Free The Broken Bell by Frank Tuttle Page A

we know they’ve been rounded up, you need to stay put.”
    Gertriss grimaced.
    “I’ll head by the Old Ruth, see what the payout is. And then I’ll stop by the Magistrate and see if I can get a judge to sign off on this. With luck, we’ll be able to get it done tomorrow, the day after at the latest.”
    Gertriss lowered her voice to the faintest of whispers. “If it takes any longer than that, boss, just get me a cell at the Old Ruth,” she said.
    “I heard that, you ungrateful child.”
    Gertriss winced, rose, headed for her room.
    “Hurry,” she said, making no sound, just mouthing the word before she closed her door.
     
    Hurry I did.
    The Sprangs, had made themselves quite popular at the Old Ruth by fighting with jailers, prisoners and even each other. They’d managed to increase their original fines by a surprising margin, which made Gertriss’s offer to pay half not only generous but necessary.
    I didn’t speak to the Sprangs themselves, preferring to wait until I knew I could arrange bail. So I cooled my boots for two hours down at the courthouse on Beld, waiting for a judge to deign my petition worthy of the Regency’s precious time.
    I wasn’t entirely miserable. The high ceilings in the old courthouse made it breezy and cool. The benches weren’t padded, but they’re wide and deep and angled just right, which makes sitting on them not merely tolerable but enjoyable. And the pair of legal assistants buzzing about with papers and writs and lawyers were young and energetic.
    I decided the redhead was my favorite, because she smiled even when she thought no one was looking. The blonde was better looking, and her skirt was certainly better fitting, but her smile vanished as soon as she thought she lacked an audience. To me, that spells trouble.
    I wasn’t quite napping when the blonde strolled up to me and tapped me on my shoulder. “Sir,” she said. “Judge Hastings will see you now.”
    I rose, stretched and thanked her.  
    “Down the hall, second chamber on your right. Have a good day.”
    And she was gone, her smile falling as soon as she turned away. I never saw the redhead again, which is probably for the best, since my Darla isn’t fond of redheads.
    Judge Hastings was a man of few words—specifically, yes, yes, no, yes, and yes. He scribbled notes in his ledger and scribbled more on a roll of parchment and then made the whole thing legal simply by sliding the parchment between the jaws of his seal and bopping the apparatus with his wizened fist to emboss the paper.
    He handed it to me, and I knew without a word I was dismissed. In accordance with His Honor’s reluctance to waste words, I left without using any, the Sprang’s freedom and my bid for peace from them in my hand.
     
    I started to head back to the Old Ruth and see if I could convince someone there to let me make my pitch to the Sprangs, lest Gertriss and Mama come to blows confined in such close quarters.
    But the morning was gone, and my dealings with the Old Ruth in the past left me with the certainty that I’d need to be the first one through the doors to get the Sprangs out before Curfew. Poor Gertriss would have to hide under the covers one more day, and I’d be out more coins to the Hoogas for tonight.
    Which isn’t the way running a business is supposed to work. I resolved to pay the Lethways a visit and see what I could glean concerning the whereabouts of missing groom Carris. But first, I’d need to see my client.
    I hoofed it from the courthouse to Darla’s, glad of a cool day and a few clouds. She met me at her door with a kiss, finished up a conversation with a pair of chatty customers and finally hustled me into the back after putting Mary in charge of the sales floor.
    “So tell me, intrepid finder of all things lost, what have you found for me today?”
    By then, we’d said a proper good morning to each other, and were perched at a sewing table while the fringes of gowns hung down and tickled our