PointofKnives

•AnovellaofAstreiant•

MelissaScott

PublishedbyLethePressatSmashwords.comCopyright©2012MelissaScott.

all rights reserved. Nopart of this work may bereproduced or utilized in anyform or by any means,electronic or mechanical,including photocopying,microfilm, and recording, orby any information storageand retrieval system,withoutpermission in writing fromthepublisher.

Published in 2012 by

LethePress,Inc.

118 Heritage Avenue •MapleShade,NJ08052-3018

www.lethepressbooks.com•lethepress@aol.com

isbn:1-59021-381-5isbn-13:978-159021-381-

0This book is a work of

fiction. Names, characters,places, and incidents areproducts of the author’simaginations or are usedfictitiously.

Coverandinteriordesign:

AlexJeffers.Cover artwork: Ben

Baldwin.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-Publication

DataScott,Melissa.Pointofknives:anovella

ofAstreiant/MelissaScott.p.cm.

ISBN 978-1-59021-381-0(pbk.:alk.paper)

1. Gay men--Fiction. 2.Murder--Investigation--Fiction.I.Title.

PS3569.C672P672012813’.54--dc232012009418

•PraisefortheNovelsofAstreiant•

PointofKnives“Scott returns to the

intrigue-laden city ofAstreiant in this novella,which bridges the gapbetween 1995’s Point ofHopes and 2001’s Point ofDreams…. Primarily anintriguing pseudo-policeprocedural, this fantasy alsoserves as a satisfyingromantic story, with strongworld building and greatcharacterization that will

leavereaderswantingmore.”—PublishersWeekly

“Blood, alchemy, sexual

tension,murder,intrigue,andtruly wonderful characters:Melissa Scott’s Point ofKnivesdelivers themall, inaworldthatseemssoreal,I’msurprised to lookupand findI’mnotlivinginit.”

—DeliaSherman,authorofTheFreedomMazeandThePorcelainDove

“Rathe and Eslingen are

fascinating to follow as theynavigate the deadly intriguesanddangerousmagicofPointofKnives.”

—GinnHale,authorofWickedGentlemen

“The city of Astreiant

withitscomplexloyaltiesandmagics is one of the realestimaginaryplacesI’vehadtheprivilege of visiting. An

unlooked-for pleasure, then,to read a new adventure ofpointsmanNicolasRatheandout-of-work soldier PhilipEslingen. And what anadventure! Murdered pirates,royal and academic andmetallurgical politics, wildguesses and careful detectivework—and just theapt touchof romantic tension.Point ofKnives is an engrossingadditiontothesmallcanonoffantasticalmysterystories.”

—AlexJeffers,authorofYouWillMeetaStrangerFar

fromHome

“Points of Knives isgorgeous addition to theAstreiant series. MelissaScotttakesthisfantasy,fillsitwith memorable characters,andgives thereadermorebyincorporating a fullydeveloped romance and apolice procedural withenough twists and turns to

satisfy the most finicky ofreaders. Highlyrecommended.”

—ImpressionsofaReaderblog

PointofHopes

byMelissaScott&LisaA.Barnett

(LethePresseditionnowavailable)

“Scott and Barnett useelegant and well-craftedlanguage to carry the

discerningreaderintoaworldwhere astrology works. Thetwo handle the interwovencharacters,plots,andsubplotswith skill and an understatedsenseofwit.”

—L.E.Modesitt,Jr.

“An historical fantasywith a rich understanding ofhistory and humanmotivation…. Half thepleasure of this unique bookis in discovering its

intricately detailed setting.Couple thiswith strongmaincharacters and a vividsupporting cast and you’llfind a fantasy well worthseekingout.”

—MiddlesexNews

“LikeScott andBarnett’sprevious collaboration, TheArmor of Light (1987), thisbook features good writing,good characterization, andexceedingly superior world-

building. Astreiant has amarvelous lived-in quality….Place this one high in thejust-plain-good-readingcategory.”

—Booklist

PointofDreamsbyMelissaScott&Lisa

A.Barnett(newLethePressedition

thisfall)“Awarmly inviting story

where astrology and magic

work, and ghosts sometimesnametheirmurderer.”

—RomanticTimes“Thescenario’sunusually

welldevelopedandintricatelyplotted…. Solidlyengrossing.”

—KirkusReviews

“Readers of policeproceduralswillrecognizetheform of Point of Dreams, ifnot the details, which are

necessarily changed by thefantasy setting…. Scott andBarnett blend the genresdeftly, transposing theirmystery plot seamlessly intotheir magical world,effectively building suspenseandscatteringbothcluesandred herrings with panache.The writing is skillful, as isthe characterization…. Bestof all, though, is the world-building. Scott and Barnetthave created a setting so

densely detailed that it’s attimes hard to remember youaren’t reading about a realplace….PointofDreamsisathoroughlyrewardingreadingexperience.”

—SFSite~

ForSteveThanksforasking!

~

Contents

ChapterOne~BodiesatDawn

ChapterTwo~TheSummer–Sailor`sWife

ChapterThree~TheCoilsoftheLaw

ChapterFour~TheRoyalMetal

ChapterFive~TheCountingHouse

ChapterSix~Best–LaidPlans

ChapterSeven~EpilogueAcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthor

ChapterOne~BodiesatDawn

Nicolas Rathe dragged

himselfawakeatthesoundoffists on his door, groped forflint and steel and thecandlestickbesidethebed.“Who’sthere?”“Jiemen, Adjunct Point.

You’rewanted,sir.”

Rathe suppressed a groanandgotthecandlelit,carriedit to the table and went toopenthedoor.Thewinter-sunwas sinking, hidden behindthe city’s roofs, and the skyoutsidetheopenwindowwasjust beginning to show lightintheeast.“Whattimeisit?”“Half past five,” Jiemen

answered. She came into thenarrowroom,lanterninhand,set it on the table beside thecandle, opening the slide to

castabetterlight.She’dbeenon the overnight shift, wasdressed and ready, leatherjerkinoverawoolbodiceandskirt, stout shoes showing atherhem.Truncheonandknifebothhungreadyatherbelt.Rathe reached for his

breeches—therewas no needto stand on ceremonywith afellowpointsman—andbeganto dress. The air from thewindow was chill, but itwouldwarmup lateron, two

days past the Fall Balance,and he grabbed linenstockings instead of wool.“What’samiss?”“It’s Grandad Steen,”

Jiemen said, and Rathe’sfingers stumbled on thebuttonsofhisshirt.“What?”She nodded grimly. “Dame

Lulli sent to us just pastsecondsunset,saidoneofherboyshad trippedoverhim inthe yard. Murdered and

robbed,shesaid.”“Damn.” Rathe hastily

woundhisneckcloth toclosehis collar, and shruggedhimselfintohiscoat.GrandadSteenwasoneofthesightsofPoint of Hopes, claimingseventy-fiveyearsofageanda long career as a summer-sailor—a pirate—and ifsomeone had killed him, itwas probably because they’dbeen fool enough to believehis tales of lost treasure and

distant islands wheremermaids haunted thelagoons, kidnapping unwarysailors to father their finnychildren.Rathe’daskedonce,when he was an apprentice,how they’d stolen the sailorswithout drowning them, andGrandadhadspunhimastoryofeel-skinhead-bags toholdthe air, and houses half in,half out of the water,connected to the sea byunderwater tunnels too long

for any but a mermaid toswim…. Glorious nonsense,allofit,andalosstothecity,though he doubted he’d findtoomanyotherstoagree.“Doweknowwhen?”Jiemen shrugged. “Not yet.

DameLullisaidshesenttousstraightaway,andtoldoffherknife to be sure things wereleftastheyfoundthem.”“Oh, she has a knife, does

she?”Rathefoundhistablets,slipped them into his pocket

with his purse, and took hisjerkin from its hook by thedoor.“Not because she has a

business to protect,” Jiemensaid, with vicious mimicry,“and certainly not becauseshe’s in the business ofsupplying certain ladies withsuitable and fertile company—though that’s in her mindpractically apublic service—because any such businesswould require her to be

licensedandbonded,butonlybecause she’s giving him ajoboutofthekindnessofherheart.”Rathe grinned in spite of

himself. “I’m sure that willgo over well in the courts.Howmanyguestswere there—poor ladies benightedwhomthedametookinoutofpurepity,I’msure.”“Idon’tknow.”Jiemensaw

that he was dressed, andpickedup the lantern.“I sent

Baiartonahead.”“Good.” Rathe hooked his

truncheon onto his belt andblew out the candle. “Let’sgo.”The city of Astreiant was

only just beginning toawaken,afewlampsshowingin back kitchens andstableyards. They passed apair of sleepy-looking live-out apprentices heading forthe Hopes-Point bridge andtheir masters inManufactory

Point,andafewminuteslateranemptycartovertookthem,thedriversittingsidewaysonthe tongue behind theploddinghorse.Jiemen looked sideways.

“Oh, and I sent to the dead-house,too,AdjunctPoint.”“Good.”Lulli’s house was easy to

pickout,theonlyonewithallthe doors open and lanternsand torches blazing in theyard.Theneighborswereup,

too, peeping out theirwindows, one or twosubstantialdameshoveringintheir doorways, but Ratheignored them.BiatrisAustor,thenewestapprenticeatPointof Hopes and so the oneassigned to the overnightshift, was hovering at thealleygate,andswungitopenattheirapproach.“He’s out back,ma’amand

sir.”Rathenodded,andlookedat

Jiemen. “Stay here and waitfor the alchemists.And keeptheneighborsaway.”“Yes,AdjunctPoint.”Hedidn’thavetotellherto

keep an eye out for anyonewhowasalittletoointerestedin the business: they’d bothbeen on the job long enoughto know how often themurderercamebacktocheckonherorhishandiwork, andthe more so when it was akilling as senseless as this

one. He nodded again, andmade his way down thenarrow alley between thehouses into Lulli’s backgarden.She made good use of it,

that much was clear. Thefencewas high and new, theprivy recently whitewashed,posts ready to hang laundryandathrivingkitchengardenat the back step. Someone,Lulli or her cook, had setcloches over the more

delicate herbs, trying to ekeout a few more weeks’harvestbeforethefrostssetinhard. Lulli herself wasstanding in the doorway, ascarlet wrapper thrown overher shift, blood-bright in therising light. Her arms werefolded across her chest,hugging herself hard eventhough the air was not socold, and Rathe gentled hisvoiceasheapproachedher.Itseemedshehadbeenfondof

theoldman,too.“DameLulli.”She blinked at him from

underhercap,andher frowneased a little. “It’s Rathe,isn’tit?Theadjunct?”“That’s right.” Rathe

glanced over his shoulder,saw Baiart squatting by ashapeless lump that must bethebody.He’dhad the senseto fetch a blanket, covered itagainst the arrival of thealchemists from the dead-

house,andRathelookedbackat the woman. “Dame, I’llwanttotalktoyouandtothehousehold,but first I need tosee the body. If youwant togoinandmakeyourselfacupof tea—” Or somethingstronger,headdedsilently.“Iwon’t need for you a littlewhileyet.”“Thank you.” From her

voice she’d been weeping.“In a bit. Who’d do such athing?”

“We’llfindout,”Rathesaid,andturnedtothebody.Baiart came to his feet at

Rathe’s approach, and shookhis head. “A bad business,sir.”“Yeah.” Rathe went to his

knees, folded back theblanket. “You closed hiseyes?”“Yes, sir. I didn’t touch

anythingelse.”Rathenodded.Theoldman

lay all in a heap, legs bent

one way, arms outflung, thefront of his patched shirtdrenchedwithblood.Stabbedand then searched, Ratheguessed: Grandad’s coat wasspread wide, the cuffs andhem slit, and the pockets ofhisbreecheswerepulledout.Helookedup.“Nopurse?”“No.Theytookhistobacco-

pouch, too.” Baiart lifted thelantern, trying to minimizetheshadows,andRathegaveanodofthanks.

“Andhishat, it looks like.”Grandad usually wore awaterman’s knit cap with along tail, and sailors wereknown tokeepa coinor twoknottedinthefabric.“Doweknow what he was doing upsoearly?”“Dame Lulli says this was

hisusual time,moreor less,”Baiart answered. “He tendsthestovesforthehouse.”Rathe nodded again, and

eased thebloodiedshirtopen

togetalookatthewound.Asingle stab wound, more orless to the heart—an up-and-underthrust,bythelookofit,but not entirely expert. Helifted Grandad’s right hand,cold and already stiffening,and wasn’t surprised to seethe knuckles bloodied. “Noknife?”“Not on him,” Baiart said.

“Seems to me he usuallywore one, but I wouldn’tswear to it. And at home—

whoknows?”“Hecountedthisashome?”

Rathe rose to his feet again,scanning the beaten eartharoundthebody.“SoDameLullisays.”There was a son, Rathe

remembered, vaguely, andmaybe a grandson, but hedidn’t know any more thanthat.Hedidn’tknowanythingabout the mother, but itwasn’t that uncommon for awoman to leave an

unintended son with hisfather rather than raising itherself. Had Grandad saidsomethingaboutthatonce,orwas that justapartofoneofhisstories?Another darker spot in the

dirt beyond the body caughthis eye, and he crouched totouchitwarily.“Baiart?”Baiart brought the lantern,

and Rathe wiped his fingerson his handkerchief,unsurprisedat therustystain.

ItcouldalwaysbeGrandad’s,he thought, they wouldn’tknow for sure until thealchemistsarrived,buthehadafeeling….“Givemethelight,”hesaid,

and Baiart handed him thelantern. Rathe held it high,looking formore signs. Sureenough, there was a largerpoolbythebody,butthefirstspot he’d found was wellseparated, and there was ascuffed place in the dirt, not

quiteafootprint.Andthenhesaw a second spot, and athird, leading toward themews-gate, and he lookedback at Baiart. “I’ve got atrail.”“I’ll go with you,” Baiart

said.Ratheshookhishead.“Stay

here, wait for whoever thedeadhousesends.Idoubtit’llgofar,but….”Hesquintedatthe sky, lightening further assunrise approached. “I want

to get as far as I can beforeit’smuddled.TellDameLulliI’llbebacktospeakwithher,though.”“Yes,sir,”Baiartsaid.Rathe let himself out into

the narrow mews. It was ashort lane, bounded on bothsidesbyhigh fences, and thegroundwas soft, rutted fromthenight-soilcartsandthetherag-and-bone women, but hecould still pickout thebloodtrail. It led him out of the

mewsandanddown thesidestreet that ran parallel toBridge Street, toward themaze of little shops andwarehouses that lined theriver’s edge. That made itseemevenmore likely that itwassomeonewho’dbelievedGrandad’stalesofpiracy,andRathehopedtherewouldbeasimple end to the case.Grandaddeservedbetter thanthis.The light was better in the

street,agoodthing,sincethetrail was fading. Rathe liftedhis lantern again, found thenextmark,andthenascuffedplacebeyondit,asthoughtheperson had stumbled. Rathefrowned at that. It looked asthough the attacker wasworsehurtthanhe’dthought,andhequickenedhisstep.A few yards further on,

there was a larger spot ofblood, and when he lookedup,therewasabloodysmear

onthewhitewashedcornerofthe next building. He sworeunderhisbreathanddrewhistruncheon. The last thing heneededwastotrapaninjuredmurderer. But there was nohelpforit,notimetosendforhelp.Heopenedthelantern’sslidealltheway,andsteppedbrisklyaroundthecorner.Attheendofthelittlealley,

amankneltbesideaheapofold clothes that quicklyresolved itself into a body.

Hishatwastippedtohidehisface, but it was obvious thathe was about to go throughthefallenman’spockets.“Holdhard,”Rathesaid,but

the next words died in histhroat as the kneeling manturned.“Eslingen?”“Oh. Hello, Nico.” Philip

Eslingen sounded moresheepish than anything as hepushedhimself tohis feet. “Imight have known it wouldbeyou.”

“What are you doing?”

Ratheasked.Herefusedtobedistractedbyhislikingfortheman. They had worked welltogether over the summer,whenthey’dhunteddownthecity’s stolen children, andslepttogethermorethanonceintheheadyaftermathofthatsuccess, but they servedincompatible masters, andhad, reluctantly, agreed topart.And thatwaswhere the

matterhadtorest,whetherhelikeditornot.“I’ve found a dead man,”

Eslingen answered, his voicesuddenly sober. “OldSteen’sallthenameIknow.”“What?” Rathe checked,

startled,thenmovedinsothatthe light fell squarely on thebody.Thatwas the last thinghe’d expected, to comechasing Grandad’s murderer,andfindinsteadhisdeadson.ButitwasOldSteenallright,

lean and wiry, cap missingand his lank brown hairtrailinginthemud.Hewasamanwellknowntothepointsand even better to thepontoises who hadjurisdictionovertheriver,buthe’dneverbeenonbadtermswith his father, was said tobringhimtheoccasionaltreatfrom the Silklands and theFurtherNorth.“Shot with a bird-bolt,”

Eslingen said. “And either

lefttodie,orgotaway.”“Got away, I think,” Rathe

said, the pieces slotting intoplace. If someone had beenafter Old Steen—that mademore sense, even if it meantthatGrandad’smurderwasanafterthought, someonecovering her tracks. If OldSteen had been visiting hisfatherwhenhewasshot—Heshook himself. “Philip, whatareyoudoinghere?”“Caiazzo’s business,”

Eslingenanswered,andRathemadeaface.Ofcourseitwas,Hanselin Caiazzo beingmaster of a lunar dozenbusinesses of just the sort ofquestionable legality thatwouldleadtomeetingsinthedead of night, and it didn’tmake it any better that he,Rathe, had been the one tofind Eslingen the position asCaiazzo’s knife. It didn’tmatter that he’d neededEslingen’s help then—it had

been at the height of thechild-thefts, and he’d beendesperate for any clue—orthat he hadn’t realized thenquitehowmuchhe’dcometolike the Leaguer. He’dmadehisbed,andwouldhavetolieon it: a pointsman could notafford too close a friendshipwithCaiazzo’sknife.Eslingentookhissilencefor

disapproval. “I can’t tell youmuch,Nico,youknowthat.Iwassupposed tomeethimat

the Bay Tree, but he didn’tshow.Iwaitedabit,andthenwhen it was getting on tosunrise, I came out to seewhatwaswhatbefore Iwentback to Customs Point. Andfoundhimhere.”Rathe nodded,

unaccountably relieved.“They’llvouchforyouattheBayTree,then?”“Theywill.”Eslingendidn’t

seem offended, thankfully,but then, being Caiazzo’s

man had left him inured tosuspicion.Ormaybethatwasjust being a soldier in a citynotorious for its unmartialattitudes. “But why are youhere, Nico? And beforeanyone’ssentforyou.”“I came from his father’s

body,”Rathesaid.“Someonestabbed Grandad Steen, andthen presumably shot OldSteen—or maybe it was theotherwayaround,but in anycase, I followed a blood trail

here.”Hesighed.“Grandad’shands were marked. He’dfought, and I hoped I wastrailinghiskiller.”“The father dead, too?”

Eslingen shook his head. “Ididn’t know he had one—living, that is,oranywayonehe knew. You know what Imean.”“I do. There were three of

them, Grandad and OldSteen, and his boy, YoungSteen, all sailors—summer-

sailors,accordingtorumor.”Eslingen tipped his head in

question.“That’s pirates to you,”

Rathe said. “Or so the rumorwent. Motherless men, allthree of them, but no worsethanmany.”“I’m a motherless man

myself,”Eslingensaid,alittletoolightly.Rathewinced,butitwastoo

late to apologize. “Well,” hesaid, and knelt beside the

body. “Hold the lantern,willyou?”Eslingendidashewastold,

openingtheshutterandtiltingthe light so that it fell fromthe side, minimizing theshadows.The day-sunwouldbe rising by now, but thealley was still deep inshadow. Rathe reached forthe edge of Old Steen’s coat—it was fancy, long-skirted,expensive braid still neatlystitched at hem and cuffs—

and something growled athim. Beside him, Eslingenswore,andtheskirtsbunchedand shifted, the growlincreasing.“Easy, now,” Rathe said,

and a head poked frombeneath the cloth, fiercebrown eyes above a pointedmuzzle,teethbared.“Easy.”“What in Seidos’ name?”

Eslingenbegan.Thedogwriggledfreeofthe

coat, backed itself between

the body and the wall,hackles up and teeth stillshowingwhiteinthelantern-light. It was tiny, not muchbigger thana two-pound loafofbread,withashaggyblackcoat and pointed ears and notailatall.“It’s a little-captain,” Rathe

said. He extended his handcautiously,notsofar that thedog could bite, but closeenough that it could get thescentofhim.“They’reariver

breed, meant to guard thebarges.”“That’s a guard dog?”

Eslingen said,dubiously, andin spite of everything, Rathegrinned.“Depends on where he

latcheson,doesn’tit?”Eslingen shifted, but to his

credit didn’t step back. “I’llassume you just meanankles.”“You do that.” Rathe kept

his hand extended. “Hello,

small dog, Steen’s dog. Noone’sgoingtohurtyou,pup.”Thelittle-captainflungback

hisheadandletoutapiercinghowl.Eslingenwinced.“Ibeginto

seetheiruses.”“Yeah.” Rathe stood,

truncheondisplayednowasabadge of office, as windowsopened all along the alley.“Points business!” he called.“Who’ll earn a demmingcarrying word to Point of

Hopes?”There was a scuffling from

the head of the alley, and agirlappeared.“I’llgo.”“Ask for Chief Point

Monteia,” Rathe said. “Tellher there’sanotherbody,andtosendtothedead-house.”“Another body and send to

the dead-house,” the girlrepeated.“Yes,sir.”She scampered off, and

RathelookedasEslingen.“Idon’tsupposeyourcredit

attheBayTreeextendsasfarasacollarandleash?”“I imagine they can

provide,” Eslingen answered.“But—favor for favor,Nico?I’dliketobetherewhenyouexaminethebody.”Rathe hesitated. It was far

too easy to fall into oldhabits,thewaythey’dworkedtogether over the summer,when they’d rescued thestolenchildren together—andafter, when they’d fit all too

well, in bed and out. Butwhateverwas going on now,Caiazzowasuptohisneckinit, and the Surintendant ofPoints had been wanting tocall a solid point on him formore than a decade. “Onething first,” he said. “Spreadyourarms.”Eslingen paused. “I’m no

archer,”hesaid,butliftedhisarmsfromhissidesothathiscoat fell open over hiswaistcoat and shirt. Rathe

could see there was nostandard crossbow concealedbeneath the fine wool, butstepped closer anyway, ranhis hands along the otherman’s ribs. Eslingen caughthisbreath.“Now you’re just being—

difficult.”“Don’t you want me to be

abletoswearyouhadnothingto do with this?” Ratheglanced quickly around butthere was no place in the

alleytohideeventhesmallestofcrossbows.“You can keep looking if

you want,” Eslingen offered.“Wouldn’t want to missanything.”“Later,maybe,”Rathe said,

with a certain amount ofregret, and Eslingen shookhimself.“Right, sorry. Leash and a

collar,yousaid?”“A leash, anyway,” Rathe

answered. In the rising light,

he could see that the little-captain had a collar already,well-worn studded leather.“Or a rope. Anything likethat.”Hepaused,surehewasgoing to regret this. “Andthen, yeah, you can come tothedead-housewithme.”In the four months he’d

been in Astreiant, Eslingenhadhadnoreasontovisitthecity’s dead-house, andcouldn’t say even now that

the ideaparticularlyappealedto him. It was especiallyunappealing after anexceptionally early morning,trailing the alchemists’ cartacross the fog-wreathedHopes-Point bridge andacross the city to the bordertheUniversitysharedwiththemanufactory district. Theriverfogwasburningoffnowthat thesunwasfullyup, thecobbles damp and slickunderfoot, and he stifled a

yawn. Rathe,walking a littleaheadofhimsothathecouldtalk quietly to one of theapprentices,lookedasthoughhegotupbeforesunriseeveryday. Which he easily could,Eslingenthought.Itwasmorestartling than he liked torealize how little he reallyknew about the man. Exceptthat he was good with dogs:the little-captain wasfollowing quietly now at theend of his leash, not happy,

butrecognizingauthority.Eslingenshookhishead.He

refused to regret his choices—if, indeed, you could callthemchoicesat all.Leaguerslikehimselfhadbeenthefirstpeople suspected whenchildren started disappearingfrom the city’s streets;Rathehad not only defended him,but found him a place whenhe’dlosthis,andevenifthathad been as much to makeRathe’s own job easier,

Eslingen had been, and stillwas, grateful. Except thatCaiazzo had two fingers innearly every questionablebusiness dealing in his homeneighborhood of CustomsPoint, and had made it clearthat Eslingen would have tochoose between his positionand his growing affair withNicolas Rathe. Caiazzo’sknifecouldnotbeinbedwiththepoints,inanysenseofthewords. Probably he should

have left Caiazzo’s service,but that would have meantleaving Astreaint altogether,andthat—well,itwouldhaveput paid to any chance ofseeingRathe again.Better todrift a little longer, and seewhat turned up, or so he’dkept telling himself. Thisdead man, however, wasn’tquitewhathe’dhadinmind.The dead-housewas a long

low building with nothing todistinguish it from the other,

similar buildings around itexcept the mage-lights in itswindows and the air of quietbustle already surrounding it.The apprentices brought thecart around toward a backdoor, but Rathe caught hissleeve when he would havefollowed.“Wecanusethefrontdoor.”“Generous of them,”

Eslingen said, but followedobediently.There was no smell at all,

thatwas the thinghenoticedmost. The walls and floorwere stone laid so tightEslingen doubted you couldslide a slip of paper into thegap, and everything wasscoured spotless. A trio ofapprenticeswerewashing thefar end of the hall, onesluicingthestones,theothersdriving the water ahead ofthemwithheavybrooms,butall it did wasmake Eslingenthink of the smells that

weren’tthere.He’dseendeadmen inplenty,havingbeenasoldiersincehewasfourteen,had done his share of burialdetail,andthiscleanlinessfeltunnatural.Ratheclearlyknewhisway

aroundtheplace,asofcoursea pointsman would. Hestooped to tuck the little-captain under his arm, thensteeredthemdownaseriesofhalls, finally knocking on aheavy iron-bound door. It

opened at once, and a plumphomely woman peered out,wiping her hands on herapron.“Hello, Nico,” she said.

“Aretheseyours?”Rathe nodded. “Afraid so.

And I’m going to needanswers in a hurry. I have afeelingthisone’sgoingtobeugly.”“SoIsee,”sheanswered.“I

wasborninPointofKnives,Iknew Grandad and his

stories.”“Thanks,” Rathe said, with

what sounded like relief.“Cas, this is Philip Eslingen.He’swithmefornow.Philip,thisisNianneCastera.”“Magist,” Eslingen

murmured, and she noddedbrisklyinanswer.“Who’dwant tokill theold

man?” Castera pulled thedoor open fully, beckonedthem inside. Eslingen bracedhimself,andfollowed.

The bodies were alreadystripped,laidoutonapairofstone tables, and a curly-headed boy was just sortingtheir clothes into two neatpiles. The airwasmore thannaturally chill, and stillutterly without scent.EslingentookastepclosertothetablethatheldOldSteen’sbelongings, and Rathe gavehimasharplook.“Something particular

you’relookingfor?”

Eslingen gave him his bestsmile.“Notreally,no.”Fromthe lift of Rathe’s eyebrow,he didn’t believe that for aninstant,andEslingencouldn’treallyblamehim.Butinpointof fact, the things he’d beenexpecting, the things he’dbeensenttofetch,hadclearlynever been on the man.Caiazzo wouldn’t be happythat his man was dead, buthe’dbeevenlesshappyatthepossibility that he was being

cheated.“There’snotmuch,”theboy

said, misunderstanding, “Justtheusual.”“Less than that, I’d say,”

Rathe said, frowning. Heglanced at Eslingen. “Wewouldn’t be looking forletters or anything like that,wouldwe?”“Not on my account,”

Eslingen answered, withperfect truth. “Or not that Iknowof,anyway.”

“Don’t tell me Hanselindoesn’t trust you,” Rathesaid.“Hefeelsmyprovenanceto

be doubtful,” Eslingen said,andwonasmile.“I suppose he might, at

that.”“Your recommendation is a

double-edgedsword,AdjunctPoint,”Eslingensaid.The little-captainchose that

moment to give anothermournfulhowl,andeveryone

jumped. “Sorry,” Rathe said,and gentled it to silence. Helooked back at Eslingen.“Grandadwassearchedprettythoroughly. What about OldSteen?”“Idon’t think so,”Eslingen

said. “He wasn’t very coldwhenIfoundhim,andIthinkIwasfirstthere.”“I’d agree,” Castera said.

“There’s his purse still onhim, andaknife, andquite anicepipe.Andhiskeys.”She

stood back, hands on hips,studying Old Steen’s body.The boy was sponging itclean, but the birdbolt stilljutted between the ribs, thefleshtornandpurpledaroundit. “And he didn’t diestraightaway. The bolt tookhim turning, I’d say, and heran—is that his dog? Maybeit distracted the killer. Andthen he kept moving, tryingto escape, trying to getsomewhere safe, until his

heartgaveoutandhedied.”Eslingen shivered at the

images she conjured.Alchemists were masters oftransformation, they couldread thechanges inanobjectand track them to theirsource, that was why theywere guardians of the dead.But it wasn’t a comfortabletalent.Heglancedattheotherbody, the old man—anotherSteen, Rathe had said, OldSteen’s father. The boy had

done his best to make himpresentable, but the stabwound below the breast wasstill ugly. And not, Eslingenthought, with sharpeningattention,whathewouldhaveexpected.Oh,itwaseffectiveenough, but it wasn’t expert,and most of the knives andbravos who meddled inCaiazzo’s business werenothingbutexpert.“You noticed that,” Rathe

said in his ear, and Eslingen

liftedaneyebrow.“Noticedwhat?”“Whoever stabbed himwas

no professional,” Rathe said.“Just like whoever shot OldSteen didn’t make it count.Does that mean anything toyou?”“There’sonlysomuchIcan

tellyou,Nico,”Eslingensaid.Hechosehiswordswithcare.“CaiazzosentmetomeetOldSteen, by way of business,and that’sall Icansayabout

that.Buthewasn’texpectingtrouble, nor was I, and ifthereweregoingtobetroublein this business, I wouldn’texpect to find the bodies atall.”Rathe made a face, but

nodded, the little-captainsquirming again under hisarm. “What aboutGrandad?”heasked, andCastera lookedup from contemplating thebody.“Hefought,thoughI’msure

yousawthatyourself.I’dsayhe had a knife of his own,fromthemarksonhishands,buthewasanoldman,forallhis talk. It wouldn’t take toomuchstrengthtobeatpasthisguard.” Her mouth tightenedforamoment.“Hediedaboutthe same time his son wasshot, and, being that they’refatherandsonandthebodiesfoundnottoofarapart,I’dbeinclined to say they wereattackedinthesameplace.”

