It was the middle of the evening watch the next day 'afore I remembered to mention my friends ambush on the night before to Tunstall and Goodwin. I'd been thinking on it all morning, but I guess I was distracted by all the going back and forth we were doing. It was a busy night, and pickpockets were abundant, and it seemed that a pub just a ways off was selling ale for half price, so there were plenty of drunks. When I did mention it, they were both silent. Finally Goodwin spoke.
"He's the rogue Cooper, what do you expect?" Tunstall spoke up 'fore I could open my mouth to reply.
"Think on this Clary. Rosto's well liked, and a definite improvement over that blundering buffoon Kayfer. An' you seen him that day at the court then Crookshank come in a hollerin'. He's fast as anything, and those mots are no joke either. It's a strange day when they're ambushed and kill nary a one, don't ye think?" Goodwin pursed her lips. I know she don' like to be wrong, specially when Tunstall's the one to tell her so.
"I'll keep an ear out Cooper, but I doubt there'll be aught to hear. Folk as attack the rogue won't be likely to blab an' there won't be any witnesses as no one in their right mind was out in that storm." This was the same conclusion we had reached the night before. It wasn't comforting in the least. I thanked them quickly, following as Tunstall made for a stall where we could see pasties cooling on the counter. Typical. He sure loves it when we walk the nightmarket.
We were standing in front of the stall Tunstall had spotted (or more likely, smelled - Goodwin swears he's got the nose of a real dog when it comes to food) and my dogs were chatting amiably with Mistress Carver. It hadn't taken Tunstall long to find a new favorite after the execution of Diedrey Noll. Mistress Carver was a younger mot with red curls and an accent that spoke of her family's roots in the Airen Isles just off the coast of the Tortallan and Scanran border. She was mayhap in her mid twenties, but Tunstall swore she made the best cinnamon crisps and meat pasties he'd ever tasted. I highly doubted Tunstall would hesitate to declare food of any sorts he best, but her baking was delightful.
To be truthful, she seemed like a nice enough mot; she was certainly friendly enough. She's a sweet little thing. Course, that's what I'd thought about Mistress Noll, too. Honestly, if there's anything wrong with her, it's that she's too open, too naive for living in the Lower City. She's no good at hiding anything, and talks freely to anyone who's willing to listen. I won't make that mistake again. Nearly talked my ear off, and all of it drivel. Not a useful scrap anywheres.
I suspected her baking was only one of the reasons my dogs had chosen to buy their goods from her. She was much more talkative than Mistress Noll and let plenty slip, as well as her being new to Tortall and not yet having the prejudices the other inhabitants of the lower city had accumulated. She didn't know anything about the feud between the Francis brothers, who haven't spoken a kind word to each other since they were young, when Thomas married a mot that Benjamin had had his eyes on for years. She didn't understand anything about Rachel and Sarah, who had once been bitter enemies and now were the best of friends. A dangerous position to be sure. I don' envy her. That ignorance has gotten her into a few tight spots and made her few friends.
Something the mot said caught my attention, and I tuned out the talk of the other visitors to the nightmarket, listening closely.
"From what I hear, a group of Scanran merchants arrived just yesterday." Yesterday. The day of the storm, when my friends had been attacked. That didn't mean anything, but it couldn't hurt to ask. I leaned on the counter, resting my cheek in my palm.
"Any idea when they arrived?" I asked casually. Mistress Carver shrugged, tucking her hair back.
"'Round dusk it were," Dusk? That sounded right. Mayhap they'd heard sommat. If I talked to them, maybe I'd learn more about these men that had attacked my friends. It wasn't much, but it was somewhere to start.
"Where are they staying?" I asked. She frowned thoughtfully.
"They've taken rooms at the place down on Harken lane...what's it called?" Goodwin answered.
"The Hidden City?" Mistress Carver nodded, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. As soon as I noticed her doing in I realized I was doing the exact same thing and dropped my hand's to my sides.
"That's the place." I've heard of the place. It's got a good reputation, and I shouldn't have any trouble finding it. If I do, I'm sure Tunstall or Goodwin could give me directions. We thanked her for the food and handed over several coppers. Or rather, Goodwin and I thanked her, as Tunstall had his mouth full, which I suppose was thanks enough.
I didn't say much for the rest of watch. If Goodwin or Tunstall thought that was odd, they didn't say anything, and I'm sure grateful for that. I needed some time to think. I've decided I'll pay these merchants a visit tomorrow if I can get out early enough. This is the only lead I've got, so I might as well follow it to the end. If it yields nothing, I can't say I didn't try.
