reluctantly handed him the note. Claes scanned it and gave it back, sha king his head. “That seems indicative.”
“I’d like to get a proper identification, though,” Rathe said. “If one of his fellows would be willing. He’s been sent to the dea dhouse until he can be claimed.”
“We’ll claim him,” the leader said. “There’s no kin.” She jerked her head at a round little man. “Floreis, you go.” She looked at Rathe. “My name’s Maewes DeVoss. I’m a trainer here and a friend of Jero’s and by way of standing patronne to him in matters of business. I’d take it kindly if you’d let me accompany you.”
“There’s no proof of that but her bare word,” Voillemin pointed out.
Claes looked at him. “I’ll vouch for DeVoss,” he said, with a certain air of restraint. After all, Rathe thought, she was o nly the best known of the city’s trainers, with an unusual reputation for honesty. Even Voillemin should have known that much. “And I suppose you’ll want to clear your books, Rathe.”
“I would.” Rathe spread his hands. “It’s a bit odd he should kill himself this time of year, so we’d like to be sure before we close.”
Claes nodded. “Right, then—” He held up his hand to forestall Voillemin’s protest. “And you can go with him if you want, but it’s his right.”
“I certainly shall,” Voillemin said.
DeVoss made a sound that was ominously doglike, but got herself under control. “I’d take it as a kindness, Adjunct Point,” she said, with deliberate ambiguity.
“I have a key to a strongbox,” Rathe said. “Left with the note. I’m guessing it’s in his rooms. And also—he wanted to be sure the dogs were fed. I think he meant for any coin in the box to cover that.”
DeVoss winced. “We’ve done that,” she said, her voice more gentle than before. “And no need to take his money. We take care of our own.”
The Yellow Dog lay in the maze of lanes between the New Fair and the Exemption Docks, but DeVoss led them there unerringly. Its primary business showed clearly in its sign, a yellow basket terrier bounding over a hurdle, and in the c acophony of barks and yips coming form the side yards. A skinny boy not much past apprentice-age emerged from one of the yards, a quartet of basket terriers on a quadruple leash, and hurried away, dipping his head to DeVoss as he passed. Rathe looked at the trainer. “I thought you said you’d fed the dogs.”
She gave a rather grim smile. “We did. This is ordinary.”
“How many dogs does he have?” There was a strong smell coming off the kennels, a scent of damp dog mixed with a whiff of the midden: unavoidable, Rathe guessed, but not entirely pleasant.
“Only five, all in training for someone else. The rest belong to Pol Tieshelt, he lodges here, too.” DeVoss led them up the side stairs, pushed open a badly painted door into a hall. There were two more doors there, front and back, and she pointed to the door of the front room. It would be the cheaper of the two lodgings, Rathe knew, and his attention sharpened.
“None of his own?”
DeVoss shook her head. “He’d had a bad year of it—he was sick for the fall meets himself, and then this winter the cough hit his kennel. He had to sell off most of his own animals to keep the ot hers fed. And of course he was fool enough to give credit to the young de Calior, and now that his sister’s refused to honor his debts…” She shrugged.
“That’s definite, then?” Rathe asked. The last he’d heard, the new soueraine had only threatened not to pay, apparently in an a ttempt to get the creditors to compromise.
“Oh, yes.”
“A bad business,” Rathe said.
“For too many people,” DeVoss said. “And I’m afraid Jero was one of them.” She pushed the door open, and behind them Voill emin cleared his throat.
“Was that door unlocked before?”
DeVoss looked over her shoulder. “He never locked it, in case someone needed to get to the
“I’d like to get a proper identification, though,” Rathe said. “If one of his fellows would be willing. He’s been sent to the dea dhouse until he can be claimed.”
“We’ll claim him,” the leader said. “There’s no kin.” She jerked her head at a round little man. “Floreis, you go.” She looked at Rathe. “My name’s Maewes DeVoss. I’m a trainer here and a friend of Jero’s and by way of standing patronne to him in matters of business. I’d take it kindly if you’d let me accompany you.”
“There’s no proof of that but her bare word,” Voillemin pointed out.
Claes looked at him. “I’ll vouch for DeVoss,” he said, with a certain air of restraint. After all, Rathe thought, she was o nly the best known of the city’s trainers, with an unusual reputation for honesty. Even Voillemin should have known that much. “And I suppose you’ll want to clear your books, Rathe.”
“I would.” Rathe spread his hands. “It’s a bit odd he should kill himself this time of year, so we’d like to be sure before we close.”
Claes nodded. “Right, then—” He held up his hand to forestall Voillemin’s protest. “And you can go with him if you want, but it’s his right.”
“I certainly shall,” Voillemin said.
DeVoss made a sound that was ominously doglike, but got herself under control. “I’d take it as a kindness, Adjunct Point,” she said, with deliberate ambiguity.
“I have a key to a strongbox,” Rathe said. “Left with the note. I’m guessing it’s in his rooms. And also—he wanted to be sure the dogs were fed. I think he meant for any coin in the box to cover that.”
DeVoss winced. “We’ve done that,” she said, her voice more gentle than before. “And no need to take his money. We take care of our own.”
The Yellow Dog lay in the maze of lanes between the New Fair and the Exemption Docks, but DeVoss led them there unerringly. Its primary business showed clearly in its sign, a yellow basket terrier bounding over a hurdle, and in the c acophony of barks and yips coming form the side yards. A skinny boy not much past apprentice-age emerged from one of the yards, a quartet of basket terriers on a quadruple leash, and hurried away, dipping his head to DeVoss as he passed. Rathe looked at the trainer. “I thought you said you’d fed the dogs.”
She gave a rather grim smile. “We did. This is ordinary.”
“How many dogs does he have?” There was a strong smell coming off the kennels, a scent of damp dog mixed with a whiff of the midden: unavoidable, Rathe guessed, but not entirely pleasant.
“Only five, all in training for someone else. The rest belong to Pol Tieshelt, he lodges here, too.” DeVoss led them up the side stairs, pushed open a badly painted door into a hall. There were two more doors there, front and back, and she pointed to the door of the front room. It would be the cheaper of the two lodgings, Rathe knew, and his attention sharpened.
“None of his own?”
DeVoss shook her head. “He’d had a bad year of it—he was sick for the fall meets himself, and then this winter the cough hit his kennel. He had to sell off most of his own animals to keep the ot hers fed. And of course he was fool enough to give credit to the young de Calior, and now that his sister’s refused to honor his debts…” She shrugged.
“That’s definite, then?” Rathe asked. The last he’d heard, the new soueraine had only threatened not to pay, apparently in an a ttempt to get the creditors to compromise.
“Oh, yes.”
“A bad business,” Rathe said.
“For too many people,” DeVoss said. “And I’m afraid Jero was one of them.” She pushed the door open, and behind them Voill emin cleared his throat.
“Was that door unlocked before?”
DeVoss looked over her shoulder. “He never locked it, in case someone needed to get to the
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