records. Names. Dates. Crimes committed.” He cast book after book aside until he found a likely candidate. He opened it and ran his finger down the column of names.

“This is Mr Vince Knight,” Mr Norton said. “And these are my wives, Temerity and Holly.”

Vince flicked the page over and paused. “Wives? Managed to convince two women to marry you?”

The younger woman, Holly, had nut-brown hair and wore a low-cut bodice. She frowned at Mr Norton, her hands rapidly forming shapes in the air.

“She says you really are as rude as I described,” Mr Norton said.

Vince growled at him and set the book down. He held his hands up and made the sign for sorry, and then the one for necessary. Holly’s eyes widened, and Mr Norton’s arms dropped by his sides, his mouth slightly agape.

“Learned a few things over the years.” Vince flicked the page again and stopped. He leapt to his feet and held the book in his hand. “Need to borrow this.”

THE FARTHER VINCE got through the docklands, the angrier he became. Though the marketplace was in full swing, he heard almost none of the din from the crowds, so loud was the pulsing of his heart and the throbbing in his ears. He should have asked for help, for support, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to get the words out. He knew his moods, and he knew when best to work alone.

He pushed his way through the rabble, keeping his target in sight.

“Mr Knight, stop!”

Ignoring the guards, he barged through the doors of the new Sentinel building and onto the mezzanine. Below him, the rank and file worked at their desks. The two guards from the front door had chased after him. He grabbed the nearest one by the collar. “Where’s Hancock?”

The guard, barely more than a boy, whimpered a response and pointed.

Lieutenant Hancock stood outside her office, her hands on the railing. “Would you mind terribly unhanding my soldier, Mr Knight?”

Vince dropped the man while Lieutenant Hancock approached him.

“Now, what’s all this shouting about?”

Vince pointed at her. “Coming with me.” He moved to grab her arm but found himself surrounded by armed Sentinels, one rifle levelled at his head, another at his heart.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Mr Knight. Even if you were still with the Watch, this is Sentinel Garrison, and I will not be dragged from it like a tavern brawler.”

A voice boomed from behind her. “What is the meaning of this?” James Godgrave strode out of his office in his full uniform. “Mr Knight, explain your presence in my headquarters.”

“Need to have words with your lieutenant.”

“Then you may do so in my office. Lieutenant Hancock, do you have any objection?”

“None, sir.”

James stood aside to let her pass. He waved the armed guards away and followed Vince.

“Sit,” James said. “Both of you. Now, what exactly is all this about?”

Vince struggled to fit into the little chair. “Hancock here paid for the murder of your Sergeant Spradbery.”

Lieutenant Hancock laughed. “Preposterous.”

“What on earth makes you think that, Mr Knight?” James asked. For once, his smile was nowhere to be seen.

“Killer was one of my Watchmen. Exeter. Hired by a Pennyman named Quaintance.”

“Surely you can’t mean Mr Noss Quaintance?” James asked. “Companion to Fox?”

Vince nodded. “Known to me. Want someone done away with, get him. Knows people who can get it done. Whole point of the Pennymen is they can get you anything you need. Even an assassin. Hancock paid Quaintance to do away with Spradbery.”

“But why, man? Whatever for?”

“Came to ask Hancock that very question.”

“It’s no secret Sergeant Spradbery and I never saw eye to eye,” Hancock said, “but I didn’t have him killed. How could I?”

“Been thinking about that,” Vince said. “Blackrabbiter, aren’t you? Guessing you know Mr Dowland Hancock?”

“Your father’s name, wasn’t it?” James asked.

“Hangman Hancock, they called him,” Vince said. “Did some digging.” He threw the Watch record book onto James’s desk and opened it. “Hancock family comes from the Tangles. Roughest part of a rough town. Beadle Norton keeps records. Found a name in there. Mr Dowland Hancock. Arrested for murder. Paid to do it by an unnamed person. Said he did it to clear a gambling debt. Only one person in Port Knot takes murder as payment. Quaintance buys debts. Coerces people into killing.”

“This doesn’t prove anything,” James said.

“Means she had a connection to Quaintance through her father. Knew about him. Knew how he operates. Said you and Spradbery never got along. Why?”

Perty swallowed hard and looked to James.

“I don’t believe a word of this,” James said, “but I would like to know the particulars as well, Perty. What harm can it do now?”

Perty looked to her hands in her lap. “Sergeant Spradbery is a Blackrabbiter too. He is—or rather he was—from Little Acorn. He knew about my father, and he never let me forget. Spradbery and I served together on several ships before being assigned to the Lancelot Striking. He liked to needle me about my father every chance he got. When we took up on a new ship, and he thought I was getting along too well with my crewmates, he’d tell them what my father did to try to turn them against me. When I was promoted to Lieutenant ahead of him, well, it was more than he could take.” She sniffed away a tear.

“The day he was murdered, he and I went for a drink in a tavern in town. The Star We Sail By. We tried to make amends. I did my best to assure him my success did not scupper his chances of advancement. I tried to make him see how serving in Port Knot could be good for him. We didn’t exactly part ways as friends, but we made a start.” She looked Vince square in the eye. “I didn’t kill him, Mr Knight, nor did I have him killed.”

“Heard confession from Exeter and Quaintance himself.”

James squinted at him. “The killers, you mean?”

“Exeter is a Watchman of five years standing.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit more than that,” James said. “And as for this Quaintance person, I met him at Silver Hope and found him to be a wonderfully erudite gentleman. You can’t seriously expect me to believe he’s some…I don’t even know what you would call him. A broker for assassins? This is all quite ridiculous. You can go, Lieutenant.”

Vince stood to object. “Wait just a damn—”

“We are in my headquarters, and I give the orders!” James’s eyes turned quite nasty when he bellowed.

Vince considered the dozens of armed officers outside and bit his tongue.

When they were alone, James closed his office door. His demeanour changed and his smile returned. “Now, Vince, really, what did you expect to happen? I’d just let you come in here and take my most trusted officer away?”

“Trusted? Paid to have another officer killed!”

“So says a confessed killer.”

Vince frowned at him. “Talking about Exeter or me?”

“I consider Perty Hancock a friend,” James said. “When you smear her name, you call into question my judgement both as a captain and as a man. You should have come to me directly with this. I can’t let my Sentinels see me siding with you, not after the way you behaved. Until you can produce some kind of evidence—proper evidence—I cannot let you do anything. Law and order on Blackrabbit are under the purview of my Sentinels. If there is guilt to be apportioned, we will see to it. You can trust us.” He laid his hand on Vince’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Or at the very least, you can trust me.”

Vince studied James’s face. “Starting to wonder.”

“Now what could that mean?”

“No secret Spradbery’s death did you a favour. Helped you get what you want.”

James dropped his hand from Vince’s shoulder and took a step back. “What a terrible thing to say, Vince. It’s beneath you.”

“Wrong, is it?”

James returned to his seat. With his elbows on the armrests and his hands over his chest, he turned the ring on his little finger. “You do not believe I had any hand in the death of my own sergeant. You are losing the run of yourself. Seeing enemies everywhere you turn. Forgive me, but you don’t strike me as a man with a lot of friends. It’s perhaps ill-judged of you to alienate the ones you have.”

Vince’s glower faltered, just for an instant. “Just answer this. Was there time?”

“Time for what?”

“Between your first meeting with Swan and Spradbery’s body being found. Was there time for Hancock to speak to Quaintance?”

“I think perhaps you’d better leave.”

Vince slammed the door on his way out.