“But there’s nothingalchemicaltosaythat,”Rathesaid, and Castera shook herhead.“Sadly, no. Two different

weapons, otherwise I couldsayyeaornay.Anddifferentenough that I can’t even sayifit’sasimilarhand.Atleastnotbyalchemy.”Rathe nodded. “Hold them

for me, will you? And do afullautopsy?”“Rathe,thecauseofdeathis

entirelyclear,”Casterasaid.“Humorme?”heasked,and

after amoment she shruggedandnodded.“All right. But I doubt I’ll

find more than I’ve alreadytoldyou.”“There’s something not

right here,” Rathe answered.“With your permission, Cas,I’lltaketheirbelongingsbacktoPointofHopes,andputoutacryforthenext-of-kin.”“D’you have the list?” she

said, to the boy, and henodded.“Right,then.Signforthem, Rathe, and they’re allyours. And—good luck.Grandadwas aworthless oldsot, but he didn’t deservethis.”Rathe checked the list, and

scribbledhisnameandtitleatthe bottom, then tucked thebundle into the pocketopposite the little-captain.The dog struggled as theyleft,yelpingandwhining,but

once they were out in thestreet, it settled to a morosesilence.Eslingenadjustedhishat,shadinghiseyesfromtherisingsun.“I’mforCustomsPoint,”he

said, and Rathe shook hishead.“Sorry, Philip. You’ll need

togiveusyourstory.”“I’ve given it to you,”

Eslingen protested. “Have aheart, Nico, I’ve been upmostofthenight.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,”Ratheanswered,andEslingenfollowed.The sun was fully up by

the time they reached thestation square at Point ofHopes, the streets waking tothe routines of the day. Aflock of gargoyles scoldedfrom the midden beside abakery, and a sleepy-lookingapprentice was washing thestepsoftheinnatthecorner.

There was a a bustle ofactivity in the station’s mainroom, the night-watchhanding over to the day, andEslingen checked just insidethe doorway, not wanting tobe in theway.Rathe ignoredit,andhungcapandjerkinonthewaitinghooks.The little-captainhoveredathisankles,warybutnotyetgrowling.“Is the chief in yet?” he

asked,tonooneinparticular,and a blonde woman

straightened from the dutypoint’s table, where she’dbeenstudyingaledger.“Not yet, Adjunct Point.

She’sonherway.”“Good.” Rathe worked his

shoulders, thenpickedup thedog, settling it into thecrookofhisarm.“There’sbeentwomurderson theedgeofPointofKnives,probablyrelated—it’s Grandad Steen and hisson.”The blonde frowned. “Why

would anyone kill Grandad,forSophia’ssake?”RathelookedatEslingen.“I

intend to find out. And haveone of the runners make ussometea.”“Right,AdjunctPoint.”The

blondereachedforapenanda scrap of paper, beganscribbling.Breakfast would be nice,

too,Eslingen thought, but hewasn’t sure enough ofRathe’smoodtosayitaloud.

The blonde finished hernote, handed it to one of thewaiting runners, and sentanother one to the station’swell to fill Rathe’s kettle. “IheardthatYoungSteen’sshipcame inyesterday,” she said.“Should we send for him,too?”“Now, that’s interesting,”

Rathe said. “Yeah, let himknow.I imaginehe’s theonetoclaimthebodies,butifnot,he’ll know who is.” He

lookedoverhis shoulder. “Inthemeantime,Eslingen—youandIneedtohaveatalk.”“I’m at your disposal,

Adjunct Point,” Eslingenmurmured, and followedhimupthestairs.He still hadn’t figured out

exactlywhathewasgoingtotell Rathe, and Rathe didn’tgive him any time toconsider, either, just pointedto the spare chair and settledhimself behind his table. He

set the little-captain on thetable-top, and it paddedbackandforthacross thescatteredpapers before settling itselfwithanalmosthumansigh.“Right,” Rathe said. “What

exactlywereyoudoingattheBayTree,Philip?”“A job for Caiazzo,”

Eslingenanswered.“I’d got that far,” Rathe

said, with a crooked grin.“Could you be a bit morespecific?”

“OldSteenwassupposedtohave a packet for Caiazzo,”Eslingen said. “I wassupposed to collect it, thethought being that sendingme was more discreet thanhavingOldSteencometothehouse,orforCaiazzotogotohim.Onlyhedidn’tarriveasarranged, and when I finallygaveupwaiting, Ipracticallytrippedoverhisbody.”“Not at the end of a blind

alley,youdidn’t,”Rathesaid.

“Metaphorically,” Eslingensaid. “I told you, I lookedaroundabit to see if I couldfind out what had gonewrong.”Heshookhisheadasa runner appeared with thepot of tea. “I really didn’texpect to find him dead. Itwasn’tthatsortofjobatall.”“What sort of job was it?”

Rather asked, and jammed ahandintohishair.“No,wait,don’tanswerthat!Unless—isitsomethingIneedtoknow?”

“Not in the least,”Eslingenanswered promptly, andRathegrinned.“I’ll let that pass for now.

Pourussometea,willyou?”Eslingen found the woven-

wicker strainer and obliged,fillingapairofcheappotterycups.HehandedonetoRatheand took the other forhimself,wrappinghis fingersaround the heating surface.“Seriously, Nico, I wasn’texpecting any trouble.

Caiazzo wasn’t expectingtrouble. I’d have comebetterarmedifhehadbeen.”“So why, then?” Rathe

sipped cautiously at his tea.“Whykillnotonlyyourmanbuthisagedfather?”“Damned if I know,”

Eslingen said. “Somethingpersonal,maybe?”Rathe smiled. “That’s

always possible. But you’llforgive me if having Hanseinvolvedmakesme just abit

—wary.”“Caiazzo wouldn’t kill

him,”Eslingensaid.“Hewasbuying—goods,shallwesay?A straightforward piece ofbusiness.”“If outside the law,” Rathe

said,andEslingengavehimalimpidstare.“You know I can’t answer

that,AdjunctPoint.”“Not that you need to,”

Rathesaid.Eslingen laughed.

“Touché.”Rathe shook himself. “All

right, I’llbuy that.But if it’snot because of Caiazzo’sbusiness—what,then?”Eslingen rubbed his neck,

the ache of a sleepless nightsettling into his bones. “Itmight—and I stress thewordmight,asinonlypossiblyandremotely—havesomething todo with the business.Someone wanting to musclein. But it wasn’t expected,

andCaiazzodidn’tkillhim.”Ratheshookhishead,buthe

was smiling again. “Right.I’ll bear that in mind, too: amysterious something thatmightpossiblyhaveprovokedsomeone to try tomuscle in?That’sveryhelpful,Philip.”“I try,” Eslingen said, with

exaggerated modesty, butsobered quickly. “I’ll askaround,ifyou’dlike.Caiazzowillwant this person caught,if only as a lesson, so he

mightbewillingtohelp.”“I’d appreciate it,” Rathe

said, and looked up as thedoor opened. The little-captainsatupjustassharply,browneyesalert.“Whatisit,Lennar?”“Excuseme,AdjunctPoint,

but Young Steen’s here.Abouthisfather’sbody.”“Showhimup,”Rathesaid.

Eslingen started to rise, butRathe waved for him to sit.“Stay,” he said. “You can

speakforCaiazzoifneedbe.”That was a double-edged

sword, too,Eslingen thought,andsankbackintohischair.The man who appeared in

thedoorwaywastallandsun-browned, his long hairbleached to the color ofstraw. He was younger thanhe looked at first sight—thelines around his eyes werecarvedbyweather,notage—and he wore a decent coatover sailor’s wide breeches,

with a kerchief of brightSilklandsprintingtoclosetheneck of his shirt. The little-captain scrambled to its feetat the sight of him, andlaunched itself into his arms.The sailor caughthimwith afond curse, submitted tobeinglickedonchinandnosebeforetuckingthedogfirmlyintothecrookofhisarm.“There’s one question I

don’t have to ask,” Rathesaid, with a wry smile.

“You’dbeOldSteen’sson.”The sailor nodded. “They

call me Young Steen. I’mmaster of the Soeuraine ofBedarres.”Heglanced at thedog, still trying frantically tolick his face. “They tell meDad’sdead?”“I’m sorry,” Rathe said.

“Yes.”“Whathappened?”“He was shot with a

birdbolt,”Rathesaid.“And—your grandfather was knifed

aswell.”“Dead?”“I’m sorry,” Rathe said

again.“Damn it to hell.” Young

Steen lifted the dog, buriedhisfaceinitsfur.“Who—andwhy?”“Wedon’tknowyet,”Rathe

said.“Butwe’llfindout.”“Whatever fee—” Steen

began, then shook his head.“No,Iknowyounow.You’rethe one who doesn’t take

fees.”“I don’t,”Rathe said. From

his tone, it was still asensitive point—but then,Eslingen thought, most ofAstreiant’s pointsmen werehappytotakeanextraseilingor five to ensure a job welldone. “What you can do isanswersomequestions.”“Yeah,”Steensaid.“Yes,of

course.” He glanced atEslingen then, as though hispresence had only just

registered.“Who’sthis?”“Philip Eslingen,” Rathe

answered. “He found yourfather’sbody.”“Oh, yes?” There was a

definite note of suspicion inYoung Steen’s voice, andEslingen straightenedslightly.“I was supposed to meet

him,onmyemployer’sbehalf—HanselinCaiazzo.”Steen nodded, not entirely

appeased, looked back at

Rathe.“You’resureofhim?”“I am,” Rathe said, and

Eslingen felt an unexpectedwarmthstealthroughhim.“Right.” Steen took a deep

breath, resettled the dogagainsthiselbow.“WhatcanItellyou?”“Whatever you can,” Rathe

said. “Anything of hisbusiness, enemies, anyoneyou can think of who mighthave done this—or whomighthaveitinforGrandad,

for that matter. I’ve beenassumingyourfatherwastheprimary target, but I’ve norealproofofit.”Steen hissed softly through

his teeth. “His business Idon’t know much of, orGrandad’s. I’ve been at seathelastsixmonths.”“But you knew he had

dealings with Caiazzo,”Rathesaid.“He’d done in the past,”

Steen answered. “It’s no

surprise to hear. Grandad,though, he’s retired, he’s gotno business, except what hedoes for Dame Lulli, andthat’shischoice,Dadandme,we’d have taken care of him—”Hebrokeoff,shakinghishead.“Grandad’s body was

searched,” Rathe said. “Anyidea what someone mighthavebeenlookingfor?”Steenshookhisheadagain.

“Grandad banked his money

—Orlandi’s, in Point ofSighs. Unless someonebelieved his stories? Tyrseis,thatwouldbecruel.”“Stories?”Eslingenasked.Steen looked at him.

“Grandadlikedtohangaboutthe taverns and tell tales fordrinks, about his life as apirateandthelike.Therewasalways a lost treasure orthree, and a mysteriousisland, and monsters.” Hebrokeoff,blinkinghard.

“Mermaids,” Rathe said,and Steen looked blankly athim. “A story he told meonce, and I’ve neverforgotten. He’ll be missed.”He shook himself. “But Idon’tthinkthat’swhyhewaskilled.OldSteenhadbusinesswith Caiazzo, we know thatmuch, and that’smore likelytobringdeathinitswake.”Steen nodded slowly, his

eyes on Eslingen. “And thisbusinesswouldbe—?”

“Caiazzo’s,” Eslingenanswered,carefully,andaftera moment, Steen noddedagain.“I’ll have awordwithhim,

then,soldier.”“He’dwelcome it, I think,”

Eslingenanswered.Outofthecorner of his eye, he sawRathegrimace.“And if it endsuphavinga

bearingonthesemurders,I’dappreciate hearing it,” hesaid. “Or I’ll have to have a

wordwithHansemyself.”“And I’m sure that will

please him, too,” Eslingenmurmured.Rathe ignored him. “What

about enemies? Anyone youcan think of who’d want tokillyourfather?”“Not so many ashore,”

Steen answered. “And not inAstreiant. He’s only beenhomeaweekortwoaheadofme—we both sail undercharter from Bastian Souers,

to the Silklands and thesouthernisles.”“So your guess would be

that it was business?” Ratheasked,andSteennodded.“My first guess, anyway,

Adjunct Point. But I don’tknowwhathewasuptosincehewashome.”“We’ll be asking about

that,”Rathesaid.“Yeah.” Steen squared his

shoulder, the little-captainsnuggling against him. “The

—bodies. They’ll be at thedead-house, then? How do Igoaboutclaimingthem?”“You’ll need to prove

you’rethenext-ofkin,”Ratheanswered, “which shouldn’tbeaproblem—”Hebrokeoffattheknockat

his door, tipped his head tooneside.“I’msorry,AdjunctPoint,” the runner Lennarsaid,“butOldSteen’swifeisheretoclaimthebody.”His eyes were wide at the

very idea, and Eslingenblinked.Notmany people ofOld Steen’s status evermarried; they might run ashop or some other businesswith the woman whose bedthey shared, whose childrenthey fathered, or perhapsmake some more tenuouscontract, some promise ofmaintenance in exchange forthechildrenandthecompany,but they did not marry. Notchartered captains who gave

half their take to the womenwho funded the venture, andpaid their crew out of theirownshare.“My father’s not married,”

YoungSteensaid.“Shehashismarriagelines,

the chief says,” Lennaranswered. “If you please,AdjunctPoint?”“Let’s see what she has to

say,” Rathe said, forestallingYoung Steen’s indignantanswer, and pointed him

toward the door. He glancedback at Eslingen. “Come on,Philip,youdon’twanttomisstheshow.”“Indeed not,” Eslingen

answered, and trailed behindthem down the stairs to thestation’smainroom.

ChapterTwo~TheSummer-Sailor`s

Wife

Rathe led the way down

the stairs, glad that Eslingenclosed up at his shoulder,blocking Young Steen fromany precipitate action.Monteia and Jiemen were

standingbeneaththestation’scase-clock, Jiemen lookingharried, Monteia with herpipe in her mouth and herhands on her hips, staring atthe thirdwoman. Shewasn’tyoung herself, looked to beabout the same age asMonteia, and as soberlydressed,bottle-greenskirtandsplit-sleeved bodice thatshowed a glimpse of ivorylinen. The neck was squarebut modest, made so by a

fichuofinexpensivelace:notquite what he’d beenexpecting,andRatheglancedover his shoulder at YoungSteen.“Doyouknowher?”“I’ve never seen her before

inmylife.”Eslingen’seyebrowswinged

up at that, but he swallowedwhat was probably aninappropriate retort. Rathegavehimalookthathehopedconveyed the desire that

Eslingen continue to behavedecorously, and nodded toMonteia.“Chief?”Monteia removed her pipe

fromhermouth,pointedwithit to the stranger. “This isCostanzevanDuiren,wife toOldSteen.”“No, she’s not,” Young

Steenblurted.“He never approved of the

marriage,” van Duiren said.Her voice was sharplysouthriver, less cultured than

her clothes. “Him beingmotherlessandall.”“There never was any

marriage,”YoungSteensaid.“In fact, I’d lay goodmoneymy fatherneverevenbeddedyou.”“Enough,” Monteia said.

“Captain, Dame van Duirenhas your father’s marriagelines.”“Forged, I don’t know,”

YoungSteen said. The little-captain, catching his mood,

growled from the shelter ofhisarms.“Unusual for the wife to

have her husband’s lines,”Ratheobserved.“Usually it’sthe man who wants theproof.”“He was at sea seven

months out of twelve,” vanDuiren answered. “I keptmanyofhispapersforhim.”Outofthecornerofhiseye,

Rathe saw Eslingen’s headlift slightly. Whatever

Caiazzowasafter,then,therewerepapersinvolved.Heputthat thought aside for later.“I’d like to have a look atthem,Chief?”Monteia gestured with her

pipe again, and van Duirenpulled the folded sheet fromthe purse at her waist,handing it over with a quietflourish. Rathe took it, hisgazeflickingovertheprintedform, the names and dateswritteninthefamiliarclerical

hand, recording the marriageof Costanze van Duiren andSteen Stinson. There was asecond document as well, acontract of maintenance, vanDuiren’s promise to supportthe potential father of herchildren should she conceiveby him, with bonuses for adaughter, and the usualprovisions for miscarriageand stillbirth. The ink hadflowedsmoothly,noneofthefaint shifts in color and

thickness you saw on evencompetent forgeries, and allthe stamps and seals lookedgenuine. He nodded andhanded it back, and shefoldeditcarefullyaway.“Theoriginalofthecontract

is on file at the Temple, ofcourse,” she said. “I’ll havethatsworntoifnecessary.”“We’llsee,”Monteiasaid.“In any case,” van Duiren

said, “there can’t be anyseriousargumentthatI’mnot

hisnextofkin.Iamhiswife,byalllegalreckoning.”“You’re not his wife,”

Young Steen said. “This ismadness!”“What proof do you have

thattherewasn’tamarriage?”Monteiaasked.“My fatherwouldn’t—I’ve

never seen this womanbefore,neverheardhernamementioned.Would my fathermarry andnever tell hisownson?”

“That’s hardly proof,” vanDuiren said. “Even if itweretrue.”Young Steen took a step

forward, and Eslingenblockedhimwithoutseemingtohavemovedatall.“Dame van Duiren has a

point,”Monteiasaid.“Ask his crew—ask his

landlady,” Young Steenbegan, and stopped, shakinghis head. “Ask anyone whoknewhim.”

“You can call yourwitnesses,”Monteiasaid,andYoung Steen shook his headagain.“I don’t know who’s in

town, I don’t even knowwheretostart.”Rathe said, “What does the

dogsay?”Monteiacockedherheadat

him, and Rathe held out hishand for the little-captain.Steen gave him up warily,and Rathe gentled it into the

corner of his arm. “The dogshould know her, right, ifshe’shiswife.”“The dog didn’t,” van

Duiren began, and stoppedherself.“Didn’t what?” Monteia

asked.“Didn’t like me,” van

Duiren said, with dignity.That wasn’t what she’dintended to say,Rathe knew,but she’d saved herself fromanoutrightlie.

“Let’ssee,”hesaid,andsetthe little-captain on thepolished stone. The dogturned in a rapid circle, thenran from shoe to shoe,lookingupasifhopingoneofthemwould be Old Steen. IttreatedMonteianodifferentlyfrom van Duiren, though itbarkedonceatEslingen,thenretreated to the shelter ofYoung Steen’s ankles. Thecaptain picked it up, glaringatMonteia.

“What more do you need?Hedoesn’tknowher.Idoubtsheevenknowshisname.”“Steen,” van Duiren said,

and the little-captain cockedhishead,earsswiveling.“Really?” Eslingen said,

under his breath, and Rathesteppedbacknone toogentlyonhistoe.“It’saneasyguess,”Young

Steensaid.Monteia shook her head.

“Captain, if you can bring

witnessesthatyourfatherwasunmarried, I’d advise you todo so, and to pursue thematter in the courts. I don’tseethatIhaveanychoicebuttoturnOldSteen’sbodyovertoDamevanDuiren.Subject,of course, to her paying theassociatedcosts,assetoutbytheChiefAlchemist.”“But not Grandad,” Young

Steen said, and Monteiashookherheadagain.“The claim passes from

father to son, so there’s noquestion you’re his next-kinsman.”Rathe glanced quickly at

van Duiren, but saw nochangeinherexpression.Herbusiness was entirely withOldSteen,then,whichraisedtheoddsthatGrandad’sdeathwasunintentional.“I’ll take that charge

gladly,” Young Steen said.“And if she in any waydefaults—I’ll stand the

charges,ChiefPoint.”“Dulynoted,”Monteiasaid.

“Do I take it you mean tocontestthemarriage?”Young Steen nodded. “I

do.”“Then it’s very likely the

alchemists will hold hisbelongings until there’s anorder from the court,”Monteiasaid.“You’re simply trying to

drive up your fees,” vanDuirensaid.“Nojudgewould

place the claim of amotherless man above alawfulwife.”“Lawful?” Young Steen’s

voice rose, and out of thecorner of his eye, Rathe sawEslingen pluck at his sleeve.Thecaptainsubsidedslightly,the dog growling for him, arisingrumbleofsound.“That’s for the court to

decide,” Monteia repeated.“Dame, I’ll need one of thepoints to copy down the

detailsofyourpapers.”And that, Rathe knew, was

his cue to get Young Steenout of the station so therewouldn’t be any morebloodshed in the streets. Heturned toward him, butEslingen already had a handonYoungSteen’selbow,andwas steering him toward thedoor. Eslingen looked overhis shoulder as thoughRathehad called him, and winked.Trust me, he mouthed, and

then they were gone. Rathestood for a moment staringafter them. He did trustEslingen, that was theproblem, even though heknewitprobablywasn’tsafe.If only he hadn’t foundEslingen the place inCaiazzo’s household—butEslingenhadlosthispreviouspost partly becauseofRathe,and it had all seemed like agood idea at the time. AndEslingen had been a good

companion during the huntforthestolenchildren,alwaysreadywithacleveransweroran equally canny blow. Andafter—afterithadbeenalltooeasytofallintobedwithhim,and into a deepeningfriendship.And this was definitely not

the moment to be thinkingabout that. Old Steen’sbelongings were still in abundle in his workroom:better to seewhatwas there,

and copy what he could,beforevanDuirenpressedherclaim.Rathe poured himself

another cup of the coolingtea,theearlymorningalreadybeginning to wear on him,and closed the workroomdoor before he turned to thepackethe’dbeengivenatthedead-house. As Castera hadsaid, it was clear that OldSteenhadn’tbeenrobbed:the

untied bundle held the deadman’s purse, still plump andclinking with coin, and hiskeys.Rathesetthemasideforthe moment, sorted quicklythrough the rest of theobjects. It was the usualdetritus of a working man’spockets, tinder-box, tobaccopouch and pipe—a nice one,polished briar inlaid withsilver—a set of lead dice, agnawed-on stylus, a quarterofabroadsheetprophecyand

a few more scraps of papertwisted into spills, a silverstorm-horse charm and acouple of thick hard-bakedbiscuits stamped with arunning dog. Treats for thelittle-captain, Rathe knew,andsetthemaside.Hetippedhis head to one side,considering what was left. Itwasallveryordinary, thoughhe wondered if the stylusmeant that Old Steen was inthe habit of carrying a set of

waxtablets.Therewerenoneamongtheeffects.Hemadeanotetoask,andpickedupthetobacco pouch. There wassomething hard in it, onlypartly masked by the looseherb,andheundidthestrings,opening the pouch to itswidestextent.Nestledamongthe shreds of tobacco was asingleironkeythesizeofhisthumb.Rathe liftedhiseyebrows—

not theusual place to keep a

key, certainly—and gentlyshook off the last of the oilystrands. It looked ordinaryenough, browned iron withplain-cut wards—castle-cut,he amended, looking at itmore closely, and thatmeantabetterlockthanaverage.Hewould bet this was part ofwhat Old Steen had beenkilledfor.He reached into the pocket

of his own coat, brought outthe wax tablets he always

carried.Theywereempty,thewax planed smooth for theday, and he pressed the keycarefully into the left-handside, taking an impression ofeach face. In the back of hismind, he could hearEslingen’s voice, coollyamused—you haveunsuspected talents, AdjunctPoint—but put the thoughtaside.Itwasjustaswelltobeable to make a copy of thekeys, in case someone made

Monteiagivethemup.There was a knock at the

doorthen,andheknottedthetobacco pouch closed,flipping the wrapping hastilyover the various objects.“Yeah?”Monteia pushed the door

open, and Rathe relaxedslightly.“Hello,Chief.”“I thought you might have

the effects,” she said, andseatedherselfonthevisitor’sstool. “VanDuiren’s gone to

thedead-house,she’llbebackhere inside thehour,wantingthem.”“Yeah,” Rathe said again,

and met her eyes withoutapology. “I needed time tolookthingsover.”Hepaused.“I thought you said thealchemistswouldkeepthem.”“The marriage lines look

valid,andYoungSteenhasn’tyet filed a claim,” Monteiasaid. “I doubt they’ll argue.”She paused. “What have you

got?”“Not much,” Rathe

answered. He spilled out thepurse as he spoke, a handfulof coins, mostly cooperdemmingswitha few roundsof silver among them, begancounting as he spoke. “Pipefittings, dice, dog-biscuit, hismoneyandhiskeys.”“Definitely not robbed,”

Monteia said. “You saidGrandadwassearched?”Rathe nodded. “There was

nothing in his pockets, andpurse and cap were missing.Maybe thekiller thoughtOldSteen had given whatever itwas she’s looking for toGrandad? I don’t know.” Helookeddownatthenotefromthe dead-house. “All told, hehad two demmings less apillar here, so, yeah, we cansay he wasn’t searched.That’s too much money toleave behind. Though he’sgot a stylus here and no

tablets, so I’ll need to askaroundaboutthat.”“Commonenoughtohavea

stylus in the kit,” Monteiasaid.“Iuseminetocleanmypipe.”Shereachedacrossthedesk, picked up the batteredslip of bone to display thedarkenedtip.“LookslikeOldSteendidthesame.”Rathenodded. “Thatmakes

sense.Thanks,Chief.”“Almost a pillar,” Monteia

said. “Two weeks keeping,

thatis,formostofus.Doweknowwherehelodged?”“Notyet.”“I’dliketoknow,”shesaid.

“AndbeforevanDuirenhasachancetomuddythewaters.”“You don’t seriously think

she married him, do you?”Ratheasked.Monteiashookherhead.“If

she did, then I’m a Regent.Andyoudon’tseemesittinginAll-Guilds,doyou?”“Then you wouldn’t have

any objection if I took animpression of his keys?”Ratheasked.Monteia hesitated. “We’ve

no right,” she said at last.“And she’s the sort to claimtheletterofthelaw.”“It’s murder,” Rathe said,

without much hope, andMonteiashookherhead.“I can’t say yes to it. I’m

sorry,Nico.”But she wasn’t saying no,

either. Rathe nodded in

perfect understanding, andMonteiapushedherselftoherfeet.“Whenyou’redone,I’llput

theseinthestationstrongbox.Andonethingmore.”Rathegaveherawarylook.“I know you’re fond of

Eslingen, but he’s Caiazzo’sman. You can’t trust him inthisbusiness.”“He did us—the points and

the city—good service thissummer,”Rathesaid.

“That was to save his ownskinandCaiazzo’s,”Monteiasaid.“I put him into Caiazzo’s

service, remember,” Rathesaid.“So you did. And you’d

better learn to live with it.”Shepaused. “Don’t forcemetomakeitanorder,Nico.”“I’ll do my best, Chief,”

Rathe said, and the doorclosedbehindher.Hekeptablockofbeeswax

in his cabinet for just thispurpose,andsetittowarminthesunwhilehe lookedovertheringofkeys.MonteiawaswrongaboutEslingen,hewassure of that, though hecouldn’t have said preciselywhy.Or,rather,hecouldsayit, could quote all the timesduring the search for thechildren that Eslingen hadchosen their interests overCaiazzo’s, the way he’drisked arrest and injury and

finally his life, but he knewthat he would only soundbesotted. And I’m not, hethought. Not besotted. Fondof him, friendly with him—gods, itwas easy to slip intothe habit of the summer, tooeasy to treat him as comradeand friend—and if he washonest with himself, yes, hecould become besotted.Could even— He refused toutter thebetrayingverb,eveninhisownmind.Wantedhim

still, yes, he’d admit thatmuchbecausehalfthestationfelt the same way: Eslingenwas an extraordinarilyhandsomeman,withhispaleskin and black hair and hisvivid blue eyes. Liked him,too,andthatwastheheartofthe trouble. No matter howmuch he liked and trustedEslingen, he couldn’t affordtogiveCaiazzo thatmuchofan advantage. Monteia wasright, he’d have to learn to

livewithit.They were in the station

courtyardbeforeYoungSteenjerked his arm free ofEslingen’shand,androundedonhimwithaglare.“Not here,” Eslingen said,

and the logic of that wasenoughtocarrythemthroughthestation’sgateandoutintothestreet.“Andwhoareyou—”“And not here, either,”

Eslingensaid,“notunlessyouwant everyone in Point ofHopestoknowyouraffairs.”Steenscowled,butthepoint

was unarguable. “Where,then?BecauseyouandIhavethingstotalkabout,soldier.”“Lieutenant,”Eslingensaid,

with a smile he didn’t feel.He didn’t really feel likeclaiming rank, either, but hesuspecteditwasthebestwaytogetYoungSteen to followquietly. “The Hare and

Hawker?”Itwasatavernnotfaraway,

one that catered to travelersand therefore asked noquestions. “I don’t have timefor this,”Steenmuttered,butnodded.Eslingen steered them to a

table in the corner, orderedtea and a cheese tart. Steenstarted to wave the potboyaway, then visibly thoughtbetter of it and called forsausageandsmallbeer.

“And an explanation,” headded, looking at Eslingen.“What exactly was yourbusiness with Dad,Lieutenant?”“I’m Caiazzo’s knife,”

Eslingen said. It was thecatchall Astreianter term forbodyguard, hired thug, orblade for hire. “He hadbusinesswithyourfather,andsentmetohandleit.”“What kind of business?”

Steen’s glare sharpened

again.“Notwhatyou’rethinking,”

Eslingen answered. “OldSteen had a cargo hewantedto dispose of discreetly—myimpressionwasithadn’tpaidthe Queen’s taxes, though itwasn’tmyplacetoknowanydetails—and Caiazzo wantedto buy. I was to fetch asample of the goods inexchange for a crown insilver.”Young Steen swore under

his breath. “So that’s—didCaiazzo tell you what thecargowas,Lieutenant?”Eslingen shook his head.

“He said I didn’t need toknow.”“He would.” Young Steen

showed teeth in a distinctlyferalsmile.“Dadwasn’therethis summer, he was all theway south past the OuterIsles. He went to fetch histakings from three years past—gold, Lieutenant, coin of

three realms, taken off the—wreck—ofaSilklandshoy.Asea-chest full of gold, andnonetoclaimit.”And doubtless Old Steenhadbeenresponsibleforthatwreck, Eslingen thought. Hesaid, “The Queen takes hertitheofallgold,coin,nugget,ingot, or flakes anddust. It’sthe royal metal, there’s amagisticallinktoherrulethathas to be propitiated. Not tomentionshe’ssensitiveabout

it after this past summer.”Acrazed magist had stolen thecity’s children to mineaurichalcum, queen’s-gold,that he intended to use toinfluence the succession andbecome the power behindAstreiant’s throne: the queenand her agents were stillkeeping a very close eye onthebanksandtraders.“Yeah. But Dad didn’t

know,”Steensaid.“Ifhehad,he’d have left it another

season.”And Caiazzo still needed

gold, Eslingen thought, thepieces slotting into place atlast.He’d lost his ready coininthesummerchaos,stillhadcaravans to fund and less-legal businesses to support,and the last, in particular,dealt in cash, not letters ofcredit.OfcourseCaiazzohadjumped at the chance tochangesilverforgold,andofcourse Old Steen had been

glad to take legal coin foruntaxed, unworkable goldthat he couldn’t easilyexplain….“And now that miserable

bitch isgoing toclaimDad’sgoods,” Young Steen said.“Thegoldalongwithit.”“Rathedoesn’tbelieveher,”

Eslingensaid.“He’lldelayaslong as possible. Whichmeans you should call upthosewitnessesyouspokeof—his crew, his friends,

anyonewhocanspeak to thematter—and haul themdownto the station or get a swornstatement or both. That’llslowthingsdown,attheveryleast.”“Whyshould thepointsman

care?”Steentosseddownthelastofhisbeer.“Because it’s justice,”

Eslingen said, and shrugged.“His stars run that way, Isuppose, but—that’s how heis. He’s the man who saved

the children, and he did itbecausesomeonehadto.”“And I know you, now,

too,” Young Steen said,slowly. “You worked withhim—you’retheotherhalfofthat,Lieutenant.”“I helped,” Eslingen said.

