The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(4)
With those words, Devon was certain the Calian had won. The merchant had read the duchess correctly and properly spotted the weakness in her defense.
Genny took a step closer to the man, tilted her head down to eye him squarely, the ever-present smile growing sharper. “This isn’t about money,” she said with a glint in her eye. “We both know that. You’re trying to cheat me, and I’m trying to undercut you. It’s a game we both love. No one can convince you to sell for less than your minimum profit, and you can’t force me to pay more than I’m willing. In this competition, we are equals. You don’t even have a family, do you? If you did, they would be here helping to—”
A commotion cut through the crowd. A small boy, thin and dirty, darted through the throng of shoppers. The waif clutched a loaf of bread to his chest as he skillfully dodged through the forest of legs. The cry had alerted the city guard, and a pair of soldiers caught hold of the kid as he struggled to crawl toward a broken sewer grate. They hauled him up, his legs free and kicking, bare feet black as tar. No more than twelve, he was a wildcat: twisting, jerking, and biting. The guards beat the boy until he lay still on the cobblestone, quietly whimpering.
“Stop!” The duchess charged toward them, hands raised. Being a big woman in a large gown, the duchess was hard to miss, even on busy Vintage Avenue. “Leave that child alone! What are you thinking? You aren’t, are you? No, not thinking at all! Of course not. You don’t beat a starving child. What’s wrong with you? Honestly!”
“He’s a thief,” one of the soldiers said, while the other pulled out a strap of leather and looped one end around the boy’s left wrist. “He’ll lose his hand for this.”
“Let him go!” the duchess shouted, and, taking hold of the child, she wrenched his arm free of the soldier’s loop. “I can’t believe what I’m witnessing. Devon, do you see this? Is this what goes on? Outrageous! Brutalizing and butchering children just because they’re hungry?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship,” Devon answered, “the law states . . . your husband’s law states that a thief forfeits the left hand for the first offense, the right for the second, and his head for the third.”
The duchess stared at him with an expression that could only be described as flabbergasted. “Are you serious? Leo would never be so cruel. Surely the law doesn’t apply to a child.”
“I’m afraid so; there are no exceptions. These men are merely doing their jobs. You really should leave them to it.”
The boy cowered into the skirt of her gown.
The guards reached out and took hold of the lad again.
“Wait!” The duchess stopped them as she spotted a man in a flour-covered apron. “Is this your bread?”
The baker nodded.
“Pay him, Devon.”
“Excuse me?” Devon hesitated.
She planted a hand on her hip and set her jaw. Even though Devon had worked only sporadically with the duchess, he’d learned this meant: You heard me!
Devon sighed, and as he walked toward the baker, he opened his purse. “This doesn’t change the fact that the boy broke the law.”
The duchess pulled herself up to her full height—which was considerable for a man and astounding for a woman. “I asked this boy to fetch me a loaf of bread. He obviously lost the coin I gave him, and since he didn’t want to fail in his assigned duties, he resorted to the only option available. I’m merely replacing the money he lost. Since he was acting on my request, your issue is with me, not him. Please feel free to submit any complaints you might have to the duke. I’m certain my dear husband will do the right thing.”
The baker stared at her for a brief instant. His mouth opened to answer, but survival instincts beat back his tongue.
She looked around at the others. “Anyone else?” She glared at the guards. “No? Well then, good.”
The soldiers scowled, then turned away. While Devon was paying the baker, he heard one of them mutter “Whiskey Wench.” The words were said softly but not quietly enough. The soldier wanted her to hear.
The carriage rolled on again with the duchess slumped in her seat. Being a large woman and having little room in the coach, she couldn’t slouch much before her knees pressed against the opposite bench. “Just a child. Can’t they see that? Of course they can, but do they care? Brutes, that’s what they are. They would have cut off that boy’s hand—chopped it off right there on the silk merchant’s stool I suppose. That’s the type of barbarity doled out in this city? Children are crippled because they are starving? That’s no way to run a duchy, and I’m sure Leo doesn’t realize how inappropriately his edicts are being measured out. I’ll talk to him, and he’ll clarify the law. With stupidity like this, it’s no wonder Rochelle is floundering. Such punishment only inflames dissent among a populace. Will the boy be a better citizen with one less hand?”
“Not a boy,” Devon said, rocking beside her as the carriage rolled and the horse’s hooves clattered.
“How’s that?”
“The thief wasn’t a boy, not human, I mean. He’s a mir. Didn’t you notice his pointed ears? He’s likely a member of some criminal organization. That’s how they operate, a colony of rats that haul their catch back to a central nest.”