Saturday, June 6, 246
This morning at breakfast, I did a shameful thing. Ersken, too. We all sat down and were eating and chatting with each other. Then Ersken says loudly "A neighbor of mine, Sarah Chandler, is in a spot of trouble. Sarah's hardly more than a babe herself, and now she's having a babe. Only, she can't get the father to admit that he is such and pay her to raise his child."
Of course, I know what he's talking about immediately, but I'm in such a funk over it myself that I can't bring myself to stop him going on. I pulled Pounce on to my lap.
"Well, why don't you fine Dogs go and suggest to the father that he be a man and help out?" Kora asked sweetly.
"Because Sarah Chandler was raped eight months ago by a nobleman, Clarke of Maren. She was twelve, at the time."
Everyone stops talking and goes still. Rosto plays with one of his knives as he's listening.
"I heard tell from Goodwin he's so useful to the king that not even the temple mots can do anything, though little Sarah wasn't the first. Or the last." I said, biting off the ends of the last three words.
"Four more girls, but none old enough to get babes," Ersken said casually. His eyes are hard as he looks around.
"Ten, nine, eleven, and one eight-year-old who looked older," I put in. I'd done the Dogging, before Goodwin told me we wouldn't be arresting anyone.
"Why don't you put him away, then?" Aniki asked.
"Because it's not exactly illegal for a noble to rape little girls, so long as they're not noble. There's nothing us Dogs can do about it." Ersken said, still casual.
"Legally," I said, very quiet. Rosto stared at me. Pounce purred on my lap.
"So I says to Beka here," Ersken went on, "Be a damned shame if he just up and died."
Rosto stared at him.
"Damned shame," I said, nodding agreeably. "And if any of his money somehow sneaked into the purses of his victims…"
"Well, that'd be a damned shame, too!"
The room is dead silent.
"Well, we're off!" Ersken said cheerfully. He stood and helped me up. "Mayhap we'll forget to arrest a few Rats today."
"Not on my account, please," Rosto said mildly. "Can't have my people getting complacent."
Ersken and I said our goodbyes and walked out. I shut the door behind us and leaned on it.
"We's bad Dogs, Ersken," I said, shamefaced.
He nodded at me, and we went to the kennel. My watch was mostly quiet, besides a few pickpockets in the Night Market and a robbery we came upon in an alley.
Sunday, June 7, 246
Rosto came in late to breakfast. He sat himself down and gave a cocky grin when I looked at him expectantly.
"I heard Clarke of Maren caught sick last night and died," he said, pleased with himself. "It was very unexpected."
"What kind of illness was it?" I asked.
"The kind of illness that entices armed men to carry all the valuables out of your house and load them into carts, then slit your throat while your wife sleeps next to you," Rosto explained.
"Ah," Ersken said gravely. "A disease of the conscience."
"He must have done something awful to deserve that," Kora smiled.
"Damned shame," I bit into a piece of sweetbread.