“But it was Nico—Rathe—whodidmostofit.”“I’ll call upmywitnesses,”

Young Steen said. “Andwould you take a word toCaiazzo?”

“Ofcourse.”“TellhimthatifIcanclaim

my father’s goods, I’d behappy to make the samebargain with him that Daddid.” Young Steen pushedhimself to his feet, andEslingen copied him, tossingahandfulofdemmingsonthetabletop to cover the cost ofthe meal. Of course YoungSteen would say that; it wasthebestwaytogetCaiazzotoback his claim. But it was

also obvious that vanDuirenwas a liar—and probablyafter the gold herself,Eslingenthought.“I’ll tell him that,” he said,

andmadehiswaythroughthetablestothedoor.He caught a low-flyer back

toCustoms Point, paid it offat the bottom of the streetwhereCaiazzohadhishouse,andwentinbythesidedoor,hoping to steal a moment topull his thoughts together

before he had to take hisnews to Caiazzo.Unfortunately, his wish wasnot granted. AicelinDenizard, Caiazzo’s magistand left hand, was crossingthe hall as the door opened,andstoppedinhertracks.“Eslingen!Youwerelooked

forhoursago.”“I know,” Eslingen

answered.“Ishimselfabout?”“Above in his workroom,

and contemplating sending

runners to find you,”Denizardanswered.“I’llsendhimwordyou’rehere.”“Come up with me,”

Eslingen said. “You’ll wanttohearaswell.”She lifted an eyebrow at

that, but turned, the heavygreysilkofhermagist’sroberustling against herfashionable ox-blood gown,andledthewayupthecentralstairs.Caiazzo’sworkroomwasat

the end of the gallery, withlong windows like the sternof a ship overlooking thegardenbehind thehouse.Hiscounter ran along the wallbeneath it, piled with papersand ledgers and an abacus,andCaiazzohimself sat on ahigh stool near its center,while his clerk sat at a lowtable, diligently makingnotes. He broke off as thedoor opened, and the clerklookedup,penpoised.

“All right, Biblis, that’ll beall for now,” Caiazzo said.“Philip, I hope you have agood explanation for whereyou’vebeen.”The clerk stoppered her

inkwell and hurried out,Denizard closing the doorfirmly behind her. Eslingentook a breath. “I have anexplanation,” he said, “but Iwouldn’tcallitgood.”“Goon.”“Old Steen’s dead,”

Eslingen said bluntly. “Andhis aged father murdered,too.” He ran through theevents of the previous nightand their aftermath, finishingwith Young Steen’s offer.Caiazzo stared at him for along moment, and Eslingenfoughtbackthetemptationtoelaborate. That was one ofCaiazzo’s favorite tricks,luring you into saying morethan you’d meant, and herefusedtofallvictim.

“Soyou’vebeenatPointofHopesall this time,”Caiazzosaidatlast.“Yes.”“WhatdoesRathesayabout

thewoman?”“He doesn’t believe she’s

hiswife,”Eslingenanswered.“Idon’tthinktheChiefPointdoes,either,but themarriagelineslookgood.”“Oh, Bonfortune.” Caiazzo

slanted a reproachful glanceat the altar hanging on the

side wall, where a brightbundleofautumnflowerslaybeneath the feet of themerchant-venturers’god,thenslid fromhis stool.Standing,he was smaller than onemight expect, a neat darkman, unobtrusively welldressed,witheyesthatlookedalmost black in the morninglight. Only the small scar atthe corner of his mouthbetrayed that he was moredangerous than he seemed.

“Aice,I’llwantmyadvocateson this straightaway. HaveLunele place a claim againstthe estate, that should tiethingsupforabit.”Denizard nodded. “Do we

haveaclaim?”“Does it matter? She can

find one, I’m sure.” Caiazzodidn’t wait for her answer,but reached for a pen and aclean sheet of paper. “As foryou, Philip…. This is a notefor the chief at Point of

Hopes,what’shername—”“Monteia,”Eslingensaid.“Right,Monteia,statingthat

I’mmakingaclaim,and thatshe’llbeinreceiptofaproperwritwithintheday.”Caiazzowrote busily for a fewmoments, thepenloudinthesilence, thendusted the sheetwithsandtodrytheink.“Butyour main business—I knowyou’re still friends withNicolas Rathe, and I’mpleasedthatyou’venotmade

it an issue for me. And nowI’m sending you to help himin any way you can. Andmakesure Iget thegoldI’vecontractedfor.”Eslingenopenedhismouth,

and closed it again, knowingthat protest was futile. Heknew exactly what Caiazzomeantby“helping,”andhe’dbe damned before he’d cheatRathethatway—buttosayitoutrightwastolosehisplace,withwintercomingonandno

moneysavedtotidehimoveruntil he found other work.Not that there was muchdemand for soldiers inAstreiant in the first place,and thatbroughthimback tothe dilemma that had kepthimheresincemidsummer.“Very well,” he said. “And

whataboutmyusualduties?”Caiazzosmiled.“Itookcare

of myself long enough,Philip. And Aice can mindtherest.”

The magist looked bothfond and exasperated at that,but said nothing. Caiazzofoldedthenoteandhandeditto Eslingen. “I’m sure Rathewillbegladofyourhelp,”hesaid, with a twist of a smilethat wasn’t quite a smirk.“Butmostly—getthegold.”“Yes, sir,” Eslingen said,

andturnedaway.As Monteia had

predicted, van Duiren

returned within the hour todemand Old Steen’s effects.Rathe made himself scarcewhile theChiefPointhandedthem over, and Lennar,coming to say the coast wasclear, reported that thewoman had been in a raretemper, though at least she’dhadthesensenottoturnitonMonteia.“Because the Chief was a

hair’sbreadthfromtellinghertogeta judge’s rulingon the

matter,” Lennar said. “Andthat would have spoiled hergame.”Rathe nodded, and checked

ashesawthefigureaheadofhim in the station’s mainroom.Foracraveninstant,hethought about walking awaybefore he got himself in anydeeper, but Eslingen wasalready up to his neck in thematter. There would be noavoidinghim,nomatterwhatMonteiasaid,andhecouldn’t

decide if that thought waspleasantornot.“Hello, Philip,” he said. “I

didn’t expect you back sosoon.”Eslingen looked over his

shoulder with a wry smile.“Caiazzo has a claim tomake, though I gather we’retoo late to have the effectsimpounded.”“Afraid so,” Rathe

answered.“Notthattherewasmuch to consider. As you

saw.”“It’s the principle of the

thing,”Eslingenanswered, inthe dulcet tones that alwaysmade Rathe want to snicker.“Lunele—his advocate—isclosetedwithyourChief,andI imagine she’s making thatverypoint.”“I daresay.” Rathe lowered

hisvoiceslightly,justenoughtokeepthedutypoint,allearsat the desk, from hearingclearly. “I don’t suppose

you’d care to share whatYoung Steen told you whenyoutookhimoff?WhichIdoappreciate,bytheway.”“You’re welcome,”

Eslingenanswered.“Nomorethanhetoldyoualready,I’mafraid. I left him heading forPoint of Knives to roust outwitnesses tohis father’snon-marriage.”“Is that where Old Steen

lodged?”Ratheasked.Eslingen shrugged. “So his

son says.” His gazesharpened. “And that’simportanthow?”“Point of Knives—you

knowtheCourtoftheThirty-Two Knives, I know I toldyou about it, and I knowCaiazzohasdealingsthere.”Eslingen gave a soft laugh.

“I’vehadanadventureortwothere, yes, since entering hisemploy. Nothing to concernthepoints,ofcourse.”“Oh, I’m sure of that,”

Rathe said, and managed tokeep a straight face. TheCourt of the Thirty-TwoKniveshadoncebeenagreatmansion, fallen intodisrepairtwocenturiesago,andduringthe civil wars, the originalthirty-two knives had turnedit into a fortress from whichthey terrorized most of theareasouthoftheriver.Ithadtaken a regiment of soldierswith artillery to batter theminto submission, and there

were still plenty of folksouthriver who would ratherhandle justice in the Knives’fashionthanacknowledgethelaw or the points. “Point ofKnives is the area that grewup around the Court, amongother things. The regentsforced our surintendant toopen a points station therethreeyearsago,butitwenttoMirremay, who’s a directdescendant of one of thebannerdames—the Knives’

only real rivals, and thepeople who took over whenthe Knives were driven out.She paid a huge sum in feesto get the place, or so onehears, and she’s taking feeshandoverfistherselftomakeup for it. If that’swhereOldSteen lodged—we won’t getanyhelp fromMirremay,notunless Caiazzo’s willing tomeetherprice.”“I don’t know that he’d be

averse to it,” Eslingen said.

“Though he does like to getvalueformoney.”“She stays bought,” Rathe

said, reluctantly. “That’s allthegoodIcansayofher.”“Well,ifit’sjustamatterof

thefee,”Eslingenbegan,anda door closed sharplyupstairs.Rathe looked up to see

Caiazzo’s advocate andMonteia emerge from thechief point’s workroom, theadvocate still talking quietly

while Monteia nodded withdecreasing patience. Theadvocate—Lunele—seemedto realize she was harminghercase,becauseshestoppedand made a polite curtsyinstead, her black-and-redgown rustling. Monteiamatched the gesture, andLunele descended the stairs,asgracefulasifshewereatasoueraine’s ball. She lookeddiscreetly pleased withherself,however,andRathe’s

mouthtightened.AsEslingenhad justpointedout,Caiazzowashardlyopposedtopayingforthelaw.“Rathe!” Monteia reached

for her pipe,was filling it asshespoke.“Awordwithyou,please.”Rathe looked at Eslingen,

who gave a fractional shrug.And I believe him, Rathethought, as he started up thestairs.Whateverthisisabout,I don’t think Philip knew it

beforehand.Monteia closed the door of

the workroom behind them,and waved Rathe to thenearest stool. She settledherself beside the stove, andlit a long straw to coax herpipe alight. Rathe waited,knowing better than tointerrupt, and at last sheleaned back in her chair, acloudofsmokewreathingherhead.“Caiazzoisfilinganofficial

complaint,” she said, “andmaking a formal claimagainst Old Steen’s estate. Itseems Steen owed himmoney.”“Right,” Rathe said. He

didn’t believe it for aninstant, and from herexpression, neither didMonteia. “But why—?” Hestopped, shaking his head.“Toforceaninventory,underjudicialsupervision.Iwonderwhathe’safter?”

“I’m hoping your friendEslingen can tell us that,”Monteiaanswered.Rathe paused. “I thought

youwerewarningmeoff,”hesaid.Monteia met his gaze

squarely. “I was. ButCaiazzo’s offered us hisservices,fullassistancetothepoints, and you said ityourself,heprovedhimselfauseful man this pastsummer.”

And Caiazzo’s fee’d you.Ratheknewbetterthantosaythataloud,buttheknowledgemusthaveshownonhisface,becauseMonteiafrowned.“Yes, there’s a fee for it,

and a good one. And if youweren’t so damned stiff-necked,you’dhaveashareofit.Butyouare,andsoIdon’toffer.”Sheheldupahandtoforestall his protest. “Andthere’s another reason Iaccepted. I want this knife

whereyoucankeepaneyeonhim. It’s as they say on thecaravans:better to invitehimin, and have him pissing outofthetent,thantheotherwayaround.”There was some truth to

that, Rathe thought. It wasjust—he thought he’dmanaged to resignhimself tothe situation. To be throwninto Eslingen’s company dayand night, working togetheragain—he could hardly

expectthattheywouldn’tfallback into old habits, and hecouldn’t stop the treacherouseagerness that stoleoverhimat the mere idea. And thatwasdangerous.Eslingenwasstill Caiazzo’s man, and hecouldn’t afford to forget it.Evenso,hefelthisheartlift.Monteia seemed to have

read his thought, and gave arather sour smile. “Take therest of the day and sort thisout,” she said. “I’ll have

Amarelefinishyourshift.”“Yes, Chief,” Rathe said,

andscrambledtoobey.Eslingenwasstillwaiting

in the main room, a slightlybemused expression on hisface. As Rathe came downthe stairs, he came to meethim, saying, “It seems I’vebeen seconded to yourservice,AdjunctPoint.”Beneath the cool drawl,

Rathe thought he detected a

hintofuncertainty,anditwasthatheanswered.“Yes.AndIcan’tsayI’msorry,either.”The faintest hint of color

tinged Eslingen’s cheeks.“YouknowthatCaiazzo—”“Sent you, yes,” Rathe

interrupted. This was not adiscussion he was going tohave in the station precincts,or anywhere close at hand.“Betts,I’moutfortherestofthe day, Chief’s orders.Livsey will take the rest of

myshift.”“Right, Adjunct Point,” the

dutypoint answered, anddida fair job of hiding hercuriosity.Ratheledthewayoutofthe

station and down CarrickStreet toward the river,Eslingen following docilelyin hiswake.He’d thought atfirst that they could go toWicked’s, but he was toowellknownthere,toomucharegular for Eslingen’s

reappearance not to beremarked,andwhilehecouldstand the teasing, he didn’twant to have to deal withexplanations. He settledinsteadforatravelers’ tavernontheedgeofPointofSighs,and let the waiter talk himinto the private cubby he’dwanted in the first place.Eslingen’seyebrowsrose,butheslidwithoutcomplaintintothe narrow space. It held nomorethanthetableandapair

ofshortbenches,andtheunlitstove beneath the table, andthe walls that rose almost tothe ceiling were thick oakplanks,inlaidwithbrassdisksthat guaranteed protectionagainsteavesdroppers.“How very—intimate,

AdjunctPoint.”“We need to talk,” Rathe

said.Eslingen sobered instantly.

“We do. Nico, this was notmyidea.”

“I didn’t think it was,”Rathe said. “It’s gotCaiazzo’s handprints all overit.”“Trueenough.Buthe’stold

me off to help you, and Ibelievehemeansit.”“Why would he do that?”

Rathe demanded. The waiterappeared again, and theybroke off to order a pint ofwine and a pot of beer forEslingen,aswellasaplateofbread and cheese. When the

waiterhadbowedhimselfoff,Eslingenshrugged.“I don’t know, except that

he doesn’t like beingcheated.”“Hansehaswaysofdealing

with that,” Rathe said, “andtheydon’tusuallyinvolvethepoints.Thishadbetternotbelikethissummer,himandhisgoldsmuggling.”“Not as far as I know,”

Eslingen said, but there wasthe faintest hint of unease in

his tone. “And he never hadpolitical motives, anyway,youknowthat.”“No,butitwaspolitical,all

thesame,andHansewasinituptohisneck.”Eslingendippedhishead in

acknowledgement. “True.AndIthinkIcangosofarastosaythatthisbusinessisanattempttorecoupsomeofthesummer’s losses. But it’s allby way of business, nothingto do with the queen or the

succession or anything elsepolitical.”Rathe considered him for a

long moment. He thoughtEslingenwastellingthetruth,at least as far as he knew it,and it was certainly the casethat Caiazzo had never hadany real interest in politics.Or,moreprecisely,notinanyone idea or candidate aboveany other. He was perfectlyhappy to make money fromother people’s political

ambitions—he was behindhalf the unlicensedbroadsheetprintersinthecity—but he had none himself.And much of his powerwould vanish if the laws orthe monarch changed toodrastically.“Fairenough,”hesaid.“Butthatstillleavesus.”“Yes.”Rathe hadn’t expected a

direct answer, and leanedback in relief as the waiterreturned with their order.

After they’dsorteditoutandthewaiter disappeared again,he said, “Truth is, I wasn’texpecting this. I’d—we’dsettledthings,Ithought.”“Wehad.”Eslingennodded.

“Iwashonestwithyoubeforeaboutmysituation,Nico,andit hasn’t changed. I haven’tgot the money to leaveCaiazzo’s service. A monthago, I could maybe havefound a place with acompany,butI’dhavehadto

leave Astreiant. And nownobody’s hiring. I’m trappedworsethanIwasbefore.”“And that’s my doing,”

Rathesaid.“No, it’s not,” Eslingen

said.“Icouldhavetoldyoutogo drown yourselfwhen youproposed the idea back atmidsummer,andIcouldhavehired out any time these lastthree months. I made mychoice, and I’m prepared tostand it. But that’s not really

thequestion,isit?”“So what is the question,

then?”“Caiazzowantsmeworking

with you, and I’ve noobjection to that,” Eslingensaid. “None whatsoever. Idon’t much like that OldSteen was killed under myeye. But beyond that—Irather liked the perks of thejob, Adjunct Point. I’mhoping to come to somearrangementthereaswell.”

There was color inEslingen’s cheeksdespite theinsouciant words, and Rathesuspected his own face waspink as well. “If we go onwith it, Philip, we’ll have topartattheend.”“Iknow.Ididn’tsayIliked

thatbit.”Ratheshookhishead.“I’ve

done that once already.” Ithadhurtmorethanhewantedto admit to have to stopseeing the Leaguer, to no

longer have him even as afriend.Hedidn’twanttohavetolearnthatabsenceagain.“Thismaybeallthechance

we’ve got,” Eslingen said.“And,whoknows,somethingmay come up. I could findanotherpost,orwecouldfallout,or….”His voice trailed off as

thoughhe’drunoutof ideas,andRathe stared at him. “Orone or both of us could endupdead,”hesaidatlast.“I’m

not entirely encouraged,Eslingen.”Eslingen grinned. “Well, I

don’t intendtodriveyouoff,no. Or to get myself killed,for that matter. But—look,when a company goes intoquarters,it’scommonenoughto pair off, to take a winter-lover, knowing you’ll part atthe spring thaws. I promise Idon’taskformorethanthat.”It was tempting, so very

tempting.TohaveEslingenat

his side, in his bed, withouthaving to worry about beingseenorhaving talesgetbackto the Surintendant ofPoints…. And Eslingen wasright about one thing, theymight never get a betterchance.“All right,” he said, and

held out his hand across thetable.Eslingenclasped it,histouch both firm andcaressing, and in spite ofhimselfRathe’sbreathcaught

in his throat.He released hishold, swallowing hard, andreached for his glass. “To—what did you call it, winter-lovers?”“To winter-lovers,”

Eslingen echoed, and theytouched glasses to seal thebargain.

ChapterThree~TheCoilsoftheLaw

Eslingen leaned against

Rathe’s very comfortablepillows,smuglyawarethathehadmanaged tocollectallofthem, leaving Rathe bracedless than comfortably againstthe carved bedstead. He wasfeeling remarkably pleased

with himself, and life ingeneral,happily sated for thefirst time in a month. Theopenwindowletinapleasantbreeze,andtheruddylightofthe setting sun spilled acrossthe worn floorboards. Rathestretched,runningbothhandsthrough his untidy hair, andEslingen smiled again,watching theplayofmusclesacrosshischestandarms.“Are you hungry?” Rathe

asked.

“I couldn’t possibly,”Eslingen answered, fanninghimself, andRathe shookhishead.“Idiot.”“Isupposeweoughttoeat,”

Eslingen said. “But do wehavetogoout?”Rathe reached for his shirt,

and Eslingen sat up, sighing.Somehow his hair had comeloose, and he caught it backagain, then reached for hisowndiscardedclothing.

“I could send the weaver’sboydowntoWicked’sfortheordinary,” Rathe offered.“And I’ve a decent bottle ofwine, if you don’t mind thatinsteadofbeer.”“That sounds lovely,”

Eslingenanswered,andRathefinisheddressing,wentdownthe stairs to find theneighbor’s son. Eslingenwatched from thewindow ashe crossed the courtyard, atough, wiry man in a

shapeless coat: a commonlaborer,youwouldhavesaid,atypicalsouthriverrat,unlessyou spent the time to talkwith him, to tease out theintelligence and humorlurking behind thepointsman’s mask. He wasmorefondofRathethanhe’deverexpectedtobe,andonlyhopedhecouldkeephiswordat the end of this business.He’dneverhadawinter-loverhewantedlesstoleave.

He shoved that thoughtaside, and turned to lightRathe’s candles, glancingaround the room as he did.Thebuildinghadoncebeenagood-sized mansion, falleninto common hands and cutup now into a series ofapartments; Rathe’s roomwas large and comfortable,with a generous bed and asturdy stove and a table andchairs that were clearlysecond-hand, but clean and

well-made. The pointsmancertainly didn’t spend hiscoinonclothes,buthedidn’tstintonothercomforts.Thedooropenedagain,and

Rathecamebackin,apitcherinonehand.He set it on thewashstand for later, andnodded to the candles.“Thanks.WantIshouldopenthewine?”“Please,”Eslingensaid,and

the simple domesticity of itallclawedathisheart.

Theboyappearedwiththeirfood before they’d finishedthe first glass, and theysettled to the meal. Whenonlyscrapsoftheberriedtartwere left, Rathe lit the stoveandcamebacktothetabletopour the last of the wine.Eslingen stretched, extendinghis legs carefully, and Ratherested both elbows on thetable.“This cargo of Caiazzo’s,”

hesaid.

Eslingen picked idly at thelast of the tart, brittle pastrycrustedwithsugar.He’dbeendreading the question sinceCaiazzo had come up withthis brilliant plan, and stillhadn’t decided how toanswer. “There’s only somuch I can tell you,” hebegan,andRathegavehimarathernastysmile.“Oh, come on, Philip, you

havetotrustmesometime.”“No,Idon’t,”Eslingensaid

automatically.“Thensomuchforallthose

finewords.”“Unfair.”“AndI’vegottwodeadmen

on my books,” Rathe said.“What’sfairaboutthat?”“Thathasnothingtodowith

Caiazzo’sbusiness,”Eslingensaid. Rathe quirked aneyebrow, and Eslingensighed. “Not directly,anyway. Look, fair’s fair.Promisethiswon’tgotoward

calling a point—unless itturns out to be part of themurder,which itwon’t—andI’lltellyouwhatIknow.”“You’d trust me that far?”

Rathe asked. He soundedalmost surprised, andEslingenshrugged.“You’retrustingme.”“Fairenough.”The silence stretched

between them for a longmoment, long enough thatEslingen heard the tower

clockstrikeatPointofSighs,followedbyafaintercascadeof chimes from Point ofHeartsfurtheruptheriver.“Thatwasyourcue,”Rathe

said.“Thisiswhereyoushowmeallyouknow.”“Why, Adjunct Point,”

Eslingen murmured, andRathe shook his head,smiling.“Business before pleasure,

damnit.”Eslingen laughed, burying

the uncomfortable thoughtthat he was buying Rathe’sfavor with someone else’ssecrets. “All right,” he said.“Ifyoupromisethatthen—”“Philip.”“Right.” He took a breath,

trying to order his thoughts.“Caiazzo’s short of readymoney,” he said. “He’d beenfunding his caravans out ofthat goldmine, andwhen helost that—he’s beenstrugglingand theOldDame

wouldlikeverymuchtofindanexcusetoputherfingersinthe pie. So when Old Steensentword thathehadmoneytochangeoutsidethelaw—ofcoursehejumpedatit.”“Ofcourse,”Rathesaid.“I was carrying an offer,”

Eslingen said. “A legalpayment, crowns and pillars,solid coin of the realm, thisrealm. And no worries forOld Steen about taxes orforeigncointoexplain.”

“And Caiazzo would havesentitrightbackoutwiththecaravans,” Rathe saidappreciatively. “So hewouldn’thavetoworryaboutforeigncoin,either.”Eslingen nodded. “But that

raises the question of whoelse could afford to take onthis much untaxed coin?DamevanDuirendidn’tlooklike anymerchant resident—ormerchantventurer,forthatmatter.”

“She’s somebody’s agent,”Rathe said. “That’s obvious.But, as you say—who needsthetroubleofforeigncoin?”Eslingen nodded.

Chenedolle’s Queen taxedforeign monies, either on itsarrivalorasitwasexchangedorinahalfdozenotherplacesasitcirculatedinhermarkets.Shekept therate lowenoughthatmost people preferred tochangetheircoinlegally,andthe Queen accumulated

foreign coin that only shecould spend. There wassimply nothing for anordinary person to gain fromtrading in it, except for themetal itself. “Goldsmiths?Jewelers? Most of theSilklands coinage is fairlypure.”Rathe stared at him.

“Goldsmiths—Astree’s tits.Philip,yougreatlummox,it’sthe Dis-damned gold again.And that is political, and I

will see Caiazzo dance at arope’sendforit.”Eslingen shook his head.

“It’s not aurichalcum. It’sordinary gold. All right, itwas taxed and bound in theSilklandsortheLeagueortheislands—maybe even inChenedolle, some of it—butitwas taxed and bound.Youcan’t use it any more thanyou can use a crown out ofyour purse. If you had acrown.Canyou?”

“I don’t know.” Rathecalmed as quickly as he’dflared. “It’s untaxed. Illicit.That may well give itmagisticalproperties.”“Ask your necromancer,”

Eslingensaid.“He’snotmynecromancer,”

Rathe said. “And anyway,what would a necromancerknow about metallurgy? Buthe probably knows someonewhodoes.”“So we ask him,” Eslingen

said. “Maybe that’ll tell uswho’s willing to take thechance of crossing Caiazzo.Because that’s a risk notmanywanttorun.”Rathe nodded. “I’ll do that.

AndI’llasksomeotherfolkIknow what they can tell meabout Dame van Duiren. I’lladmit to some definitecuriosity about thatwoman.”He straightened. “And you,myPhilip, can talk toYoungSteen. See what he’s found

forwitnesses,helphimifyoucan—he’ll trust you, you’reCaiazzo’sknife.”“I’lldothat,”Eslingensaid,

and couldn’t repress a grin.“But—surely it can wait tillmorning?”“I do keep my promises,”

Rathesaid,withanansweringsmile.“Cometobed.”PointofHopeswasquiet,

drowsinginthemorningsun,the stack of papers on the

duty point’s table barely aninch high. Which probablywasn’ttheonlyreasonforhisgood mood, Rathe allowed,but itwasasgoodanexcuseas any. He had left Eslingenjust stirring, andwouldmeethim mid-afternoon tocompare notes. In themeantime, he had researchesofhisowntopursue.His first order of business

was to draft a note to Istreb’Estorr, the University

necromancer who had beensuchahelpduringthesearchforthechildren.Ashe’dsaidto Eslingen, it didn’t seemlikely that b’Estorr wouldknow a great deal aboutmetallurgy himself, but hewouldcertainlyknowwhotoask. He dispatched a runnerwith the note, and settled tothe stack of papers on hisdesk.Monteiahadlefthimacopy

of the writ left by Caiazzo’s

advocate, and Rathe readthrough it with newappreciation for Caiazzo’sability to hire the best.Through his advocate,Caiazzo claimed Old Steenowed him a debt—moniesinvested in a side venture,nothing to do with OldSteen’sostensibleemployers,the owners of the ship hecaptained—andnamedasumhigh enough to entangleeverythingOldSteen owned.

At worst, if the claim wasallowed, he could demandthatallOldSteen’seffectsbedraggedintothenearestcourtand valued, and either soldoutright to pay the debts, orDame van Duiren could paythatvaluetoredeemthem.Asensible woman would belookingforsomedeal,andhecouldn’t help a pang ofdisappointment.Itwouldbeapity if his new collaborationwithEslingenwere toendso

quickly.He tapped on Monteia’s

door, and pushed it open.“Thanks for giving me thewrit copy,” he said. “Is shebargaining?”Monteialookedupfromthe

daybook. “She is not. Shedeniesthedebt,andclaimsitwas contracted without herapproval as his wife, so itdoesn’tstand.”Rathe whistled softly.

“That’s—courageous.”

“Or stupid,” Monteia said.“Lunelewilleatheralive.”Or there was something in

Old Steen’s effects that vanDuiren couldn’t afford to letout of her sight. And thatsomething was presumablythe location of Old Steen’suntaxed gold. Or maybe thegold itself? No, she still hadto be searching, or she couldsimply hand over anythingthat wasn’t relevant, and gocollect the gold while

Caiazzo sorted through themess. “And have heradvocate for dessert,” Rathesaid,andwaspleasedtodrawasmile.“Just so.”Monteia frowned

at the nib of her pen. “Anyluck with your soldier? No,wait, let me rephrase that.Hashebeenofanyhelp?”Rathe’s cheeks were hot,

but he answered steadily.“Some. I’ve sent him off totalk to Young Steen, on the

theory he might hear morehonestanswersifapointsmanwasn’t lurking in thebackground.”“Makes sense,” Monteia

said.“In thatcase, I’d take itkindly if you’d have a wordwith Dame Lulli. She’smightily distressed byGrandad’sdeath,andyoudidsayyouwould.”Rathe nodded. It had to be

done, and there was nothingmore pressing until b’Estorr

replied.“I’lldothat,”hesaid,and let the door close beforeMonteia could make anymoreremarks.He made his way through

the now-bustling streets toDame Lulli’s house. It washard by Cockerel Row, thestreet that marked theunofficial boundary of Pointof Knives, and he wonderedagain if Mirremay had herfingers in the business. Hewouldn’t put it past her, not

withthemoneyshe’dlaidouttogetthepost—butthen,shewasn’tstupid,either,andshehad to know that theSurintendant of Points wasjust waiting for her to put afoot wrong. It was probablyjust that most of the city’scriminalbusinesswasdoneinPointofKnives,buthehatedcoincidences.DameLulli’smaidadmitted

him to the house almostbefore he’d said his name,

andledhimintothebetterofthe two front parlors. It wasover-decorated, carvedpaneling warring with old-fashioned tapestries—Orianeand the Sea-bull, the nakedgoddesswithherbackturnedandone armdraped over thebull’sback, thebullnuzzlingher happily—and the tallstove was painted withmoremythological scenes. In thenoontime warmth, it wasunlit, and the half-open

windowletinasmellofotherpeople’s cooking. The maidreturned with a pitcher oflemon-water and a plate ofsmall cakes, and a momentlater, Dame Lulli made herentrance. She had stopped tochangeherclothes,oratleasttoridherselfofahousewife’sapronandhood,wasneatandprosperous in a russet skirtand bodice, lace showing atneck and sleeves. Eslingenwould know the cost to a

demming,Rathethought,andwhetheritwasGuildworkora homelier makeshift; hehimselfcouldonlynotethatitwas small and delicate andsuitedthedress.“Adjunct Point,” she said,

and settled herself in thecarved chair opposite him.“Thank you formaking timetoseeme.”“I’d have come sooner,”

Rathe said, “except thatwe’ve been dealing with a

seconddeathaswell.”“I’d heard a rumor,” Lulli

said.“OldSteenkilled,too?”Rathe nodded. “The same

night, and probably by thesamehand.”Lulli sighed. “I’d hoped it

wasn’t true. What can I tellyou,AdjunctPoint?”“I expect Baiart already

askedmostofmyquestions,”Rathesaid.“ButIwouldtakeit kindly if you’d go throughitwithmeagain.”

