26

They got back to the wonderful town of Sunhampton just after seven o’clock in the evening. When Mick looked through the opening at the front of the passenger compartment and saw the gates loom nearer, he felt the same swell of affection for the old place that he’d felt all his life, and would probably carry on feeling until he was feeding the worms. The driver brought the carriage to a stop and waited as the commuters disembarked, refunding each of them their fare.

Mick paid the man for his and Zip’s seats. He hadn’t been going to, but changed his mind at the last minute, just as the town gates appeared in sight. The way he saw it, the driver’s horses had to eat, and they hadn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t give a tip, though.

“I always pay my way, scam or not,” he said. “But mark my words; if I catch you swindling in Sunhampton, I’ll see that you rot in Striding jail. You’ll never see the light of day again.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” said the driver.

“S’pose it is,” said Mick. He jabbed a finger at the man for emphasis and added, “But you just be careful.”

Mick’s sister lived in a two bedroom house on Khaled Way. Just to confuse matters, this Khaled wasn’t King Khaled but instead a guy named Benjamin Khaled. He wrote a bunch of poems. Mentioned ‘hampton in them, supposedly. Mick wouldn’t know; poetry went over his head. He liked good, honest language, not metaphors and similes and the like. Metaphors were a fog that led you astray, and similes were as confusing as a foreign language.

Khaled Way was a quiet street, but the neighbors either side of Kiera didn’t like her much, because while their gardens could have taken the first and second prizes in a landscaping competition, Kiera’s lawn was overgrown and her path was covered with soggy fallen leaves. Her neighbors, in true Sunhampton style, were too polite to say anything, but Kiera had always been good at reading people. She’d told Mick she could sense their distaste whenever she made small talk with them. She’d have made a fine sleuth, he thought.

The fact was, Kiera just didn’t have the time to keep on top of the garden. She had her job, her studying, a daughter who played truant, and she and Mick also pitched in with whatever errands Ma and Granny Wells needed doing. Mick had told her plenty of times to leave it to him, but Kiera wouldn’t. To her, help was a word people only used when they were stuck on a mountain. Actually, she probably wouldn’t have said it even then.

Even so, she had tried to get along with Mrs. Smythe on the left, and Mr. and Mr. Hendricks on the right. One night after work, she’d even stopped by Rolls and Dough and bought two boxes of vanilla slices. It had thawed relations some, but she told Mick she still felt like an outsider, like she was the scruffy neighbor.

“Now you just tread carefully,” Mick told Zip as they walked toward the front door. “She’s gonna be stressed out as it is. If you ask me, play it nice and contrite.”

“She won’t care.”

“Zip…”

When they walked inside, they found Kiera sitting at the kitchen table with four books spread out across it, and a notebook in front of her. To her left was a cup of coffee, to her right a red wine. Interesting combination, but then again, Mick’s sister had always been a weird lady. Growing up, she used to eat dessert before tea. Drove Pa mad. Mick counted six different colored pencils laid out on the table, indicating some kind of highlighting system she used on her books. They looked dull as heck; ‘Easterly’s Trade Laws – A Revised Edition’ and that kind of thing. Sleep fodder – that explained the coffee. As they crossed the hallway and stepped into the kitchen proper, she barely looked up at them.

“Hey, Mick. Hey, Zip. Nice day at school?”

Zip gave Mick a see? Kind of look.

“Mother, it’s eight o’clock.”

“Oh, sorry. You’ll be wanting dinner. I picked up a steak pie from the King’s Head. Cut yourself a piece. You hungry, Mick?”

“Don’t you want to know where I’ve been all evening?” said Zip.

Kiera set down her pen and looked up at her daughter. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been out all night, and you’re not even asking me where. Billie Felton said her mother grilled her like a steak when she was an hour late home from school.”

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“Well, it’s because I trust you, Zip. You’re allowed to be out with your friends. Me and Mick used to stay out so late that we had to find our way home by moonlight. Didn’t we, Mick?”

Ah, fond memories. Him and Kiera, thick as thieves on the streets of Sunhampton. Mick nodded. “Yup.”

“And Grandma didn’t mind?”

“Mind?” said Kiera. “She didn’t notice.”

Zip tossed her school knapsack down, pulled out a chair at the table, and slumped into it, almost deflating as she did so. “A lot of kids get punished, Mother. Especially when they’re caught truanting and shoplifting.”

“You did what?” said Kiera, looking to Mick for confirmation.

He nodded. He hadn’t been looking forward to this part. “Bumped into her in a station in Striding. She was getting booked in.”

“Shoplifting? Shoplifting what?”

“Fried potatoes,” said Mick.

Zip added, “But they were throwing ‘em away. It’s a crime, if you ask me.”

Kiera ran her hands over her face and sighed through the gaps between her fingers. Mick really felt for her. He could almost see the exhaustion seeping out.

