This was where Dredmore had claimed he had seen me the first time. Where he had . . . no, the most powerful deathmage in the country could not have looked across a market and fallen in love with me at first sight. One required a heart for such a thing to happen. But why would he wish me to believe he’d done so?
“Trying to tempt the browsers?” I said over the open crates.
“Always, miss, always.” She handed me a slice. “North country golders, sweet as honey this year, they are.”
I popped the fruit in my mouth and found it to be precisely as she claimed, as well as sun-warmed and remarkably juicy. “It’s scrumptious.”
She looked side to side before shoving a small paper sack in my hands. When I reached for my reticule, she shook her head. “A gift, dearie.” She gave me a meaningful look. “I’ll wager you could use a bit of sweetness today.”
That put me on alert. “Why’s that?”
She leaned over the crates. “Bunch of beaters came round earlier, asking after a gel who looks a bit like you. They said she lives a goldstone round the corner.” When I glanced round she added, “No one knew this gel, ’course, so they went off. I heard one of them say something daft about looking for her in some eagle’s nest.” She straightened and said in a louder voice, “Morning’s a bit chilly, don’t you think, miss? Best cover up until the air warms.”
I drew my hood over my head. “I will, thank you.”
If Inspector Doyle had sent beaters looking for me, it was either to bring me in on another phony charge or to give me protection. I wanted to believe it was the latter, and might have, if my eviction from the office hadn’t taken place. Dredmore might have filed a charge against me as well, and he had a legitimate one: I’d stolen George. Although anyone with enough coin to afford one motored about in a carri, horses remained the primary means of transport round the city. No young blue ever made a circuit of the parks in a carri, and even merchants who could afford a fleet of carris still kept horses as a show of their wealth and status. Because of this, horse thieves remained universally reviled by all the citizens of Rumsen, and when convicted were regularly sentenced to be whipped in public to serve as a warning to others.
Dredmore would love to see me bound to a punishment post and lashed until I bled, I thought, my mood dark. He’d probably volunteer to ply the whip—
No, he wouldn’t.
As much as I hated him and his spectacular arrogance, Lucien had employed his unsavory methods in an attempt to protect me. Whatever we had been to each other before last night, the man and I were no longer enemies. I didn’t know what we might become, but our interlude in the maze had changed everything.
I took my bag of peaches to a little children’s park three blocks north of the market. A few nannies were pushing prams along the walks, but the benches and sandboxes were empty. I sat down on a bench half-hidden from the street by a large red-and-white-striped glory bush and took out a peach.
“North country golders,” Doyle said as he sat down beside me. “I hear they’re as sweet as honey this year.”
“That they are.” I took the other peach from the sack and offered to him.
We sat and ate the fruit in silence. Doyle left me briefly to purchase two mugs of spiced tea from a cart. I warmed my hands against the sides of the hot porcelain before taking a sip.
“I came in to find a stack of complaints on my desk this morning,” Doyle mentioned as we watched a fierce-looking nan bend over her pram to coo at her fussy charge. “Funny thing, they all bore your name. Busy night, Kit?”
I shrugged.
He blew some steam from his mug before tasting. “The commissioner would very much like to, what were his words . . . oh, yes. ‘See that one dragged through the streets by her ankles.’”
I turned up my toes. “Not much to them. Knots had better be tight.”
“I also received a very interesting communication from Lord Dredmore.” Doyle finished his tea with a few swallows. “It seems that someone trespassed onto his property last night and stole a black gelding from his stables.”
I made my sigh heavy. “How terrible for him.”
“This particular gelding was trained to be ridden only by a lady,” Doyle said. “And yet no sidesaddle was found to be missing.”
“You know, I think I heard someone mention rumor of a black horse this morning, too.” I pretended to think. “Oh, yes. One was found at dawn standing outside Halter’s stables. Lovely big black fellow, name of George.” I glanced at him. “What a coincidence.”
“I’ll send a man over to collect George and pay Halter for his troubles.” He regarded me directly. “Now that I’ve told you how dreadful my morning has been, you will tell me exactly what you were doing last night.”
“Before being kidnapped and held against my will at Morehaven, or after?” I enjoyed the shock on his face. “You really should do some investigating now and then, Chief Inspector. I thought you Yardmen were trained for it.”