“Of course,” she said, anddrew herself up like anoblewoman.As he’d expected, there

wasn’tmuchnewtolearn.Asfar as Lulli knew, Grandadhad no enemies: he paid hisbillsontime,helivedquietlyinaroombehindthekitchen,hedidn’tevenrunatabattheneighborhoodtavern.“Of course, people bought

him drinks for the stories,”she said. “But when they

didn’t, if it was quiet, hecouldpayhisownshot.”Shehesitated.“Idon’tthinkallofthem were stories, AdjunctPoint.”Rathe grinned in spite of

himself, thinking ofmermaids, and she smiledback.“Well, no, not those. But I

dobelievehewasasummer-sailor, and I believe hefunded that son of his out ofwhathe’dtaken.”

“You sound as though youhad cause to dislike OldSteen,”Rathesaid.“Not cause,” Lulli said,

scrupulously. “No cause atall. But I didn’t like him,Adjunct Point. He was atroublemaker, the sly kind—thesortwhoeggsonanotherboytodosomethingbad,andnever gets beaten himself. Iwasalwaysgladwhenhewasat sea.” She shook her head.“But Grandad was always

happy to see him, foolishlyso,I’dhavesaid.IfitwasjustGrandaddead, I’d tellyou tocheckOldSteen’sbooksandseeifhe’dcomeintomoney.”That was something Rathe

hadn’t considered, though onthe face of it, it seemedunlikely.Grandadwasn’t thesorttokeepacrossbowwhenhe could afford a pistol or aknife. “I don’t suppose heownedacrossbow?”Lulli shook her head. “No.

Nothing like that. He had aknife, of course, but that’sgone.”She’d been through his

things, of course, underBaiart’s supervision. “Andnothingelsewasmissing?”“The cap from his head,”

she began, and someoneknocked heavily at the frontdoor.“Opentothelaw!”“What in Heira’s name?”

Lulli rose to her feet, and

Rathe copied her. He heardthe maid’s footsteps in thehall,andthenthesoundofthedooropening.“What’sthematter—”“A writ in the Queen’s

name,” a man’s voice said.“ToseizethepropertyofoneGrandadSteenforhisheir.”“Oh, no, they don’t,” Lulli

said, grimly, and swept fromtheparlor.Rathe followed, one hand

on the truncheon beneath his

coat.Itwasabadgeofofficeas well as a weapon; hehopedhewouldonlyneedtheformer.Themaidwaspressedback with the door, and twotallmeninleatherjerkinshadforced theirwayonto the topstep.“What’s the meaning of

this?” Lulli demanded, andthe foremost man swept hiscaponandoffagain.“Writofseizure,dame.You

mightaswellletusin,there’s

nodenyingus.”“Letmeseethatwrit,”Lulli

said, and the leader held itout, but pulled it back whenshewouldhavetakenit.“No, no, dame, I’m not

lettingyouripitupandclaimthere never was such apaper.”“Don’tbe ridiculous,”Lulli

snapped.“Letmeseeit.”“Let us in first,” the leader

said, and gave the dooranotherhardshove.Themaid

squeaked and slid backwardon the polished floor, andRathedecidedithadgonefarenough.“What’sthis,then?”“Nobusinessofyours,” the

secondmanrumbled,andtheleader gave him an assessinglook.“It’s a matter for your

mistress,notyourself.”Rathe sighed theatrically,

and let his coat fall open.“But a royal writ is very

much my business. What’syourauthority?”“A royal writ is royal

authority,” the leaderanswered, but his voice wasfractionally less certain thanhiswords.“Letmesee it,”Rathesaid.

“And don’t tellme I’ll rip itup.”Theleaderhandeditacross,

and Rathe scanned the form.As he’d suspected, it was abailiff’s writ, engrossed with

several largebutunimportantadvocate’ssealsaswellastheroyalstamp,andheshookhishead. “Mind you, I’mtempted,seeingashowthisisabailiff’swrit,whichisonlybyagenerous stretch a royaldocument.Andit’snotawritof seizure, either. It’s a writof destraint, and it onlyobliges you, dame, to holdGrandad’s possessions untilthecourtsdecidewhohisheiractually is.” He handed it

back to the leader, keepinghis free hand close to histruncheon. Itwould be a badfight, bad odds, but hethought he could bluff themback.“Who’syourprincipal?Someone’ssentyouonawildgoosechase.”“I can’t name her,

pointsman, you know that,”the leader said. He glancedover his shoulder, seemed toread something in the otherman’s eyes, and took a step

back. “Your pardon, dame.But you are required to keepthe property intact andinviolate.”“I’d do that for my own

honor,” Lulli snapped. “Andnow I’ll have the points sealhis room, andnoone cangoin or out until the matter’ssettled.”“An excellent idea,” Rathe

said. “That should satisfyyourprincipal.”The leader nodded slowly.

“I’ll give her that word,then.”“One thing,” Rathe said.

“What points station signedthis?”The leaderhesitated. “Point

ofKnives.”Rathe sighed. It was no

more thanhe’dexpected,butitwasonemorecomplication.“Right. You’ve earned yourfee.”The second man peeled

himself reluctantly from the

doorframe,andbackedaway.Theleaderfollowedhim,andmanaged a deliberately too-low bow before he turnedaway.Themaidslammedthedoor, turning the night lockswith trembling hands, andDameLulligatheredher intoanembrace.“They’re gone,” she said.

“They’re gone and all’swell.” Her eyes met Rathe’sover the girl’s head, and henodded.

“I’llseal thedoor,”hesaid,“if you have wax I can use.And—just for your ownpeace of mind—does yourknifeworkdays?.”He hadn’t wanted to

frighten the maid further bybeing more direct, and waspleased when Lulli nodded.“Hewillforthis.”It was the work of only a

few minutes to spread aragged circle of wax acrossthe shutters and press the

head of his truncheon, heavywith the royal seal, into thesoftsurface.Hedidthesamewith the door, covering thelock, but waited until Lulli’swatchman arrived before heleft.Inthestreet,hesquintedat the nearest tower clock—Point of Knives, stubbornlyfiveminutesoutof stepwiththerestof thecity—tryingtodecide if it was too early tomeet Eslingen. It was earlierthan he’d intended, and he

supposed he could talk toMirremay himself— Heallowed himself a crookedgrin.No,hewasnotgoingtogo into Point of KniveswithoutEslingenathisback.Eslingen picked his way

along the riverfront, past thelong low barns thatwere therope-walks and the tallerwarehouses that lined theriver’sedge.Themastsoftheships docked further south

along the river’s edge roseabovetherusset-tiledroofsofthewarehouses,blackneedlesagainst the brilliant autumnsky. He threaded his wayalong the Factors’ Walk andcrossed onto the docksproper, searching for the flagbearing a woman with ascepter that was the house-mark of the Soueraine ofBedarres. Since joiningCaiazzo’s service, he’d spenta fair amount of time on the

docks,buthehadn’tmanagedto lose the landsman’s senseof unease around the river’sdeepwaterandswiftcurrents.The high hulls of the shipsthat carried Astreiant’s tradeto the edges of the worldseemed little protectionagainsttheuneasydepths.Hetold himself it was justreasonable caution, his starsbeing bad for water, but hecouldn’t quite rid himself ofthesensethattheboardswere

shiftingunderhimashemadehiswayonto thequaywherethe Soueraine was docked.Laughing gulls wheeledoverhead, diving for scrapsofftheendofthepier;theairsmelled of damp and tar andspices and other things hecouldn’tidentify.The Soueraine was smaller

than he’d expected, with asharplyrakedbowandapairof the scrolled brass cannontheycalledchaserstuckedup

besidetheanchorports.Theyweren’t defensive weapons,and Eslingen gave them asourglance.He’dhadchasersturned on him before, in afightonthebleakcoastnorthof Altheim, and he hadn’tliked it one bit. TheSoueraine and her captainweren’t trying very hard tohide that they were summer-sailors.He stopped at the base of

thegangway,liftingahandto

shade his eyes. “Permissiontocomeaboard?”For a long moment, there

was no answer, but at last atousled head appeared abovethe rail. “What’s yourbusiness?”“To see Young Steen,”

Eslingencalledback.“What’sthename?”“Eslingen.”“Come aboard, and I’ll see

if he’s free.” The girlvanished.

Eslingen made his waygingerly up the ramp, not atall reassured by the suddenappearance of the little-captain. It growled at himfromtherailthatguardedthehigh stern platform, andEslingenwascarefultocomeno closer. At least the riverwas relativelyquiet here, notaschoppyasitcouldbedownby theExemptionDocks.Hecould hear voices frombeneaththedeck,quiteafew

voices,butcouldn’tmakeoutthewords.Theydidn’tsoundangry, at least, but it didn’tsound precisely like afriendly gathering, either—more like a meeting or thecrowd at an auction, thoughthe latter was prohibitedshipboard.Cargoswereputtobid at the public auction hallinPointofSighsor inguild-owned halls alongMercandry,where theycouldbe seen and taxed. Not that

half those bids weren’t fixedin advance, he’d learned thatmuch from Caiazzo, but intheory the system was openandfair.The voices were suddenly

louder, and a door openedbetween the ladders that ledto the stern platform,disgorging a stream ofpeople. There were a gooddozen of them—a lunardozen, Eslingen amended,fifteen,mostlymenbutafew

sharply-dressed women,trailingout fromwhathad tobethecaptain’scabin.YoungSteen trailed behind them,followedbyawomanhisownage in a well-tailored gown,and one of the other womenturnedbacktotakehishand.“Just say the word, and

we’ll be there. All thewitnessesyouneed.”“Thank you, Berla. Father

would appreciate it.” Steencaught Eslingen’s eye and

nodded,butsaidnothinguntilthe last of the group was onthe gangway, and only thewell-dressed woman and thegirl remained behind.“Eslingen. What brings youhere?”“I wanted to talk to you

about your father’s cargo,”Eslignen said, with a waryglance at the woman atSteen’sshoulder.“Ijusthadafew questions, if you had amoment.”

“I’ll take my leave, then,”the woman said. From thelook of her, she was a well-off merchant—or, morelikely,amerchant’sdaughter,Eslingen thought.She lookedmuch of an age with Steen,andwomenthatyoungdidn’town their own combines,worked instead for theirmothers and aunts. “But—give it some thought, Steen,willyou?”“I certainly will,” Steen

said, and bowed over herhand as though he’d been agentleman. She grinned atthat,notatalldispleased,andmade her way down thegangway.Steen looked at Eslingen.

“Jesine Hardelet,” he said.“Oneoftheowners.”“Ah.”Eslingenkepthisface

impassive. That put adifferent complexion on hervisit, and on Steen’s graces:she was of an age to be

starting a family, and whatbetter way to bind Steen tothe family business than topropose he sire a child forher?“And therestwereyourwitnesses?”Steen nodded. “Fifteen

today, and each of them canbring two or three fellows.Surelythatwillbeenough.”“Onewouldhope,”Eslingen

said, though, given the lookof the group, he ratherdoubted it. Mostly men,

mostly sailors, and none ofthewomenwereofaclasstostand up to van Duiren’sdocuments. And of coursethose would be Old Steen’sfriends and equals, but theywouldn’t stand against asignedconstract.“But that’s neither here nor

there,” Steen said. “I’vesomething to tell you, too.”Hewhistledthroughhisteethand the girl snapped toattention. “Essi, keep the

watch. I’m not to beinterrupted unless it’sserious.”“Yes, captain,” the girl

answered, and perched on abarrelbythegangway.“Come within,” Young

Steen said, and Eslingenfollowedhimintothecabin.It was bigger than he’d

expected, with a front roomlike a parlor and a door thatobviouslyledtothecaptain’sprivate quarters. The parlor

was dominated by a charttable, and a rack of cubbieswas chained to the rearwall.Thick glass sun-stealerscaught and magnified thelight from the deck above,andapairofbracket-lanternswere lit as well, the sweetsmell of the oil not quiteenough to drown out thesmelloftar.Steenwavedhimto a stool, and took anotherone himself, leaning oneelbowonthecharttable.

“What did you want withme?”Steensaid.“I came to see if you’d

thought of any place yourfathermight have hidden hischest of gold, since it seemsclearDamevanDuirenhasn’tfoundit,”Eslingenanswered.“Or, failing that, where hemight have left some key tofindingit.”Steen grinned. “Dad was

never much for treasuremaps.”

“And here I thought theywere de rigeur,” Eslingensaid.“It’s not always like the

broadsheets,” Steenanswered.“Dadlikedkeepinghissecretssecret.”Eslingen’sheartsank.IfOld

Steen hadn’t kept any recordof what he’d done with histreasure, they were beatenbefore they’d started. Rathewould figure it out, he toldhimself, and lifted an

eyebrow. “Surely he had totake into account thepossibility that somethingmight happen to him,” hesaid. “He wouldn’t havewanted the gold to be lostentirely.”“You’d think not,” Steen

answered.“Butitwouldbeinhis goods if there wasanything, and—she’s gotthem. But that’s what Iwanted to tell you. Jesine—Dame Hardelet—I pointed

out van Duiren to her, whenwewerecollectingwitnesses,and she said she knows thewoman under another name.As far as she knows, DameCostanzevanDuirenisDameAmielleDelon,andsheownsa counting house in Point ofKnives. A counting housethatemploysnoclerks,andisalmost never open forbusiness, but she pays therentandkeepsstout locksonthedoors.Whatdoyousayto

that?”“It’s interesting,” Eslingen

agreed.“Veryinteresting.”“Jesinesaidshejustthought

Delon was a fence, there’sdozens of them in Point ofKnives. But I say she’skeeping her real businessthere.” Steen leaned forward.“AndIsayweshouldraidtheplace, see what she’s got inhercoffers.”“Idon’t think that’s agood

idea,”Eslingensaid.

“Why not?We could be inand out again before sheknewwhathither.”“Except she would know,”

Eslingensaid.“Granted,she’sprobably got more enemiesthan just you and Caiazzo,but right at the moment,you’re the first one she’llpointfingersat.”“Thenwhat,we should just

donothing?”Eslingen shook his head.

“Letme tellRathe,havehim

putawatchontheplace.Wemightfindoutmorethatwaythanifwejustgocrashinginwithout any idea what sheuses the place for. Not tomention the points have therights to break down a doorortwoifitcomestothat.”“You really think he’d do

it?”Steenasked.“He wants to know what’s

going on,” Eslingen said.“He’ll do it. I give you mywordonit.”

Steen nodded slowly. “I’llholdoff,then.Butifitcomesto court without any morethan this—I’ll have to act,Eslingen.”“Understood,” Eslingen

answered.To Rathe’s surprise,

Eslingen was more thanpunctual, arriving at theeating house before theappointed time. The day hadturned fair, and they took

their meal into the backgarden, where the chance ofeavesdroppers wasdiminished. The vines thatadorned the brickwallswerealready turning scarlet, andRathe eyed them with acertain melancholy. Theyseemedalltooemblematicofthis relationship,brilliantanddelightful,butall toosoontofade. And that, he toldhimself,wastheworstsortoftheatrics—eventhecrowdsat

the Bell would scorn suchmelodrama.“Any luck?” he asked, and

madehimselfmeetEslingen’seyeswithasmile.Something that might have

been worry eased from theother man’s face. “Not withwhat Iwent to ask,” he said.“ApparentlyOldSteendidn’tbelieve in treasure maps orsharing information. AndYoung Steen’s witnesses arenumerous but not what I’d

callconvincing.ButIdidfindsomething interesting. HisbossknowsDamevanDuirenunder another name entirely.Andshehasacountinghousethat’snever seen todomuchbusiness, yet somehow stillsurvives.”“That is interesting,” Rathe

said,onceEslingenhadgonethrough the details. “And I’dguess she’s right,yourDameHardelet—”“Oh, most definitely not

mine,” Eslingen said, with asmirk.“She’scourtingYoungSteen, and I think she’ll gethim.”“Alsointeresting,butnotto

thepoint,”Rathesaid.“She’sprobablyright,vanDuiren’safence, and that’s where shechangeshermoneywhenshehasto.”“So presumably that’s

where she’ll manage thisbusiness,” Eslingen said. “Itstands to reason she won’t

wantanythingassociatedwithherselfasvanDuiren, there’stoo much chance Caiazzowould findoutand tangleallher businesses in the courts.What do you want to wagerthat she’s got Old Steen’spapersthere?”“It’spossible,”Rathesaid.“Somaybeweshouldmake

sure,” Eslingen said. “Sneakin, take a quick look round—”Rathe shookhis head. “Not

yet,” he said. “Once we dothat,she’llknowwe’vefoundthe place. She’s bound tohave wards on the place,magistical and not, and—well, I’m good, but I’m notgoodenoughtobesureIcanresetthemperfectly.”“What about b’Estorr?”

Eslingenasked.“He’s a necromancer,

Philip.He doesn’t do locks.”Rathepaused.“NotasfarasIknow,anyway.Andeven the

best lockpicks leave signs.How do you think we callhalfourpoints?”Eslingen lifted a hand,

acknowledging the point likeafenceradmittingahit.“Andhere I thoughtyou’dhaveanexpertreadytohand.”“Sadly, no.” Rathe drained

thelastofhiswine.“Thoughif it comes to that, there aretools—but no matter. We’llput a watch on the place,certainly. One of the

apprentices, maybe, or ajunior,someonevanDuiren’sunlikelytohavenoticed.Thatshouldgiveusanideaifshe’susing it for this business. Inthe meantime, though—wedoneedtotalktoIstre.”“I thought you said he

didn’t do locks,” Eslingensaid, and fished in his purseforthemoneyforhismeal.“He doesn’t.” Rathe tossed

his share of the reckoningonto the table. “But he does

understand about gold, andwhat he doesn’t know—he’llknowwhoweshouldask.”“Are you back on that

again?” Eslingen demanded.“I tell you, Caiazzo’s notinterested in politics. Thegovernment suits him justfinethewayitis.”“And I believe you,”Rathe

answered, though a part ofhimwasn’tentirelysure.“ButI’m going to have to answerto theSurintendant sooneror

later, and I want to rule outpoliticsbeforethen.”Theymadetheirwayacross

Temple Bridge toward thePantheon and Temple Fair,Eslingen lagging only a littlebehind as they passed alongthe rowofprinters’ shopsonthe east side of the square.Checking the broadsheethoroscopes,Rathe knew, andkept his own gaze turnedresolutely away. The lastthing he needed was to be

distracted by unlicensedprinters, and particularly notonesprintingunderCaiazzo’scoin.TheypassedthroughtheNorthgate and made theirway into the Universitygrounds.Thewintertermwaswell begun, and the streetswere crowded with studentsin their short gray gowns,worn open over everypossible combination offashion. That was againstUniversityrules,Ratheknew,

andhewasn’tsurprisedtoseevarious of them pause at thedoorways of the lecture hallsto do up aminimumnumberof buttons before rushinginside.b’Estorr, like most of the

senior masters, had hislodgings on the Universitygrounds. Rathe led themacross the open courtyard,scattering a flock ofgargoylesscrabblingatapileof gardeners’ waste, and

knocked at the porter’s door.Heexpectedb’Estorrtobeatclasses, but to his surprise,theportersaidhewasin,anda few moments later thenecromancer himselfappeared at the top of thestairstobeckonthemup.Hisrooms were comfortable,parlorandbedroomandstudyaswell as thenecessary,but,as always, Rathe felt a faintchillatthebackofhisneckashecamethroughthedoor.No

natural chill, that, not on awarm autumn day, but thepresence of b’Estorr’spersonal ghosts, gatheredduring his service with thelate king of Chadron.Out ofthecornerofhiseye,hesawEslingen’s eyebrow wingupward as he felt the sametouch,andhopedtheLeaguerwouldn’t say anythinginappropriate.If b’Estorr saw, he ignored

it, and waved them toward

the chairs that stood besidetheunlitstove.“I’vejusthadtea brought up,” he said. “Itshouldstillbehotenough.”Eslingenshookhishead,but

Rathe accepted the offer,settled into the morecomfortableofthetwochairsb’Estorr kept for visitors.b’Estorrpouredhimselfacupas well, and lookedquizzically from one to theother.“Whatbringsbothofyouto

me?” he asked, and Rathethoughttherewasadistinctlywary note in his voice. “Ididn’tthinkyouwereallowedto work in harness thesedays.”“Is it that obvious?” Rathe

asked, and b’Estorr nodded.Eslingen looked faintlyabashed, and brushed at hishair as though an insect hadlanded there. b’Estorrfrowned, seeing that, andmadeasmallgesturewithhis

left hand. The chill faded,almost reluctantly, andRatheknew the ghosts had beenwarned to stand further off.From Eslingen’s unhappylook, he knew it, too, butRathe pretended he hadn’tseen.“Anything that makes

Hanselin Caiazzo join forceswith the points and requiresmy attention….” b’Estorr lethisvoice trailoff. “Let’s justsay it makes me nervous,

especiallyafterthissummer.”“Andthere’sanunholyecho

of this summer in thebusiness,”Rathesaid,“whichI’dliketoruleoutasquicklyas possible. In confidence,Istre—”“My word on it,” b’Estorr

saidquickly.“—there’s a chest of gold

missing, gold that’s neverbeen taxed, and two deadmenintothebargain.”“Sofar,”Eslingensaid.

“There’s a cheery thought,”Rathe said. “Yeah, so far.And I’mwondering—Iknowthat aurichalcum, queen’sgold, it’s magistically pure,and so it has power. That’swhy the queen keepspossession of it herself, ordoles it out to trustedassociates.”“Well,”b’Estorrbegan,and

stopped at Rathe’s look.“Well, yes. That’s thetheory.”

“I know there’s a certainamountoflicensegiventotheUniversity, and I knowthere’s some queen’s goldcirculating illegally,” Rathesaid. “That’s not what I’minterested in. This missinggold, being untaxed—Iwonderedwhether ithadanysimilarproperties?”“Now there’s an interesting

question,” b’Estorr said.“Technically—well, no,that’snotreallytrue.Allcoin

is bound to the realm by thedesign on its face,Chenedolle’s coin toChenedolle, Chadron’s toChadron, the League’s totheir individual cities, and soon. Foreign coin ought to beinherently somewhatunstable, and I assume thatthe tax and the tax mark isintended tobind it somehow,but I don’t really know. Idon’t generally use royalmetalsinmywork.”

“Who does, then?” Ratheasked.“Andwhocan tellmeaboutthetaxes?”“You want one of the

Fellows,”b’Estorr said. “TheRoyal Fellows. They’re incharge of metallurgy andrelated arts. And of all ofthem—CaillavetVair is yourbestbet.”“All right,” Rathe said,

doubtfully, and b’Estorrsmiled.“You’lllikeher,Nico.She’s

verylikeyou.”

ChapterFour~TheRoyalMetal

Vair did not live in the

University precinct, butfurthernorth,wherethecity’sbuildingsthinnedouttomakeroomforlargerhouses.Itwasalongwalk,outsidetheusualrangeofthecity’slow-flyers,but a pleasant one, the

afternoonsundippingintothewest,thewaninglightgildingthe dusty streets. The treeswere changing here, too,greengivingwaytogoldandrusset-brown, and as theymade their way into thewealthier neighborhoods,where the minor nobilitymingled with the mostsuccessful merchants, the airhadtheheadysmellofturnedloamandthewhiffofburningleaves. Rathe opened the

front of his jerkin, enjoyingthe warmth, and saw thatEslingenwassmiling.“What?”Ratheasked.Eslingen tipped his head to

oneside.Thebrimofhishatshaded his face, but couldn’thide the mischief in hisexpression. “You know, thisMistress Vair—she doesn’tknowwe’recoming.”“She does,” Rathe said. He

knew where this was going.“Istresentarunner.”

“Yes,but shedoesn’tknowwhen we’ll get there.”Eslingen nodded to theirright,whereapaintedbannerstirred in the lazy breeze. Itmarkedtheentrancetoawinebower, one of the gardenestablishmentsthatflourishedthrough the long summer.There would be musiciansand dancing in the evenings,and the clock round therewereprivate rooms, screenedby curtains of flowering

vines.Ratheshookhishead.“No,” he said. “Business

first.”Eslingen laughed. “What

aboutafter?”“After?”Rathegrinned.“As

long as you’re paying. I’m apoor pointsman, Philip.You’reinprivateservice.”“I’d count it coin well

spent,” Eslingen answered,not quite lightly enough, andRathelookedaway.Thatwasthe skeleton at the feast, the

certainknowledgethatthey’dhavetopartwhenthejobwasover. And maybe we won’t,he thought.As longaswe’rediscreet, as long as we’recareful not to mix ourrespective businesses—butevenif theycouldmanageit,noonewouldbelievehewasunaffected.Caiazzocouldfeeapointsmanwithotherthingsthan coin. Maybe he couldpersuade Eslingen to leaveCaiazzo’s service, could loan

himthecointokeephimoverthe winter—better still, lethimstaythewinter,therewasroom enough, though therewas no telling if Eslingenwould be willing to acceptthat great a favor. Or if itwould be wise—they mightnot suit that well, after all,and then where would theybe?Rathe shook the thought

away, and managed a quicksmile. “It’s your money,

Lieutenant.”Vair’s house lay just at the

edge of the suburbs, wherethehouseswereseparatedbyfields where cattle grazed,andtheyhadtostepfromtheroad tomakeway for anox-drawn wain piled high withhay. It was a long, lowbuilding that looked asthough it might have been abarn or a threshing housebefore the city came tomeetit—perhaps belonging to the

stonehousealittlefurtherupthe road, ithad the lookof amanor. Itwas not the sort ofplace Rathe would haveexpected to find a RoyalFellow—they generally livedin more state than this—butperhaps Vair needed spaceforaworkshop.Thegirlwhoanswered the door admittedthat Maseigne was at home,and led them into a sun-washedparlor.Theroomwasnicely furnished, a pleasant

mix of old and new, but thefloorswerebarestone.“Maseigne,” Eslingen

murmured.“Doyouthinkshedeservesthetitle?”Rathe glanced around the

room again, gauging thequalityofthefurniture.Therewas a crest carved into thebackofonetallchair,thoughhe didn’t recognize thedesign, and same crestappeared on a set of silver-bound faience plates that

stood in a tall cabinet. “I’mbeginning to think shemight.”The maidservant

reappeared, and dropped thebarest of curtsies. “Maseignewill see you. If you’ll comewithme?”“Ofcourse,”Rathesaid.She led them down a short

hall that ran thewidthof thenarrow house, and emergedinto an old-fashioned solar,its longwindows lookingout

into a walled formal garden,its late-blooming flowersseverely confined to stone-walled beds. It was a styleRathe had never muchfavored,but it fittedwith theantique feeling of the house.Vair herself sat in a patchofsunbetweenthewindows,herback to themandher face inshadow.“Thepointsmen,Maseigne,”

the girl announced, andwithdrew, closing the door

gentlybehindher.Rathe bowed, aware that

Eslingen’s gesture was moreelegant,andcameonintotheroom.Nowhecouldseewhythefloorswerebare,andwhythe garden was so formallytended:CaillavetVairsatinawheeled chair, the skirts ofhergraygown foldedaroundher like ablanket.Herhandswere free of both rings andpaint, but the Fellows’ collaracross her shoulders was

jewelenough.“Adjunct Point Rathe and

Lieutenant Eslingen,” shesaid. “Istre b’Estorr says Ishouldassistyou.”Her tone was neutral, if

anythingmerely idlycurious,and Rathe gave her a sharplook. It was never wise tounderestimateanymemberofthe University, and she wasclearlynoexception.“That’sright,”hesaid.“I—

we—are looking for

information about the royalmetals and how they work.Goldinparticular.”“I would have thought

you’d learnedallyouneededto know about that thissummer,” she said, with afleeting smile. “Please, beseated.” She waved to thetambours that stood againstthewall.“Thank you, Maseigne,”

Eslingen murmured, andpulled two of them closer to

herchair.“I know more than I did

about aurichalcum,” Rathesaid, “but not much at allabout ordinary gold, at leastnot in a magistical sense.Whetheritcanbeusedinthesame ways as aurichalcum,forexample.”Vair tippedherhead toone

side. Her hair was confinedbya lacecapandastrandofpearls, with a single largerpearl at the center parting of

herhair.“Icouldspendmostof the afternoon sharing agreat deal of interesting butpossibly irrelevantinformation,oryoucouldtellme what you really need toknow.”Rathe hesitated. The last

thinghewantedwastorousesuspicions about CaiazzoamongtheRoyalFellows,buthe didn’t see that he had achoice.“Allright,Maseigne,”he said. “But there’s a good

chanceImightmisstherightquestion, not knowingenoughaboutthesubject.”Vair smiled. “I expect we

can resolve that, AdjunctPoint, if and when theproblemshouldarise.”“All right,” Rathe said

again. “As I said, it’s aboutgold—a chest of goldsmuggled ashore, we think,byasummer-sailor.Thechesthas gone missing, and thereare several interested parties,

butmy immediateconcern iswhetherforeigngold,untaxedgold,hasanyspecialvaluetoamagist.”Vair grinned. “That’s a

much disputed question.Askany five Fellows, and you’llget seven answers.” Shesobered instantly. “Butforgive me. I’m sure that ifIstresentyoutome,it’snotamatterforacademicjokes.”“Sadly, no,” Rathe said.

“I’ve two dead men on my

booksalready.”Vair dipped her head in

acknowledgement.“Andthat,indeed, is nothing to mock.”She folded her long hands,resting her elbows on thearms of her chair. “Doesuntaxed foreign gold havemagisticaleffect?Myanswerwasn’t entirely a joke,unfortunately. Traditionally,foreign gold, which bydefinition isn’t taxed by ourQueen, has been used in

certain magistical operations.It’snotnearlyaspowerfulasaurichalcum, for which I’msurewe’reallgrateful.”Outofthecornerofhiseye,

Rathe saw Eslingen’s mouthcurl up into a rueful smile.They’dbothseenandfelttheeffectsofaurichalcumduringthe hunt for the children,when an orrery of the puremetal had set all the city’sclocksoutoftune;feltit,too,when the orrery was

destroyed, its powerannilhilating its maker asthough the man had neverexisted.Vairsaid,“Inrecentyears—

since before the currentQueen’s reign, in fact—mostmagistshavebelievedthatthebinding implicit in themintingofacoinwasenoughto dilute its potency beyondpracticaluse,andthatthetaxmarkplacedondulyreceivedcoin was magistically

unnecessary. However, thetax revenues involved aresufficientthatthereseemedtobe no real need to meddlewith the system.Butbecausethe concern has been morefiscal than otherwise, there’snot been much interest inmakingsurethatnothingslipsthrough the cracks. A fewuntaxed, unstamped coinshere and there simply didn’tseemtomatter—theyweren’ta danger, and the revenue

their tax would bring inwouldn’tpayfortheefforttofindthem.”“But?” Rathe said, and she

gaveathinsmile.“But.There has been a rise

in certain magistical—let’snot call them crimes, they’renot precisely that. Activities,perhaps. Certain magisticalactivities that are bestaccomplished withaurichalcum or a near

similitude, and some of ushave begun to consider thatuntaxed gold may not be asharmless aswe thought.Andas Her Majesty has not yetnamed an heir….” Vairshrugged.And that brought it back to

politics again. Ratheswallowed a curse.Successionpoliticshadbegunthe matter of the stolenchildren, though a madmanhadtriedtoturnittohisown

ends. The succession waswhat had the court on edgeand city’s Regents mindingtheir purse strings and theSurintendant eyeing everycommoncrime for somehintofpoliticalintent.“Our simplest defense

against this has been that ittakes a considerable quantityof untaxed gold to have anyserious effect,” Vair said.“The Queen’s tax collectorsgenerallytakecareofthatfor

us.But nowyou tellme thatan entire chest of gold—foreign, untaxed gold—is upfor sale in Astreiant. I can’tsay I find this calming,AdjunctPoint.”“No more do I,” Rathe

answered. “Still—politicsisn’t my business, maseigne,but I don’t see what asouthriver merchant who’sprobably a fence canhave todowiththesuccession.”“Unless she’s acting as

agent for someone,” Vairsaid.“I’ve seen no sign of it,”

Rathe said, “though I’ll lookintoitnow,besureofthat.”“And there is also Master

Caiazzo to consider,” Vairsaid.Eslingen stirred. “Who

would not have sent me tocooperate with the points ifhe were playing politics,maseigne.”“Most likely not.” Vair

nodded.“ButIcan’tdiscountthepossibility.”“Everything that I’ve seen

so far points to this beingaboutthecoinascoin,”Rathesaid slowly. “But if it ispolitical—where would yousuggestwelook?”Vair hesitated. “We—the

Fellows—have heard certainrumorswithintheUniversity,that certain factions mighthave some hand in politics,some candidate to support.

