The girl had gone missing ten spans ago. After a row with the mother. No great surprise there, Teller thought. The interview went slowly as Mas had to keep prodding the father for pertinent information and sieving the facts from what the mother was prepared to impart. If it didn’t polish her perception of herself, then those parts got left out. He already knew what had happened to her. The Stone-folk connection was too strong. But he scribbled on his little bark parchment notebook anyhow. He kept telling himself he couldn’t be totally sure, which was partly true.
“I hope we can get our little pup back, we’ve missed her so,” said the mother.
“I just hope we can get some closure,” said Alum. Did he already know, or was he just a pessimist?
“Don’t talk like that! I can’t bear it,” Allingite said.
“It will be what it will be,” said Alum.
“Choke on my dust!” said Allingite, the first time she’d resorted to cursing. “If you weren’t so lax with little Adelite, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“If you hadn’t been such a stone-faced monster all the time, she’d never have chosen to run off with that River-rat in the first place.”
Much as he was enjoying the banter, Mas leaped in, “That who?”
“Her friend,” said Allingite.
“Lover,” said Alum.
“Pshaw! Why would she ever—?”
“Why does anyone?” said Mas. “What was his name?”
“Kwai, Kwey something,” she said.
“Kwat,” said Alum, “he was called Kwat. Local River-folk. Came after the uprising, lived with the Tinkralas, helping the refugees.”
“Hiding more like—”
“She took to the scent of him straight away,” said Alum.
“That happens,” Mas said. “Any idea what’s become of him?”
“I thought, Mr. Mas, we were investigating my daughter?” said Allingite.
“We are, but find him and we might find her. Increases our possible leads.”
“Ah, I understand,” said Alum.
“Anything else you could tell me, might help me find him?”
The female huffed loudly. Mas waited, detecting the smell of the serving girl Minu, behind him, carrying the racta pot. This new girl was good, she could stay. Mas gently clunked the pot in the traditional fashion and the girl poured.
“There was one thing,” said Alum.
“Go on.”
“So, when she first introduced him, he seemed, okay—”
“And that just shows how much I shouldn’t have trusted her in your care. Based on your judgment, where is she now? Hey?”
Mas turned his head, waited for her to finish and then turned back. “What happened then?”
“Well, the last time we met him he seemed, different.”
“Different, how?”
“It’s, well, it’s hard to describe. The first time we met him, he was just a normal youth. A little slack a little dozy, a little awkward, but okay. The last time? It was like he was aware of everything. Listening to every little sound. Does that sound odd?”
“Yes,” said Allingite.
Mas ignored her again, “Twitchy?”
“No, not really. More like poised. Drinking everything in.”
“Ok, thank you,” said Mas. “That’s really been helpful.”
Alum sighed slowly as if deflating. “May I get some more—?”
“Oh, racta?” said Mas, “Sure, sorry, how rude of me.” He whispered in the direction of the bar, but the girl was already on her way over.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Allingite said. But by that time Minu had topped him up and he’d swigged it anyway. Allingite rounded on Mas, “Where will we find you?”
“I’ll find you. It’s what I do.” Then, when she tutted loudly, “I’ll report back in a span.”
After an unsatisfying visit to Bobbins, to shake out some information, Mas sat on the edge of the quay, kicking his legs over the side. He had no idea what to do with himself. Maybe there was some limit to how often even Bobbins could be shaken down in one work-span. The sloshing of the water against the stone-work was lulling him to sleep. Better get up and get back to work. A waft of sweet-smelling powder drifted over his shoulder. Gods, were the crazy family stalking him? He stood swiftly and jogged along the edge of the quay to the little quayside hut where Old Fryk was usually to be found. He squeezed into the doorway, hoping Fryk wasn’t home. He was in luck, and then again in quick succession, the sickly powdery smell wafted on up the street toward Madame Bana’s lodging house. They weren’t trying to sniff him out then. Then he found himself following at a discreet distance. They wouldn’t be difficult to tail, rowing as loud as they seemed to all the time, and trailing that scented cloud rendered them dull to everything except walls. They didn’t even slow down when they approached Madame Bana’s hostel. Clearly not slumming it there with the other visitors. He wondered about following them all the way back to their lodgings, just to double check, but then there was another voice from behind the hostel shutters as the sound of argument retreated uphill. He stopped to tune in to hear who was conversing in there. One voice was the talkative midwife with the potions kick, perhaps she was talking to Madame Bana. He shook his head. No, there was no other voice, the crazy girl was talking to herself. A voice in his ear jolted him back.
“Coming in?” It was the deep voice of Gryk, Madame Bana’s doorkeeper/bouncer. Hells, that guy could creep for a big fella.
“Err, yeah,” said Mas, “Just want a quick chat with the new kid.”
“Crazy-midwife? Knock yourself out, Mas.”
“Thanks.”
He knocked. She fell silent and opened the door. Her room was not as insane as Mas had imagined. He had imagined an awful smell explosion in his head. He noticed he had his nostrils reflexively squeezed shut.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hi, you’re the midwife from the other span, right?”
“Yeah, Anda, you’re the constable?”
“Not a constable. More a freelancer.”
“Tea?”
“Oh, me, no thanks, I’ve just had one,” he lied.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a curious question, and I wondered, with your sideline in potions, whether you might be the person to ask.”
“I’ll help if I can.”
“Okay, so if I was to describe some symptoms, do you think you could tell me what caused them?”
“Ooh, is this like an exam?”
“If you like.”
“Go on then.”
“So, what would produce symptoms of, hyper-awareness?”
“Hyper-awareness?”
“Like being wired on racta, I guess, but lots, lots more intense? And to all senses? Is there such a thing?”
She stirred a cup whilst making an ‘hmm’ noise. Clearly, she wasn’t going to go without tea just because Mas was.
“There’s something like the opposite?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Like the senses are dulled down?”
“I’m not sure that helps.”
“Hold on. Let me grab my satchel and show you. There’s a couple of patients in the infirmary.