Fly by Night by Frances Hardinge Read Free Book Online

quickly as Mosca clattered into her shop, and did not seem surprised to see her agitated and out of breath. She peered down at the jumble of oddments in Mosca’s palm and tutted.
    ‘Well, that was a mean trick to play. I thought he would at least leave you with a little money in your pocket. Still –’ she sighed in a motherly way – ‘you’re not far from home, so I dare say you can make your way back to Chough having learned a lesson, and no harm done.’ Mistress Bessel’s shrewd blue eyes moved across Mosca’s face as if she was itching to ask whether any harm had been done.
    Mosca clenched her mouth shut, biting back the words that were buzzing to be released.
    ‘There now,’ said Mistress Bessel, mistaking Mosca’s silent rage for distress. ‘Has he . . . taken something from you, blossom?’
    Mosca gave her a dark, furtive glance, came to a quick decision and nodded.
    ‘Well, that is a little too bad of him, but you should have known better than to put your faith in a scapegrace like Eponymous Clent. Did you really mean to traipse all the way to Mandelion at his heels?’
    So, Clent did have a destination in mind . . . he had sent her away so that he could make his arrangements . . . and he was headed for Mandelion, the very city where her father had once lived . . .
    ‘He’s taking a boat downriver, then,’ Mosca said, her hot, black eyes fixed on Mistress Bessel’s face, ‘an’ he won’t want to hire a Waterman.’
    The Company of Watermen, originally a guild of boatmen carrying passengers, had long since taken on the task of policing the river. If Clent was nervous enough to change his clothes, he would probably avoid the Watermen.
    ‘You know which boat he means to take.’ Slowly Mosca uncurled her fist again, and separated the farthing from the other scraps.
    Mistress Bessel watched with a smile that was still indulgent, but the warmth had drained from her eyes.
    ‘You had a pipe when you come in,’ she said evenly.
    Mosca tugged the pipe out of her pouch, and slapped it into Mistress Bessel’s waiting hand, along with the farthing.
    ‘Well, I told you nothing, mind, and you chanced on him by your own good luck. He’s taking passage with the Mettlesome Maid , a barge fastened on the near bank. She flies a flag for King Hazard – you cannot miss her.’
    Mosca took a couple of rapid steps towards the door, and then halted. Something was missing
    ‘Where’s my goose?’
    ‘The goose?’ Mistress Bessel whistled through her teeth regretfully. ‘Eponymous said it was his. I give him the names of some contacts in Mandelion and told him a place where he could stay, and he give me the goose in exchange. You better take the matter up with him when you find him.’
    Mosca clenched her fists, and bristled like a cat.
    ‘Saracen!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs. ‘Foxes!’
    Around the doorway a muscular white neck curled questingly. Into the shop proper came Saracen with his sailor’s strut, making a sound as if he was swallowing pebbles and enjoying it. Mosca knelt and reached for him.
    ‘Farthingale!’ In answer to Mistress Bessel’s sharp cry, a young man with an armful of stone nettles put his head around the door. ‘Take that goose away and keep it under control, will you?’ Farthingale wiped his free hand on his apron, and went to obey.
    Rather a lot of things happened in quick succession. Since most of them happened after Mosca had ducked under the nearest table and pulled her new bonnet down over her face, she could only guess at their nature. However, they were loud, and violent, and sounded as if they might be expensive.
    ‘Throw a rug over it, boy, and grab it!’ she could hear Mistress Bessel shouting.
    Farthingale must have followed her instructions, since a moment later there was a hoarse cry of pain and a sound like the counter breaking. To judge by his yelling, though, Farthingale was still alive, which relieved Mosca. He was bellowing a great many words that