Butwehavenoproof.”Rathelookedather.“Idon’t

supposeyoucouldgivemeabetterhintthanthat?”She hesitated again, but

shook her head with whatlooked like genuine regret.“I’m sorry, Adjunct Point.Thesituationistoodelicatetomention names, even underthese circumstances. But ifyoushouldfindanythingthatpointsbacktotheUniversity,or toward any magist in

particular….”Rathe sighed. “Be sure I’ll

consultyou,”hesaid,andshenodded.“Itwouldbeveryhelpful.”They made their way

back toward town inthoughtful silence. Thebreeze had picked up, as itoften did toward evening,blowing dust and strands ofhay across the road,while ina fieldbetween twohousesa

pair of young bay horseschased leaves and each otheracross their paddock.Eslingen gave them anappraising glance, regrettingagaintherangychestnuthe’dsold at the beginning of thesummer, but there was nopossibility that he couldafford to keep a horse in thecity. Nor would Caiazzostand for it. The merchant-venturerkeptnostableofhisown, andEslingenhadnever

known him to do more thanborrow a horse from one ofhis caravaners. Still, thosewere pretty creatures, and heglanced back in spite ofhimself, until the turn of theroadcutoffhisview.“This doesn’t make things

any better,” Rathe muttered,andEslingenshookhimself.“More politics, you mean?

No,itdoesn’t.”“AndtheUniversity,”Rathe

said.“I’msureIstrewillhelp,

but—we’ve never had muchluck asserting our authorityovertheThreeNations,nevermindtheirmasters.”TheThreeNationswerethe

students,Eslingenknew,whowere notorious for what hefelt was a distinctlyunscholarly tendency to droptheir books and draw knivesover the most unlikelyquarrels. He said, “Do youthinkshe’sright?”“That there is some sort of

political conspiracy withinthe University?” Ratheshrugged. “I wouldn’t betagainstit.”He was looking

uncommonly discouraged,Eslingen thought, not likehim at all. They had almostreached the wine bower, itsbannerripplinginthebreeze,and he touched Rathe’sshoulder. “Ipromisedyouanearlysupper,”hesaid.“And a bit more besides,”

Rathe said, but the wordssoundedforced.“Foodandadecentbottleof

wine to start,” Eslingen said,“and a private place to talk.Fortherest—we’llsee.”The bower was uncrowded

at this hour, the middaycrowd long past, the eveningnot yet begun, and Eslingenturned his best smile on theyounghostess.She agreed torent thema private table andtoserveupapintof thepale

Silklands wine that wasRathe’scurrentfavoritealongwith a plate of bread andcheese to stay their appetiteuntil the evening’s ordinarywas ready. They were ledtowardtherearof thebower,across the central gardenwhere the grass had beentrampled almost to baregroundbythesummer’sharduse. The private tables wereset up within small tents ofbrightly painted canvas,

divided from each other byhedges of thorny rose; therewere small braziers in eachone now, and lanternshanging from the centerposts, but at themoment thesun on the canvas kept themwarm enough. The chairswere piled with cushions—enough, Esingen noted, tomakequiteacomfortablebedonthegrassbetweenthetableand the tent’s rearwall—andthe air smelled of late roses

and theoil in the lamps.Thewaiterfetchedtheirorder,andoffered with a leer to closethe curtains, but Eslingenshookhishead.“Later,” he said, and the

waiterwithdrew.“You’ll ruin your

reputation,” Rathe said, andpouredthewine.Eslingen stretched his feet

out under the table, andleaned back in his chair. “Oryours.”

“That’s done already,”Rathe said, with a grin.“Damn it. You’re sureCaiazzo’s not playingpolitics?”“As sure as I can be,”

Eslingen said. “I’ve seen nosigns of it, I know what hedoesneedgoldfor,and—asIsaid,itjustdoesn’tpay.”Rathenodded.“And there’s

Mirremaytothinkabout.”“Whatabouther?”Eslingen

liftedhiswineinsalute.

“That’s right, Ihaven’t toldyou.” Quickly, Rathesketched out his encounterwith the enforcementmen atDame Lulli’s. “AndMirremay signed the writ. Ihadn’t really had her on mybooks,butnow—nowIthinkIhavetoconsiderher.”“From what you’ve said, I

don’tseehowshe’s involvedinpolitics,”Eslingensaid.“I’m not sure I do, either,”

Rathe said, frankly. “It’s just

that—I know she spent a lotofmoneytobuyherpost,andtogettheRegentsonherside,because the Surintendantdidn’twant togiveherPointofKnivesinthefirstplace.”“She’sthatbad?”“She’sthedirectdescendant

of the Bannerdames,” Rathesaid. “Not that they werebannerdames, they were apack of bandits who tookover part of Point of Knivesafter the Court was

destroyed.”“What a charming and

peaceful city this is,”Eslingensaid.Rathe looked torn between

pride and guilt. “I never saidthere weren’t interestingpeoplesouthriver.”“I do see why your boss

might not want her incharge,”Eslingensaid.Rathe nodded. “Her great-

grandmother was one of theworst of them, and don’t

thinkshe’sforgotten.”“Lovely,”Eslingensaid.“Yeah.” Rathe leaned back

as the waiter appeared withthe first courseof thenight’sordinary,apalesoupsmellingof cinnamon and wintergourds.Whentheirbowlshadbeenfilledandthewaiterhaddisappeared again, Rathesighed. “I need to have aword with Mirremay, Isuppose, which is a bit—ticklish—atthebestoftimes.

I’m Point of Hopes, notKnives. She’s not actually achiefpoint, justaheadpoint,which may not seem likemuch of a difference to you,but—”“Oh, believe me, I’m very

sensitive to all the littlenuances of degree,”Eslingensaid. “I’ve served withsixteen-quarter nobles whowouldn’t sit down at tablewith common folk under therank of colonel, and that

when the ‘table’ was the tailofawagonbalancedonapairofpowderkegs.”“Mirremay’s worse,” Rathe

said.“I’llrefrainfrommakingthe

obvious remark,” Eslingensaid,andwaspleasedtodrawasmile.“What, that common folk

areworseaboutsuchtitlesasthey’veearned?”“I’d never suggest such a

thing,”Eslingensaid.

“I don’t like it that she’ssigning bailiff’swrits on vanDuiren’s account,” Rathesaid. “That—well, I’m sureshewaswell fee’d for it,butit smacks of politics. And Idon’ttrusther.”“Why not?” Eslingen

paused, but there was nogoodwaytosayit.“Plentyofthe points take fees, and arestillgoodfortheirword.”“My own chief among

them,” Rathe said. “Yes, I

know. And Mirremay staysbought, or always has. It’sjust—she’stoomuchlikehergreat-grandmother for mycomfort,that’sall.”Andareyoulikeyourgreat-grandmother? Eslingenwondered. He himself hadneverknownhismother,hadbeen left to his father’sraising and the streets andhorsebarnsofEsling,andleftthere as soon as he was oldenough tobegaplace inone

of the mercenary companiesthat passed through the city.But Rathe was southriverborn and bred, a child ofAstreiant,andEslingenknewnothing at all of the man’sfamily.Heopenedhismouthto ask, then closed it again,unaccountably shy.He couldstill hear Rathe’spronouncementonOldSteen,a motherless man but noworsethanmany,andthoughhe’d heardworse, he had no

realdesiretoseeevenpityinRathe’seyes.Hedidn’tknowRathe’sstars,either,notevenhis solar sign, but thatwas aquestion evenmore intimate,and he reached for the wineinstead,refillingtheirglasses.“The thing is, I can’t see

howMirremaywouldusethecoin,”Rathesaid.“Ifshehadit, I mean. Yes, she spent ahugesumtobuythepost,butthisisgoldshecan’tuse.”“Could she change it

through a fence?” Eslingenasked.“OrintheCourtoftheThirty-TwoKnives?”Rathe shook his head. “I

don’t see how. Not so muchof it,notatanythingclose toitsworth.”“AndCaiazzocanuse iton

the caravan roads at near itsvalue,” Eslingen said. “ButMirremay—presumably shedoesn’t have any foreignventures?”“NotthatIknowof,”Rathe

said, “and I think I’d’veheard. And that leavespolitics.”He shook his head.“I’llhavetotalktoher,butIcan’tsayI’mlookingforwardtoit.”“I assume you mean ‘we’

havetotalktoher,”Eslingensaid.“Oh,yes,”Rathe said. “I’m

not going into Point ofKnivesonmyown.”Oneofthebower’syounger

servants arrived then with a

basket of kindling and ataper, and Eslingen noddedforhimtobuildupthefireinthe brazier. He orderedanother pint ofwine aswell,andlookedatRathe.“Of course I’ll come with

you, and if your sanctionextends so far, I’ll even goarmed.”Rathenodded.“In the meantime, though

—” Eslingen gestured to thetent’s paintedwalls. Outside,

the crowd had grown, and apair of fiddlers was tuning,ready to start the dancing asthe great sun set. “There’snothing we can do about ittonight. Let’s enjoywhatwehave.”For a moment, he thought

Rathe was going to refuse,but then the pointsmanreachedforhiswine.“You’reright. We should enjoy this—”He bit off the rest of his

words, but Eslingen knewperfectly well what theywould have been:we shouldenjoy thiswhilewecan. Andthat, at least, was somethinghe knew how tomanage.Heset himself to be at hismostcharming, light gossip andjokes without bite that hadRatherollinghiseyesevenashegrinned.He kept up the nonsense

through the two removes ofthe meal, feeling Rathe’s

moodeaseandrise,andwhenthere was nothing left butcrumb from the gingercakes,he reached for Rathe’s hand,turning it tokiss thecallusedpalm as though he were infact the gentleman hepretended.Rathe caught him by the

chin instead,pullinghisheadup to fix himwith an almostangrystare.“Don’tplay-act.”Eslingen blinked, startled,

but answered with reflexive

honestly. “I’m not. I don’t,not—” Not when it matters,hehadbeengoingtosay,but—that was not a thing saidbetween winter-lovers. “Notnow,”hefinished,andwasn’tsurethatwasn’tworse.Rathe glared at him, the

gray eyes narrowed, andEslingen leaned in to kisshim, hard and fierce. Therewas an instant’s pause, andthen Rathe responded just asfiercely,pushinghimback in

turn. Eslingen gave waywillingly, thinking of thepilesofpillows,butwhenhebrokethekisstoreachforthenearest, Rathe pulled back,shakinghishead.“Let’sgohome,”hesaid.There was no point in

going into Point of Knivesbefore ten o’clock—by then,the nightworkers and kniveswould be well abed, and thefirst flurryofbusinesswould

be concluded—and Ratheallowed himself theindulgence of sleeping in.When he woke, well pastsunrise, the other half of thebed was empty, and he wasstartledandalittleannoyedtofeel momentarily bereft. Heshovedthatthoughtawayandbuilt up the fire, then wentdownstairstothewelltofetchthe morning’s water, tryingnottowonderwhereEslingenhad gone. Probably to fetch

clean linen, he told himself,or a longer blade than waslegal in the city—though themorehe thoughtabout it, theless it seemed like a goodidea to go into Point ofKnivescarryingweaponsthatwere conspicuously inviolationofthelaw.Hehadjustfinishedshaving

when the door opened andEslingen appeared, a baskettucked under one arm. “Oh,you’re awake,” he said, and

setthebasketonthetable.“Ibroughtbreakfast.”“Thanks.”Eslingen began unloading

the basket, setting out breadand honeyed cheese and acrock of salt butter. Rathemoved the kettle to the frontof the stove, savoring thesheer ordinariness of themoment. Eslingen finishedarranging his purchases—hewas surprisingly finicky insome things, Rathe noted—

and pulled out the rolledcylinderofpaperhe’dtuckedinto a corner of the basket.Rathe lifted an eyebrow,recognizing a vice familiarfromthesummer.“Broadsheet prophecies?

The printers have them outalready?”“The early printer catches

my demming,” Eslingenanswered.“Atleasttoday.I’dhave brought you one, but Idon’tknowyourstars.”

“No more you do,” Rathesaid,thewordssuddenlytightin his throat. He madehimselfgoonmakingthetea,spooning the dry leaves intothepot.Thekettlehadbegunto hiss, and he poured thewaterwithextracare,broughtthepottothetabletosteep.“I’m not asking,” Eslingen

said. He did a creditable jobof not sounding hurt, buttherewasableak look inhiseyes.“You’dbeafooltotell

me, me being Caiazzo’sman.”And so he would. Rathe

knew it perfectly well—he’dkept his natal horoscope asecret since his apprenticedays, when he’d seen anentire glassblower’sworkshop poisoned throughthe similarity of their stars—andHanselinCaiazzowasthelast man he’d want to trustwith anything that could beturnedagainsthim.Still,most

people were willing to sharetheirsolarsigns, therewasn’tmuch even a skilledastrologerormagistcoulddowith that. And yet— Heforcedasmile.“The Pillars of Justice are

well aspected in myhoroscope,” he offered, andEslingensnorted,asthoughitwereonlyajoke.“Thatshocksmetothecore,

Adjunct Point.” He flattenedhis sheet of paper, not

bothering to hide the symbolat the top—the Horse, Rathenoted,inspiteofhimself,andfelt a pang of guilt. The teawas ready; he poured themeach a cup and cut himself aslice of bread. They ate insilence, not preciselyuncomfortable, and thenEslingen laughed and pickedupthebroadsheetagain.““Stallions quarrel in a

field,’” he read, “‘but do noharm.’”

Rathe blinked, then shookhis head. “Do you think thiscounts, or do we havesomething more to lookforwardto?”“I’d like to think this was

it,” Eslingen said, “but fromeverythingyousaidaboutthisMirremay….”“Yeah,” Rathe said.

“Somehow I doubt it.” Thetowerclockat theendof theLeathersellers’Hallstruckthehalf hour, and he allowed

himselfasigh.“Andit’stimetobegettingonwithit.”“Lovely,”Eslingensaid,but

tidied the remains ofbreakfast back into thebasket. Rathe swallowed thelastofhis tea,andcrossedtothepegsbythedoortocollecthis truncheon and leatherjerkin. It wasn’t often heneeded to wear both, but hewantedtheprotectionbothofhis badge of office andleather cured hard enough to

turn a blade. He turned, stilltugging the last laces home,to see Eslingen settling hiscoat onto his shoulders. Itwas second-hand, made overtofit,butittookacarefuleyeto see where the cuts hadbeen made. A line of braidcovered where the hem hadbeen let down, blue-blackonindigo, and the buttons andthe fittings of the belt thatheld his knife were at leastfalse silver. And, Rathe

noted, the knife itself was agood two inches longer thanthecity’slegallimit.Eslingensaw where he was looking,andshrugged.“Surely you’ll stand bond

for me, under thecircumstances?”“I suppose I’ll have to,”

Rathe answered. He slippedhisownknifeontohisbelt—the legal length and nomore—and worked his shouldersto settle the jerkin more

comfortably. “I’m notplanningtocausetrouble,”hesaid.“No more am I,” Eslingen

answered promptly. “But Ibelieveinbeingprepared.”“Right,” Rathe said, with a

certainamountofskepticism,andstarteddownthestairs.They followed Customs

Road east towards Jascinte’sWell,where the territories ofHopes,Sighs, andKnives allmet. Rathe paused at the

fountain in the center of theopensquaretodrawhimselfacupofwater,andlethisgazesweepacrossthebroadspace.Things seemedquiet enough,the pens between the twowings of the Drovers’ Hallempty except for a sleepingdogandagargoylescrabblingin the near-empty mangers,the shops unshuttered andready for business, thoughonly a few women weremoving in the street, baskets

overtheirarms.Eslingentookthe cup and drank as well,leaning close to slacken thechain that pinned the cup tothecarvedstone.“Just howmuch trouble are

you expecting?” he askedquietly.“I don’t know,” Rathe

admitted. “It all depends onMirremay.”Eslingen gave him a look,

and set the cup back in itsniche.“Icouldwishyouwere

a bit more certain, AdjunctPoint.”“If it all goes wrong, I’m

counting on you to run forhelp,”Rathesaid.“Yes, but to whom?”

Eslingen unobtrusivelyloosened his knife in itssheath.That was an excellent

question, Rathe admitted.Properlyspeaking,theanswershould be the nearest pointsstation,whichwouldbePoint

of Sighs, but practicallyspeaking that would involvecomplicatedexplanationsandmight take time theywouldn’t have. “I can’tbelieveI’msayingthis,but—Caiazzo,he’dbethefastest.”Eslingen nodded. “And he

has a few connections in thearea.”Rathewinced.Itwasalltoo

easy to imagine the riot thatwould result. “I’m reallyhoping to get out of this

withoutanyfighting.”“I hope you can,” Eslingen

said, doubtfully, and Rathesighed.“Let’sgo.”He led theway through the

narrowing maze of streetstoward the armory that hadbeen converted to the stationat Point ofKnives. ThiswasthefirstpartofAstreiantbuiltoutside the walls, on thesouth bank of the Sier awayfrom the safe, respectable

parts of the city. The firsttheaters had been here, butquickly moved to Point ofDreams; it had also beenhome to the first merchant-venturers, and the buildingsstill bore the stamp of thecaravan-trade, built low andlong around narrow innercourts where goods could bekept until they were carriedacross the river. There hadbeen windmills, too, thoughthat trade had moved still

further east into CustomsPoint,wheretherewerefewerbuildings to block theonshorewinds.RumorhaditthatMirremay

hadspentafairamountofherown coin turning the oldbuildingintosomethingmorelike a regular points station,andcertainlythereseemedtobe new wood and brick oneverypart of the façade.Theclock tower, too, was new,builtintoanafterthoughtofa

gable,andRathegaveitallanunhappyglance. IfMirremayhad paid for most of thisherself, itwasanother reasonshe’dbeinneedofcoin.The main door was closed,

andRathefrowned.Thatwasagainstgeneralpolicy,thoughif Mirremay had upset thepopulation that far—but, no,therewas an inner door, andit stood partly open. Rathetugged thebell rope anyway,listeningforthebell’sdistant

clatter, but before he couldpush the inner door back,Eslingen spoke at hisshoulder.“Nico.”Rathe glanced over his

shoulder, and swallowed acurse. Three men and awoman were converging onthem, and the street wassuddenly empty, barren ofwitnesses and help alike. Hetook a step away from thedoor, not wanting to be

caught against the stationwall,andsawEslingendothesame. The strangers carriedpointsmen’s truncheons, andthe woman wore her jerkinopen over a neat russet skirtand bodice, but Rathecouldn’tseethemasfriendly.“What station, friend?” the

womanasked,andpointed toRathe’s hip with her drawntruncheon.“Point of Hopes,” Rathe

answered.“Iwashopingfora

wordwiththeHeadPoint.”The title was amistake, he

knew itas soonas thewordswere out of his mouth, andthe biggest of the menscowled.“Don’t knowwhy the chief

would want to see you. Andwho’she?”Eslingen spread his hands

slowly,showingthemempty,butat the same timeclearingthe skirts of his coat in casehehadtodrawhisknife.“My

name’sEslingen.”“Client?” the woman said,

toRathe,whoshookhishead.“He’sworkingwithmeona

problemwe’rehaving.And Iwashopingthechiefmightbeabletohelpusout.”“That sort of request ought

to be made properly,” thewomansaid.“Inwriting.”“The matter’s urgent—”

Rathebegan.“It’snotrespectful,”thebig

mansaid.

Rathe swallowed a curse.“There’s no disrespectmeant,”hesaid.“I’djustliketo have a word withMirremay.”“Chief Point Mirremay.”

Thatwasanotherofthemen,fair-haired and wiry, andRathe dipped his head inacknowledgement.“ChiefPointMirremay,”he

said.“Idon’tbelieveshewantsto

see you,” the woman said.

“Send a proper request,pointsman, and we’ll see.”She waved her hand towardthestreet.“That’syourway.”“I don’t want to make

trouble,”Rathe said, “but, asI said, the matter’s urgent. Idon’t have time to send arequestandhave it sentbackfive times on points ofprocedure. And it’s AdjunctPoint.Ifwe’retalkingtitles.”The big man snarled and

took a step forward, but the

woman lifted a hand.Eslingen froze, his hand notquite reaching for his knife,andRathe slid his own handtowardhistruncheon.Behindthem,awomanlaughed.“Chaudet,youoverstep.Our

colleagues are alwayswelcome in Point of Knives.Particularly Adjunct PointRathe.”Rathe turned, slowly, not

wanting to take too muchattention away from the

group in the street. “ChiefPointMirremay.”“HeadPoint,”shecorrected,

with a smile. Shewas small,with a ripe figure, andknowing eyes in a heart-shaped face. “And of courseyou’rewelcome,youand thelieutenant. Come inside, andtell me how I can be ofservice.”Rathe looked at Eslingen,

seeingthesamereluctanceinthe Leaguer’s face. To walk

into what could very easilybecome a trap—but surelyMirremay had more sensethan toattackhercolleagues.He,atleast,wouldbemissed,be looked for, though not asquickly as hewould be if hewereonregularduty;itwasaserious risk, even for anentirechestofgold.Hehopedto hell Eslingen’s horoscopewouldcoverbothofthem.“Thank you,” he said, and

Mirremay took a step back,

pulling the door fully open.Rathesteppedthrough,awareof Chaudet’s eyes on hisback,andhopedtheyweren’tmakingaseriousmistake.Mirremay’s workroom

was unexpectedly pleasant,withglassinthewindowsandapaintedstoveinonecorner.Her broad table was piledhigh with ledgers and casebooks and random drifts ofpaper; there was a stool at

oneend,readyforasecretaryto take dictation, but thesecretaryherselfwasnowhereinsight.Mirremayleanedherhip against the table’s edge,not bothering to ask them tosit.“So, Rathe,” she said.

“What brings you here, withyour black dog at yourheels?”Rathe saw Eslingen’s

eyebrowsriseatthat,butkepthis own expression neutral.

“Twomurders, Chief Point.”As you very well know. Thistime,shedidnotcorrecthim.“That’s your business in

Point of Hopes,” Mirremaysaid promptly. “Monteia’smadethatquiteclear.”“Andyetitwasyoursealon

a bailiff’swrit I handled justyesterday,”Rathesaid.“Ah, but that is my

business,” Mirremay said.Shewasenjoyingthisentirelytoo much, Rathe thought.

“The lady resides inPointofKnives, and her legalrecourse is myresponsibility.”“Even when her title to

those goods is very much inquestion?” Rathe tipped hisheadtooneside.“That’s a matter for the

courts,notme.”“Andwhenthebailiff’smen

come bullying honesthouseholders,”Rathesaid.“How can I tell which

bailiff’smenwillexceedtheirauthority?” Mirremay asked.“If Point of Hopes has amethod,I’mnot tooproudtolearn.”They could fence like this

all day, Rathe thought, andher people would still bewaitingwhenheandEslingenleft the station. Better to cutmatters short. “There’s apolitical dimension to this,youknow.”Mirremay snorted.

“Everything’s political thesedays.”“Some things more than

others,”Ratheanswered.“Make your point, Rathe.”

Mirremay sounded almostamused, but Rathe was notdeceived.“The gold is untaxed,” he

said. “I’m sure van Duirenmentionedthattherewascoininvolved,possiblyeventhatitwas gold, and maybe eventhat it hadn’t paid the right

dues, but have you thoughtabout what that mightmean,inthecurrentsituation?”A faint frown appeared on

Mirremay’s face. “Go on,”shesaid.Rathe nodded to Eslingen.

“He’ll back me up on this.We’ve takenadvice from theUniversityon thematter,anduntaxed gold can functionlikeaurichalcum.It’sweaker,butstilldangerous,especiallyin large amounts. And after

this summer—you can guesshow the Surintendant istakingit.”“And who he might

suspect,”Mirremaysaid,witha glance at Eslingen. “Doesheknowwhoyou’reworkingwithagain?”“It’s an approved

collaboration,” Rathe said,andEslingensmiled.“And I believe you know,

Chief Point, exactly howMaster Caiazzo would use

foreigngold,”hesaid.“I know at least one good

reason that you yourselfmight need cash in hand,”Rathe said. He waved to theroom around them. “It can’thavebeencheaptobringthisplaceuptostandard.”“We’re all very

knowledgeable,” Mirremaysaid.“And?”“IknowwhyCaiazzowants

thecoin,”Rathebegan.“And he’s found the right

coin to fee you properly,”Mirremaysaid,andRathefelthimselfflush.Eslingen said, lazily, “My

principal feels the wholething’s too hot to handle,Chief Point. In considerationof which he’s more thanhappy to cooperate with thepoints.”“One might have expected

himtoturntome,”Mirremayobserved.“I’m sure he trusts you,”

Eslingen said, in a tone thatimpliedjusttheopposite.Mirremay scowled, and

Rathesaidhastily,“Bethatasit may, Chief Point, you andCaiazzo have one thing incommon.SurintendantFouriedoesn’t trust either one ofyou.”“That’s hardly news,”

Mirremaysaid.“He’d like an excuse,”

Rathe said. “And politicsmakes an excellent one. I

respect the man enormously,but this time I think he’swrong. I can prove it’s notCaiazzo if I have to,butyou—I don’t know about you,Chief. If you’re backing vanDuiren….”“And would I tell you if I

were?”Mirremaydemanded.“You’d tell me if you

weren’t,”Rathesaid.“But would you believe

me?” Mirremay shook herhead. “Very well, Rathe, my

cards on the table. First, myarrangements to fund thebuilding here are solid andconventional and my ownbusiness.Butitcanbeprovedwhere themoneycamefrom,andthatIhaven’tbankruptedmyself in the process.Second, I’m no merchant-venturer, I’ve got no use foruntaxed gold. On the otherhand, the Queen paystreasure-troveonsuchcoin,afulltenthofthevalue,andI’d

have no objection to that feeor to improving myreputation. That’swhy Iwaswilling to sign the bailiff’swrit. But I don’t hold withmurder, and I can’t affordpolitics, and I want nothingmore to do with this mess.”She gave a sudden, thinsmile. “Unless you shouldcall your point on my turf,Rathe,inwhichcaseIexpectmy full shareof the fees andrewards.”

“Ofcourse,”Rathesaid.Hethought he believed her,though he would probablyaskoneoftheothersatPointof Hopes to verify thefinances—Pallanguey,maybe, she had friendsamong the clerks. “And Iappreciateyourcandor,ChiefPoint.”“I’mgladwe’vereachedan

accord,” Mirremay said.“And now—now I thinkwe’ve wasted quite enough

time on the matter.” Shestraightened easily. “Thisway,AdjunctPoint.”Rathe followed her down

the station stairs and throughthe main room, Eslingen athis shoulder. The group thathad confronted them in thestreet loungedby thedouble-stove, watchful as hounds.They were Mirremay’schosen team, Ratherecognized, her particularfavorites,bound toher rather

than to the station or anyotherloyalty.Hegavethemacareful look, wanting to besure he’d know them again,and the woman—Chaudet,thejuniorAdjunct—gavehimaferalgrin.“AndI trust thiswillbethe

last we see of you, AdjunctPoint,” Mirremay said, hervoice just loud enough tocarry to every corner of thesilent room. “Unless youcome to share out the

reward.”Rathe paused in the open

door. “And to that end, Iassume you’ll encourage allcooperation.”Mirremay grinned. “A

touch.Ofcoursewewouldbehappy to work with you—tothatend.”“Thank you, Chief Point,”

Rathe said, and beat a hastyretreat.They made their way back

toward Point of Hopes

through increasingly busystreets—ordinarily busy,Rathe was pleased to note,buthewasalsosurethattheywere being watched. Theystopped again at Jascinte’sWell, and Eslingen bought acone of nuts from a youngman with a roasting cart.Rathe looked over hisshoulder,backthewaythey’dcome,butsawnosignofofatail. Probably the watchershad been set to see that they

left Point of Knives, wereeven now heading back toMirremaytoreport.Eslingen held out the paper

cone. “Next time you dosomething like that, youmightwarnme.”Rathe hesitated. “I didn’t

think itwas going to go likethat,” he admitted. “If I’dthought—yeah, Iwould havewarnedyou.”“She’s dangerous, this

Mirremay,” Eslingen said.

“And I thought the wholeidea was to keep her frombuilding her own littlefiefdominPointofKnives.”“Yes, she is,” Rathe said.

“And,yes,itwas.”“It doesn’t seem to have

workedoutallthatwell.”“Not the way the

Surintendant planned, no.”Rathe paused. “At least,probablynot,anyway.He’sa—complicatedman.”“Idon’tlike‘complicated,’”

Eslingensaid.“Then you’re in the wrong

business,”Rathesaid.Foramoment,ithunginthe

balance, and then Eslingen’smouthtwitchedupward.“I’ma simple soldier, AdjunctPoint—”“You’re about as simple as

the epicycles of Arjent,”Rathe said, and traced thelooping corkscrew pattern intheairforemphasis.Eslingen swept him a bow,

graceful in spite of the conestillinonehand.“Why,that’sthekindest thingyou’veeversaidaboutme.”Hepaused.“Imeantit,youknow.”“Iknow.”Rathe said. “And

next time,Iwillwarnyou.IfIcan.”Eslingen lifted an eyebrow.

“That’sthebestyoucando?”“Yes.” Rathe met his eyes

squarely. “It’s all I canpromise,Philip.”There was a moment of

stillness, the business of thesquare moving around them,as distant as if they stoodencased in glass. Eslingenshruggedatlast.“So.I’lltakewhatIcanget.”Rathe nodded, not knowing

what to say. He only hopedthat he hadn’t spoiledeverything.

