The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(54)
Leaving the cathedral, he stood upon the steps to watch the last of the daylight fade. He had plenty of time to reach his second appointment. He would, in fact, be incredibly early. Perhaps he should get something to eat first. He considered rummaging through the duke’s garbage for dinner, something he’d have to do just one last time. He looked down at the Estate, a place that would soon be a place of honor rather than one of humiliation. That’s when he saw them, the two strangers. The foreigners who had been asking questions about the duchess and poking around where they shouldn’t. One was perched high up on the pediment at the far end of the bridge watching the Estate as if waiting for something.
Villar realized what it was, and he knew he wouldn’t be getting dinner that night.
Chapter Fourteen
The Driver
“What exactly are we looking for?” Hadrian asked, shifting his position again. The capstone he sat on was cold.
“The driver,” Royce replied.
The two were on the west side of the East Bridge, where Royce hadn’t taken his eyes off the front gate of the duke’s estate since they’d arrived. Hadrian sat on the bridge parapet out of the way of traffic, looking like a lost boy who’d foolishly let go of his mother’s hand and hoped she’d come back. Royce was above him, perched high on the massive end-pediment that announced the start or end of the bridge, depending on which way one was walking. He stood behind the statue of a winged beast, a giant, ugly bat-thing with horns and fangs. Royce and the sculpture made quite the diabolical pair as he clung to a wing, peering over the stone monster’s shoulder. Occasionally the gate to the Estate opened. Someone would exit, or enter, and each time Royce became still and attentive. Then the gate would close, and he would settle back, disappointed.
They never did find a new place to stay. All livable spaces were occupied, even the open-air patches of dirt under bridges and behind stables. Royce had continued to search until the sun threatened to set, then he insisted on a hectic race to the Estate. They’d been there for more than an hour, and, so far, nothing had warranted the rush. Except for his two-word statement, Royce hadn’t responded to any inquiries about their current vigil.
The day had remained reasonably warm, continuing the rumor that spring was just a few steps down the road. The morning had been sunny, but afternoon had invited clouds to the party, and more were showing up all the time. A variety of boats passed beneath them. Professional fishermen hauled in nets, heading upriver after a day on Blythin Bay. The waterway also played host to a series of trows that ran up-and downriver, dropping off one load of cargo at the harbor and picking up another to haul back upstream. Along the bridge, the flow of foot traffic, wagons, and carriages was picking up. With slumped backs and bowed heads, servants, traders, and laborers returned home, their way lit by a fading sun.
“There he is!” Royce said with urgency as he leaned forward, leering with the same malevolent expression as the statue to which he clung.
A small figure stepped outside the front gate of the ducal estate, gray-haired, partially balding. With his protruding brow and long beard, the dwarf looked like the quintessential depiction of his race. He glanced both ways before crossing the street and then entered the flow of traffic coming toward them.
“The dwarf?” Hadrian said.
“Shh!” Royce scolded as he climbed down. “Yes, that’s the driver.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know, but he’s the only dwarf to come out of the duke’s residence, and I doubt His Lordship employs many.”
He didn’t look like a carriage driver. If Hadrian were to guess, he would’ve pegged the little guy as a gardener or a stable hand or, given the sack slung over one shoulder, perhaps a bearded child who was running away from home. The dwarf was dressed in a no-frills worker’s tunic and belt, with wool pants and worn boots. He held a mud-stained cloak and a small sack tied at the mouth with twine. He struggled to work his way into the flow of the bustling people who jostled him as if he weren’t there.
“I know you don’t like dwarves, Royce, but that doesn’t mean every—”
“The carriage’s footboard was ratcheted up for someone his size, so, the driver was either a child or a dwarf. Everyone would have noticed a child driving a carriage, but look how people ignore the dwarf like he doesn’t exist. Everyone blocks out what they don’t want to see. And honestly, who wants to lay eyes on the likes of him?”
The dwarf walked past, and Royce slipped into traffic a few pedestrians back.
“He works at the Estate,” Royce said quietly as they followed the dwarf across the bridge toward the plaza. “Not full-time, I don’t think. Probably hired for some temporary task, stonework most likely. And when they needed a driver for the duchess, guess who volunteered?”
“That sounds like a lot of guesses.”
“Either that, or an eight-year-old was hired to drive the duchess.”
Hawkers took advantage of the evening migration by shouting invitations and waving welcomes to the mob. Their efforts were stymied by the bells in the tower of Grom Galimus, chiming six times. When the ringing finally ceased, the dwarf was through the plaza and heading up an alley that divided the cathedral from another large stone building. This sister building had a flight of steps leading to an imposing colonnade of marble pillars above which IMPERIAL GALLERY was chiseled into the entablature. Both buildings had gargoyles, none of which were missing.