Bloodhound Read Free Page B

spinning tall or small depending on the weather, they savor the taste of other places. In return they give me the bits of talk they've gathered since my last visit.
    They're funny creatures, spinners. I don't know how old they are. When I was small, I learned to gather conversations from Hasfush, the one I met first. I think Hasfush is the oldest of the city spinners. My Granny Fern, who taught me how to use this family magic, told me my five-times-great-grandda had listened to Hasfush.
    Today we called on Hasfush first. He was spinning short, a whirl of dust, leaves, and tiny stones that rose barely a foot into the air. It was all he could manage with the weather so hot and still. When I entered his circle, I gave him a nice packet of grit from the Daymarket. That cheered him so much that he sped up, growing and rising to my shoulders. He released all the bits of conversations he'd collected over the last week, giving them to my hearing.
    As ever, much of it was sheer nonsense, a handful of words or less. There were even pieces in a language that I think was Yamani. That was a guess. I've only heard it spoken twice.
    Then I heard, " – at this! I won eight silver nobles off the mammerin' scut, an' six of 'em is coles!" It was a cove who spoke, a whiny one.
    A mot replied to him. "So find a game and lose 'em to someone else. You want – "
    Those two voices were gone.
    The next whole bit that I heard sent goose bumps all over me.
    " – rot in the rye?" That was a mot, an old one.
    "All that rain they've had in the northeast this summer." This was a younger mot, all business. "We'll be lucky if this year's rye harvest is half what last year's was."
    "We will sell the rotten stuff. Mix it well with the good. None will notice." The old mot's voice was hard.
    "Are you mad? That stuff kills! I'll have no – "
    That mot left the old one, from the sound of her voice.
    Hasfush was empty of his week's gatherings. I ground my teeth. I would have liked the name of the mot who wished to sell rotten rye, which brings madness and death. It wasn't Hasfush's fault that the two mots had moved on, nor was it a care of his. Spinners take no interest in what comes to them on the breeze.
    I thanked him. Then Pounce and I moved on to visit two more Lower City spinners and more pigeons. Neither spinner had anything about coles. One pigeon carried a ghost who nattered about grain crops overall.
    I'd give my news to Sergeant Ahuda. The grain inspectors would get the word to check the rye, at least. Hasfush had done the city a favor. I'd add some spices to his next packet. He always likes those. I know by the way his breezes warm as they circle me.
    Troubling as the crop news was, my regular meetings with spinners and pigeons did raise my spirits some. We now had advance word on the rye, so I didn't feel so useless. And I'll get another partner. Ahuda wants me to do well. She'd assigned me to Goodwin and Tunstall in the first place. She will keep trying me on whichever Dog is partnerless until the right one turns up. And when it doesn't work out, Goodwin and Tunstall will take me back.
    It could be worse. I could have been sent to one of the other districts, which is the last thing I want. I belong in the Lower City. The Lower City needs Dogs like me, Dogs that love it for all its bad and good faces.
    Once I'd used up all my bird feed and talked to my spinners, I made my way home. I meant to do some cleaning and to write in this journal, but Tansy waited for me on the doorstep of my lodging house.
    "I'm sorry," she said before I could open my gob. "I'm sorry I didn't wait for your news. I'm sorry Silsbee is a looby and a lazy one at that." Her eyes were puffy. "Beka, I need a favor." Pounce leaped into her arms and licked her cheek. "Dearest cat, that's sweet, but it scratches. My skin looks dreadful from weeping as it is." To me she said, "Beka, please – come home and help me test my silver."
    I stared at her.
    Tansy kept her voice very quiet