“Why would Lord Dredmore abduct you?”
“He’s a pompous, controlling ass; I’m difficult to scare off, and we’re competing for the same job.” I dropped my peach pit back into the bag.
Oh, and he believes that he’s in love with me. I kept that thought in my head.
“Were there any witnesses to your abduction and captivity?” Doyle persisted.
“Who were not in the employ of Lucien Dredmore? Ah, no, sorry. He’s not that stupid.” I saw the lines round his mouth deepen. “Just forget it, Tommy.”
“I don’t think I can do that just now.” He put his hand over mine. “Did he hurt you, Kit?”
Beyond all hope of recovery, I was beginning to believe. “No. Dredmore could never do anything to me but make me laugh.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Here was my opportunity for some genuine revenge. Tom Doyle could take me to a physick, who would examine me and find the physical evidence of what Dredmore and I had done. Since I was unmarried and had never been charged with soliciting favors from gentlemen, I could claim ravishment and have Dredmore charged with assaulting me. Without witnesses it would be difficult to see him convicted, but filing the complaint along would be enough to destroy his reputation. He’d never again be invited to the governor’s mansion to show off his grubby bag of tricks.
It will end here and now. The memory of Lucien’s voice in the gardens at Morehaven echoed in my mind. All you need say is no.
“Nothing else happened between me and Dredmore last night that concerns the law,” I told Doyle.
“Perhaps you’ll change your mind after I tell you why I’m here.” He finished his tea. “You’re wanted at the magistrate’s.”
“Court?” I frowned. “Why, whatever for?”
He took my mug from me. “You’ll be arraigned on charges of practicing magic in a residential area.”
“Even if I did practice magic, which I don’t, my office is in the business district.” When he said nothing, I added, “My landlord had me evicted from the building about an hour ago.”
“The address cited in the warrant is for your flat, Kit.” He rose and carried our mugs back to the cartlass, who tucked them in her wash bin before handing Doyle back fo’pence for the return of her crockery.
I went to the fountain to wash the peach juice from my fingers, and was drying them with my kerchief when Doyle joined me.
“Do you know a barrister?” he asked. When I shook my head, he sighed. “You’ll need one. A good one.”
“Can’t afford so much as a bad one, Tom.”
“Bloody hell, Kit,” he snapped, startling a pair of passing nans. “Have you any idea of how much trouble you’re in? These are serious charges. Violation of trade practice law carries a sentence of three to five years, hard labor. What the devil have you been up to on the Hill?”
“I tried to help someone.” Before he could shout again, I added, “You needn’t fuss at me, Inspector. I was warned; I knew something like this might happen.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“Some things are worth a bit of risk.” I smiled up at him. “I don’t suppose you’d pay attention to the flowers for the next few minutes.”
“I wish I could, Kit, but my beaters are standing just over there, and they’d give chase.” He held out his hand. “I’ll speak for you at court.”
“And say what? You know I’m a good lass because we played together as children? You’ll get the sack.” I turned round and held my wrists behind my back. “Do your job, Inspector.”
A few moments later the cold steel cuffs of Doyle’s shackles clamped over my wrists. “Charmian Constance Kittredge, you are charged with practicing magic in a prohibited area. Be advised that anything you say while in my custody can be entered into evidence and used against you. You are permitted representation before the magistrate. If you cannot afford such representation, an aid-solicitor will be summoned to counsel you and speak on your behalf. Do you understand what I have told you?”
The reasons, no, but the words, of course. “I do, sir.”
“Right, then.” He arranged my cloak so that it covered my manacles and then took my arm. “Let’s go.”
Chief Inspector Doyle spared me the humiliation of taking me to Rumsen Main first to be glassed and recorded. While I knew eventually I would have my image and personal information added to the vast number of criminal countenances and case files kept in the police archives, the reprieve gave me a bit of time to decide what next I would do.
My enemy—either Dredmore or Walsh—had thrown down the gauntlet by having me hauled before the magistrate. My choices were to fight, arrange bail and flee, or surrender myself to an unhappy fate.
I wasn’t going to run away or give up, which meant I needed to arm myself.
