By Tamora Pierce
Beka Cooper is eventually a Dog—a full-fledged member of the Provost’s shield, devoted to maintaining peace in Corus’s streets. yet there’s unrest in Tortall’s capital. Counterfeit cash are turning up in retailers all around the urban, and retailers are elevating costs to hide their losses. The canine observe that gamblers are bringing the counterfeit funds from Port Caynn. In Port Caynn, Beka delves deep into the playing international, the place she meets an enthralling banking clerk named Dale Rowan. Beka thinks she should be falling for Rowan, yet she won’t permit anything—or anyone—jeopardize her project. As she heads north to an deserted silver mine, it won’t be sufficient for Beka be her traditional “terrier” self. She’ll need to study from Achoo to smell out the criminals—to be a Bloodhound. . . .
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Extra info for Bloodhound (The Legend of Beka Cooper, Book 2)
It was easy to draw a shaky breath. "Yes," she said. Then she met the phouka's eyes, and saw them widen. "I won't go back with you," she said loudly, and hoped it would carry. " For an instant the phouka sat wide-eyed. Then he rose out of his chair with a snarl. Carla yelled, "Stop him! " War for the Oaks 61 As Rddi turned and ran for the door, she saw the manager grab the phouka's arms as a broad-shouldered patron stepped in front of him. She twisted through the crowd lined up at the serving counter, thinking, There's a taxi stand across from the Cedar Theatre.
The phouka brought his plate out and sat down across from her. "You're supposed to eat them hot, you know," he said. Eddi took a bite. " he studied her. " She made a noise, grudgingly. " He took a bite himself. "Passable, certainly, but not brownie work. Now with a little forethought and a bowl of milk, a lass like you could have had a stack of brownie cakes thin as leaves and light as air waiting for you when you woke. Sink scrubbed and the floor swept as well, likely. " Eddi was doing her best to follow this monologue.
Sometimes, she reflected, she dressed for courage, sometimes for success, and sometimes for the consolation of knowing that whatever else went wrong, at least she liked her clothes. This promised to be one of the latter times. She dug through her closet for the long pink 4-t Emma Bull pleated skirt she'd found at Tatters. She added her favorite lace blouse and a man's gray suit vest, pink socks and white sneakers. "Better," she said to the mirror over the chest of drawers, and bounced a little to get the feel of the sneakers.