ChapterFive~TheCountingHouse

Eslingen settled himself

by the tavern’s fire andunfoldedthebroadsheetshe’dpickeduponhiswaythroughTemple Fair. By mutual ifunspoken agreement, he andRathe were both avoidingplaces where they were

known individually, whichleft them mostly northriverplaces like this one. It waspleasant enough, occupied inthe early evening primarilyby clerks from the countinghouses and factors’ officesalong the Mercandry. Theprices were correspondinglyhigher,butitwasworthitforthe anonymity. No one herehadcausetoremembereitherCaiazzo’s knife or theAdjunct Point at Point of

Hopes.He bespoke two plates of

the night’s ordinary, tellingthe waiter not to serve untilhis guest arrived, and turnedhis attention to thebroadsheets. He’d bought aweekly almanac as well as amore personal sheet, andscanneditquickly,notingthepositionsofthemajorplanets.The sun was in theCharioteer, and solidlyaspected; the astrologer

predicted quiet days and softweather, plenty of time fortheharvestandthelastshort-range tradingventuresbeforewinter closed the roads. Hissolar horoscope was equallybenign, thoughhenotedwithawrygrinthatthemoonwasin the Sea-bull, house ofpassion and illicitrelationships.Itwouldbeniceif this affair lasted a bitlongerthanthemoon’stransitof the sign, but somehow he

doubtedit.He folded the papers and

tucked them into the cuff ofhis coat as he saw Ratheapproach.Thepointsmanhadshedhisjerkinandtruncheon,looked like any othersouthriver laborer in hisrumpled coat and wornbreeches.Helookedabitoutof place, Eslingen thought,but no worse than the carterat the table in the corner: aman meeting friends of

higherstation,thatwasall.“Any news?” he asked, as

Rathepulledouthischair.“Some.” Rathe reached for

thewinethatstoodreadyandpoured himself a glass.“Biatris—theapprenticeIhadwatching van Duiren’scounting house—says it’s inuse, and that Delon isdefinitely the samepersonasvan Duiren. She comesmostlyinthelateafternoonorevening, and rarely stays

long. She’s usually gone bysunset and always beforesecond sunrise.Biatrishasn’tseen her meeting withanyone, but she thinks vanDuiren’s been expectingsomeonethelastdayorso.”Eslingen frowned. He was

starting to recognize Rathe’smoods,would have expectedhim to bemore pleased thanthis.“But?”“Monteia’s ordered Biatris

offthejob,”Rathesaid.“And

I’vebeenwarnedoffaswell.ItseemsthecountinghouseisinPointofKnives.”Eslingen lifted an eyebrow.

“I thought the crossroad—Lanyard Road?—was theboundary.”“It and Cockerel Row, yes.

And so it is, in generalpractice,” Rathe answered.“Buttheofficialwritrunsonestreet further west, andMirremayisclaimingit.”“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Rathe gave a soursmile. “I’ll give her thebenefit of the doubt and sayshe’s angling for the reward,but—it’sinconvenient.”“Very.”Eslingen toppedup

theirglasses.“I do have an idea,” Rathe

said,afteramoment.Eslingen gave him a wary

look. He was beginning tosuspectthatnotallofRathe’sideas were as reasonable astheysoundedonfirsthearing.

“Oh?”“Yeah,” Rathe said again.

“Biatris says the womanacross the street rents roomson her second floor. If wewere quick and reasonablydiscreet,wecouldtakeoneofthoserooms,andtheoddsarefairly good that Mirremay’spetswon’tspotus.”Eslingen turned the idea

over carefully in his mind,but couldn’t see anythingimmediately wrong with it.

“Allright,thatcouldwork.”“We’llgo tomorrowearly,”

Rathesaid.“MyguessisvanDuiren won’t be active then,and Mirremay’s people willslinkhometoreport.”“Let’s hope you’re right,”

Eslingensaid.They made their way

through the side streets,avoiding Lanyard Road andthe cross street until Rathescouted ahead and reported

no sign of Mirremay’speople. The counting housewas closed, its windowsshuttered, but the houseopposite was open, and awomansat in thesunoutsidethe main door, shelling peasinto a bowl. Eslingen restedhishandonRathe’sshoulder.“Let me. If any of

Mirremay’s people are stillwatching,I’mCaiazzo’sman.Shecantakeitupwithhim.”Rathe hesitated, then

nodded. “Rent a front room.Ifit’sclear,opentheshutters.I’lljoinyouthen.”“Right.” Eslingen handed

him the basket he had beencarrying—ithelda jugof teaand a bottle of wine, breadand a pie for the longwatch—and started briskly up thestreet.Thewomanlookedupathis

approach, and Eslingendoffed his hat. “Goodmorning,dame.”

“Morning—soldier?”Eslingen bowed. “Just so.

Andonleave,andwonderingif you still rented rooms. Afriend of mine said youmight.”“Ido,”shesaid.“It was a particular room I

wanted,”Eslingensaid.“Onethatoverlooksthestreet.”She gave him a measuring

look—summing up, Eslingenthought, just how muchdamageheandhisloverwere

likely to do to the room,whether points would becalled, and whether hismoney was good, and thenshruggedoneshoulder.“There’s a front room

available. But the furniture’sextra.”“I don’t need much,”

Eslingen answered, withperfect truth. “And I don’tknowhowlongI’llstay.”She nodded. Her hands

never slowed, stripping the

peas from their pods. “Aseillingaday,andanotherforabedandmattress.”“Not per day,” Eslingen

said.She shook her head

grudgingly. “For a week, ifyoustaysolong.”“Throw in a couple of

stools, and it’s done.”Eslingen gave her his mostwinningsmile.She lifted an eyebrow, but

nodded.“Agreed.Paymentin

advance,soldier.”Eslingenfishedinhispurse,

came upwith the coins. “I’llbe back within the hour,dame.”They spent the time at a

teahouse, sadly not in thewell-tendedgarden,butinthesmoky main room, whereRathecould,witheffort,peerout the shutters and catch aglimpse of van Duiren’scounting house. Eslingenlifted an eyebrow, andRathe

shrugged.“Ican’taffordtoget inbad

with Monteia just at themoment. And Monteia can’taffordtoannoyMirremay.”“Awkward,” Eslingen

agreed.“And if I were Mirremay,

I’d want my people backwatchingbynow.”“They’ve been there all

night,”Eslingensaid,inwhathe hoped were soothingtones. “Surely they need

somesleep.”“Damn it.” Rathe let the

shutter close. “Apparentlynot. I just saw Chaudetwanderingupthestreet.”“Damn,”Eslingensaid.“All

right. I’ll take the room andyou can come in the backdoor.”“You’re not exactly

unrecognizable,”Rathesaid.“It’s a different coat,”

Eslingen said. He’d decidedhedidn’twanttoriskhisbest

clothes on this particularassignment. “And I’ll let myhair down.” He suited theactiontothewords,takingoffhishatandlooseninghishairfromitstie.Rathe lifted his eyebrows.

“Youlook—dissipated.”“Why, thank you, Adjunct

Point.” Eslingen grinned.“Perhapswecouldarrangetomakeitlessofapretense?”“We’ve a watch to keep,”

Rathe answered, not without

regret, and the nearest towerclockstruckthequarterhour.“The room should be

ready,” Eslingen said, andpickedup thebasket, tuckingit underone arm.Adifferentcoat,hair looseanduntidy,acommon-looking basket inhis hands…. “Well?” heasked,andRathenodded.“You’lldo.Opentheshutter

when you’re settled and I’llcomeinbythegardendoor.”Eslingen saw no sign of

Mirremay’s people as hemade his way up the street,feltnoneof theprickleat theback of the neck that meantsomeone was paying tooclose attention. The landladywas within, but hermaidservant handed him thekey and promised to let hislover in the kitchen door sothat his mistress wouldn’tknow how he was spendinghis day off. The room itselfwas much as he’d expected,

the sort of room he’dcommandeered a hundredtimes on campaign, bare andfaintly dusty, with a heavybedstead in one corner piledwithwhatprovedatthetouchtobea strawmattress.Fairlyfresh straw, at least, hethought, and pulled back theshutterforthesignal.He left the basket in a

shaded corner, and draggedone stool to the side of thewindow, so thathecouldsee

the street and the countinghouse without being seen. Afew minutes later, Rathearrived, slipping themaidservant a coin andboltingthedoorbehindhim.“WhatinAstree’snamedid

youtellthem?”“That you were houseman

to an elderly merchantresident who was enamoredof your manly charms,”Eslingen answered promptly.“Anddesperatelyjealous.But

I saw you from afar, andmanagedtoseduceyouawayfor these few days of myleave, but we don’t dare beseen for fearyou’d loseyourplace.”“Idiot.” Rathe shook his

head. “That wasn’t even agoodplay.”“I got it out of a

broadsheet,” Eslingenanswered. He shifted so thathecouldleanagainstthewalland still keep an eye on the

street.“Whatnow?”“This is the boring part,”

Ratheanswered,anddraggedtheotherstooltotheoppositeside of the window. “Wewait.”“Ah.” Eslingen scanned the

street,emptyexceptforalop-eareddognosingat apuddlebeside the wall opposite.Even as hewatched, the doglifteditsheadandtrottedoff.Eslingen sighed. “For howlong?”

Rathe grinned. “Untilsomething happens. Or untilwe’resurenothing’sgoingtohappen.”“Lovely.” Eslingen rested

his head against the wall.“Wecouldplaycards—”Rathe shook his head. “I

don’tcarryadeck.”“Dice?”Ratheshookhisheadagain.

“Besides,wedon’twanttobedistracted.”“Which rules out my next

suggestion,” Eslingen said,withagrin.“If you can keep watch

under those circumstances,I’ll be offended,” Ratheanswered.“All right, probably not,”

Eslingen conceded. “Still, itwouldmakethetimepass.”“No,”Rathesaid.“Areyousure?”“Positive.” Rathe paused.

“How in Tyrseis’s name didyouendupasoldier?”

“I ran off to be a horseboyin a mercenary regimentwhen I was thirteen,”Eslingen answered promptly.“It was better than being ahorseboyinaninnfortherestofmylife.Atleasttherewasa chance of promotion.How’d you end up apointsman?”Rathe shrugged. “We lived

near the station at Point ofHearts when I was a boy. Ibegan as a runner, just

looking to make a fewdemmings, and discovered Iwasgoodat thework.And Iliked it. One of the localadvocates paidmy ’prentice-fee,and—thatwasthat.”It was on the tip of

Eslingen’s tongue to saysomething about Rathe’sstars, but he swallowed thewords.Rathewasrightnottotell him, and it was his rightto keep the secret, and thatwas the end of it. “And

evidently the chance ofpromotion is just as good asin the regiment,” he saidinstead,andRatheshrugged.“Good enough. Though I

got thispostearly,I’mlikelyto stay an adjunct point forquiteawhile.”They lapsed into silence.

Eslingen watched theshadows turn and lengthen,stretching across the dustystreet. Mirremay’s peoplepaid the neighborhood

another visit, pacing thelengthofthestreet,butdidn’tstay, and by the time theclock struck four, they’ddisappeared again. After awhile,Rathesharedoutsomeofthebreadandtea.Eslingentook his share,more to havesomethingtodothanbecausehe was hungry, and then, asthe sun settled behind thechimney pots, he cut thembothwedges from the pie. Itwas excellent, and Eslingen

was debating a second slicewhen he saw Rathestraighten.“VanDuiren.”Eslingen checked the

impulse to lean forward tolook,waited insteaduntil shecame into his field of view.Sure enough, it was thewoman who had claimed tobe Old Steen’s wife, thoughshe was dressed now in aplainskirtandbodice,a longsleevelesscoatopenover the

restoftheoutfit.“Pawnbroker’s coat,” Rathe

said, andEslingenglancedathim.Rathe grinned. “It’s got

hidden pockets and a fewspells woven in, or most ofthem do. The dishonest oneswill palm your goods andgive you back a reasonablefacsimile that will last justlong enough for them to getaway.”“The things I learn from

you….” Eslingen shook hishead..On the street below, van

Duiren fumbled with herkeys, first themain lock,andthen a smaller, inner lock.Shepushedbackthedooranddisappeared into the shop,and a fewmoments later theshuttersbegantoopen.“Isn’titabitlateintheday

to open a counting house?”Eslingen asked. “I’d thinkkeeping the doors open after

sunsetwouldbeaninvitationto trouble, with secondsunrise not coming foranother hour—especially ifshekeepscashonhand.”“It would be, normally,”

Rathe said. “But if she’s afence, she’s got connectionsthat will protect her—notleast of which would beMirremay—or this is just theplace where she has thepreliminary meetings. Orshe’s up to something else

entirely. But, no, I don’treally expect to find yourgoldinthere.”“Pity, that,” Eslingen said,

and stopped abruptly. “Lookthere.”“I seehim.”Rathe fumbled

in his purse, came upwith asmall telescope, the kindartillerymen used to traintheir guns. He focussed onthe stranger, a man in ascholar’s long robe, andshook his head as the man

ducked into van Duiren’sshop.“Well,that’ssomethingto tell Maseigne Vair. ADemean by his hood, too,though I didn’t get a decentlookathisbadge.”“The badges are—?”

Eslginencockedhishead.“Whatbranchorhousehe’s

affiliated with within theUniversity,”Ratheanswered.“Seemsabitunsubtle togo

walking around like that,”Eslingensaid.

“Yeah, the thought hadcrossed my mind,” Rathesaid. “It could be a decoy—wait,hello.”This time Eslingen did risk

leaningforwardjustalittle.Awomanwascomingdownthestreet, awell-dressedwomanin a neat brimless cap, aclosed parasol balanced onher shoulder. Rathe had hisglass out, peering through itasshepausedat thecountinghouse door, and Eslingen

heardthesighofsatisfaction.“Faculty of Sciences and

Herathean House. Even if Ihadn’t gotten a good look ather face, that will helpidentifyher.”Eslingen lookedbackat the

counting house. Lampsglowed in itswindowsas thedusk closed in, the hour offull dark between the settingof the truesunand the risingof the winter-sun.Occasionally a shadow

movedacrossthelight,but itwas impossible to see anydetails. All too soon, itseemed, the front dooropened again, and the twoscholars left together, thewomanusingherparasolnowasawalkingstick.“Do we follow?” he asked,

andRatheshookhishead.“Toolate,damnit. Ishould

havethought.”Amoment later, the last of

the lamps went out, and

Rathesworeunderhisbreath.Van Duiren emerged amoment later, carefullylocked the doors behind her,and started away in theopposite direction. Ratheshookhishead.“Well, at least we know

she’s using the place formeetings—and that there’s aUniversity connection.MaseigneVairwillbegladtoknow.”Eslingentookadeepbreath.

“MaybeYoungSteenhadtherightofit.”Rathelookedathim.“What

doyoumean?”“Well, not quite the way

he’d do it,” Eslingenamended.“Buthethoughtweshould break in and searchthe place—him and me, hemeant,notyouandI.”“That’s illegal, you know,

Lieutenant.” Rathe shook hishead.“AndIcan’t thinkofabetteridea.”

The front of the counting

house was hopelesslyexposed,buttherewasboundtobeabackdoor, ifonlyforthe night-soil man. Rathefound the alley withoutdifficulty,andsteppedintoitsdeeper shadows. In thedarkness, Eslingen’sshirtcuffs seemedunnaturallybright,andRathewasgladofhis own oversized coat. Itwasn’t fashionable,but itdid

help tohidehispresence.HetouchedEslingen’sshoulder.“It’sthefourthhouseonthe

left,” he said softly, and sawtheothermannod.Theypickedtheirwayalong

theruttedstreet,throughmudthat smelled of rottingcabbage, and Rathe glancedover his shoulder at thehouses behind them.Fortunately, the alley wasonly used for garbage, andthe smellmeant thatmost of

them kept their doors andwindows shut tight, andRathe turned his attention tothe counting house door. Itbore a massive lock with atiny keyhole, the kind ofmagisticallywarded lock thatits maker’s guild proclaimed“unbreakable”andhemadeasour face. The only goodthing was that it probablymeantthedoorwasn’tbarredaswell.“And how do you propose

to get past that?” Eslingenasked. He looked up at thewindows on the upper floor.“I could probably climb inthere, but itwouldn’t exactlybesubtle.”Rathereachedintohispurse

again, came upwith the ringof keys he’d hadmade fromthe wax impressions he’dtaken from Old Steen’sbelongings.He held themupin thedim light, studying thewards, chose three that

looked as though they mightfit. Itwaslikelyhe’dhavetoresort to picks, or hisuniversalkey,buthe thoughttherewasachanceOldSteenmight have been twistyenough to have keys to thisback door. He tested themquickly:alltherightsize,oneeven magistically active, butnone were meant for theparticular lock. He put themaway, and pulled out hisuniversal key. Well, not

exactlyhis;he’dtakenitoffaserial burglar who’d plaguedPoint of Hopes some fouryears past, part of theman’selaborate and magisticallyactive toolkit. All of it hadbeen slated to be melteddown to keep it from fallinginto improper hands, but thathad seemed a waste ofsomething so cleverly madeas the universal key, andRathehaddiscreetlypocketedit. Three or four more items

hadgonemissing,allequallyuseful and Monteia had saidnothing when they didn’treachthefire.“Thisshoulddoit,”hesaid,

and turned the bezel at thetop, setting the solar andlunar positions in the tinyorrery.Thekeychimedonce,the sound almost inaudible,andheadjustedthesizeofthewardstofittheopening.“That’s never standard

issue,”Eslingensaid.

Rathesnorted.“Nothardly.”He slipped the key into thelock, probing for thetumblers. He could feel thewardedlockresisting,thekeysliding from the spelledsurface, but then the key’smagic caught and coiled inthegapsoftheward,easingitaway, and the key slippedsecurely into the tumblers.Rathe turned it carefully,gave a sighof satisfaction asthelockgaveway.Hepushed

gently, hoping there was nobar,andthedoorswungopenbeforehim.“You continue to amaze

me,” Eslingen said, andtogethertheyslippedinside.Ratheclosedthedoorsoftly

behind them, and they stoodfor a moment in the dark,listening for any sign thatthey were not alone. Therewas nothing, no sound, nobreath of air, not even thesmell of cooking, just the

faint bitter scent of a stovelong unused and uncleaned.Eslingenmovedfirst,hiseyesadjusting to the light, andRathe heard the gentle clicksashetestedtheshutters.“Strike a light if they’re

solid,” Rathe said, and amoment later light bloomedas Eslingen lit a candle end.Van Duiren’s, Rathe noted,taken from a box on thewindowsill, and that meantthey’dbetterbequick,orshe

might notice a missingcandle.“Not much of a

housekeeper,”Eslingensaid.Rathe glanced around the

bare room. Even in thecandle’s uncertain light, itwas possible to tell that thefloor hadn’t been swept inweeks, and the stove waschipped, its door saggingopen. “Well, we know shedoesn’tlivehere.”“Ormakemuchpretenseof

it, either,” Eslingen said. Heheldthecandlehighsoasnottodazzlethem.“I supposed there’s not

much need,” Rathe said. Butthere ought to be, she oughtto be doing everythingpossible to keep van Duirenand Delon separate, and ifthat meant the expense ofextra servants and wood forthefire,itshouldbeworthit.Unless she’d never intendedit to be more than a

superficial disguise, and thatdidn’t make sense, either.There was something wronghere,hecouldalmosttasteit,something that he wasmissing, and somethingwronginthehouse,too….Heheldhisbreathforamoment,feeling the air on his face,listening for any sound, eventhe softest of movementsfrom within. But there wasnothing at all, nothing tojustify the sense of unease,

andheworkedhis shoulders,annoyedwithhisownunease.“Thefrontroom,”hesaid.Eslingen cupped his hand

around the candle, shieldingthe light, and Rathe nodded.“I’llgofirst.”The shutters at the front of

the house were closed andlocked as well, but Rathefound a firescreen beside thestove and set it to shield thesinglelampbeforeheallowedEslingen to light it. This

larger room, at least, lookedmore normal, the stove oldbutrecentlycleaned,aclerk’sslanted table braced againstonewall.Therewasasmallertableaswell,flankedbyasetofcushionedstools.A teapotstood upside down on theshelfaboveit.“Noledgers,”Eslingensaid,

andRatheshothimaglance.The Leaguer was developinganeye for theessentials—or,more likely, he’d looted

enough businesses to knowwhattolookfor.“Andnothingontheclerk’s

table.” Rathe checked theinkwell—only a quarter full—andthequilllyingbesideitwasbadlytrimmed.Thecakeof red ink was dry andcracked: a better pretensethanintheemptykitchen,butstillnotonethatwasmeanttodeceive a careful eye. Therewasnobook-presss,noclock,not even a chest, only an

unlocked paper-box on shelfabove the clerk’s table. Heopened it anyway, and foundit half full of inexpensivepaper;whenherifledthroughit, he saw without surprisethateverysheetwasblank.“What now?” Eslingen

asked.“Upstairs,”Rathesaid.That

was where the strongroomshouldbe,ifinfacttherewasone. He picked up the lamp,leaving Eslingen to collect

thecandle,andstartedupthenarrowstairs.There were two rooms on

the upper floors, and it wasinstantly obvious which wasthe strongroom. That doorwasbound in ironand itwasfitted with another wardedlock. Rathe pushed open theotheroneanyway,torevealachamber empty except for atraveler’s chest. He heardEslingen’s breath catch, andshookhishead.

“Nolock.”“Damn.”“Check it anyway,” Rathe

said, and turned his attentiontothestrongroomdoor.Thewardsonthislockwere

stronger, tuned not to theusualsolarindices,buttothecycles of Heira, and it tookhim a few minutes to adjustthe key’s orrery to catch thespell. He made the lastchange, and felt the wardsgive, thekey finallymeshing

withthetumblers.Hefeltforthe lock, eased it open, andlooked over to see Eslingenon his feet again beside theopentrunk.“Anyluck?”“Nothing. Old clothes and

anout-of-seasonhat.”Even though he hadn’t

expected anything better,Rathe felt a twinge ofdisappointment. Just once, itwouldhavebeennicetohavethe solution just tumble into

his lap.Hekilledthethoughtand pushed open thestrongroom door. The singlewindow was heavilyshuttered,andwhenEslingentapped it, it had the heavyringofiron.Rathelitthetwostanding lamps and scannedthe narrow space as the lightswelled. It was typicalenough, shelves on both thesidewalls, and a table in thecenter of the room, farenough back from the

windowthatnoonecouldseein, but still close enough tocatch the best of the light.There was a brass-boundcashbox beneath the window—fitted with yet anotherwarded lock, Rathe noted—and there were at least adozen ledgers on the walls.He suppressed agroanat thesight. They were a solidnight’s work on their own,and he wasn’t prepared—And if he found the gold’s

location, what then? Hecouldn’t give it to Caiazzo,andhedidn’twanttoclaimitfor Mirremay. Give it toMonteia,hesupposed,thoughthe resulting fight would befierce.And that was another

profitless thought.He lookedatEslingen.“Youstartonthebooks—the newest first, Ithink.I’llopenthecashbox.”“Is there anything in

particular I’m looking for?”

Eslingen asked, and tookdownthenearestleder.“IwishIknew,”Rathesaid

frankly. He knelt beside thecashbox, looking from thelock to his key and backagain. “Anything out of theordinary.”“Which I’ll only be able to

tell you after I’ve read thelot,”Eslignenmuttered.“Why do you think I gave

you the job?”Rathe frownedthoughtfully at the cash box.

There was a monogramscratchedonthelidabovethelock, an “S” rather thananything that could matchvan Duiren’s aliases, and hetook out the ring of OldSteen’s keys again. Sureenough, the largest of thekeys matched the lock. “OldSteen had a key to fit—no,this was his box, but whyshe’sleftithere—”“Alure?”Eslingenasked.“Possibly. Though what

she’d gain from it….” Ratheshookhishead,andliftedthelid,notsurprisedtoseeamixofcoin,moresilverthangold.They were jumbled together,not separated out like mostmerchants’hoards,andherana hand through the mess,dredging up enough goldcoinstosortoutafewforeignpieces. They all bore acustoms mark, however, andhe sat back on his heels,sighing.

“Noluck?”Eslingensaid.“No.”Ratheshookhishead.

“You?”“No.” Eslingen paused.

“Well, she could be hidingany number of frauds in herledgers, I’m no clerk. But Ihaven’t seen anything thatlooks like a sudden influx ofmoney, and I certainlyhaven’t found anything thatmight be notes from OldSteenaboutwherehehidhistreasure.”

“Damn it,” Rathe said. Itwas all wrong, the wholething. There should be morehere, or considerably less,andyetifitwassomekindoflure, what was it meant tobring? Them? He tipped hishead to the side, consideringthe idea. He couldn’t quitesee what van Duiren wouldgainbyit—shealreadyknewhe was working against her,he’d made that clear whenshefirstbroughtherclaimto

PointofHopes.Andshemustknow by now that Caiazzohad fee’d Monteia to placehis knife with the points, sowhat she could hope togain….Butitwastoolateforthat to matter. They’d takenher bait, and now the mainthing was to extricatethemselves as discreetly andpainlesslyaspossible.“This doesn’t feel right,”

Eslingensaid,andsetthelastledger back in its place. “It

justdoesn’tmakesense.”“No more it does,” Rathe

answered. “I don’t knowwhy, but I think she wantedustobreakin—maybejusttofindnothing.”“If she wants us here,”

Eslingen began, and Rathenodded.“Ithinkwe’dbewisertobe

somewhere else.” He closedthe chest again, letting thelock close, the wardsreformingwithaheavysnap.

“We’ll put back everythingwecanaswego,butthemainthingistoleave.Now.”They swept back down

the stairs and though thehouse,Ratheintheleadwiththe lamp, Eslingen behindhim with the candle end. Inthefrontroom,Ratherestoredthefirescreentoitsplaceandsetthelampbackonitsshelf,cuppinghishandtoblowoutthe light.That left themwith

only the single candle tosurveytheemptykitchen,andthen Eslingen licked hisfingers and pinched out theflame,stoodholdingitas thewaxsolidified.“Ifshelooksclosely—ifshe

has reason to look—she’llknow someone’s been here,”hesaid.“Yeah,” Rathe said,

unhappily. “And she’ll beable to see that I’vemanipulated her locks. But

it’s too late to worry aboutthatnow.”The candle had cooled

enough, and Eslingen set itback in its box. “And whatabout those people from theUniversity?”Rathe eased back the door,

peered out into the alley.“That’s a good question.Were they even from theUniversity, or were they justmorebait?”I hadn’t thought of that.

Eslingen swallowed thewords,andslippedpastRatheinto the alley, scanning thestreet to either side. Therewas no sign of anotherpresence,nomovementintheshadows;whenhelookedup,the windows were allshuttered and nothingmovedon the rooftops. Behind himtherewas a soft, heavy clickasthelockresealeditself,andRathestraightened,pocketinghis key. Eslingen turned,

readytoretracehissteps,butRathe caught his sleeve, andpointedintheotherdirection.Eslingen nodded, and fell inat the pointsman’s shoulder,following him down thenarrowstreet.The winter-sun had risen,

andLanyardRoadwasbrightenough to see shadows.Eslingen heard the sound ofhoovesandthelowrumbleofwheelsat thecrossroads,sawa cart pull slowly past, the

driver hunched on the seat.Otherwise, the street wasempty: this was not aneighborhood where peoplegathered after dark. Ratheturned right, heading south;this was not the most directroute to Point of Hopes, andEslingenglancedcuriouslyattheotherman.“I’d just as soon not go

straight home,” Rathe said.“AndtherewillstillbetrafficonCustomsRoad.”

“You think we’re beingfollowed?” Eslingen justmanaged to keep himselffrom looking over hisshoulder.“Idon’tknow,”Rathesaid.Theywalkedinsilencefora

while longer, Eslingenstraining to hear footstepsbehind them. There wasnothing, just once the distantsound of another cart, andanother time the cackle offowldisturbedatroost,buthe

couldn’t shake the naggingfeeling that someone wasthere.Andthatwasaskingfortrouble, asking for tight-strungnerves tomakeamango off half-cocked, and herolledhisshouldersasthoughthatwouldshedthesensethattheywerebeingwatched.“Doyou think theyweren’t

from the University, thosepeople?”heasked.Rathe shrugged. “I don’t

know,” he said again. “And,

thank Dis, it’s not myproblem. I’ll send word toVairandletherdealwithit.”“Nicethatsomethingisn’t,”

Eslingensaid,andthatdrewafugitivegrin.“Ihaveenoughonmybook

rightnow,yes,thankyou.”Customs Road was busier,

lanterns lit in front of thetaverns and the few late-workingchandlers;astringofmage-fire globes framed thebathhouseattheSandureigne.

Eslingen gave it a wistfulglance—a hot bath and coldbeer sounded deeplyappealing—but matchedRathe’s easy pace. In thecrowd,itwaseasiertofindanexcuse to look back andsideways, but he sawno realsign that they were beingfollowed, only the usualmixof night-workingwomen andthose bound for home andbed. A string of four horsesploddedup themiddleof the

street,packframespiledhigh,awickercradlestrappedontothe lead horse’s frame. Bellsjingledsoftly,counterpointtothe soundof the hooves, andthe baby slept, oblivious. Alate arrival or an earlydeparture, it was impossibleto tell which, and theydisappearedaroundacurveoftheroad.Past the Sandureigne, the

crowds thinned again, theroad passing between

shuttered shops and housesthat showed lights only ontheiruppermost floors.Ratheglanced over his shoulderagain,andtookthefirstrighthand turning. Eslingencockedhisheadtolisten,butheard nothing, not even thewheelsofacartoraporter’sbells.“I’ve got a feeling,” Rathe

said softly, sounding almostembarrassed. “We’re beingwatched.”

“I haven’t spotted anyone,”Eslingensaid.“No more have I,” Rathe

admitted.“But—”“If you say so, that’s word

enough for me,” Eslingensaid.Hecouldfeeltheitchingbetween his shoulder bladesnow, too, the unnaturalcertainty that he was underobservation.“Dowesplitup,draw them out? Or I couldfall back, see if I could spotthem.”

“I don’t want to split up,”Rathe said. “For one thing,I’ve no idea how many ofthemtheremightbe.”“Then we find a spot,”

Eslingensaid.“Youknowthecitybetter thanIdo,youcallit,but—aplacewherewecandropintoshadow,outoftheirsight, and see if they comeup.”“Andthenwhat?”Kill them. Eslingen

swallowed his first

suggestion, said, moremoderately,“Getagoodlookatthem,forastart.Grabthemandbeatsomeanswersoutofthemifwecan.”Rathe nodded slowly.

