6

Mick thought Ma might be onto something, but he reasoned that the pig thief wouldn’t risk trying to sell Rohan to a local farmer. Nor would any farmer around Sunhampton buy him without seeing legal documentation proving ownership. Folks around Sunhampton watched out for one another.

With this in mind, he cast a wider net. At Sunhampton library, he visited the reference section to take a look at the artificed local survey map. This map, artificed by Jack Cooper years ago, folded out to cover two whole desks pushed together. The magic in it – Mick knew that Jack Cooper hated that word but continued to use it anyway to annoy him – made it so that when new stores opened or property changed hands, the map would reflect the changes.

He used the map to make a list of farms that were more than five miles away from Sunhampton, yet less than thirty. A thief, he reasoned, couldn’t sell his stolen goods, but also wouldn’t want the burden or risk of traveling too far with an illicitly-gained pig.

After work and at weekends, Mick visited farm after farm. Clever scheduling meant he could hit four or five farms in one trip, but it still took much more time than he’d have liked. Some days, he finished whatever mindless task Mr. Leabrook had given him for the day, headed straight for a commuter cart, and didn’t get home until after midnight.

Wednesday evening – or Thursday morning, technically – was the worst. He had eaten a whole plate of marinaded kebab wraps at one o’clock in the morning. That was no time of the day to be eating kebabs. He didn’t mind it if he got home drunk after an evening in the King’s Head. The amount of beer you drank directly correlated with eating food at unsuitable times, everyone knew that. But a kebab in the early hours of the morning after spending an evening visiting farms? That didn’t seem right.

Something’s gonna have to give, he thought. I can’t keep this up forever.

Then again, the last thing in the world that he wanted was to stop being Sunhampton’s head of guards. Especially not so he could focus on his work for Mr. Leabrook. If his boss could teach a chimpanzee how to do his job for peanuts, he wouldn’t blink before telling Mick to look for another job. Whereas keeping Sunhampton safe, whatever that meant in a quiet place like this, always made Mick feel important. Sometimes, that was what a person needed.

On Thursday evening, Mick visited a tavern nine and a quarter miles outside of Sunhampton. This one had a huge wicker horse standing out front, twenty feet tall and visible from far away. It was called the Lame Horse, so named after the owner’s beloved friend, Whisper, an ex-racing horse that he rescued and built a luxury stable for at the back of the tavern. It was said if a traveler wanted to find a pub where their horse would be treated better than they were, the Lame Horse was their place. Due to sitting right in the crease of where the routes to Sunhampton and a few other towns met, it also served as a pretty good waypoint for travelers.

Inside, the Lame Horse was as dimly lit as most of those places tended to be. It was practically the law that a pub couldn’t have brightness beyond a certain level. It was a cozy tavern, Mick always thought when he had occasion to visit it. The perfect little place for seeing out a winter’s evening, warming by the fire with a beer to hand and pie and gravy ready to be eaten. And their fried potatoes? Best in Easterly, for his money.

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Taking a deep breath, he smelled stale pipe smoke – a clear breach of the Easterly Tobacco policy that said you couldn’t puff a pipe inside a public premises. As a guard, Mick was within his rights to arrest someone for that even if they weren’t in Sunhampton right now. You had to pick your battles, though. What people didn’t understand was the sheer amount of forms that cuffing just one person created. He was too exhausted for more paperwork, and as long as the pipe smoking didn’t happen in front of him, he’d let it go for his own sake.

Approaching the bar, he waited patiently for the owner, Hugh, to serve two gentlemen. Listening with his trained ear, Mick gathered that they were comparing notes for a hike they were doing the next morning. One of them was up for a more challenging route, while his friend was hoping for a more relaxed stroll. After giving them their King’s Lament ales and pocketing their coins, Hugh turned his attention to Mick.

Hugh was bald on top, with a ponytail at the back of his head. His right ear was pierced three times. Painful. His face made him look like a badger, Mick thought. Hard to pinpoint exactly why, it was just an overall effect his eyes, nose, and mouth had that put you in mind of a black and white nocturnal critter. A kind of innate badgeriness that no man could force.

“Alright, Mick?” he said.

“Evening.”

“What can I get for you?”

“Looking for a pig. Goes by the name…he’s called Rohan.”

“What do I look like, a farmyard auctioneer? Ales, pies, and maybe some jam tart if there’s any left. That’s all I can do for you.”

“People come here to make trades,” said Mick. “I’m just wondering if maybe a pig changed hands.”

Hugh rested his arms on the beer pump. “I don’t make a point of asking questions. I mean, I make a point of not asking questions. If trades happen in my pub, they’re of the legal kind. That’s all I know.”

“You wouldn’t be able to miss this one. They’d have had a huge pig with ‘em.”

“It’s funny what you miss when you’re not looking. Ale, Mick?”

Mick sniffed the air. “Smells a little in here.”

“My barlad’s sick. Mumps. Poor lad’s neck swelled up like he tried swallowing a grapefruit. Until he’s back, it’s all I can do to keep ale glasses full. Don’t have time to be mopping the floor.”

“It’s not the floor that stinks,” said Mick. “Smells like pipe smoke. Indoor pipe smoke, unless my nose is lying to me.”

“Must have wafted in from outside.”

“Way too strong for that. A smell so heavy, must be a full pipe’s worth smoked right under this roof. Under your very nose, in fact. Nobody could miss that. Not even a fella trying to ignore it. Don’t places get fined for allowing people to smoke indoors?”

Hugh sighed. “Look, there was a merchant here last week. He stayed for a night. Signed himself in as Papworth in the guest book. Something was off about him, can’t say what, but there you go. You just get that feeling, don’t you? Had four pigs with him. Said he was heading to Farley’s Auctioneers near Perentee. That’s all I heard. Now, are you going to spend a coin while you’re here, or not?”

Mick considered Hugh’s tip. The thing about this Papworth guy seeming ‘off’ was interesting. Not enough to arrest a person for, of course, but you had to listen to tavern owners. Part of their skill trees was the ability to sense trouble. This fella might be worth looking into.

“I’ll take a beer now that I’m here,” said Mick. “And tell your barlad I hope he gets better soon. I had mumps when I was a bairn, and it wasn’t nice, I’ll tell you that for free. My Ma, she got an ointment from the alchemist. Had to go all the way to Full Striding ‘cos we didn’t have an alchemist in ‘hampton back then. Your barlad ought to see one.”