She said, “Saints’ beards, girl. I’m studying for my solicitor tokens. How will it look, having a felon in the family? Think people will trust me to argue in court, when I’m harboring a criminal in my own home?”

Looking at his niece’s face, Mick noticed something. Her eyes said ‘I’m a kid and I’m annoyed at getting told off.’ But her smile, slight as it was, said something different.

“I know, mother. I know. I shouldn’t have done it. You’re right to scold me, I deserve it.”

“Damned right you shouldn’t. Now, Mick, does Ma still need a new set of kitchen knives? Because I was thinking, for her birthday-”

“That’s it?” said Zip.

“What?”

“They caught me stealing from a market, Ma! There’s places where a thief’d lose their hand for something like that.”

“I’ve told you how disappointed I am,” said Kiera.

“Well, am I grounded?”

“What?” said Kiera. “Saints, no. You’re not grounded. No sense punishing myself as well.”

“But I stole potatoes from a market!”

“Well, lesson learned, isn’t it? Don’t do it again.”

“That’s really it?” said Zip.

“What do you want, a written statement from me that the matter’s settled?” said Kiera. Then in a softer voice, she said, “Look, come here, love. Give your mother a cuddle. I’ve had a hard day.”

Their one second cuddle soon over with, Zip said goodnight and went to her room. Mick stayed and chatted with Kiera for a little while. She offered him a coffee, but he could see it was one of those occasions when she was just being nice. Besides, coffee after six in the evening kept him up. So, rather than hang around, rather than tell her his own news, he said goodnight to his sister and headed home.

Ma was practically waiting by the front door when he got back. She’d been pacing around the house for hours. If Mick had the Forensics skill tree, he bet he’d have seen her footprints cutting a circular route over the floorboards.

“Well?” she said.

Mick put on a glum face and sighed. “Didn’t work out.”

Ma said nothing for a moment, then smiled and playfully hit his shoulder. “You think I can’t tell when my Micky is lying? Come here, you big donkey!”

Ma got out the celebratory whiskey from a pantry in the kitchen where they also kept their special celebration glasses she’d bought from Larking Spice Museum, and they shared a whiskey or two while Mick told her everything that had happened over the last couple of days, including the stuff with Zip.

“That girl…sweet as sugar when she wants to be, but she needs a kick up the arse.”

“Thing is,” said Mick, “I think that’s what she wants. It was almost as if she wanted Kiera to lay into her.”

Ma shook her head. “My poor daughter, worked to the bone. I blame myself.”

Mick laughed. She always said this kind of thing. “For what?”

“For marrying your father. Should have found me a rich factory owner who’d leave us a fortune when he copped it.”

Later, when Ma’s second whiskey made her tired, Mick said goodnight and headed toward the King’s Head. Coiner’s Way was lit by the streetlamps lined on either side. The tavern beckoned at the end of it, a swelling of cozy light inviting passersby in for a friendly drink and a chat. Mick had had many happy nights there.

It was a full house that night, since Zakariya Spencer was holding one of his tasting sessions. He did it once per month to earn experience on his chef skill trees. Twenty gold would get you a dozen little tasting plates of things you ordinarily would never order in a million years. Roasted quail with juniper berries, stuffed figs, elderflower sorbet. That kind of thing. Fancy-folk food, to be sure, but absolutely delicious.

Mick usually took an artificed container set he’d bought from Lewis Cooper, and went home with plenty of leftovers. Nell, on the other hand, ate all her dishes quickly, while Lee liked to tell everyone he wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t pay any gold, yet he’d pick at everyone else’s food all the same. Spruce, meanwhile, never took part. Said he wasn’t hungry, either. Mick thought it was because he maybe felt a little bit jealous at Zakariya displaying his advanced chef skills.

Walking through the tavern, Mick accidentally bumped into a table, knocking Connor Perry’s glass of beer and making some spill out over the rim.

“Sorry, pal,” said Mick.

“S’alright. Tell your Ma I’ve got a parcel for her, by the way.”

“I’ll come to the post office and get it tomorrow.”

Mick spotted old Jack Cooper by the bar with Janey Morgan. They were sharing a plate of breaded shrimp. Not far away, Lewis Cooper and his gang were all crowding round their usual table near the hearth, including the actress he was going out with. She was one talented lady. Almost brought Mick to tears when he went to see her perform at the Full Striding auditorium. He nodded hello to them and crossed the tavern to find Nell, Spruce, and Lee.

“Here he is, Detective Mulroon,” said Lee, waving. Then, he looked at Mick tentatively. “At least, I hope so?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, pal. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

“It’s actually Sleuth Mulroon,” said Mick. “Or I will be.”

“Then my advice is the same. Sit your arse down and I’ll get you a drink!”