‘Time for what?’ Hearst asked.
‘To go to the Hook barge,’ Cora said. ‘Come on, Constable. I know how much you like seeing the Hooks.’
‘I do, but… How does the Perlish Hook help us investigate Casker Chambers Kranna?’
Cora was halfway out the door. ‘It’s not the Hook we need to see. It’s the Casker bargehands who manage the site. Finnuc Dawson’s old friends.’
‘And how do you know Dawson’s friends, Detective?’ Hearst said, but Cora was far enough into the corridor that she could pretend she hadn’t heard him.
Six
The approach to the Hook barge was as busy as ever, the crowds keen to see the teaser of the Perlish story. Cora had to remind herself that the majority of people in Fenest – whether they lived here or not – saw the election as an exciting spectacle. It wasn’t dangerous for them. They didn’t risk their lives because of it. Cora stared grimly at all the happy, laughing faces around her. There were so many of them, bustling about the food stalls, browsing the hawkers’ wares, and taking slips from the many chequers. Eight to one on the Perlish, and a lot of people liked them for this year, despite their term of penny-pinching in the Assembly. But then, elections were all about the stories each realm told on the day, when storytellers eclipsed all other goings-on in the Union. And the next tale, due to be told by the Perlish storyteller tomorrow? ‘Racy,’ Marcus had said. That should make for an interesting Hook at least, or so Cora thought. She hoped the Casker bargehands, too, might have something interesting for her.
But she had to get to them first.
Cora and Jenkins pushed through the knots of people until they got caught in what was clearly a queue: nothing else made people face the same direction as one another. Blue-jacketed constables stood at regular intervals along the queue, far more than had been posted at the barge for the first two Hooks. But it wasn’t just the constables, with their gazes constantly moving amongst the crowd – there were more purple tunics around the barge than Cora had seen before, more than at a story venue even. Those tunics spent most of their time bellowing orders and looking busy, but doing what, Cora couldn’t fathom. Purple was the colour worn by most Commission employees. For those involved in the election, their uniform was a long tunic of deep colour that made a flapping sound as they bustled by.
Cora could see over the heads of those in front of her, and the gangway that led onto the barge beyond. Lounging to one side of it were three heavily tattooed, burly figures. A man and two women.
‘There’s our bargehands,’ she said to Jenkins.
‘Do you recognise them?’
‘Only the bloke.’ Cora craned her head to see the rest of the barge but couldn’t spot any more bargehands. ‘There were more of them here before.’
‘Looks like the Commission wanted to take over security,’ Jenkins said. ‘All these tunics, the constables too.’
‘So someone wants the Perlish Hook to be a nice, ordered affair.’
‘Don’t we all?’ Jenkins said, and she meant it. Unlike Cora, she wouldn’t stoop so low as sarcasm.
‘Come on, Constable. Clear the way.’
Jenkins took a deep breath. ‘Bernswick Division, stand aside!’ she shouted, and with her lean yet powerful arms, pushed a path towards the barge.
At the muttered oaths and hisses about queue-jumpers, Cora brandished her badge, and after only a few elbows in the ribs, they were at the gangway. A purple tunic strode over, scowling, but before the Commission man could open his mouth, Cora spoke loudly.
‘All right, friend. Just needing a word with these fine people from the south.’
‘The bargehands? But—’
‘Official investigation business,’ she said, ‘Can’t be more specific. Sure you understand?’
A shout from the gangway took the tunic’s attention – a boy had slipped and nearly gone in the river.
‘Best leave me to it, hadn’t you?’ Cora said. ‘You too, Jenkins.’
‘Fine, but be quick about it – you’re obstructing the queue,’ the tunic said, before hurrying away.
The female bargehands had barely looked up from their conversation at Cora’s approach. But the man eyed Cora shrewdly, and in silence. She held up her badge.
‘I’m here about Finnuc Dawson,’ she said.
‘Who?’ one of the women said.
‘You didn’t know him?’
‘Never heard of him,’ the woman said, her friend shaking her head beside her.
‘Think yourself lucky,’ muttered the man. ‘What he did to that storyteller…’
The bargehand had an inked spiral on his cheek which spun its way down his neck and arm. He wasn’t as tall as Finnuc had been. Cora remembered him from when she’d come to the barge to see the Seeder Hook – the mostins – and this Casker had given her and Finnuc blindfolds to protect against the eye-watering fint. Finnuc had loomed over this bargehand.
‘Give us a minute,’ Cora said to the women. Without a word, they crossed the gangway onto the barge, scattering the crowd in their wake. ‘Any more of Finnuc’s friends here?’ Cora asked the man.
‘You won’t find many in this city now who’ll admit to that.’
‘Those who knew him then. They here?’
The Casker shook his head and the spiral tattoo seemed to dance. ‘Commission laid most of us off. All my old crew gone. I’ve not been paid for the last week. She says I won’t be out of pocket, but I’d be telling stories to the Drunkard if I believed that.’
‘She?’
‘Our Chambers, Kranna.’ The Casker spat, to cries of disgust from those in the queue nearby. ‘She don’t care about people like me. Didn’t fight the Perlish Assembly to keep us working, did she?’
‘Did Finnuc ever talk about her?’ Cora said, trying to keep her voice even.
‘Only to complain about wages. About her not sticking up for her own people. He was right about that.’
‘Did you ever see him with Kranna?’
‘With Chambers Kranna?’ The Casker looked at Cora as if she’d hit her head on the way to the gangway. ‘Finnuc was a coach driver! And before you ask, he didn’t drive for the Assembly. Who’d want that job, having to work with her and her people? They got their priorities all wrong, what they’re doing…’
‘What do you mean?’
He glanced around. ‘Why you asking about Kranna anyway?’
From the anxious look on his face, Cora decided no answer would be more useful than a lie. She looked back at Jenkins, and then waited.
‘Do you know something about—’ The bargehand shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Not about the Chambers. I got work to do, Detective.’
He turned to go but she grabbed his arm. His skin was hot, almost as if the ink were burning on his flesh.
‘What about someone called Tennworth?’ Cora said. ‘Did Finnuc ever mention that name to you?’
The Casker shook his head. ‘Finnuc – he wasn’t much of a talker, was he? Didn’t say much about himself.’
He did to me, Cora thought, surprised at how pleased she was by this. Unless it had all been lies.