Chapter Nineteen The Principles of General Lauturo #2
On a grand pearl-inlaid table in a private room at the back, Madame and Mister Millidin were enjoying a tender, private meal, sharing tea and a plate of golden honey-egg biscuits with each other.
Shy, freckle-faced Mister Millidin was the first to notice Lythlet peeking at them from behind a screen.
“A puppy?” he said, delighted. He rose, stretching his skinny arms out to her, and sat back down with the pup cradled in his arms like a baby.
He made soft woofing noises at it, leaving his wife to handle the business end of the matter, as usual.
Madame Millidin, with a smoking pipe in one hand and clay curlers still wound up in her white-streaked hair, stared at Lythlet with one eyebrow raised in an aggressive prompt.
“I found that pup abandoned in the streets,” Lythlet lied, nervous. “I’d like to keep her, but the kataka flats wouldn’t be safe—she might tumble over, and when she’s full-grown, I’ll struggle to carry her up and down the ladder. I was hoping...”
“Eh, all right,” Madame Millidin said easily, relaxing her brow and feeding the pup a puffy biscuit off her plate.
“We’ll keep her here. Schwala could use a friend anyway, that fat old laggard.
But it is upon you to be her master. See to it you eventually find a home on the ground so you can take her in. ”
Lythlet stroked the pup’s ears, smiling quietly. “That future may not be too far off.” With her future jackpots, she’d finally be able to afford a proper house.
Keenly aware of the trickling sands of time, she nonetheless lingered a minute to introduce Schwala to his new companion. He stared at the puppy as if he wasn’t sure what she was, then nosed her bum, his tail finally starting to sway again. Lythlet petted their heads.
“Thought of a name yet?” Madame Millidin tossed her two remaining puffy biscuits at the dogs.
Lythlet stared at the tiny pup happily nipping at the treat with her sharp little fangs. She thought of how small the pup was, how comfortably snug it was in her hand, how sweet and innocent it was. She thought for a long time, and at long last, she said with an inspired smile:
“Runt. Her name is Runt.”
· · ·
M ASTER D OTHILOS HAD given her the home address of Ringmaster Khavi Monul, in case her investigation at his storehouse led to nothing. It was in Minatu Ward, a respectable area a short walk away from the governor’s southern precinct.
What Lythlet envied most was not the size of the houses, generous as they were, but the fact they were landed. Built with their foundations in the ground—with plenty of space for a hound to frolic about—not dangling up in a tree with a wearisome rope ladder.
Her arrival in Minatu Ward had been well timed, just a minute past high noon.
She found Lorent poised covertly by a street corner, and he gestured for her to peer around.
She caught sight of two Oraanu men departing Monul’s residence, one a short, well-dressed fellow who was most likely Khavi Monul, the other a big, muscled bloke who appeared to be his personal guard, rivaling Lorent’s imposing stature.
Once they’d cleared the street, she went forth and used her lockpick to break into his house.
Lorent stood watch by the entrance as she swept through Monul’s residence.
An hour of fruitlessly scavenging his plentiful rooms ended with her back in the private study, scowling at the impressive library of books stretching high to the ceiling.
Ledgers, notes, journals, something! The ringmaster ought to be punished for his kennels, and if it could be brutally meted out by the Eza, that’d be justice fair and square.
She skimmed the shelves once more, hoping for something out of the ordinary.
His books were meticulously cataloged, arranged by area of interest, and then alphabetically.
There was a section on entomology, a total of fifteen books—which included, much to Lythlet’s private amusement, An Annotated Compendium of the Modern Insect by Scholar Yavida Lewenskiros — and then a section on culinary creations.
Then there was a row of tomes dedicated to the adventures of General Lauturo.
Try as she might to focus on her duty at hand, Lythlet couldn’t help but paw at them.
Shunvi’s book had whetted her appetite for more of the general’s journeys.
