City of Lies Read Free Page B

begun to hear mutterings.
This would never have happened under the Blessed Guardians
.
    And now the Fugleman, the leader of the Guardians, was back. The Protector wished she could see inside his head. She knew that he was a superb actor. Was he acting now? Was he as humbled as he seemed to be, or was it a trick? She rapped her fingernail on the desk.
    Outside the window a dog began to howl. At the same time, someone knocked on the door of her office. “Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace,” said one of the militiamen, poking his head in, “but there’s a messenger from the Museum of Dunt. Name of Sinew. He said it was—”
    “Urgent!” A tall, awkward-looking man in a long black cloak and a red woolen scarf pushed past him. “They’ve gone, Protector, vanished overnight—”
    He saw the Fugleman and his mouth snapped shut—then, quicker than a thought, split open again in a foolish grin. He threw his arms wide. “Yes, my worries have vanished overnight,” he proclaimed, “because the
Fugleman
has returned! And I am filled with joy!”
    He grabbed the Fugleman by the shoulders and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. The Protector’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and she was about to protest. But then she saw the uprush of blood in the Fugleman’s face, and she pinned her lips together, sat back in her chair and waited to see what would happen next.
    Sinew draped his arm around the prisoner’s shoulders. “So,” he burbled cheerfully, “where on
earth
have you been? The Protector here was convinced you were dead, but I said, ‘No, he’s just wandered off to do his murdering and looting somewhere else for a change. He’ll be back, never fear, like a bad smell.’ ” He wrinkled his long nose. “Speaking of bad smells …”
    A pulse throbbed in the Fugleman’s temple, but he stared at the floor and said nothing. Outside the building, the howling went on and on.
    The Protector stood up and unlatched the window. Sitting on the footpath below her was a little white dog with a curly tail and one black ear. Its head was tipped back and its eyes closed. Its muzzle pointed to the sky.
    “
Arooo-oooooo-oooooooooh
,” it howled. “
Arrrooo-oooooooooo-oooooooooooooh.
”
    “Isn’t that the—um—dog from the museum?” said the Protector. It was hard to make herself heard above the pitiful sound. “What’s the matter with him?”
    “Oh, nothing serious,” said Sinew. “He’s got fleas, that’s all, and wants the world to know about it.” He nudged the Fugleman. “Terrible things, fleas. Can’t stand them myself. Ooh, look, there’s one now.”
    Quick as a flash, his hand burrowed into the Fugleman’s matted hair. The Fugleman jerked away as if he had been burned, his face livid with anger.
    Sinew didn’t seem to notice. He held something up between his fingernails. “Got it,” he declared, with a satisfied smile. “And now we crush it”—his nails clicked together—“like the nasty little parasite it is.”
    The Protector had seen enough. She pulled the window closed and turned to the waiting militiaman. “Tell Vice-Marshal Amsel that the Fugleman—the
ex
-Fugleman—is to be taken to the House of Repentance.”
    “But it’s boarded up, Your Grace.”
    “Then unboard it. I want him guarded around the clock.”
    The militiaman grabbed the Fugleman’s arm. “Come on, you.”
    As the door closed behind them, Sinew’s foolishness fell away like a discarded coat. “Your Grace,” he said in a low voice. “Do you remember Goldie Roth and Toadspit Hahn?”
    “What? Who?” said the Protector, who was still thinking about the Fugleman. Then her mind cleared and she said, “Yes, of course. Such brave children. If it wasn’t for them,
he
”—she grimaced at the door—“would have succeeded in his vicious plans.”
    “They have disappeared, along with Toadspit’s sister, Bonnie.”
    “Disappeared?”
The Protector rubbed her forehead, trying to take in the news. “Is that why the