Mastiff: The Legend of Beka Cooper #3 - Couverture souple

Pierce, Tamora

Couverture souple

ISBN 10 : 037583818X ISBN 13 : 9780375838187

Editeur : Ember, 2012

Synopsis

Mastiff This is the third book in the Beka Cooper trilogy, and Beka is a full-fledged Dog now, but it hasn't made her job with the law-enforcing Provost's Guard any easier. On this hunt, she'll need all her resources, from her bare-knuckled fighting skills to her suspiciously intelligent cat, Pounce. Full description

A propos du livre

Extrait :

Wednesday, June 6, 249 H.E.

Mistress Trout’s Lodgings

Nipcopper Close, Corus

Ten of the evening.

We buried Holborn today.

The burying ground has no trees in it, no shade for us Lower City Dogs. Because most of us work in the dark, we want our bodies to lie in the sun. Stones decorate the graves, stones placed there for remembrance. Some graves are piled waist-­high with them, signs that the Dogs who lie beneath were loved by family and guards both.

There were plenty of folk for Holborn. Rosto, Kora, Aniki, and Phelan had come from the Court of the Rogue. Even Rosto had learned to like Holborn this last year, for all that he was green jealous that Holborn was my betrothed. Kora and Aniki wept for me. My eyes were as dry as the ground of the boneyard. Everyone believed I’d wept so hard I had no tears left.

Holborn’s family came. The men left my shoulders damp with tears, my belly filled with razors of guilt because I had none to shed with them. They told me how sorrowed they were that I’d never become their daughter, their sister. They also tried to keep his mother back. Only when they turned to go did she break from them to come at me.

I saw her slap coming, but I did naught to stop it. Only when she went for a second blow did I grab her wrist.

“You cold, Cesspit trull!” she screamed. “My poor lad was forever trying to impress you. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been trying to prove himself as good as you, and you led him to his death!”

My partner, Tunstall, took her and gently put her in the hands of her men. “He made a mistake, mistress,” he said gently in his hillman’s rumble. “Beka had naught to do with it.”

“She was there,” Holborn’s mother cried.

“She was not.” My sergeant, Goodwin, had come over. “Had she been there, she would have stopped him from running into a nest of slave guards all on his own. Your son got himself killed.”

The men of the family were all Dogs and knew that Tunstall and Goodwin were right. “Forgive her,” Holborn’s father whispered in my ear while his sons drew their mother out of the boneyard. “It is her grief talking.” He looked shamefaced as he followed his family.

Other Dogs were present, to stand for Holborn and for me. Holborn was a leather badge, a five-­year Dog who’d transferred to Jane Street last year. His old friends and partner from Flash District attended, as well as the Jane Street folk. Goodwin, her man, Tunstall, and his lady, Sabine, were there, as well as my Jane Street friends. Standing with the cityfolk were my brothers, sisters, grandmother, as well as my merchant friend Tansy and her family. Beside them was my foster family from the days when I had lived at Provost’s House.

My informants among the city’s pigeons attended, to my surprise. None landed on the grave. Holborn’s ghost wasn’t riding among them, waiting to say farewell to me. Many a soul that’s been murdered rode a pigeon until he, or she, could settle old business, but not Holborn. In his last hours he’d only given my hand one more squeeze before he left me for the Peaceful Realms of the Black God of Death.

I listened to the folk murmur to each other as they waited for the priest and Lord Gershom to arrive. One mot was telling those around her that Holborn had saved her oldest lad when a game of dice went bad. The Dogs from his old district shared the tale that Holborn was known to jump on tables and stand on his hands when he’d had one cup too many. A dancer whose full purse he’d saved from rushers was there. It was she who set a cube of incense by the headstone.

A priest of the Black God said some words once Holborn went into the ground. So did Lord Gershom, before he gave Holborn’s medal to his father. Then came the placing of the stones, as all who chose to leave a token did so. Most of them who’d come went on to the Jane Street Guardhouse after that. There Holborn’s Day Watch fellows had laid out a funeral feast. Those closest to me stayed for a while. Eventually they came to tell me goodbye. I stood by the headstone as they approached.

