CHAPTER 10
In the Grip of the Hawk
“Who’s that?” The querulous, old-man’s voice came from behind the one-eyed tipper. “Hawk, who is that?”
The thin, black-clad tipper stepped aside. “An errand lad, my lord.”
Jarvey swallowed. Tantalus Midion, his blue eyes piercing beneath shaggy white brows, glowered in the doorway. Jarvey caught his breath. If old Midion could really sense magic, would he sense Jarvey’s art? Midion barked, “Boy, what are you doing here?”
Jarvey’s voice caught in his throat. “I, uh, some shirts here to—to go back to Oldcastle’s for mending, sir.”
“Bah! Sell’em to a rag shop.”
“Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The tipper shot out his hand and grabbed Jarvey’s shoulder. “Do you not know whom you’re addressing, snipe? Say ‘my lord’ to your betters!”
“Yes, my lord. Forgive me, my lord. I never saw you before, my lord.”
“Wait a bit,” old Tantalus growled with a wave of his hand. “Hawk, Oldcastle’s is in Holofernes Street. This errand lad can save you a trip. Give him the message.”
“Are you sure, my lord?” The tipper’s voice grated. “It is an important message.”
“He’ll see it there safe if he knows what’s good for him. The Oldcastles know where their loyalty lies, and they have whips for dealing with messengers whose speed displeases me.” Old Midion’s lips spread in an evil smile. “But you are young and strong, my lad. No doubt you are fleet of foot as well. Give him the envelope, Mr. Hawk.”
Mr. Hawk’s one eye, a strange shade of yellow-brown, glared at Jarvey as the man reached into his leather tunic and produced a heavy tan envelope. He held it out. “To go to the Holofernes Street police station, to be handed to the sergeant of the watch. You are to wait upon his reply and bring it here at a run—at a run, mind you.”
Jarvey reached a shaking hand for the envelope, but before his fingers could close on it, Mr. Hawk twitched it back. “Repeat your orders, errand boy, to make sure you understand them.”
In a quick, breathless voice, Jarvey said, “Take the message to the watch sergeant at the Holofernes Street police station. Wait for a reply and bring it back quickly.”
For a frozen moment Mr. Hawk stood frowning at him, as if vaguely dissatisfied. Then, slowly, he lowered the envelope so that Jarvey could take it. “Thank you, sir,” Jarvey said, and he turned and hurried out as fast as he could.
The guard at the gate stared at him. “Why are you bringing that box back, then?” he demanded.
“Other shirts, need mending,” Jarvey said. He held up the envelope. “And Mr. Hawk gave me this to deliver.”
Without another word, the guard opened the gate and let him out. Jarvey ran along the wall, turned the corner, and ducked out of sight. Holofernes Street? He’d never heard of it. But if he could deliver the letter and return with a reply, at least that would get him back into the palace. Jarvey fell into a jog, and when he reached the fountain, an idea struck him. He made his way to the Broad family’s house and rapped on the door.
Red-faced Mrs. Broad answered his knock, her arms dusted with flour and her nose smudged with what looked like butter. “Why, what’s the trouble?” she asked, her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Wouldn’t they let you in the palace, dear?”
“Oh, Mrs. Broad,” Jarvey said, “I’m in terrible trouble. I’m to take this note to the Holofernes Street tippers’ station, and this is my first day as an errand boy, and I don’t know where that is!”
Mrs. Broad’s faced crinkled in puzzlement. “Don’t know that? Why, it’s not far past Oldcastle’s, love. Look, the quickest way is down Palace Street here across the arched bridge, then left onto Lime Street, and that will run into Holofernes. Just turn left again there, and you’ll find your bearings right enough. After you pass Oldcastle’s, just straight on for a quarter mile, and there you are.”
“Thank you!” Jarvey called back over his shoulder, because he was already off at a trot.
The arched bridge led not across a river, but over a green parklike stretch of lawn and trees where a dozen Toffs strolled and chatted. Lime Street was a row of shops, and Holofernes a broad cobbled street lined with better shops and thick with Toffs. Jarvey saw the tailor shop of Oldcastle and Son, a grand building with a gilded hanging sign, and he hurried past it before someone could notice his package and ask him about it.
He came to a rubbish bin and disposed of the box of rags. Then he examined the envelope. It had not been carefully sealed. A round blob of wax over the point of the flap held it loosely closed, but a little pressure of his thumbnail would, yes, pop it free. Jarvey darted his eyes around, but Toffs never noticed errand boys. He slipped a single sheet of paper from the envelope and unfolded it.
The handwriting was old-fashioned and looping, but he could read it clearly enough:
To Sergeant Wilkes:
His High Honor, the LordMayor, directs and charges you:
Our informer has sworn that a boy named Jarvis Green is a danger to our good interests.He is about twelve, with reddish brown hair, and an odd manner of speaking. His eyes are blue. If found, care is to be taken not to harm him before he can be turned over to the palace for the question direct. Particular care is to be taken to secure him and all his possessions, as one of these may be of some interest.
The boy is believed to be in company with a gang of street urchins led by the girl called Betsy. You are directed and commanded to make a particular search for any members of this gang, with an eye to capturing the boy Jarvis Green. You may use methods of pain, but take care not to damage the children so much that they cannot give us information.
Jarvis Green is believed to have been in communication with Lord Zoroaster, who has been decreed a traitor against the interests of His Most High Excellency Tantalus Midion. The palace wishes to locate and capture Lord Zoroaster, as you know, but you are directed not to question the boy regarding Lord Zoroaster’s whereabouts. I shall attend to that questioning myself.
I charge you to carry out these orders, standing to account for any failure at your own peril.
—Standridge Hawk Captain, City Constabulary
Jarvey refolded the paper and tucked it back into the envelope. He pressed the blob of wax hard, and it adhered almost as well as it had before he had pried it loose. Well, he thought, Hawk wasn’t as sharp as he might have been. He’d written the description, but he’d looked right at Jarvey without recognizing him.
Of course, Jarvey thought bitterly. A street urchin wore rags, and an errand boy wore a kind of uniform. He hesitated for only a moment, then jogged on. He had to get back into the palace. No sign marked the police station, but a uniformed tipper stood beside the door.
Jarvey hurried up to him. “Message for the watch sergeant, from Captain Hawk.”
The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Sergeant Wilkes you’re wanting. Straight in with you.”
Jarvey pushed through the door. Five or six tippers looked up in idle curiosity. “Sergeant Wilkes?” Jarvey asked.
“That’s me, boy,” a fattish, balding man said.
“Message for you, sir, and I’m to wait for a reply.”
Wilkes took the envelope, ripped it open, and read the letter. “Another note about those blasted young’uns. All right, let me tell old One-Eye that we’re pursuing all leads, making inquiries, the lot.” He folded himself into a chair at a green-topped table, reached for a sheet of paper and a steel pen, and laboriously scrawled a response. He blotted this, looked up keenly and asked, “Can’t read, can you?”
“Me, sir? No, sir,” Jarvey lied.
“Won’t bother sealing it then. Back to old Hawk with you then, and take it at a run if you want him to leave you with a whole skin. Impatient man, our Captain Hawk.”
“Yes, sir.”
The scrawled reply told Jarvey nothing that the sergeant had not said aloud, except that it noted that Betsy’s full name was probably Elizabeth Dare.
Charley had been right. Some rat had been talking to the tippers.
Jarvey didn’t have time to wonder who the rat might be. He had other, more immediate worries.