Free Darkwalker by E. L. Tettensor Page B

still took a sour twist.
    He thumbed through several random places in the pile.
First-degree theft. Battery. Attempted battery.
Each one carried a prison term. Thad Eccle seemed to have spent as much of his life in prison as out, going back to . . . Lenoir pulled out the bottom page.
Battery
, the charge read. Eccle had been eight years old. A lifelong criminal, irredeemable. He was fortunate to have escaped the hangman’s noose. Perhaps he had a patron, someone who paid off the magistrate for a more lenient sentence. The more talented thieves often had such protection, provided they turned a consistent profit for the crime lord they served. The moment they became too inconvenient, they were cut loose, or worse. Judging from Eccle’s record, he was one charge away from the gallows.
He should remember that,
Lenoir thought.
And if he does not, I shall have to remind him.
    Lenoir ate an early supper before heading for the orphanage. He wanted to get a head start on the evening, for Zera’s patience was wearing thin. She had pressed him terribly last time, demanding an update on Zach’s progress. The rumors had only gained momentum in the intervening days, growing not only more frequent, but more outrageous as well. Zera was now said to have a den of misfits that she kept as slaves to serve at the pleasure of her salon guests. Talk would have it that she kept them caged until evening, subjecting them to opium and other mind-numbing substances to keep them docile. Lenoir could not imagine how anyone could believe such nonsense. He would have found it amusing were it not for Zera’s outrage.
    The sun had just sunk behind the tiled rooftops when Lenoir arrived at the orphanage. He knocked, and when the door swung open, he found himself looking down at a tiny nun of vaguely shrewlike appearance, her beady eyes and upturned nose contriving to give her a mistrustful look.
    “What has he done this time?” she snapped.
    Lenoir blinked, taken aback. “I am sorry, Sister—you misunderstand. I am looking for Zach.”
    “I know who you’re looking for. What’s he done?”
    Lenoir could not suppress a smile. “Any number of things, perhaps, but I am not here to take him away. I would just like to speak with him, if you please. He . . . owes me a favor.”
    “I’ll bet he does,” she said sourly. “But he’s not here. Haven’t seen him since this morning.”
    Lenoir frowned. “Is that normal?”
    “I’m lucky if I see some of these kids three times a week. Zach’s usually around, though, at least at mealtimes.”
    “Do you know where he might be?”
    “You’re an inspector, Inspector. Why don’t you go and find Zach, and when you do, you can tell him that the next time he skips out on his chores, there’ll be a licking waiting for him when he gets back!” And with that, she slammed the door in Lenoir’s face.
    He stood on the threshold for a moment, staring at the closed door in astonishment. Then he turned to go. He was halfway down the street when he heard the door open again, followed by the patter of bare feet against stone. He turned to find a small boy scampering after him wearing nothing but a nightshirt.
    “Go back inside, boy. You will catch your death of cold.”
    The child seemed not to hear. “Mister,” he said breathlessly, “are you looking for Zach?”
    “Yes.”
    “If you find him, can you ask him if I can come too?”
    Lenoir looked pityingly at the boy. “Why do you want to go with him? You are well taken care of in the orphanage, no? Whatever Zach is doing, I am sure it is not as much fun as you think.”
    “But I want to go with the rich people,” the boy whined. He gave an exasperated little stamp of his foot, wringing a corner of his nightshirt in his hands.
    Lenoir narrowed his eyes. “The rich people?”
    “The ones Zach went away with. I want them to take me too.”
    “What do you mean? Who did Zach go away with?”
    “I don’t know, but they had a carriage, the big