“What my old chief pointwouldsaytotheidea,Idon’tknow.”“From what I’ve seen of

your current chief, she’d behefting a big stick herself,”Eslingensaid.Rathe grinned. “True

enough. Monteia’s very—direct in her ways.” Hesobered quickly. “Once wecross Bakers’ Row, the roadsplits. We’ll take the rightfork,andalmost immediatelythere’s an alley to the right.We’ll duck in there and seewhathappens.”Eslingen nodded. He could

almosthearmovementbehindthemnowasthecityquieted,theoccasional faintscrapeofashoeoncobbles,aclickthat

might have been a cudgelcarried unwarily, or mightonly have been imagination.He knew better than to lookback, but he could see thetension in Rathe’s shoulders,the pointsman’s movementseverybitastightashisown.Ahead,theroadforked,and

it took all his willpower notto pick up the pace, but hekeptwalking,hisheadbentalittle as though he werelistening to some fascinating

story. They took the rightfork, Rathe leading themcasuallytotheright-handsideof the street, and, sureenough, the road curved stillfurther, cutting off the viewofanyonefollowingthem.“Now,” Rathe said quietly,

andtheyslippedtogetherintothe mouth of the alley.Eslingen pressed his backagainst the wall, flatteninghimself into the darkest partoftheshadows;Ratheleaned

besidehim,hisheadturnedtowatchthestreetbeyond.Theystood there for a hundredheartbeats, another hundred,and still another. Ratheshifted slightly, trying to seebeyond the end of thebuilding, but there was nomovement.Thenat last therewas the soundofhoovesandthe rumble of wheels, andanother cart rolled intoview.By the sound of it, it wasempty, butRathe took a step

forward to get a better look.The movement drew thecarter’s eye, and he gave ayelp, seeing them lurking inthe alley. He flourished hiswhip, urging the horse to aheavy trot, and in spite ofhimselfEslingensnickered.“Youshouldbeashamedof

yourself, Adjunct Point,frightening a law-abidingmanlikethat.”“Whatmakesyouthinkhe’s

law-abiding?”Rathesaid,and

shook his head. “I’d say thatwasn’tourman.”“It doesn’t seem likely,”

Eslingen agreed. “Whatnow?”“They must have gotten

suspicious,” Rathe said,“guessedwhatweweregoingtotry.Damnit,I’dhavelikedtogetalookatthem.”“Wecouldbacktrackabit,”

Eslingensaid,doubtfully.“They’re longgone,”Rathe

said. “No, we might as well

go home. There’s nothingmoreforushere.”“Butnotby themostdirect

route,” Eslingen suggested,andRathegrinned.“And I thought I had the

nastysuspiciousmind.”“We’re two of a kind,”

Eslingensaid.They spend another three-

quarters of an hour makingtheir way back to Rathe’slodgings, but Eslingen wassure within minutes that

whoever had been followingthemwasgone.IttookRathelonger to be certain, or atleast longer to admit it, butfinally they slipped into thecourtyardbelowRathe’sstair.Eslingen stood listening afinal time while Ratherelocked the gate, andshruggedasRathegavehimaquestioningglance.“Nothing. I haven’t felt as

though we were beingfollowed,either,notsincewe

triedtodrawthemout.”“Me neither.” Rathe shook

his head. “Come on, let’sfetchwaterandgotobed.”“Water?”“For bathing,” Rathe said.

He was, Eslingen thought,unexpectedly fastidious forsomeone who generallylookedasthoughhe’dsleptinhisclothes.“The bathhouse at the

Sandureigne has marblefloors,”Eslingensaid.“Ahot

poolandacold,andmasseurswithhandsliketree-roots….”“What you’ve got is a

washbasin,” Rathe saidbriskly, and heaved on thewell-rope. Eslingen caughtthebucket,emptieditintothepailthatstoodwaiting.“Whataboutthemassage?”Rathe glanced over his

shoulder. “You’ll have toearnthat.”“At your service,” Eslingen

murmured, and followed up

himthestairs.

ChapterSix~BestLaidPlans

Rathe woke a little after

the day-sun’s rise, built upthefireandhadjustsetwaterto boil when he heard thevoicesfromthecourtyard.Heglanced quickly out thewindow, saw Jiemen andMirremay’s adjunct Chaudet

just closing the gate, andsworeunderhisbreath.“Philip!” He crossed

quickly to the bed, butEslingen was already sittingup, awake and alert in aninstant.“What?”Rathe scooped up the other

man’s clothes, thrust theminto his arms. “Chaudet.Through there—”Hepointedto the alcove that served ashis storeroom, and Eslingen

obeyed,notstoppingtodress.“She’s got Jiemen with her,and whatever’s going on—Idon’t have a good feelingaboutthis.”“Right.”Eslingenpulledhis

shirtoverhishead.“Isthereabackwayout?”“No.” Rathe caught the

liftedeyebrow,andshrugged.“Ididn’twant aplacewithabackwayin.”“You may want to rethink

that,” Eslingen said, and

backedintothenarrowspace.Rathe pulled the paintedscreen across it, and bracedhimself for the knock at thedoor.“Adjunct Point?” Jiemen’s

tonewas scrupulously polite.“Sorry tobotheryou,but it’surgent.”Rathe gave the room a last

glance, saw nothing thatwould betray Eslingen’spresence, and unfastened thelatch.“Whatisit?”

“Is Philip Eslingen here?”Chaudetasked.Rathe shook his head,

unblushing.“What’swrong?”“Dame van Duiren’s sworn

achargeagainsthim,”Jiemensaid.“On what grounds?” Rathe

asked. He reached for hiscoat, shrugging it onto hisshoulders. The sooner theywere out of his rooms, theless chance there was thatEslingen would betray

himself.“Shesayshetriedtokillher

last night,” Chaudet said.“Presumably at MasterCaiazzo’s behest, but that’snot a point she can claim, atleastnotyet.”“But—” Rathe closed his

lipsfirmlyoverhisautomaticprotest. With Mirremayinvolved, itwas better not toshow his hand immediately.Not to mention that an alibithat consisted of ‘I know

Eslingenwasn’t trying tokillanyone because I was withhim and we were robbing acounting house that justhappens to belong to Damevan Duiren under anothername’ wasn’t likely toimpressanyone.“Isitjustherword?She’sgot a court caseagainst Caiazzo, you know.Andhehasacountersuit,lastI heard. That’s not what I’dcallreliablewitness.”Hewasmovingtowardthedoorashe

spoke, collecting histruncheon and leather jerkinashewent.“Herwordandherknife’s,”

Chaudetsaid.“Theysawhimclearly, and he’s not anunnoticeableman.”“Still,”Rathesaid.Chaudet shrugged. Jiemen

said, “The chief was hopingyoumightspeakforhim.”“I can for some of the

night,” Rathe said, withcaution. ‘I was in bed with

theman’ wasn’t much betterasfarasalibiswent,andevenlesslikelytobebelievedthanburglary.“Inanycase,”Chaudetsaid,

“Mirremaywantsaword.”Rathe slanted a glance at

Jiemen,whoshrugged.“I’mtogoalongwithyou,”

she said. “The chief’sorders.”“Right,” Rathe said. He

moved closer to the door,herding the others out onto

the landing, paused to lockthedoorbehindhim.Eslingenwould have to fend forhimself.It was a bright day, clear,

witha fewhighcloudsandanorthwesterlywind sweepingdownfromtheriver,bringingthefirsttouchofthewintertocome. Chaudet shivered andturned up her collar, the firstsign of weakness Rathe hadseeninher,andJiemenfishedin her pocket for a pair of

half-gloves. Rathe jammedhis hands into his pockets,hunchinghisshoulderstothewind, and looked again atJiemen.“The chief’s sure about

this?”“Van Duiren came to us

with a knife slice along herribsandaswollenjawwheresomeoneknockedherdown,”Chaudet said. “It’s hard toarguewiththat.”Rathenoddedreluctantly. It

wasn’t impossible, he’dknown accusers to markthemselvesbeforenow,butitargued a certain desperation.“Hashercasebeenheard?”Chaudet shot him a glance.

“Funny you should ask that,Rathe.Caiazzo’smanaged toget thewhole lot impounded,locked up in the back of theadvocate’schambers.”Rathe shrugged. “Seems

significant,that’sall.”The main room at Point of

Knives was unexpectedlycrowded, Mirremay’s secondadjunctstandingonastooltoshout down half a dozenwomen and men who facedoff across the width of theroom. They seemed to bearguing about shortmeasure,and Chaudet gave them awideberth.“Upstairs,”shesaid.Mirremay’s workroom was

an oasis of quiet after thenoise downstairs. The stove

waslit,akettlesimmeringonthe hob while one of thestation’s apprentices tendedtheteapot,andathinstickofincensehelpeddrivebackthesmells of the street. VanDuiren reclined on thedaybed,adampclothagainsther jaw, while a serious-lookingyoungphysiciantookherpulse.Thebruisewasrealenough, Rathe saw instantly;herbodicewascut,andtherewasbloodonthefabric,butit

looked as though her stayshad turned the worst of theblade. Mirremay had beenleaningagainsttheendofherworktable, while hersecretary took dictation, butshepushedherselfuprightastheyentered.“Rathe. Chaudet told you

ournews?”“Yes.” Rathe glanced again

atvanDuiren.“Ihopeyou’renotbadlyhurt,dame?”“No thanks to your friend,”

the merchant retorted. “It’sjustluckyIwasn’tkilled.”“Where is Lieutenant

Eslingen?”Mirremayasked.“I’ve no idea,” Rathe

answered.“Hewasn’t there,” Chaudet

said,andJiemennodded.“I’llvouchforthat,chief.”Mirremayliftedaneyebrow.

“Youastonishme.”“And in the meantime, I’m

set upon in the streets,” vanDuiren interjected. “And I

have paid my fees, ChiefPoint.”“Indeed you have,”

Mirremaysaid,“andwe’llgetto the bottom of this. Rathe.What do you know ofEslingen’s movementsyesterday?”“Most of the day we were

together,” Rathe said,cautiously. “We dinedtogether,too.”“And after?” van Duiren

demanded. She sat up,

holding the sliced pieces ofherbodicetogether.“Whatofthenight?”Mirremay didn’t bother to

suppress her grin, but shesaid, “Dame, you should beabed. Isn’t that right,Doctor?”The physician dipped his

head. He bore a Demeanbadge at the collar of hisplain blue robe—but then,Rathe thought, a Demeandoctor was more likely to

cooperate with Mirremaythanwas aPhoeban. “Indeedshe should,ChiefPoint.Andif you’ll permit me, Dame,I’ll see you home and safelysettled.”There was no arguing with

that, though for a momentRathe thought van Duirenwould try. But then shesighed,andletthedoctorhelpher to her feet. “Perhapsyou’re right. But I stand bymycharge,ChiefPoint.”

“We’llfindhim,”Mirremaypromised, and the doctorhelped her away. The noisefrom the main room wassuddenly louder, theargument continuing, andafter a moment Chaudetmoved to close the door.Mirremayleanedbackagainsttheedgeofhertable.“You really don’t know

whereheis,Rathe?”“I do not,” Rathe answered

promptly. “However, while I

hesitate to call a woman ofDame vanDuiren’s stature aliar—”“Oh, go right ahead,”

Mirremay said. “Myguess isshe cut herself, and paid oneofhercarters to takeaswingather.”Rathe paused. “Then—

forgive me, chief, but whyacceptthecharge?”Mirremay looked down her

nose at him, andRathe liftedhis hands. She was after the

gold herself, she’d nevermadeanybonesaboutitevenifshedidplantoturnitinforthe reward, and this was herway of letting van Duirenleadhertoit.“Sorry, I’m slow this

morning.”“You should get more

sleep,”Mirremaysaid.“So you can speak to

Eslingen’s whereabouts?”Chaudetasked.“Yes,thenightlong,”Rathe

answered. “But, Chief Point,if youwant to findwhat vanDuiren’s hiding, I have aproposal for you. Call thepoint, arrest Eslingen—andgive her the rope to hangherself.”Mirremay nodded slowly,

but Chaudet gave him adistinctlydisapprovinglook.“I wouldn’t care to share

yourbed,Rathe.”“Philip’s no fool,” Rathe

said. “He’ll understand.” He

onlyhopeditwastrue.Eslingen waited until he

heard the lock catch and thefootsteps retreat from thedoor before he shruggedhimself into the rest of hisclothes.Heverymuchdidn’tlike the sound of thosecharges—attacking arespectablemerchantwas thesortofthingthatAstreianterstook very seriously, most ofthem being merchants,

respectable and not—and heliked even less being left tofend for himselfwhile Rathewent off to deal withMirremay. It reminded himunpleasantly of how he’dended up working forCaiazzo in the first place:he’d been forced to shoot aman to protect the tavernwhere he’d been working,and even though it was self-defense,he’dspendanightinthe cells at Point of Sighs.

Whenhe’dbeenreleased,thetavernkeeperhaddeclinedtotakehimback,andRathehadtakentheopportunitytoplacehimintoCaiazzo’shouseholdjustincaseCaiazzohadbeenbehind the missing children.Hehadn’tbeen,oratleasthisinvolvement had beenunintentional, but—Ratheseemed to have a knack forcreating awkward situations,atleastforotherpeople.He fastened his stock, not

bothering with a fancy knot,and slipped from the alcovestill in his shirtsleeves. Thepoints were long gone, thegarden empty, and he tookthe time to cut himself acoupleof slicesofbreadandcheese.Hecouldn’tstayhere,not if Rathe wasn’t going togivehimanalibi—though,tobefair,neitherof theoptionswere likely to inspire a greatdealofconfidence—buttherewas also no point in leaving

until he had a destination inmind. There had beenwoodcuts of him and Ratheafter the midsummer rescueof the children; people stillrecognizedhimnowandthen,and the points wouldcertainly have a decentdescription.That meant he should

probably warn Caiazzo thatthis exercise in cooperatingwiththepointswasnotgoingentirely as anticipated. He

stuffed the last of the breadinto his mouth, and stoopedto peer at himself in themirror.Hehadn’tshavedyet,and he wouldn’t; unshavenand with his hair loose, hisclothesfastenedcarelessly,hemight pass without notice.And he could cross to thenorth side of the river,makehis way to Customs Pointalong the opposite bank. Itwould add anhour or two tothe journey, but he wouldn’t

have to cross the districtswherehewasbestknown.He adjusted his hat to

shadow his eyes, and lethimselfoutofRathe’srooms.The courtyard was empty ofpeople, thoughhe couldhearthe clack of the weaver’sloom from the room by thegate, and her goat wasgrazing lazily on its tie. Heshut the gate gently behindhim, and started for theHopes-PointBridge.

The streets were growingbusy, he saw with relief,women heading out on thebusiness of the day,merchants to their shops andcounting houses, servantsbound for the early markets,even a sprinkling of gray-robed students heading homefrom a night in Point ofDreams. Eslingen let himselffallinbehindonesuchgroup,still sleepily giggling to eachother, and hoped to blend in

withthecrowd.The pace slowed as they

approached the foot of thebridge. That was unusual:Hopes-Point was broadenoughtoallowtwocarriagesto pass side-by-side and stillleave room for pedestrians,andEslingenslowedhispace,pausing to consider the gem-like fruits laid out in agreengrocer’stray.Heslanteda glance up the street, andsawthecauseofthedelay.A

pairofpointsmenstoodattheentrance to the bridge, justwhere the road sloped up tomeet the first of the shopsthat perched on the bridgeitself. Eslingen swallowed acurse—of course Rathe’speople were good, and ifRathewashelpingthem—butsurely he wouldn’t be. Hesmiledandshookhisheadatthe watchful grocer, andturnedbacktothesouth.The movement drew

attention, as he’d feared itmight, runningcounter to themajority of the crowd. Hehunchedhisshoulders, tryingtolookshorterandolder,buthecouldfeeltheeyesonhim,scowlsturningtocuriosityashekeptpushingsouth.“Hey!”Eslingen glanced over his

shoulder, saw one of thepointsmen stepping awayfrom his place. He tried tolookawayagain,asthoughit

had been only casualcuriosity,asthoughtheshoutmeant nothing to him, butevenasheturnedhishead,hesaw the other pointsman lifthistruncheon.“Stopthatman.”Eslingen curbed himself

sharply, looked around asthough he had no idea towhom they referred. For amoment, he thought he’dbought enough time to getaroundthenearestcorner,but

then the second pointsmanshoutedagain.“That man, the one in the

bluehat!Stophim!”This time, people did turn,

did stare, surprise turning tosuspicion. Eslingen cursedonce, and bolted, forcing hisway through the crowd.Someonegrabbedathiscoat-tails, but he pulled free,ducking under the nose of astartled cart horse, darteddown the far side of the

street. A whistle shrilledbehind him, and the raucoussound of awatchman’s rattlerose above the suddenhubbub, callingreinforcements.Eslingen swore again,

duckedblindlydownthefirstside street, and reversed hiscourseat thenextcrossroads,heading back into Point ofHopes. He didn’t know thispart of the city aswell as heknew Customs Point, didn’t

dareriskthealleysforfearofbeing caught in a cul-de-sac.At least the whistles werereceding, and he slowed hisstep, trying to becomeinconspicuousagain,toblendintothethinningcrowd.Inthemouthofanalley,he

stopped to tie back his hairand consider his next move.Maybe the baths, he coulddiscardhishatandcoatthere,acquire other in a differentcolor—theywouldn’tfitwell,

but that was probably to thegood. And then find a streetthat ran parallel to CustomsRoad, and somehow getacross Point of Hopes andPoint of Knives to reachCaiazzo’s house. It was justtoo bad this alley ended in abrickwall.Thewhistlessoundedagain,

close behind, and he brokeinto a trot, heading for thenext intersection. Before hecould reach it, a trio of

pointsmen rounded thecorner, truncheons drawn,and the leader pointed her athim.“Stoprightthere,Eslingen.”Eslingenliftedbothhandsin

a conciliatory gesture, andtookacarefulstepbackward.“Sorry,Ithinkyou’vegotthewrongman—”Theyweren’tbuyingit,and

he could see why,remembered the leader frommidsummer as surely as she

remembered him. He turnedon his heel, saw the originalgroupcomingupbehindhim.Thewall thatended thealleywas too high to climb, andthere were no other outlets.His hand dropped to hisknife,buthemadehimselfletit go, lifted his hands insurrender.SurelyRathehadaplan—and if he didn’t,Eslingenhada few thingshecould say, and prove, thatwouldmakeRathe’s life just

amiserableashisown.“You’ll need to come with

us,” the leader said.Eslingencouldn’trememberhername,but he knew he’d seen hermore than once during thesearch for the missingchildren.“What’s the charge?” he

asked.“Dame van Duiren claims

yousetonherlastnight,”theleader answered. “It’s assaultfornow.”

Eslingen refrained fromsayingthatifhehadattackedher, she would in fact bedead. “I was nowhere nearher lastnight,”hesaid.“AndIcanproveit.”“You’ll have your chance,”

the leader answered.Anotherwhistle sounded behind her,andaclosedcarriagedrewupinto the street. Eslingensuppressed a sigh. He’dhoped they might walk toPoint of Hopes, that there

mightbea chance tomakeabreak for it, but evidentlythey weren’t going to takeany chances. One of thepointsmen held open thecarriagedoor,andheclimbedreluctantly into the scuffedinterior. Another pointsmanclimbed in after him,followed by the leader, whostoodinthedoorlongenoughtospeaktothedriver.“Point of Knives, quick as

youcan.”

“PointofKnives?”Eslingensaid.“That’swherethepointwas

called,” the leader answered,and closed the door behindher.Thecarriagelurchedintomotion.The cells at Point of

Knives were surprisinglycomfortable—better thanPoint of Hopes by a longshot, and more freshlypainted than Point of Sighs.

The furniture, low cot andthree-legged stool, wasnewer, too, and Eslingenleaned back against thewall,wondering how exactly he’dmanaged to experience thecells in three different pointsstations when he’d been lessthan six months in the city.NicolasRathe, thatwashow,and he hoped to hell Rathedidinfacthavesomekindofplan. At least there was awindow, set too high in the

wall to reach, but it let inlightandair,andtheblanketslooked reasonably thick.Though with any luck, hewouldn’t have to spend thenight.The door at the end of the

corridoropened,andhecametohisfeet,watchingthedoor.Sure enough, it was Rathewho appeared, but he didn’tseem to have a key in hishand,cameinsteadtostandatthedoor’sbarredopening.

“I’m sorry about this,” hesaid.“Ishouldhopeso,”Eslingen

answered. “Haven’t weplayedthisgamebefore?”Rathehad thegrace to look

embarrassed. “It seems tohappen,yes.”“It happened because you

didn’t tell them I was withyou.”Eslingenkepthisvoicedown with an effort. Hedidn’treallywanttohavethisargument within the hearing

oftheentirestation.“There’s a reason for that

—”“There’d better be a good

one.”“Iwanttomakethepointon

vanDuiren,”Rathesaid.“Andnothingelsematters?”

Eslingen felt his voice scaleup, and controlled himselfsharply.Ratheglaredathim.“Thisis

ending, right? Winter-loversandall that?Sowhat is there

tomatter?”“Friendship? Respect?

Being able to work togetheragain?”Eslingenglaredback.“Minorthingslikethat?”“Doyouwantthewomanto

get away with this?” Rathedemanded.“ThiswasthebestthingIcouldcomeupwithatthetime.”Eslingentookabreath.“Do

youactuallyhaveaplan?”“Yes.”Ratheleanedagainst

thedoor,graspingthebarsas

though he was the prisoner.“ButIstillneedyourhelp.”“Of course you have a

plan.” Eslingen turned away,shakinghishead.“Ido,”Rathesaid.“Well?”“Withyouarrested, andme

presumably cowed—becauseshe knows damn well wherewe were last night—she’sgotten rid of the only peoplewho have real incentive tokeep her from getting the

gold,” Rathe said promptly.“So we make your arrestknown, and then you and Iwait to see what she does.And stop her when sherecoversthegold.”Eslingen stared at him.

“That’syourplan.”“Yeah.” Rathe shrugged,

one corner of his mouthturningup in awry smile. “Ididn’t say it was brilliant, IsaiditwaswhatIhad.”There was a little silence,

and then Eslingen shook hishead, his mouth twitchinginto an answering grin.“Damnit,Nico.Allright,I’min.”“Thank you,” Rathe said,

and pushed himself awayfromthedoor.“Hey, wait!” Eslingen

pointed to the lock. “Aren’tyougoingtoletmeout?”“Not yet,” Rathe answered.

“Philip, it needs to look real.I’ll bring you dinner from

Amanto’s.”“And a bottle of good

wine,” Eslingen called afterhim, but the pointsman wasgone. Eslingen shook hishead, not sure whether hewanted to laugh or curse.Only Rathe, he thought, andsettledhimselftowait.Rathe paid for a better

dinner than he couldgenerally afford, had itdeliveredtoEslingen’scellas

atokenofapology.Hedidn’tquitehave thecourage toseehow it was received,however, and concentratedinstead on his own plans.Mirremaywas happy enoughto loan him apprentice andrunners, enough to set acarefulwatchonvanDuiren,butforthebulkofthedayshestayed close to home. Herownphysiciancameandwent—looking annoyed, therunner reported—andvarious

large young men weremaking theirpresenceknownat the doors, but otherwiseshe was staying home andresting, as one would expectafteranattack.“Which does make me

wonder just abit,”Mirremaysaid,withathoughtfullookatRathe. They sat in herworkroomatoppositeendsofthelongtable,apileofslatesandscrapsofpapersbetweenthem.

Rathe shrugged, refusing tobe goaded. “Eslingen wasn’tknifingDamevanDuirenlastnight, chief. I can attest tothat.”Shelookedforamomentas

though she was going tomake an obscene quibble,thenshookherhead.“Bethatas it may, she’s not exactlydoing anything actionablenow.Infact—”“I know,” Rathe said.

“She’s doing exactly what

you’d predict.” He pushedhimself away from the table.“Butthisisherbestchancetogetateitherthegolditself, ifshe knows where it is, orwhatever it is that tells herwhereOldSteenhidit.”“That’s pushing it, Rathe,”

Mirremay said. “All thepapers, hers and Caiazzo’s,have been impounded by thejudge.”“Not all of them,” Rathe

said. “Dame Lulli—she was

Grandad’s landlady—shehadpapers that belong tobothofthem. I sealed them inGrandad’s room,and they’venot been sent for. The judgesaidtoleavethemthere.”“You’re sure?” Mirremay

asked.Rathe nodded. “I sent a

runner to double check. I’vewarnedDameLulli,andshe’stakingherself andherpeopleoff for the night, leaving thehouse for us. That’s where I

thinkvanDuiren’sgoing.”“You’d better be right,”

Mirremaysaid.“I know,” Rathe said, and

let himself out of theworkroom.Andifhedidfindgold or the key to it—whatthen? He couldn’t just letEslingen take it, though inmanyways thatmightbe theleastcomplicatedsolution;hedidn’t really want to letMirremay claim the reward,either, but she would be in

her rights to claim a share,and Monteia wouldn’t standagainsther.Itmightbebetterif he didn’t find anything,except that then it would behanging over their heads,missing gold ready to causetrouble….Heshookhishead.Therewasonemoreerrandtorun before he could releaseEslingenandsethistrap,andhe couldn’t pretend he waslookingforwardtoit.Butthetower clock was striking

three, and there wouldn’t betime to get toCustomsPointand back before dark if hedidn’thurry.Caiazzo’s house was

expensively plain, the stonecorner pieces brought bybarge from Courtheim, thewood of the door polishedmahara from the Silklands,the brass fittings beautifullycast and scrupulouslypolished. As always, Rathefelt even more disheveled

than usual as he turned thebell-key,anddrewhimselfupto his full height as a maidneat as a pin drew the doorback.Caiazzowas southriverborn, for all his currentwealth; they were two of akind.“AdjunctPointRathe,tosee

MasterCaiazzo.”She bobbed the slightest of

curtsies.“Yes,AdjunctPoint,hewasexpectingyou.”I was afraid he might be.

Rathe swallowed the wordsastoorevealing,andfollowedherup thebroadcentral stairtoCaiazzo’sworkroom.Caiazzo’sclerkhurriedpast

them on the landing, andRathewasunsurprisedtofindthe merchant venturer aloneinthepaneledworkroom.Theafternoon light slanted in thelong windows, warming thespaceandraisingthesmellofbeeswax from the polishedwood.

“So,”Caiazzo said.Hewasstanding at one end of thecounter, very neat in anexpensive suit of dark greenwool.Hishairwascroppedasshort as a working man’s,incongruously so, but then,Rathe thought, Caiazzo wasalways a practical man. “Ihearyou’vecalledapointonthemanIsenttohelpyou.”Words and tone were

unexpectedly moderate, butRathe still took amoment to

consider his answer. “I did,”hesaidatlast.“Youcan’tbeserious.”“I’m not,” Rathe said. That

earnedaliftedeyebrow.“Goon.”“You’veheardthisalready,”

Rathesaid.Caizzogrinned.“Inpointof

fact, I have, or at least someofit.ButI’dliketohearyourversion.”“It’ssimpleenough,”Rathe

said. “Iwant the personwho

killedGrandadandhisson.Ifit’s not vanDuiren, though Ithinkitis,sheknowswhodidit. If she thinks your knife isoutofthepicture,she’llmakeher move—she has to,because she’s not going towinthecourtcase.”“No more is she,” Caiazzo

said.“Butwhatmakesyousosure the courts haven’talready impounded whateveritisshe’slookingfor?”“Iftheyhad,she’dbetrying

to make a deal with you,”Rathesaid.Caiazzo nodded slowly.

“Fairenough.Sowhatbringsyoutome?”“Three things,” Rathe said.

“First, I wanted to tell youmyself what had happenedwithPhilip—withEslingen.”“Which I appreciate,”

Caiazzosaid.“And Iwanted towarnyou

that tonightmight be a goodtime to stay at home, among

witnesses. I’d very muchprefer that your presence beaccounted-for, so vanDuirencan’tmakeanywildclaims.”“That’s very…tactful,”

Caiazzosaid.Rathe shrugged. “I want a

clean point, or I wouldn’tbother. And I am serious.Whatever she’s after, you’rebetter off not involved, andwith an alibi that even yourown advocates couldn’tbreak.”

“I always take youseriously, Adjunct Point,”Caiazzosaid.“AndIpromiseyou,Iwon’tbeanywherethatDame van Duiren cancomplain of.” He paused.“So.That’stwo.What’syourthird?”“You paid Eslingen’s bond

to keep his pistols here,”Rathe said. “I want them.Andhisshotandpowder.”Caiazzo’s narrow eyebrows

rosesharply,buthemovedto

the end of the table, rang asilver bell that was standingthere. A few moments later,an older man appeared—thehouse steward, Ratheguessed. Caiazzo reachedunderhis coat, cameupwithasmallringofkeys.“GotoLietenantEslingen’s

rooms, and bring back thecase of pistols he keepsthere.”The steward bowed stiffly

and disappeared again.

CaiazzolookedatRathe.“Isthatnecessary?”“I hope not,” Rathe

answered.“But….”“Inthatcase,”Caiazzosaid,

“I will be doubly careful tostayoutofyourway.”Thestewardreturnedwitha

polished wooden box, boundinbrassandfittedwithasolidlock.“I’d open it for you,”

Caiazzosaid,withirony,“butEslingenhastheonlykey.”

“I’m shocked” Ratheanswered, and Caiazzo lifteda hand, acknowledging thehit.“Don’t getmy knife killed,

Rathe. He’s actually good athisjob.”ThestewardledRatheback

tothemaindoor—noonewasgoing to leave himunobserved for a moment inCaiazzo’s house, no matterhow much their interestscurrentlyranparallel—andhe

tuckedtheboxunderhisarm,wondering if it was obviousto everyone that he wascarryingabraceofpistols.AtleastCaiazzoseemedinclinedtotakehimseriously,andthatmeant that he and Eslingencouldconcentrateonstoppingvan Duiren—although therewas something aboutCaiazzo’s attitude that lefthim worried. The man wasalways cocksure, but rarelythis calm about something

that touched his business sonearly,andhe’dgivenupthepistols far too quickly. Wasthisallsomeplanofhis?Hadhe already given orders forEslingentokill thewomanifhegotachance?Rathe shook his head. That

wasn’t outside of possibility,at least not where Caiazzowas concerned, but hecouldn’t see Eslingen goingalong with it. And murderwas business for an outside

knife anyway, with nohouseholdties,notthepublicbodyguard. Still, he couldn’tquiteshakethefeelingthathewasmissingsomething.Dinnerhadarrivedwitha

table and chair, and anunlocked door so thatEslingen had access to thenecessary without having toshout for aguard.Of course,the door at the end of thewingofcellswasstilllocked,

soitwasacheapconcession,but he wasn’t going tocomplain too loudly.At leastnot until Rathe was there tolisten.He cut himself another

sliver of the onion tart, lessbecause he was hungry thanbecausehewasbored,andsetit down untasted as he heardthe outer door open. Amoment later, Rathe pushedopenthecelldoor.Eslingen’seyes went instantly to the

familiarboxunderhisarm.“You’reexpectingtrouble?”“I think we should be

prepared.” Rathe’s tone wasgrim.Eslingen lifted an eyebrow

at that, but took the box,reachedintohispursefor thekey. “Maybe you shouldexplain what you have inmind,” he said, and seatedhimselfonthefootofthebed.“Ithinkshe’sgoingtobreak

into Dame Lulli’s tonight,”

Rathe said. “That’s the placeshecangetat that shehasn’tsearched.”“Then shouldn’t we be

searching it first?” Eslingenasked. He opened the box,took out the pistols and thepowderflask.“We’ll do that, yes,” Rathe

said. “Now that Mirremay’sgivenmepermissiontobreakthe seals. But I want vanDuiren.”Eslingen folded the patch

aroundtheballandrammedithome.“Justyouandme?”Rathe nodded. “Mirremay

isn’tthatconvincedI’mright.And vanDurien fee’d her tolookafterherinterests.”“That seems awfully

convenient,” Eslingen said.Herammedhomethesecondball, and checked to be sureboth weapons were safely athalf-cock.“Yes, Mirremay would

prefer that any awkward

consequences fall on me,”Rathe said. “And, no, she’snot going to send us at thehead of half-a-dozen strongpoints.Thusthepistols.”“Right,” Eslingen said. “I

can’tsaythatI’mreassured.”“At least we can be sure

Caiazzo won’t be in theway,” Rathe said, andsnaggedapieceofthetart.“Oh?”“I told him what we were

doing,”Rathesaid,somewhat

indistinctly.“Andtoldhimtostayhome.”“Let’s hope he does it,”

Eslingensaid.“If he doesn’t, then any

points called are his owndamnfault,”Rathesaid.They made their way to

Dame Lulli’s house as theday-sun was brushing thetops of the houses, theirshadows stretching longbehind them. Lulli herselfwaswaitingatthealleydoor,

let them in to the backgarden. She looked bothweary and afraid, Eslingenthought,andRathetreatedherwithcare.“Grandad’s room is as you

left it, Adjunct Point,” shesaid, as she led them downthedarkhallway.“Andsinceyouchasedoffthebailiffs,noone’s made inquiries, bar awoman from the judge. ButI’vekeptmymanondutydayandnight,andhiredasecond

tohelphim.”“That’s probably why you

haven’t had any trouble,”Rathe said, with a fleetingsmile.“Atwhat I’mpayinghim, I

should hope so,” Lullianswered. “Do you want theloanofoneorbothof them?Youmightfindthemuseful.”“No, thanks,” Rathe

answered. “It’s better if wekeepitapointsmatter.”“Asyouplease,”Lulli said.

