Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

Captain Travin Torell was an older man with a more refined air than most of the Iron Street watchmen. Originally from Breakneedle Street—one wall and an entire world away—he’d served as that watchhouse’s lieutenant before been being promoted to Iron Street’s captaincy last year after the inquiry into the events surrounding Charlie Woar’s injury. Hektor had done his best to avoid the tension between first his father and then his older brother, and the new captain. Now he closed the door, waiting to see what he wanted with as neutral an expression as possible.

“You’ve been with the Watch for some time now, haven’t you?” the captain said at once.

Hektor nodded cautiously. “Came on as a full watchman five years ago, sir,” he allowed. “I was a runner before that.”

“And before that a sweeper like your brother Padreic,” the captain added. “Like every Dann on the street, or so I’ve been told. A family tradition, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes.” Staring out at the watchhouse yard beyond his window, the captain tucked his hands behind his back. “The Danns have been an integral part of the Watch since time immemorial,” he said almost to himself. “And I’m sure that, in the past, their methods served the city well enough, but times have changed, and so must all our methods.”

He turned. “The veterans speak highly of you. They say that you have an even temper and a decent grasp of the law. You should go far.”

Hektor’s eyes narrowed cautiously. “Thank you, sir.”

“And the Watch needs men with even tempers in these uncertain times,” the captain continued. “Men who can lead by the proper example. This trouble between Iron Street and Candler’s Row, for example; I doubt whether anyone even remembers how it began. But I will tell you this, Watchman, it’s going to stop.” He jabbed a finger in Hektor’s direction. “I won’t tolerate acts of retaliation, not by the populace and most certainly not by the Watch. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, well, on that note, I’d like to offer you the rank of sergeant. What do you think about that?”

Hektor blinked. “Are you postin’ my name, sir?”

The captain frowned impatiently. “No, I’m not, not yet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know what the Watch expects, what the entire street expects for that matter,” he said peevishly. “but I’m not running a popularity contest, and I don’t believe seniority should have the final say in something this important. Aiden’s a hothead. Last year’s events proved that.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Hektor said, a spark of anger causing him to scowl. “But nothin’ of last year was proven at all.”

“Yes, I’m fully aware of the inquiry’s report, Watchman,” the captain answered stiffly. “And why it read as it did. But there’s no honor in covering up unlawful behavior.

“Now I understand that this might put you in an awkward position,” he continued before Hektor could voice another protest. “But I expect you to do what’s right by Haven and not just what’s comfortable for your family. I want your answer by the end of the dayshift.”

Hektor snapped to a sarcastic attention. “Sir.”

“And I will be posting your younger brother Padreic’s name for watchhouse runner,” the captain continued before Hektor could turn for the door. “He seems a diligent and hard-working lad who merits the position. I trust he’ll do his best to bring honor to the Watch.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I am not out to get the Danns, Watchman, whatever the rank and file may think.”

“No, sir.”

“Yes, well, that will be all.”

“Sir.”

Hektor left the captain’s office with all eyes upon him. Shifting his expression to one similar to Aiden’s, he glared at them until they all found something else to do, then signaled curtly to Kiel and headed out the door. But it didn’t matter. The rumor mill had already begun to turn; the speculations would be all over the street by noon.

He fretted over what the captain had said—and what Aiden would say—for the rest of the day. Around him, the street seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for an approaching storm to break above the city. As his brothers had noted, the people fell silent as he and Kiel approached, then huddled together, talking quietly after they’d passed. As the afternoon sun touched the tops of the western roof-tops, the two watchmen turned their steps back toward Iron Street with visible relief and walked right into a smash and grab.

Two youths were squeezing past an elderly man in a heavy muffling cloak, arms overladen with packages. Just as they came alongside him, one of the youths seemed to stumble, falling against the old man, while the other threw out a hand with an exclamation of alarm to steady him. As one of the smaller packages disappeared into the first youth’s open shirt, Kiel gave a shout. The youth immediately took off running, and Hektor leaped after him.