My oldest friend, Tansy, clung to me and wept on my uniform, and left three chunks of crystal by the headstone. That done, her man Herun took her and the babies home. Then my lord Gershom and my district commander, Sir Acton of Fenrigh, said their farewells. I collected myself to bow to them. Others followed. Granny Fern, clinging to my youngest brother’s arm, my other brother, and my sisters all looked more broken than me. They had loved Holborn, who had wheedled until I was on good terms with my sister Dorine again. My foster aunt Mya, my foster uncle, and my other family from Provost’s House left with them. The hardest Dogs of Jane Street kennel, who had gone through so many street battles with me, trickled away, two and three at a time. I embraced my fellow Dogs, knowing they would not think me weak for doing so at a time like this.

Now and then Pounce, my cat, would rub up against my boots, or my hound, Achoo, would lick my hand. I’d give them a scratch to reassure them, until they settled again.

My remaining human friends took counsel of each other as we remained in the sun. Finally Aniki said, “She’ll come when she’s ready.” Most of them went on their way. They never would have left me entirely alone, not with the enemies I’ve made since I was a Puppy. I didn’t care. I was listening to the winds, in case they carried a scrap of Holborn’s voice, and to the talk of the pigeons, for the sheer comfort of their coos and chuckles. More and more birds assembled on the rooftops and the fence.

Revue de presse :

"Pierce has long been lauded for her kickass heroines, and in Beka she has created her most compelling, complicated character...[T]his novel provides both crackerjack storytelling and an endearingly complex protagonist."—Kirkus Reviews, STARRED REVIEW

“Tamora Pierce creates epic worlds populated by girls and women of bravery, heart, and strength. Her work inspired a generation of writers and continues to inspire us.”
—HOLLY BLACK, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Few authors can slay so effectively with a single sentence—I mean fist-in-the-air, shouting-at-my-book slay—as Tamora Pierce. All these years later, I still draw strength from her words.”
—MARIE LU, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Tamora Pierce is a seminal figure in the fantasy field of writing, turning out one terrific book after another.”
—TERRY BROOKS, New York Times bestselling author of the Sword of Shannara trilogy

“It’s impossible to overstate Tamora Pierce’s impact on children’s literature. Her tough, wise, and wonderful heroines have inspired generations of readers.”
—RAE CARSON, New York Times bestselling author

“In the world of YA fantasy, there’s before Tamora Pierce, and then after her female heroes started kicking down the doors (and walls, and other barriers)!”
—BRUCE COVILLE, New York Times bestselling author

“Tamora Pierce is a trailblazer for so many fantasy writers, hacking through the old tropes with her narrative machete and showing us that girl-centered adventures are not just possible but amazing.”
—RACHEL HARTMAN, New York Times bestselling author

“Tamora Pierce’s writing is like water from the swiftest, most refreshingly clear, invigorating, and revitalizing river.”
—GARTH NIX, New York Times bestselling author

“Tamora Pierce is gloriously unafraid to give her readers joy and laughter along with adventure and struggle, to let us love her characters wholeheartedly and find the best of ourselves in them.”
—NAOMI NOVIK, New York Times bestselling author

“Tamora Pierce and her brilliant heroines didn’t just break down barriers; they smashed them with magical fire.”
—KATHERINE ARDEN, author of The Bear and the Nightingale

“Tamora Pierce’s bold, courageous heroines illuminate the journey to womanhood.”
—CALLIE BATES, author of The Waking Land

“Tamora Pierce is the queen of YA fantasy, and we are all happy subjects in her court.”
—JESSICA CLUESS, author of A Shadow Bright and Burning

“Tamora Pierce’s novels gave me a different way of seeing the world."
—ALAYA DAWN JOHNSON, award-winning author of Love Is the Drug

À propos de cette édition

• Éditeur: Ember
• Date d'édition: 2012
• ISBN 10: 037583818X
• ISBN 13: 9780375838187
• Reliure: Broché
• Nombre de pages: 608