She fished under her skirts,and came up with a ring ofkeys. “This is for all thehouse,”shesaid,andbegantoname them, Rathe noddingattentively. Eslingen let hisattention wander, surveyingtheparlorandtheotherroomsoff the hall. The house wassturdily built, not the sort ofplace where the mere thrustof a pike could break openthe shutters, and he allowedhimselftorelaxjustalittle.If

Rathe were right about vanDuiren’splans—andthatwashis job, toknowwhatpeoplelike her would do—theystood a decent chance ofstopping her, particularly ifthey could take her bysurprise.Eslingen watched from the

back door as Rathe escortedLulli to the alley gate, andthen barred the door behindhim as he returned. The barlooked sturdy, andhe looked

atRathe.“I thought you wanted her

togetin.”“Ido.”Rathetestedthebar,

and nodded. “But we can’tmake it look too easy. Aburglar’s jemmywill lift thatwithoutmuchtrouble.”“If you say so,” Eslingen

said,andRathegrinned.“It’sabit likemyuniversal

key.Youhavetobeabitofaspecialist to want one, but—theydowork.”

Eslingen shook his head.“Nowwhat?”“Firstwegetsetup,”Rathe

said. “And then we take alookatGrandad’sthings.”Grandad’sroomwastoward

thebackof thehouse, acrossfrom the pantry. It hadprobably once been a secondstoreroom, Eslingen guessed,but itwasaconvenientplacetoputamanwhomindedthedoor and lit the first fires inthe mornings. The lock was

covered with a huge blob ofwax, marked with animperfect impression of theseal on Rathe’s truncheon.Rathe lit the dark lantern,though he left the shuttersopen, and drew his knife,holding the blade to heat intheflame.“Another unsuspected

talent,” Eslingen said. Heslipped his pistols out of thebag thathadconcealed them,and checked the priming

powder.“Don’t tell me you never

stoleanythinginallyourdayssoldiering,”Rathesaid.“We never worried about

hiding our tracks,” Eslingensaid.“Isupposeyouwouldn’t,at

that,”Rathesaid.Heheldtheknife’s blade close to hispalm to test the temperature,thensliditbehindtheknotofwax. The hot blade slid alittle way and then stuck.

Rathepulled it free, reheatedit, and tried again. It took adozen passes, heating andreheating the blade, beforethe wax gave way. Rathecaught it in his cupped handand set it carefully aside.Helooked into the room,checking that the shutterswere still sealed, and thenpicked up the lantern.Eslingen followed him intothe room, one pistol in hisbelt, the other ready in his

hand.The space was definitely a

converted storeroom, stillsmelling faintly of candlesand Silklands spice. It wascomfortably furnished, acurtained bed wedged intoonecorner,achestatitsfoot,and there was a small tableand a pair of chairs againsttheoppositewall.Theirpaintwas shabby,but thecushionswere new, as were thebedcurtains and the neatly

folded blankets. His housealtar was a traveling shrinehanging above the table, thedouble doors folded shut.Eslingen opened themcarefully, saw withoutsurprise that small statues ofOrianeandSeidosflankedanincense burner shaped likethe Sea-bull. A smallcandelabrum stood on thetable,anda lamphungat thehead of the bed: ship-shape,Eslingen thought, every inch

ofspaceputtogooduse,andeverything tucked carefullyaway.Rathewas already kneeling

bythechest,universalkeyinhand, and a moment laterlifted the heavy lid. Therewas a tray inside, and Rathelifted it out, checked quicklythrough the clothes below itbeforeloweringthelidgentlyintoplace.“Nothing else in there,” he

said, and rose to set the tray

onthetable.Eslingensethispistol aside

and lit the candles, andtogether they went throughthe miscellany that Grandadhad accumulated. Most of itwas unimportant—a fewpieces of jewelry, an ivorystatue of a Silklands dancer,one footcrackedandbroken,an oiled purse that held ahandful of larger coins—andRatheshookhishead.“Nothing.”

“The papers?” Eslingenpointed to abundle tiedwithblue string, but Rathe wasalreadypickingattheknot.“They look like letters,” he

said, and spread them on thetable. “No, hang on, I’ve gotsomecontractshere,oldones—andIthinkthesearecharts.Takealook.”Eslingen took the packet

eagerly, unfolded the sheetsin the overlapping circles ofthe candle’s light. “Charts,

yeah, but for Silklands ports.Nothing in Astreiant—nothingeven inChenedolle.”He folded them backtogether, frowning. “YoungSteen said his father didn’tmakemaps.”“I know,” Rathe said. He

shookhishead.“Anditlookslikehemeantit.Nothingherethat’s of any use.” He retiedthe string around the bundle.“But if Old Steen wasn’tleaving something with his

father,whykilltheoldman?”“Because he was a

witness?”Eslingenasked.“If you wanted to avoid

witnesses, all you’d have todo was wait until Old Steenleft the yard,” Rathe said.“Thatwayyouwouldn’thaveto worry about someone inthe house seeing you. Therehastobesomethinghere.”Unless you’ve gotten it allwrong, Eslingen thought, butthat was something he

couldn’t say. Rathe frownedagain, staring at theaccumulation of material,thenreachedforthepouchofcoins.Hespreadthemoutonthe table, turning them eachheads up, and in spite ofhimself Eslingen leanedcloser. They were mostlylargersilvercoins,andmostlyforeign, a pair of Chadronidemi-marks, silver statersfrom half the cities of theLeague,andRathepickedout

the gold, sliding them awayfromtheothers.Itwasa tidyhoard, Eslingen thought: aSilklands gold-pillar as longas a finger-joint, a notchedChadroni kingsmark, anAltheim stater that lookedbright and new. Even as hefrownedatthethought,Rathereachedforthestater,turningitinthelight.“This is it,”hesaid.“Look,

nocustomsmark.”Eslingen took it from him.

Sure enough, the stamp wasmissing, and he cocked hisheadatRathe.“Allright,thismaywellbefromOldSteen’scargo—”“I’dlaymoneyit is,”Rathe

said. “Theother coins are allmarked.”“But what good is one

coin?” Eslingen handed itback.“Doctrine of Resonances,”

Rathe said. “The part canstandforthewhole,right?”

“Right.” Eslingen knew hesoundeddoubtful.“I’ve seen this before,”

Rathe said. “With the rightspell—which I don’t know,butanycompetentmagistcandeduce, it’s a well-knownclass of spells—you can useoneobjectofagroup to leadyoutoalltheothers.Thisonecoinwillleadustotherest.”“Thenlet’spackthisup,and

go find it.” Eslingen knewbefore thewordswereoutof

his mouth that Rathewouldn’t buy it, but hewentonanyway.“Comeon,Nico,surely the most importantthingistosecurethisuntaxedgold before some dubiousmagisttriestoturnitintocut-rateaurichalcum.”“The most important thing

is catching the person whokilled Grandad and OldSteen,” Rathe said. “And ifthat wasn’t van Duiren, sheknowswhodid.”

And without the coin, nooneelsewouldbeabletofindthe missing chest. Eslingennodded.“Allright.”Theyput theroomtorights

and blew out the candlesbefore retreating to thehallway. Rathe busiedhimself reapplying the waxseal to the door—not aperfectjob,Eslingenthought,but itwouldcertainlypass inthedimlight.Heturnedtothestoreroom, pushed back the

door, pleased to find thehingeswell-oiled,andlookedinside.Therewasnowindow,buttherewerecounterswheretheycouldwait,andwiththedoor half open they had adecent view of Grandad’sdoor.Rathecametojoinhim,carryingthedarklantern,andEslingen stepped back to lethimin.“What if they come in

through the windows?” heasked.

Rathe shrugged. “I doubttheywill—ifthey’regoingtoslip a bar,might as well usethedoor,it’seasier.Butifforsome reason they do, we’llhear them. Grandad’s door’sonlyheldbythewax.”That made sense. “How

longdoyou thinkwe’llhaveto wait? I don’t have yourexperienceinthesematters.”“Well, if itwasme,”Rathe

said, “I’d break in betweensunset and second sunrise,

when everything’s nice anddark.”“Soon,then,”Eslingensaid,

and slid the lantern’s shutterclosed.Rathe’s voice came out of

the dark. “Yeah. So beready.”Rathe rested his hips

against the counter, everyshift of weight seemingthunderous in the silence.Behind him, he heard

Eslingen sigh, and then thecountercreakedasittooktheLeaguer’sweight.Heslippedhis hand into his pocketagain,runninghisthumboverthe rough surface. Altheim’scoinswerecrudelymade,butthis one would serve itspurpose, would lead anyonewho knew the spell to themissing chest and itscontents. Eslingen hadbacked off once, but they’dhave thediscussionagain,he

knew. If he gave it toMonteia, Mirremay wouldclaim at least a half share; ifhegaveittotheSurintendant—well, he’d be going overMonteia’shead,deprivingherofthereward,andwouldearnan enemy where he couldn’tafford one. If only therewassome way to lose the damnthing. Eslingen would neverconsent to that, though, andhe dragged hismind back tothemoment.

Van Duiren had to becoming soon, he thought. Itwas getting close to secondsunrise, and the winter-sunstillgaveenough lightat thistime of year that surelysomeone would see anyonewhotriedtobreakinthrougha locked alley gate. Unlessshewantedtowaituntilmuchlater,whenshecouldassumeeveryone was abed—but thewinter-sunwas even brighterthen, and Point of Hopes

patrolled here regularly. No,byallsense,sheshouldhavebeenherebynow.Unless he’d gotten it

completelywrong.Hewincedat the thought, made himselfgo back over his reasoning.Van Duiren wanted the gold—probably tosell it to roguemagists, but that wasn’t allthatimportant.Whatmatteredwas that she could get herhandson it, and for that, sheneededthekeythatOldSteen

had left with his father.Presumably she had knownabout that, or she wouldn’thavekilledGrandad—He swore under his breath.

Therewasoneotherwaythatshe could get her hands onOldSteen’sgoods,andonallof them, not just things he’dleftwithhisfather.Thecourthadimpoundedthem,yes,butthemarriage linesweregoodenough to convince; ifCaiazzo hadn’t posted his

complaint, Young Steen’scase wasn’t solid enough tojustifykeepingaman’sgoodsfrom his lawful wife. AndCaiazzo—he’dagreed tostayout of things just a little tooeasily. What were his exactwords? I won’t be anywherethat Dame van Duiren cancomplain of. And of courseshe couldn’t complain of hispresence, if he was meetingheratherbehest.Igotitwrong.I’vegottenit

all wrong, and HanselinCaiazzo is going to diebecauseofit.He controlled his racing

thoughts, reached for thelantern and snapped theshutteropen.“What?” Eslingen slid off

thecounter,liftinghispistol.“If Caiazzo was going to

meetsomeone,makeadeal,atrade,wherewouldhego?”“What?” Eslingen said

again.

“Think, damn it!” Ratheshook himself. “Philip, I gotit wrong. Van Duiren’s notcoming here, she’s going tokill Caiazzo. How else canshegetcontrolofOldSteen’sgoods?”For what seemed an

eternity, Eslingen stared athim,andthenRathesawhimtake a deep breath. “IfCaiazzo’s really meeting her—I’d guess the Snake andStaves,bytheCauseway.It’s

aneutralspot.”Rathe swore again. That

was at the easternmost edgeof thecity, too far towalk—maybe toofareven ina low-flyer.Buttheyhadtotry.He sent Eslingen ahead to

find a low-flyer, stayed justlong enough to lock thedoors, thenheadedafterhim.At the crossroads, he lookedaround, hoping against hopetoseearunnerorapatrollingpointsman, but there was no

oneinsight.“Nico!” Eslingen leaned

downfromthestepofalow-flyer, and Rathe caught hisarm, hauled himself aboard.The low-flyer jerked intomotion, andEslingen openedthe trap to give directions tothedriver.Rathesawthemannod, then heard the crack ofthe whip as he urged hishorsetogreatereffort.The streets were relatively

quiet in the hour or so of

darkness between sunset andsecondsunrise,but thedockstook full advantage of theextra hours of light, and asthey made their way deeperintoCustoms Point, the low-flyerslowedtoatrotandthentoawalk.Rathesworeagain,leaningout thedoor to judgetheir progress. Ahead, thestreet was filled withstevedores, carrying framesontheirbacks,shiftinggoodsfrom a warehouse to a dray

pulled by a team of fourhorses. Other wagons weregetting through, but notquickly, and the air was fullof shouted orders and thewhistleofthecarters’men.“Damnit!”“We’re not far now,”

Eslingensaid.Heopened thetrap, tugged at the driver’scoat.“Letusdownhere!”The driver pulled the low-

flyer to a rattling halt, andthey scrambled out, Eslingen

handing up the coins for thefare.“Whichway?”Ratheasked,

andtheLeaguerpointed.“That way.Where Sorrows

crossestheCustomsRoad.”They shouldered their way

past the warehouse, Rathequickening his pace as soonas they were clear of thecrowd. The streets were stillactive, lamps and mage-fireglowing in about half thewarehouses, merchants-

venturer inventorying theirfinal cargoes, or preparing alast run before the weatherbroke. Rathe could smell theriver, mud and tar, andguessed the tide was on theturn.Eslingen turned south onto

Sorrows Street, away fromthe river and into aneighborhood where thehouseswerefurtherapartandbacked onto marshy fields.The Snake and Staves was a

larger building, three storieswith a separate stable thatbacked onto the marsh, butthegroundfloorshutterswereallclosed,andonlyafewdimlights showed in the upperwindows.“Oh, Astree,” Rathe

breathed.“Philip—”“It’s all right,” Eslingen

said.“They’llbeoutback.”If they’rehereatall. Rathe

swallowed the words, andfollowed the Leaguer across

the stable court, glad to feeldirt underfoot instead ofbetraying pavers. The stable,too, was closed up tight, nosign of hostlers or servantsstirringanywhere.“He’s here,” Eslingen said,

softly,asifhe’dreadRathe’smind. “Caiazzo pays for hisprivacy.”And paid well, too, Rathe

guessed. Only a sizable sumwould persuade an innkeeperto close up so thoroughly at

such a relatively early hour.He only hoped it wasn’tgoingtobackfire.Eslingen caught his sleeve,

and pulled him into theshadowoftheinn’ssidewall.“There’s another barn outback, on the edge of themarsh. That’s where he’llbe.”“Lookouts?”Ratheasked.“Thereshouldbe,”Eslingen

answered, “but I don’t seeany.”

Maybehe’snothere.Rathekilledthat thought,andeasedcloser to the inn’sbackwall.Sure enough, there was asmall barn, perched on theedge of one of the marshchannels—an excellent wayfor visitors to arrive unseen,or for disposing ofinconvenient things, hethought. There was a benchbythecloseddoor,butitwasempty—and then his eyesfocusedonthebundlethatlay

beneathit,halfinandhalfoutof its shadow. Frowning, hereached for his glass, and initscircle,theshadowresolveditself into a body, one legsprawling into sight. “Therewas one, at least,” he said,andpointed.Eslingenswore.“Idon’tsee

anyoneelse,”hesaid.“We’llhavetochanceit.”Chance crossing open

groundinthefulllightofthewinter-sun, Rathe thought,

withnowayofknowingwhomight be watching fromwithin.“Lovely,”hesaid.Eslingen drew his pistols,

brought them both to fullcock, the sound of thehammers loud in the still air.“Go.”Rathe took a deep breath

and launched himself fromthe shadows.Anysecond,heexpectedashout,orthecrackofapistol,buthe fetchedupagainst thebarn’s roughwall

without incident. He pressedhis ear against the wood,thought he could hearmuffled sounds from within,but nothing clear. He edgedtoward the window, but itwasshutteredfromtheinside.Hewaved toEslingen, and amomentlatertheLeaguerhadjoinedhim.“Is there another way in?”

Ratheasked.“Around the back,”

Eslingen answered. “There’s

adock….”Of course there was, and

equally surely van Duiren’smen would be watching it,butitwasamarginallybetterchoice than trying to get inthemaindoor.RathesawthesameawarenessinEslingen’seyes, and the Leaguershrugged.“Let’sgo,”Rathesaid.They slipped along the side

of the building, duckingunder the single window. It,

too, was shut fast, shutteredfrom within, but there wasdefinitely a sound of voices.Rathe cocked his head,straining to hear, but couldmake out nothing useful.There were two speakers, aman and a woman—at leasthe’d guessed right, hethought, andwaved Eslingenon.TheLeaguertooktwosteps,

and stopped abruptly, thebarrelofhispistol tohis lips

toenjoinsilence.Rathefroze,and Eslingen mouthed,“Guard.”Damn it. Rathe said softly,

“Howmany?”Eslingen held up a single

finger. He started to take astep forward, but Rathecaughthissleeve,pullinghimback into the shadows. Hedrew his truncheon instead,and Eslingen nodded,flattening himself furtheragainst the wall to let Rathe

past. Rathe peered carefullyaround thecorner.Yes, therehe was, a big man in asailor’s short coat and widetrousers, his attention on therising winter-sun and thechannelswebbing themarsh.Rathe hefted his truncheon,judgingtheblow,andsteppedoutonto thedock.Thewoodcracked under his step, andthe man started to turn, butRathe brought his truncheonsharplyacross the sideofhis

head. The man sank with abreathy moan, and Rathecaught him before he hit theground.“Philip!”Eslingen slipped forward,

helped drag theman into theshadows. Rathe felt for apulse at his neck, found one,weakandthready,andpushedhimself upright. Thewoundedwouldhavetowait,unless…. He looked sharplyatEslingen.

“Tell me he’s not one ofyours.”“Never seen him before in

my life,” Eslingen answeredpromptly, and Rathe gave asighofrelief.“Right,then.”Rathestepped

backontothedockandeasedup to the single narrowwindow. The shutters wereclosed, but not properlylatched,andhecouldjustseea sliverof the lamp-lit room,hear the rise and fall of

voices. He could seeCaiazzo’s magist AicelinDenizard standing to oneside,herhandsliftedtoshowthem empty andunthreatening; beyond hershoulder, he saw a flicker ofsomething dark, probablyCaiazzo’scoat,butthefigurestepped back out of sightbefore he could be sure. Hecould just see the edge ofanotherwoman’s skirt, and aman’s leather-clad shoulder,

and guessed that was vanDuiren and at least onehenchman.“What are you, stupid?”

That was Caiazzo’s voice.“Do you have any idea howclosely the University istrackinggoldthesedays?”Rathe glanced over his

shoulder. “Does the doorhaveabar?”Eslingen shook his head.

“Lockonly.”Thank Astree for small

favors. Rathe turned back tothewindow.VanDruienhadmoved slightly, and now hecould see that she had adouble-barreled pistol in herhand.“I’m getting the gold,” she

said.“Youhadyourchance.”She lifted her hand, and

Rathe swore. “Philip! Thedoor!”Eslingen braced himself,

and gave the door two solidkicks. The lock snapped, the

door flying back, and theyburst together into the room.The man in leather turned,reaching for his knife, andRathebroughthimdownwitha single blow of thetruncheon. There was asecond man, he saw, and athird, both carrying swords.Eslingen fired once, broughtdown the most distant manbefore he could draw hissword, and immediatelyleveled the second pistol at

vanDuiren.“Don’tmove,Dame.”She brought the pistol up

anyway, almost in reflex,thenswung thebarrel towardCaiazzo. Eslingen pulled thetrigger, but his pistol missedfire,justapuffofsmokefromthe lock.Eslingen reversed itinstantly, and in the samemomentCaiazzomoved, onehand going to his sleeve andcomingoutwitha thinknife.He flung it expertly, andvan

Duiren staggered, bothbarrels firing wide. She fellbackwards, clawing at theknife in her throat, and laystill.“Hold it right there,”Rathe

said, to the third man, whodropped his sword and liftedbothhands.“I didn’t want any of this,

pointsman—”“Tie him up,” Rathe said,

and Eslingen hastened toobey, using the man’s

neckclothtosecurehishandsbehindhisback.“Just in the nick of time,”

Caiazzo said, straighteninghissleeves.“Well, I, for one, am

grateful,” Denizard said, andthere was a definite note ofreproofinhervoice.“And so am I,” Caiazzo

said. “But they cut it a bitclose.”“If you’d mentioned you

had plans beside staying

home—home where you’dhavebeen safe, by theway,”Rathe said, “I might havegottenheresooner.”Caiazzo waved a hand,

dismissing the subject. “Andall for nothing. The bastardsank his money, and there’snotellingwhereit’sgone.”“Sankit?”Ratheasked.“There was a note in his

effects,”Caiazzosaid.“Which neither of you was

supposed to have access to,”

Rathesaid.“Oh,really,AdjunctPoint.”

Caiazzogrinned,unrepentant.“You can’t expect anyone totakethatseriously.”“Yes, actually, Ido,”Rathe

said.Caiazzo ignored him.

“Therewasanoteforhisson,warninghimtokeephisnoseoutofthebusinessbecausehe—Old Steen—had sunk thechest in the marshes.” Heglanced at the broken door,

the channels beyond, andshook his head. “It’s lost forgood,I’mafraid.”Rathecould feel thecoin,a

weight in his pocket, caughtEslingen giving him a warylook. He returned a sternglare, willing him to keepsilent, and said, “Pity, that.Butatleastnoone’sgoingtostand a point tonight.” Helooked at Denizard. “Magist,would you rouse the house?Have them send someone to

Customs Point, tell them tosendasmanymenastheycanspare.”“At once,” Denizard said.

She stepped over vanDuiren’s body, unlocked thefront door, and disappearedintothedark.“Master Caiazzo, if you’ll

wait here.” Rathe movedtoward the back door, andCaiazzoliftedhishead.“Eslingen.Gowithhim.”“Absolutely,”Eslingensaid.

Rathe walked out onto thedock, all too aware ofEslingen at his side, stoppedat the end, where the waterstill lapped against thepilings.“You’ve got the damn

coin,”Eslingensaid.“Giveittohim.”“I can’t.” Rathe shoved his

hands into his pockets,feelingthemetalroughunderhisfingers.“Philip,youknowIcan’t.”

“He’sgoingtouseittofundhis caravans,” Eslingen said.“Youknowthat.”“Yes, probably, though

there’s nothing to stop himselling it to the magists—”Rathe stopped, silence byEslingen’s lifted eyebrow.“All right,yes,he’ll fundhiscaravans.It’sstillillegal.”“Soareyougoingtogiveit

to Mirremay?” Eslingendemanded. “That would beutterlyandentirelylegal,and

she’dusetherewardtomakeher little fiefdom evenstronger. But that would beaccordingtothelaw.”“It would be,” Rathe said.

Thegoldwaslost,sunkinthemarsh where it was unlikelyanyone would find it exceptby happenstance. He couldaffordtolosethekeyaswell.He turned the coin overagain, slipped it from hispocket.Itglinteddullyin thewinter-sun’s light, a disk no

wider than the joint of histhumb. He squinted into thedark,seeingthepaleglimmerof light on the water of thechannels. “It would still bewrong.”He flung the coin out into

the night, as far and as hardas he could throw it, saw itcatchthelightonce,andthenheard the splash as it landedsomewhere in the brackishwater.“No,” he said, “I’m not

giving it to anybody. Let thewhole damn thing stay thereandrotforallIcare.Atleastit’lldonoharm.”“If Caiazzo finds out—or

Mirremay—”Eslingen shookhishead.“Or Monteia, or the

Surintendant,” Rathe said.“Or Vair. Are you going totellthem?”Eslingen shook his head

again.“Notme.Butyou’readangerous man to know,

AdjunctPoint.”Rathe turned back toward

the barn, and Eslingen fellinto step at his side. “Youcouldstopknowingme.”“That was the agreement.”

Eslingen stopped abruptly,and Rathe turned back,frowning.“What?”“I don’t particularly want

to,”Eslingensaid.Rathe sighed. “Nomore do

I.It’snotpractical,Philip.”

“We’llthinkofsomething,”Eslingen said. It was moreoptimism thanRathe thoughtwaswarranted,butitwarmedhimnonetheless.

ChapterSeven~Epilogue

The Surintendant of

Points was not entirelydispleased.Rathe clasped hishandsmoretightlybehindhisbackandtriedtopretendthathe didn’t still smell of sweatfroma longhunt through the’Serry, chasing a too-brazen

pickpocket. They’d caughtthe girl—one of EstelQuentier’s apprentices, andshe’d be bailed out by now,back homewith her teachers—butthesummonsfromCityPointhadarrivedbeforehe’dhadtimetovisitthebaths,oreven fetch a clean shirt.Andthewordinghadmadeitclearthat the Surintendantexpected his immediateattendance.“Dame van Duiren’s

survivingman confessed thathis comrade had shot OldSteen when he wouldn’t saywhat he’d done with thegold,” Rathe said, “and thenGrandad set on them. TheothermankilledGrandad,butbythenthey’dlostOldSteen,and the house was stirring. Ithinkthat’sthelastofit,sir.”“Caillavet Vair reports that

she found your questionsinteresting, but she’sdisappointed in the lack of

follow up.” Rainart Fourielooked at the neat stack ofpaperonhisdesk.“AndHeadPoint Mirremay has filed aformal complaint ofinterference in a matter thatproperlybelongedtoPointofKnives.”“IsentMaseigneeverything

I’d found that pointed to theUniversity,” Rathe said. “Itwasn’tmuch,butshegotallIhad.”“Descriptions of two

magists—no, onemagist andsomeone who might havebeen a member of theUniversity—who visitedDame van Duiren,” Fouriesaid.“Sketchydescriptions,atthat.”“It was all I had,” Rathe

saidagain.Fourie nodded. “As for

Mirremay—well, I can’tagreewiththecomplaint,andI will not uphold it.However….” He looked at

hispapersagain.“Ibelieveitwould be wise to reassignyou,Rathe.”He lifted one of the sheets,

and handed it across. Rathetookitwarily,frowningasheread the clerk’s neat hand.“PointofDreams?”“Senior Adjunct Point at

Point of Dreams.” Fouriegave a thin smile. “Trijn’sbeen complaining that wedon’t give her the bestpeople. I hope this will

silenceher.”Dreams took precedence

over Hopes: it was apromotion, andwrapped in acompliment. Rathe shookhimself, unable quite tobelievewhat hewashearing.The silence stretched for alongmomentbeforehefoundwords. “Thank you,Surintendant.”Fourie waved a hand. “Go.

And stay out of Point ofKnives.”

“Yes, Surintendant,” Rathesaid, and hastily effacedhimself.Itstillhadn’tsunkinbythe

timehe’dcrossed theHopes-PointBridge. SeniorAdjunctat a higher station—no, hehadn’texpectedanythinglikethat, had thought he’d belucky to get away with ascolding,andpossiblyatokenfine for poaching onMirremay’s turf. SeniorAdjunctatDreams….

“Nico!”Rathe started, looked

sideways to see Eslingenbeckoning from the doorwayof a lace-maker’s shop.“Philip?”“Inside,”Eslingen said, and

Rathe followed him into thesweet-smelling shadows.“I’vehadacleveridea.”“Oh?” Rathe knew he

sounded wary, and Eslingengrinned.“Do you like theater,

AdjunctPoint?”In spite of himself, Rathe

laughed.“I’dbetter. I’ve justbeen reassigned to Point ofDreams.”“All the better,” Eslingen

said.“Oh?”Rathesaidagain.“Theaters are—mostly—in

Point of Dreams,” Eslingensaid, sounding faintly smug.“So that will be convenient.Andtheaters,I’vediscovered,haveprivateboxesthatcanbe

rented for a quite affordablefee. Sometimes includingsupper.”“Philip,you’remad.”“I have a box,” Eslingen

said. “For tonight’s play attheGalenon.Wouldyoucaretojoinme?”“Soyou’ve forgivenme for

losingthekey?”Ratheasked.“I never blamed you,”

Eslingen answered.“Caiazzo’s still not veryhappy about the whole

situation—thus the privatebox.”“What’s the play?” Rathe

asked.“Doesitmatter?”Rathe laughed. Eslingen

held out one of the slips ofwood that served as themarker, and Rathe acceptedit. “Nowwho’s dangerous toknow?”Eslingen swept him a bow.

“I do my level best. Untiltonight,AdjunctPoint.”

“Until tonight,” Ratheanswered. The promotionwouldbeworthitafterall.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to the usual

suspects: Jo Graham, AmyGriswold, Don Sakers,Thomas Atkison, Carl Cipra,theFirstReadersonLJ,AlexJeffers for the design, andBenBaldwinforthecover.

AbouttheAuthor

Melissa Scott is fromLittle Rock, Arkansas, andstudied history at HarvardCollege and BrandeisUniversity,where she earnedher PhD in the ComparativeHistory program with adissertation titled“Victoryofthe Ancients: Tactics,Technology, and the Use ofClassical Precedent.” She is

the author of more thantwenty science fiction andfantasy novels, most withqueer themes and characters,andhaswonLambdaLiteraryAwards forTrouble andHerFriends, Shadow Man, andPoint of Dreams, the lastwritten with her late partner,LisaA.Barnett.Shehasalsowon a Spectrum Award forShadow Man and again in2010for theshortstory“TheRocky Side of the Sky”

(Periphery, Lethe Press) aswellastheJohnW.CampbellAward for Best NewWriter.She can be found onLiveJournal atmescott.livejournal.com.