“I feel like I should do something for her,” Aronson said, looking back at the tenement with distress. “Maybe I should have left her some money for food and clothing.”
“It’d just get stolen.”
“That Missus Browning she mentioned…?”
“Probably a whore, and if she didn’t steal the chink herself, one of her ‘boyfriends’ would. Forget Kay. There’s two dozen little girls like her in every tenement in Dockside.”
The Nobilis frowned and jammed his hands into his pockets. We started walking, looking for the nearest gin joint.
It wasn’t hard to find; down in this part of Dockside, every fifth house sold booze. The gin they serve is mostly unlicensed raw stuff distilled out of Kyrchye-knows-what in filthy back rooms. ‘Drunk for a pence, dead drunk for two’ is what they say. And just ‘dead’ if you ain’t careful.
We wore down our shoe leather asking for a gin-girl named Milka. Every skirt on the street was called Milka, or would let you call her Milka for a few pence. Still, I didn’t think the girl could be too far away. Kay was too young to travel far from her flat. We leaned on a lot of bar counters until at last a cocky young man allowed as how he knew a draggletail named Lotta who had a little sister whose name might have been Milka who was around twelve years old and sometimes walked the streets with her.
“Independents, or do they have a protector?” I asked. The guy shrugged.
“I dunno. I seen ’em near the Cock and Ball, by Privy Alley.”
I nodded thanks and we headed out, leaving our glasses of blue ruin behind for him to knock off. Aronson grabbed me by the shoulder as soon as we were outside.
“Was he implying that she’s a prostitute?” he demanded. “A twelve-year-old child?”
“Sure.” I stopped and lit another smoke there in the street, the becked flame strong even in the chilly breeze. “Whoring’s legal at ten, or didn’t you know?”
He recoiled. “I didn’t know. Why in the world would I have known?”
“Nobs don’t rent ten-year-olds?”
“Young nobles aren’t even ‘out’ until they’re seventeen. As far as I’m concerned, anyone younger than that is still a child.”
“Yeah?” I took a long drag, then shrugged. “There’s a motion up in the House of Commons to raise the legal age to twelve. It’s backed by some women’s organizations, the physicians over at Blackstone, the Progressive Party, folks like that. Problem is, raising the whoring age means two more years before parents can send their kids out to earn rent money, at least legally. And that means we’re gonna end up arresting more kids, because you know they’re gonna be sent out to peddle themselves anyway.”
“What kind of man would even want a ten-year-old prostitute?” Aronson muttered. “A child wouldn’t …” he raised his hands, unable to say the words, then let them fall.
“Well, I guess enough do. And it ain’t like all the customers are adults. Thirteen-, fourteen-year-olds will have a go whenever they can, you know.” I met his eyes. “It’s a fact of life, pal. I don’t like it any better than you do, but there ain’t nothing I can do about it.”
Aronson looked upset as we headed deeper into Dockside. I didn’t know Privy Alley, but I’d visited the Cock and Ball a few times, its sign an innocent-looking rooster perched on a sun-yellow orb. We were dodging a pile of horse shit when I saw the hopscotch board all neatly laid out in the street with a broken-necked rat laid in the Grave.
I kicked the tiny corpse out into pile of garbage along the edge of the street. Someone hissed sharply.
“Look,” Aronson said, pointing. A feral-looking boy turned and vanished into a narrow side-street. We started after him, but he was gone before we turned the corner.
“That wasn’t Milka,” I said.
“I think he was a petitioner.”
I glanced back at the hopscotch board.
“A petitioner? Like, in the Reverence?”
“As in anybody who prays to a god for assistance, whether Kyrchye or … this new person. Far.”
“What the hell?”
“Well, we have a ritual, an altar, and a sacrifice….” Aronson craned his neck and looked up at the tall walls of the tenements that towered on each side of us. “And someone whom children believe answers their prayer for vengeance. What more does a religion require?”
“It’s some kind of balemad sentinel. Not a bogeyman, not a demon, and not a god.”
“Of course. But would a child know the difference?”
“Well, we’d better put an end to this thing fast, then, before any inquisitors come knocking.”
Aronson nodded. The Inquisitors Militant were the Reverence’s version of the constabulary. Once they got a whiff of heresy, they were like rats on a wounded man, gnawing and ripping until there was nothing left but an empty spot and the smell of spilled blood. They didn’t like sentinels at the best of times, and hearing that something across the Line was developing its own little kiddie-cult would have them howling for our heads.
We found plenty of people at the Cock and Ball. The Nobilis spread some more coin — he was a handy man to have around, and his kind of persuasion went down easier than Droit’s — but we didn’t have any luck finding Milka. We did get a description of her sister Lotta, though, and the information that she usually came around nights for a drink.
“They’re going to spend all your money on booze, you know,” I said, watching Aronson pay up.
“I don’t mind. We’re getting what we need.”
“Sure, but you could buy it cheaper.” I couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle him a little. “Unless you’re suffering a little upper-class guilt? Maybe you’re thinking about your big mansion and your shiny carriage and your greenhouse full of lizards who eat better than most of the humans down here?”
“I have no reason to feel guilty about being well-off,” he said, his voice sharp. “I worked hard to earn my money, and I donate to all the right causes.”
“Yeah, but you lost enough chink gambling at Lily’s to feed this block for a month.”
“That was business, not pleasure.” His face was flushed, but he kept his voice even. “Losing at the tables makes me welcome among my betters. It’s a political gambit.”
“You still coulda fed a lot of people with that cash.”
“Are you accusing me of being selfish?”
“Nah,” I sighed, deciding I didn’t really want to get into a fight with him. He didn’t seem like a bad guy, all things considered. “Not really. You’re down here and you’re acting like you care. That’s more than Dockside gets from the rest of the carriage set.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you a bleeding-heart Progressive, Captain Lorencz?”
“Hey, at least I’m doing some good. It’ll take more than one sentinel to clean up Dockside, but I’m trying.”
“All right, all right.” Aronson raised a hand. “I admit that I don’t like what I’m seeing, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it. I don’t like people, anyway. I like iguanas. They’re simple and clean and honest. When I’m done down here, I’m going to go back to my greenhouse and spend a quiet hour sipping cognac and watching my reptiles eat, and then I’m going to go to sleep and forget all about this sordid little neighborhood and its problems.”
“Yeah, you go ahead and do that,” I said, watching his face and not believing a word he said. “In fact, you might as well knock off now. Ain’t no point sticking around. I’ll brace Lotta tonight when she starts work.”
“Do you want me to meet you here this evening?”
“Guess that’s up to you and your cognac and your lizards. But it might be handy having another beck around if I happen to find Milka.”
“Then I’ll be here. What time would you like to meet?”
“Not long after dark.”
“All right.”
“Don’t get yourself mugged,” I added. “This is a pretty rough neighborhood.”
“I’m entitled, Lorencz, not incompetent.”
I smirked and didn’t say anything, and he took it with a disgusted wave of his hand as he turned and left. Back uptown to his cognac and lizards. And maybe a few hours of hard thinking.
Which left me in Dockside, cold and at loose ends. I walked back to headquarters, didn’t find any messages from Droit, and shot the breeze with the day captain for a while. Then I decided I’d been working hard and it wasn’t too late to do something about it. I headed back to my flat to catch a few hours of sleep.
Which woulda been a great plan if something hard hadn’t cracked into the back of my skull on my way back home and knocked me onto my knees in the street. I cussed and tried to stand back up, but the hard things kept hitting my head, and at last I gave up and blacked out.