The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)

“The dwarf?” Hadrian said.

“Shh!” Royce scolded as he climbed down. “Yes, that’s the driver.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know, but he’s the only dwarf to come out of the duke’s residence, and I doubt His Lordship employs many.”

He didn’t look like a carriage driver. If Hadrian were to guess, he would’ve pegged the little guy as a gardener or a stable hand or, given the sack slung over one shoulder, perhaps a bearded child who was running away from home. The dwarf was dressed in a no-frills worker’s tunic and belt, with wool pants and worn boots. He held a mud-stained cloak and a small sack tied at the mouth with twine. He struggled to work his way into the flow of the bustling people who jostled him as if he weren’t there.

“I know you don’t like dwarves, Royce, but that doesn’t mean every—”

“The carriage’s footboard was ratcheted up for someone his size, so, the driver was either a child or a dwarf. Everyone would have noticed a child driving a carriage, but look how people ignore the dwarf like he doesn’t exist. Everyone blocks out what they don’t want to see. And honestly, who wants to lay eyes on the likes of him?”

The dwarf walked past, and Royce slipped into traffic a few pedestrians back.

“He works at the Estate,” Royce said quietly as they followed the dwarf across the bridge toward the plaza. “Not full-time, I don’t think. Probably hired for some temporary task, stonework most likely. And when they needed a driver for the duchess, guess who volunteered?”

“That sounds like a lot of guesses.”

“Either that, or an eight-year-old was hired to drive the duchess.”

Hawkers took advantage of the evening migration by shouting invitations and waving welcomes to the mob. Their efforts were stymied by the bells in the tower of Grom Galimus, chiming six times. When the ringing finally ceased, the dwarf was through the plaza and heading up an alley that divided the cathedral from another large stone building. This sister building had a flight of steps leading to an imposing colonnade of marble pillars above which IMPERIAL GALLERY was chiseled into the entablature. Both buildings had gargoyles, none of which were missing.

The alley between the cathedral and the gallery was wider than the one in Little Gur Em, but it was congested. This helped their pursuit. Royce kept two rows back from their prey, which required slowing down to let others pass. Moving on little legs, the dwarf wasn’t speedy. The sun was on the horizon, its dying light already lost to them in the stone canyons of the central city, where the buildings were so close Hadrian thought he might be able to touch the walls on both sides of the street with his sword tips.

The crowd began to thin as they followed a street that curved northeast. The buildings here were residential, shorter, less ornate. Hadrian spotted women on small wrought-iron balconies beating rugs, and numerous chimneys pouring smoke. The stone houses gave way to wood with stucco and timber uppers, and the number of stories lowered with each successive block. By then, the sun was gone, the hazy afterlight competing with streetlamps.

The street they followed spilled out onto another, where a long wall ran along the one shoulder. Eight feet high, the barrier was made of brick and topped with metal spikes. When the dwarf reached it, he turned and followed along its length until he reached a gate. The wooden double door was open, and the dwarf passed through. Royce paused to study the latch and hinges for a moment. They were simple iron drawbolts. The oddity was the presence of latches on both sides. The doors could be used to lock people in or out. With a hesitant glance at Hadrian, Royce continued after the dwarf.

Within the confines of the wall was a completely different world of tightly packed wooden shacks. The widest streets inside were the size of the narrowest alleys outside. Here, too, were cart vendors, but narrow as the streets were, the vendors nearly blocked them, causing pedestrians to squeeze around wagons and barrels. Royce and Hadrian had only traversed one block when Royce stopped. With concern, he looked up and down the street.

“What is it?” Hadrian asked.

“We’re in trouble.”

Hadrian looked around. They were on the cobblestones of a narrow block gripped between shabby shacks where laundry hung from the sills of open windows. Residents gathered in small groups, some in front of doorways, others at intersections around trash fires, warming themselves. The alleged driver of the ducal carriage had stopped at one of these and talked with those huddling around it.

“What’s wrong? What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see?”

Hadrian looked again but couldn’t find a threat. “See what?”

“We stand out,” he declared. “Literally. Everyone here is short.”

Hadrian looked again. Royce was right. All along the street, not a single person was more than four feet tall, and nearly all the men had beards of considerable length that were frequently braided or bound with ribbon.

“What do we do now? Walk on our knees?”

Royce shushed him, guiding Hadrian into the shadow of a porch. The thief focused on the group at the intersection’s fire, where the driver had paused to chat with five other dwarves. They mostly stood with arms folded across their chests, but on occasion, they would hold out their hands to the heat.

At that distance, Hadrian couldn’t hear what they said, but he suspected Royce could. “What are they saying?”

“Arguing about the weather,” Royce replied.

“How can you argue about weather?”

Again, Royce motioned him to silence, and Hadrian leaned against the grayed wall of the building where they sheltered. In the window, a sign hung. Maybe it said HELP WANTED or ROOM TO LET, but Hadrian couldn’t tell. It wasn’t written in any language he recognized. The window itself was oddly low, and the pair of rocking chairs on the porch looked to be for children.

This is like a miniature version of the world.

“I feel like a giant,” he told Royce. He turned back to the ring of dwarves around the fire, where a heated argument was growing; two of the dwarves gesticulated wildly, thrusting fists over their heads. Even Hadrian caught the occasional shout of “Don’t tell me what is and what isn’t!”

“These people really take their weather seriously.”

“Not arguing about the weather anymore,” Royce reported.

“What are they talking about?”

“Don’t know. Something to do with the Calians, mir, and the coming of spring. Our guy isn’t too popular, either. Nor is he happy with them. And nobody likes the duke. And—” Royce tilted his head to listen. “They’re holding a meeting, an important one in the Calian Precinct. Sounds like it has something to do with an alliance.”