guard could hang him. They carried the thief to the gallows with two broken legs, and a face smashed into meat. Beautiful girl, that one, with the bluest eyes and looks so good in a low-cut dress with her calves sealed in ribbons and she dances like a lark. Last time Jona crashed a nobleman’s ball, she deigned to dance with him. She was a solid kisser, too, but he urged the dressmakers not to tell her fiancée about that. He might want to beat a confession or two out of Jona if he ever found out.
Jona took a long, loud sip of his tea in the silent room. He reached for one of the Adventday sandwiches on the other side of the table with his dirty hands, and sat back down with a deep slouch.
“I say something?” Jona grunted with his mouth full of food. Chunks of sandwich showed in his mouth when he talked.
The little old ladies touched red cheeks with pale fingers. When the conversation began again, the women talked about the last dress they sewed for the girl, and all the special things she had wanted embroidered into the hem, as if anyone noticed such small details but dressmakers.
Jona’s mother shared a brief smile with her son, and poured more tea into his cup. “When are you meeting Lady Ela Sabachthani for tea, Jona?”
The dressmakers fell silent.
“Couple weeks. Wants advice about the crime in the districts. Wants me to tell her what she can do about it. Nothing to be done for it, is what I’ll tell her. Burn the whole place down, and kick everybody out.”
“She invited him for tea,” said his mother. “He’ll be going to nobleman’s balls when the rains stop. He’ll dance with the women who buy our dresses. Isn’t he handsome in his uniform?”
The other women didn’t say anything. Some of them put down their cups. One of them got up to leave. “Now you’re just making things up,” she said.
Jona poured more brandy into his tea. They couldn’t afford sugar, so they had to use cheap brandy to take the edge off the cheap, bitter mint. The more he thought about it, the more brandy he wanted to add.
Lady Ela had tea with everybody. If you were of noble blood, you could count on it, eventually. The last time it happened, it took Jona five minutes to get politely shown the door.
***
Jona was sitting in on an interrogation with a candle maker whose tax ledgers looked funny to Calipari. He rolled his eyes while Nicola questioned the man. Jona had seen the books, but nothing worth all this interrogation.
“And the capital expense was…?” Sergeant Calipari questioned and questioned, waiting for some admission that hadn’t come, yet.
Jona stared out the window past the heads of the two men. He wanted to go home, take a cool bath, open a bottle of wine, and pretend like he was taking a nap. That’s what everyone else said they did after a long day at work.
Sergeant Calipari snapped his fingers. Jona nodded. He raised the hidden mallet from his lap up over the table in a smooth motion, and slammed down upon the candle maker’s thumb before he could think to pull it away.
The candle maker screamed. He sucked his thumb in his mouth, whimpering like a child. His nail cracked and bled.
Jona turned back to the window again. He thought he saw a bird fly by, but it might have been anything blowing in the wind. He wanted to take a long, cool bath with that wine he just got as a bribe, and maybe afterward he could buy some better sausage with the money he kept hidden on the roof. His mother didn’t know about the money on the roof, or where it came from. All she ever saw of it was better food.
Jona looked down. He frowned. The candle maker was still there, holding back tears and clutching his broken, bloodied thumb. He was listing all the names he could scrape from his head. Jona didn’t listen.
Calipari carefully transcribed this new list of names. He’d give them to scriveners for warrants, and all the tax evaders would be arrested for their crimes, except for the candle maker. The
Jona took a long, loud sip of his tea in the silent room. He reached for one of the Adventday sandwiches on the other side of the table with his dirty hands, and sat back down with a deep slouch.
“I say something?” Jona grunted with his mouth full of food. Chunks of sandwich showed in his mouth when he talked.
The little old ladies touched red cheeks with pale fingers. When the conversation began again, the women talked about the last dress they sewed for the girl, and all the special things she had wanted embroidered into the hem, as if anyone noticed such small details but dressmakers.
Jona’s mother shared a brief smile with her son, and poured more tea into his cup. “When are you meeting Lady Ela Sabachthani for tea, Jona?”
The dressmakers fell silent.
“Couple weeks. Wants advice about the crime in the districts. Wants me to tell her what she can do about it. Nothing to be done for it, is what I’ll tell her. Burn the whole place down, and kick everybody out.”
“She invited him for tea,” said his mother. “He’ll be going to nobleman’s balls when the rains stop. He’ll dance with the women who buy our dresses. Isn’t he handsome in his uniform?”
The other women didn’t say anything. Some of them put down their cups. One of them got up to leave. “Now you’re just making things up,” she said.
Jona poured more brandy into his tea. They couldn’t afford sugar, so they had to use cheap brandy to take the edge off the cheap, bitter mint. The more he thought about it, the more brandy he wanted to add.
Lady Ela had tea with everybody. If you were of noble blood, you could count on it, eventually. The last time it happened, it took Jona five minutes to get politely shown the door.
***
Jona was sitting in on an interrogation with a candle maker whose tax ledgers looked funny to Calipari. He rolled his eyes while Nicola questioned the man. Jona had seen the books, but nothing worth all this interrogation.
“And the capital expense was…?” Sergeant Calipari questioned and questioned, waiting for some admission that hadn’t come, yet.
Jona stared out the window past the heads of the two men. He wanted to go home, take a cool bath, open a bottle of wine, and pretend like he was taking a nap. That’s what everyone else said they did after a long day at work.
Sergeant Calipari snapped his fingers. Jona nodded. He raised the hidden mallet from his lap up over the table in a smooth motion, and slammed down upon the candle maker’s thumb before he could think to pull it away.
The candle maker screamed. He sucked his thumb in his mouth, whimpering like a child. His nail cracked and bled.
Jona turned back to the window again. He thought he saw a bird fly by, but it might have been anything blowing in the wind. He wanted to take a long, cool bath with that wine he just got as a bribe, and maybe afterward he could buy some better sausage with the money he kept hidden on the roof. His mother didn’t know about the money on the roof, or where it came from. All she ever saw of it was better food.
Jona looked down. He frowned. The candle maker was still there, holding back tears and clutching his broken, bloodied thumb. He was listing all the names he could scrape from his head. Jona didn’t listen.
Calipari carefully transcribed this new list of names. He’d give them to scriveners for warrants, and all the tax evaders would be arrested for their crimes, except for the candle maker. The
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