Excerpt

Tashué

Day 1

It had already been a long, exhausting day when the girl's body washed up on the bank of the Brightwash.

Tashué Blackwood trudged up the street, feeling the weariness in every part of his body. His station house had always been short-handed, but since one of their Regulation Officers had died, everyone was working to the very limit of their strength. Some days he scarcely knew what time it was, what month it was, hours and weeks blending together into a trek through the city, knocking on doors, asking questions, filing endless stacks of paperwork at the station house.

Pint Under the Rail was a natural rest stop for him and the other Regulation Officers of Station House 15. As he headed toward the rickety little pub, tucked up against the elevated tram line that shuffled workers around the city, he heard the angry squeal of an infant.

He walked faster.

One of the Regulation Officers he worked with—the newest of them, Beckett Collstone—was in front of the Pint Under already, standing beside his wife. They had a pram between them, and his wife rocked it, trying to calm the angry little hurricane inside, but the babe wailed louder.

"Collstone, you finally brought your baby," Tashué said, stopping in front of the pram. "She doesn't look too pleased."

"No, sir, I guess not. Minna wanted to meet me for breakfast this morning, since I've been so busy, but little miss seems unimpressed with us for bringing her out in the cold."

"I don't want to be a bother, Beckett," Minna said. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were distant and tired. Tashué knew that look, that new-parent panic. "If she's only going to scream, I don't want to disturb everyone."

"Nonsense, Miss Collstone," Tashué said. "Sometimes they just get overly tired and can't settle. Can I try?"

"Oh, please, Mr. Blackwood."

Tashué swept the baby up in his arms. She fitted so nicely against his shoulder, even though her whole body was rigid with fury. "There now, sweet girl. Let's go warm up inside, see if that improves your mood."

He headed up the stairs with the infant at his shoulder, patting her back. Sweet North Star, how long had it been since his son was this small? He missed the simplicity of it sometimes. Some people hated the sound of a baby crying, especially when they had strong lungs and all the rage of Beckett's girl, but there was something easy about it. Babies cried, and you did your best to comfort them. Eventually, you found the thing that helped them, and they stopped. Sure, you were so tired that you couldn't think and you began to wonder if you would ever sleep again. But Tashué had learnt in the cavalry how to sleep standing up or sitting in the saddle, just for a moment. Just long enough that he wouldn't keel over from the exhaustion. And when they were babies, you didn't have to worry about the decisions they made. All you had to do was feed them and cuddle them and wait for their fury to exhaust itself.

"Beckett, you brought the baby!"

Tashué looked down the bar, where Kazrani leaned over her breakfast. She slid off her stool to meet Tashué, reaching up and sliding a tender hand across the back of the baby's head.

"Heavens, she's got a set of lungs, hey? What are you so mad about, missus?" The baby knotted a little fist in one of Kazrani's black braids, catching one of the silk ribbons. She grimaced as she teased the baby's hand open. "Did you finally settle on a name for her?"

"We named her Lenora, after Beckett's mother," Minna said.

"I told her she didn't have to," Beckett said, shaking his head. "My mother always had a temper. Now the baby's taken after the name, I think."

"Let me try. Sometimes they just need a bounce," Kazrani said, reaching.

Tashué batted her hands away. "Back off, Lieutenant. I haven't held a baby in ages."

"Whose fault is that, then?" Kazrani muttered, but she retreated to her stool. "You're perfectly capable of making a few, if you would settle on a woman to make them with."

"Ha. I've done enough damage to the world with my offspring, thank you. The world doesn't need any more Blackwoods."

"There's only the two of you," Kazrani scoffed.

Tashué shrugged. "That's plenty and you know it."

"Another whisky morning, is it, Mr. Blackwood?" Pallwyth, the bartender, asked.

"Yes please, Mr. Pallwyth. Angry babies aside, it's been a long morning."

Pallwyth poured a generous measure of the cheapest whisky he had as Tashué rubbed Lenora's back, adopting the bounce and sway that always calmed Jason. Little by little, he could feel her start to relax. The warmth of his body and the heat in the room worked its magic, and she slumped against him. She was still crying, but it was half-hearted and unconvincing. It was the first time in so long that he'd been able to solve such a simple problem.

He shifted little Lenora's weight so that she sat in the crook of his arm. Her face was still red from all the yelling, but her features settled into something peaceful as she sank down into sleep. Her hat, displaced by the way he shifted her, revealed her wispy dark hair, which was starting to develop little curls. Minna stepped closer, untying the baby's hat with swift fingers and taking it off.

"You're a miracle worker," she breathed.

Tashué settled on his stool, scooping up the whisky. "You just have to be more stubborn than they are. Outlast them." He threw it back in one swallow. The copper whisky was the very worst money could buy—blended whisky made from the rejected batches from various distilleries in the city. It probably wouldn't kill you, but it burned like acid all the way down. "I'll hold her a while, if the two of you would like to eat with your hands free."

"Thank you, sir," Beckett said, settling beside Tashué. "Are your services available at night, too, or do we have to bring her down to the pub every time?"

Tashué sighed. "Would that I had time to come cuddle your baby for you at night. I still haven't assessed all of the cases I inherited from Maccus."

"You should eat something too, Mr. More-Stubborn-Than-Babies," Kazrani said. She had already finished her bowl of the stew Pallwyth made—usually plenty of onions and potatoes and whatever scraps of meat were available—and took a bite out of a thick slab of dark bread. "You can't survive on whisky, coffee, and sweets alone."

Tashué shrugged, but only gently, nestling baby Lenora tighter to his body. "My hands are busy."

"Give him a mug of it, Mr. Pallwyth. That way he can pretend it's whisky and knock it back."

Pallwyth grinned. "Good idea, Lieutenant." He stepped to the wood stove he kept behind the bar with him. Now that the oppressive heat of the summer was long gone, chased off by autumn rain, Pallwyth stoked the fire in the stove to keep the dining room warm, and the kettle of stew took up residence on top of it. Pallwyth ladled a measure of stew into a tin mug and delivered it to Tashué.

The door swung open, letting in the noise of the street. It seemed louder than usual, more urgent. Another of their Officers, Duskan Hillbraun, stepped in, his eyes sweeping the inside of the pub. He scowled at Tashué.

"Who gave the ass a baby?"

Minna bristled, but Beckett lay a hand on her back as he leaned around her to look at Duskan. "You're especially sour this morning. I take it things didn't go well with the Derccian woman from the songhouse?"

"I didn't like her that much anyway," Duskan muttered, settling on the other side of Kazrani and nodding at Pallwyth. "Is that your baby, Collstone?"

"Lenora," Beckett said. "Cute, isn't she? Looks just like her mother."

Duskan grunted. "If you say so."

"Don't mind him, Miss Collstone," Kazrani said, leaning around Tashué to look down the bar at Minna. "He's sour with everyone."

The sounds of the commotion outside permeated through the closed door. It sent a wave of agitation through Tashué, making him want to stand, but the weight of baby Lenora kept him in his seat. "What's going on outside?"

"Outside?" Duskan asked. "Fuck, what would I care? Something down by the riverbank."

How could the man wear the tin badge of the National Tainted Registration Authority and not be drawn to the chaos? How could he not want to help?

Tashué bit back a curse, drinking the cup of stew as quickly as he could. It was hot and salty, almost washing away the burn of whisky still on his tongue. He stood carefully, passing Lenora off to her mother. He needed to know.