She flipped through Arctora Principalis: An Academic Treatise on the Modern Applicability of the Principles of General Lauturo , finding a thoroughly uninteresting dissertation that sucked any sense of adventure out of the legend.
Wondering at the ability of some scholars to render anything joyless, she slid it back onto the shelf and skimmed along the spines of the rest of the collection .
Her fingers twitched as memories of her childhood pastime crept up on her—surely it couldn’t hurt to pinch a book or two for her own collection.
A ringmaster who abused dogs didn’t exactly deserve mercy from her.
She ran her hand along the tops of the books, letting her heart lead her to her next treasure.
It came to pause over The Principles of General Lauturo , the dust jacket protruding rather oddly from it.
Curiosity piqued, she pulled The Principles out, removed the dust jacket, and cackled with unexpected triumph. Revealed was Monul’s current-year ledger.
Who would’ve thought my sticky fingers would crack the case?
she thought, plucking out the rest of the Lauturo-themed books, examining the contents of each.
Half of them were legitimate tomes dedicated to the general’s impressive life, but the others were ledgers spanning years and years of records.
Comparing them with the false ledgers the ringmaster had supplied the Eza, a giddy smile bloomed on her sallow cheeks as she unpacked the fraudulent transaction records, the clever expenses made up to hide profits, the debts fabricated to skim more off the top for himself.
She returned to the foyer, reuniting with dull old Lorent.
“Evidence procured,” she announced, raising the ledgers.
“Now we move on to the next act: confronting the man himself. His massive companion won’t be easy for us to spook, though.
I was thinking, if you give me enough time to build a trigger trap, we could invoke General Lauturo’s twenty-third principle: a battle fought with deception is a battle won before a single drop of blood spills .
Cast shadows where nobody stands, and —”
“Just let me smash their faces in,” Lorent interrupted impatiently.
“Fine,” said Lythlet bitterly, shoulders drooping. Desil would’ve indulged my imagination a little longer.
· · ·
“Y OUR MASTER SENDS his greetings, Master Monul.” Lythlet rose from the settee in the foyer to give a polite bow, hand twirling through the air in faux formality. Lorent stood immovably by her side, looking like an ancient statue.
Across the foyer, by the entrance, Ringmaster Khavi Monul and his guard reeled in surprise.
The ringmaster was a stout, snub- nosed man who rather ironically resembled a dog—one of those breeds with a squashed-in face.
His companion, on the other hand, was a tall, burly man whose arms were corded through with absurd muscles, a dead-even match for Lorent.
“Who the devil are you?” Monul demanded.
“No more than an appreciator of your fine bookkeeping skills, Master Monul.” She held forth the two ledgers Master Dothilos had given her.
At the sight of that, Monul stilled.
“You have been accused of keeping two sets of books. The ones I hold now are forgeries you concocted in efforts to keep more coin for yourself. What say you to these claims?”
“I’ve just explained myself to him,” he cried. “Why must I repeat myself?”
“Because you have not explained yourself to me,” she answered, although she did not wholly understand his words. Has he just met with the Eza? He was off meeting a fellow whose initials are E.M., I recall from that note in his office.
He huffed. “As I’ve just explained, his suspicions are completely unfounded. I would never be so low as to cheat him of my profits. I’m an honest man, and I won’t have you stand in my own home, accusing me of lies—”
Lythlet patiently pulled out The Principles of General Lauturo , brandishing it as if she were a merchant hawking a book .
Khavi Monul silenced, wearing the expression of a dog getting caught eating something he shouldn’t. “That’s just one of my favorite books,” he tried weakly.
“It’s your current-year ledger,” she said flatly. “The real one, clearly stating that you’ve underreported your profit this quarter by a truly brazen seventy-five percent. Sunsmith and the Twelve, you’re going to be roasted alive for that.”
He fidgeted, growing frustrated as the seconds ticked by. “Why were you sent here instead of the watchmen?” he said at last, looking irritated at her.
