Free Darkwalker by E. L. Tettensor Page A

Thankfully, no one seemed to be following them.
    Lenoir stopped to catch his breath. “What was
that
all about?”
    Zach’s face was turned away, and he dragged his sleeve across his eyes. “Nothing,” he said sullenly.
    Lenoir regarded him with a sigh. This was not the wisecracking, wily creature he was accustomed to.
Sometimes I forget you are a child, Zach.
Aloud, he said gently, “It was obviously something. You said he was your uncle?”
    Zach nodded. “Not by blood, though. He was married to my mum’s sister. When they got sick—my mum and my auntie—I went to live with him for a while. It wasn’t . . . he . . .” Zach fell silent, shuddering.
    “He beat you.” Lenoir could see it in the hang of the boy’s shoulders, in the twitch of his fingers. He knew the signs as well as if he were looking into a mirror.
    Zach did not answer directly, but he did not have to. “When they died, he threw me out. And that was fine, really, but . . . then I got in trouble, and the hounds came around to his place. They caught him with some stuff he shouldn’t have. He was in jail for a while.”
    “I see,” Lenoir said, and he did. He saw it all too clearly. “And did you know he would be in there tonight?”
    Zach shrugged disconsolately. “Maybe. He’s there sometimes. I hoped he wouldn’t be.”
    “But you knew it was possible. And you came anyway.”
    He shrugged again. “You needed to go there.” He still avoided Lenoir’s gaze, as though he were ashamed.
    Nine years old, and already afraid to show weakness.
Lenoir felt a stab of pity. “Will he try to come after you?”
    “Nah. He just told me to stay away from him, is all. Said he’d sort me out right good if he caught me within a mile of him.” He scowled. “Like I’d
want
to be around the likes of him, anyway!”
    Lenoir passed a hand over his eyes. He suddenly felt very tired. “It’s late, Zach. Go home.”
    “What about your hired muscle?”
    “Never mind that. I will see you tomorrow night, and we can work on Zera’s problem.”
    “Okay,” Zach said. “See you later.”
    Lenoir watched the boy slink off like a whipped dog. Guilt tugged at his belly. Zach had deliberately put himself in danger, without even asking why. He had probably assumed Lenoir was trying to solve a crime. Would he still have done it if he knew the truth? Lenoir had to admit he was touched by the boy’s loyalty.
    He would have to make it up to Zach tomorrow.
    •   •   •
    “Here it is, Inspector,” the scribe said, laying a sheaf of parchment on Lenoir’s desk.
    “At last,” Lenoir said coolly. It had taken the scribe all morning and the better part of the afternoon to find it.
    “Sorry, Inspector,” the youth said, flushing. “But without a name . . . I had to go to the city clerk’s office to look through the marriage records, and—”
    “That will be all,” Lenoir said. The scribe swallowed, nodded, and vanished.
    Lenoir pulled the dusty pile of papers toward him. It was a healthy stack, nearly half an inch thick, bound together with twine. Zach’s uncle was obviously no stranger to the Kennian Metropolitan Police. Lenoir loosened the twine and scanned the writing at the top of the uppermost page. “Thad Eccle,” he murmured aloud. Thirty-two years of age, six foot two, approximately two hundred ten pounds. Scar on the left cheek.
Definitely our man,
Lenoir thought. The scribe had done his job well.
    Second-degree theft
, the charge on the topmost page read. Approximately two hundred crowns’ worth of goods recovered from Eccle’s premises, including forty pounds of silverware, two pewter door knockers, sundry items of jewelry, and a gilt mirror.
Sentence: not less than two years to be served in Fort Hald.
A comparatively light sentence. Too light, in Lenoir’s view. The incident was dated three years ago. That meant Zach had been living on the streets since the age of six. Lenoir had more or less known that, but his mouth