We Leave Together, стр. 23

“That’s right,” said the innkeeper, “Looks like we’re all full up.”

“Full up, it is,” said Jona, “I’ll just be heading out.” Jona pointed at the foreman hiding his pipe under the table. “Why look at that pipe!” said Jona, “You wouldn’t be a demon weed smuggler, would you?” Jona pulled the hidden pipe back out from under the table.

The foreman closed his eyes. He dropped the pipe on the table. Little bits of ash spilled out.

Jona licked his finger and touched the ash. He brought it up to his nose and sniffed. “That’s demon weed, butcher.”

“Is it?” he said.

Jona picked up the pipe and slipped it into a pocket. He took the man by the arm. The foreman came quietly.

The girls at his table waved with big, glassy smiles. The pimps looked at each other sideways, but nobody did anything. They weren’t here to protect customers, after all, just the girls. No point fighting a king’s man who could ring down the bells over a customer.

Jona looked over his shoulder at the innkeeper, sourly.

Jona walked with one hand on the foreman’s shoulder into the night street. He walked beside the man. “You know where the station house is, butcher?”

The foreman took a deep breath. “I do,” he said. Out in the street, he wasn’t a large man. Animal blood had dried in his hair. Little flecks of skin and hair lined the shoulders above where his apron covered his clothes. Beneath where an apron would be, he was sweaty and muddy, like anybody around here. The stink of the Pens was stronger than the sweat-stink of man, though.

“What d’you do in those Pens?” said Jona.

The man scoffed. “I won’t be a thing to a thing, soon.”

“They ain’t big on hiring the birdies to carve the meat are they?”

“No,” said the butcher.

“I wouldn’t have pulled you at all except for the innkeeper being how he was. We’ll sit down and talk a minute about your pipe, and then you’ll go home and get some sleep and be at work in the morning like nothing happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about the pipe,” said the butcher.

“Of course not,” said Jona, “so maybe while we’re walking you tell me what I want to know, and then you make a break for it and I pretend to chase you, but you get away free and clear and nobody thinks for a minute you’re my birdy.”

“Sounds like a trap.”

“It’s your best shot, though, and I’m an honest man, a king’s man.”

“What do you want to know?” said the foreman. “You ask, and I’ll think about it.”

“Where do you get your stuff?”

“Asking for my neck.”

“I could break your fingers now, or we could wait until we get to the station house. Your call. Hard to work in the abattoir with broken fingers, and plenty of men to take up where you leave off. Where do you get your stuff?”

“I get it off the top of some stuff that someone else brings in. It’s just a big crate. It’s full of the stuff, and stinks.”

“Who brings it in?”

“I don’t know.”

“They know you’re skimming?”

“That’s how I get paid. It comes in a crate with these sheep. Sheep come in on a sheep ship, and they all got their ankles cut already, so they can’t run around. My crew goes on board, and slits their throats. Then we carry them from the ship to the floor. In with the sheep there’s a big crate. When it’s quiet, after all the sheep are off the ship, I open it. I take my cut. I move the rest to this porter I know on the other side of the floor. Sometimes the crate’s full, and sometimes it ain’t. It stinks the same either way. The crate goes back on the same ship it came from. Sometimes it ain’t and I do it myself.”

“Who got you started on this stuff?”

“Foreman before me ran it, so I do, too.”

“I’m not after you little fellows,” said Jona, “I want to make that clear to you and yours. I want to know who’s on top. I want the paperwork, not the people. What’s this porter’s name who takes the stuff off you?”

“New Nima.”

“New Nima? How new is he?”

“He been there longer than me, but everyone calls him ‘New Nima’.”

“Who runs the sheep?”

“The only sheep ship every single day on my watch and no one else’s sheep comes here. You run the books, and find it for yourself.”

“Good enough for now, foreman,” said Jona, “but I want you to say hello to me when you see me. And if you don’t give me your real name, I’ll ring down the Pens to find you. Don’t test me on that.”

“I’m Havala Veriki.”

“I’m Corporal Jona Lord Joni. If one of my other boys starts pushing you too hard, you tell them you’re with me, and we won’t forget a good bird. Don’t test me lightly, Veriki. I don’t like my time abused for nothing.”

“Right,” said the foreman, “so I got to keep singing when you want and I got to take my punches, too.”

“But not too many. That’s how this deal works,” said Jona, “You’ll like it. You got a friend. Before, all of us were enemies, right?”

“What you are now is trouble, king’s man,” said the butcher, “So, I make a break for it now?”

“Go on, Havala Veriki. I’ll remember you real good.”

The foreman took a deep breath and took to the street like a galloping mule. He wasn’t fast. Jona reached out to him, but let one of his boots catch on the ground. He stumbled a bit, caught himself, and kicked his boot at the air behind the runaway.

Jona turned, and walked back towards Rachel’s inn. He staked out the place from the outside. He watched her rolling sheets out on the lines from the top floor. He watched her carrying buckets of water.

He wanted to go over to her and ease her burden. He didn’t. He watched her in the dark.

He wanted to help