His question made little sense at first, but it was simple to reason with. The Eza must call his guards the watchmen, too .
“Because I am better than the watchmen,” she replied simply.
I sound just like Rentavos the Gentleman Thief, she thought gleefully .
He squinted. “I recognize you. I’ve seen your handbills posted around. You’re that conquessor everyone’s been talking about. The Golden Thorn. Can’t escape a conversation nowadays without hearing of your fights.”
She flushed proudly, but kept still, trying to remain impassive.
“So you were pulled in through Master Dothilos,” Monul mused. “How that man has clambered into everyone’s good graces never fails to amaze me. Mark me, that man’s words may be silver, but they come from a forked tongue.”
“Enough,” Lythlet resumed, picking up the reins of the conversation. “I will deliver these books as proof of your crime, but you have been granted one mercy. Remit what you owe immediately, go bow before your master and beg for his forgiveness, and no harm will come your way.”
Monul closed his eyes, brow furrowing, jaw clenched. Then his eyes opened, glinting. He raised his left hand, and his muscled companion stiffened, taking one heavy-footed step forward and balling his fists up by his chest.
She observed calmly. “If you intend on killing me before I can deliver these books to your master, you must know that my death itself will implicate you.”
Monul laughed. “And what of it? I can flee the city with all the coin I’ve saved before anyone catches wind of your death. Ozori here was a champion brawler back in his day—he’ll make short work of you and your friend.”
Lythlet opened her mouth, ready to retort, but Lorent sprang to life then, whipping forward like a bolt of lightning and clocking Ozori right in the face.
Crashing into the door behind him, Ozori regained his footing just in time for Lorent to smash a vase against his ear.
Porcelain shattered in a rain over his blood-splattered face as he collapsed to the ground, knocked out.
Snatching at one of the falling porcelain shards, Lorent then held it against Monul’s neck, a pinprick of blood appearing on the man’s pale skin.
He drew close until he was a mere inch away from the ringmaster’s face, eyes wild as a beast’s as he spat out the next few words.
“I’ll drag you straight to the Eza right now, you worthless piece of dogshit.
And if you ever forget to pay your dues again, the Eza will send me out again, and I’ll gladly hunt you down like the pathetic weasel you are.
Think of running away, and I’ll shove your scrawny little rodent body into a bait-bag and feed you straight to your own bloody hounds. ”
The sheer fear in Monul’s eyes was enough to confirm he had learned the error of his ways.
Goodness, Lythlet thought, privately impressed by Lorent’s sudden verbal abilities, this face-smashing business is certainly more efficient than my trigger trap idea would’ve been.
· · ·
“M Y DEAR GIRL , I am glad to see you return. What’s that dust jacket you’re waving around?” Master Dothilos rose from his seat in his office, welcoming her.
“Just a bit of cultural enrichment I picked up,” she said cheerfully, “right before Lorent went off and delivered Monul to the Eza with the real ledgers I found.” Not that she had expected or desired otherwise, but Master Dothilos had made it clear beforehand that only Lorent was sanctioned to meet with the Eza, so she had happily foisted the rest of the dirty business onto the man’s shoulders.
The match-master’s confusion faded, and a bright smile expanded across his angular face. “You are a wonder, my girl. I knew you could do it.” He clapped her on the back fondly.
She beamed with pride, glad to have been of use.
He cocked his head. “Was Lorent good to work with?”
“Not the brightest baltascar bulb in the room, but he certainly knows how to threaten a man.”
“I imagine he did a much better job than Desil would’ve.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but miserably could not find the words to dispel the subtly smug comment.
It was true. Perhaps Desil would’ve stepped in to defend her if it came to blows, but drawing things to a swift conclusion by preemptively attacking and threatening others would not have been his modus operandi.
“Go home now,” Master Dothilos said with a smile as gentle as the sun after a storm. He needn’t say more; he had already proven his point. “I’ll see you next month.”