Point of Hopes (45 page)

Rathe hid a sigh. Tracking down illegal printers
seemed less than vital, given the missing children, but he knew
Monteia was right. They couldn’t abandon everything else, no matter
how much they might want to concentrate on the children. “I’ll do
what I can, Chief.”

“
I know.” Monteia shook her head.
“Sorry, Nico, it was a long night.”

“
More bad news?” Even as he asked
Rathe knew that wasn’t it, or not precisely so, and wasn’t
surprised when Monteia shook her head again.

“
Not exactly—it might even turn out
to be good news. Have you heard there’s a new species of astrologer
working the fair?”

“
I’ve heard something. I’ve spoken
with a few people about them. Not affiliated with the university or
the temples, and the Three Nations are all upset because they’re
undercutting the student prices.”

“
That about covers it,” Monteia
said. “Fairs’ Point say they think there are six or eight of them,
but they’re very shy of the points.”

“
Probably don’t want to pay the
fees,” Rathe said.

Monteia gave him a thin smile. “Only Claes says he
thinks they’re paying entirely too much attention to children.”

“
Did he question them on it?” Rathe
demanded.

“
Of course he did, do you think
he’s an apprentice?” Monteia reined in her temper with a visible
effort. “They say—and I’ll be damned if I can contradict them—that
of course they are, since children are most in need of protection
and advice these days.”

“
But still—” Rathe leaned forward,
unable to keep still. “No one knows who these people are, or where
they’ve come from, right? So we should find out, and fast, before
anyone else goes missing.”

“
They could be a visitation from
the gods,” Monteia said, and snorted. “After clock-night, I’d
believe it. Some people would rather blame anybody else before
they’d question an astrologer.” She held up her hand, forestalling
Rathe’s instant response. “But I agree with you, Nico. Claes is
having them watched, but I want you to start on it from our end.
See what you can find out, see if there’s any connection between
them and our missing, and do it fast, before this lull ends, and we
start losing children again.”

Rathe pushed himself up from the stool, his mind
already racing. He would visit Mailet’s workshop first, he decided;
the rest of the children came from families or work places that
were less settled than the butcher’s, would be harder to find.
“I’ll talk to Istre, too,” he said aloud. “The university has a
stake in dealing with these hedge-astrologers.”

Monteia nodded. “We’ve been working them pretty
hard, even your friend. We’re not the only people who had the
clever notion of sending nativities to the magists. Between the
twelve of us, I think we’ve sent nearly eighty birth-stars over
there, and none of us have gotten anything back yet.”

That was sobering, but Rathe shoved aside the
uncertainty. “I’ll ask Istre when I speak to him,” he said. “Gods,
this could be the chance we’ve been waiting for.”

He made his way quickly through the streets, barely
aware of the uncertain glances, truculent and oddly embarrassed all
at once, as he reached the Knives Road. Mailet’s hall was busy—busy
enough, Rathe saw, that Mailet himself was working the front of the
shop, flanked by sweating journeymen. The air smelled of animals
and blood, and Rathe was glad they were working in the street and
not in the close confines of the building. Mailet glanced up at
Rathe’s approach, brows drawing together in a scowl, but he
mastered himself instantly, and finished his business with his
customer before turning on the pointsman.

“
And what do you want here this
time, Rathe?”

“
I want to speak to Trijntje
Ollre,” Rathe said, and curbed his own excitement before it could
turn into irritation.

“
Why—?” Mailet broke off, his eyes
focussing on something over Rathe’s right shoulder. “Not before
time, Liron. Now, get these stones sluiced down.”

Rathe glanced back, to see an older apprentice
hurrying toward them, water buckets hanging from a carrying yoke
balanced on his shoulders. He turned his attention back to Mailet,
and said, “I need to talk to her because we have some new
information.” He grimaced at the sudden hope in Mailet’s face.
“It’s nothing solid, not yet, but—it would help if I could talk to
Trijntje.”

Mailet took a deep breath, but jerked his head
toward the main door. “You know your way by now. She’s in the hall
with the others.”

“
Thanks,” Rathe said, and ducked
past him into the shop. As promised, the apprentices were at work
at their long tables, knives flashing in the sunlight that poured
in through the high windows. They seemed in less of a rush this
time—Rathe didn’t see a magist to keep track of favorable stars—but
the piles of vegetables at each broad table were still visibly
diminishing. He could smell the peppery, pungent odor of all-save,
and saw a young apprentice moving from table to table distributing
the shabby bunches. The journeyman Grosejl saw him then, and moved
quickly to intercept him, her face drawing into a wary
frown.

“
Any news?”

Rathe shook his head. “Not directly, no. But there
are some questions I need to ask Trijntje—we have some new
information that may help.” He saw the hope flare in her eyes, and
added guiltily, “I don’t know for certain—I can’t promise
anything.”

“
Something’s better than nothing,”
Grosejl answered and waved toward the line of tables. “Trijntje!
Come here a moment.”

The girl put down her knife obediently, and came
toward them, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is—” She broke off,
unable to finish the question, and Rathe shook his head.

“
We haven’t found anything, either
way, but there are some questions I need to ask.”

“
I don’t know what else I can tell
you.” She wound her hands in her apron, then frowned at herself,
and stopped.

Rathe said “Have you—did you and Herisse consult any
astrologers recently? Or did any of the other girls?”

Ollre looked up at him, her frown deepening, but
more perplexed, he thought, than angry. He caught himself holding
his breath, not wanting to say more, for fear of telling her what
he wanted to hear.

“
At the First Fair, we did” she
said at last, and shrugged. “It’s supposed to be auspicious for
butchers, and then Metenere was trine the sun, and all. So we had
our stars read.”

Rathe nodded. “You and Herisse together?”

“
Yes.”

He held his breath again. “What stall did you visit,
do you remember? Or did you go to one of the students?”

Ollre shook her head. “We didn’t have to go to one
of the booths or the Three Nations, which was a good thing, too, at
their prices. There were some astrologers walking around. I don’t
know their affiliation—I thought they were students, at first, but
their robes were black, not grey. So we went to one of them.” She
seemed to see something in Rathe’s expression, and her head lifted.
“Well, neither one of us had coin to waste, and he was cheap
enough, and honest-sounding. Not at all forbidding, or obnoxious,
like the Three Nations.”

“
What sort of a reading did he give
you?” Rathe asked. He heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the
startled look on her face: it was not good manners to inquire into
someone’s stars, but he was past caring, swept on before she could
protest. “Did he give you anything—a written horoscope, a
broadsheet, anything?”

Ollre blinked at him, visibly uncertain, and Grosejl
said “I don’t see what the details have to do with anything,
pointsman.”

“
I need to know what kind of
service he provided,” Rathe said. He looked at Ollre. “You don’t
have to tell me the details, but I do need to know how he read you,
what he did for you.”

Ollre looked suddenly embarrassed. “Well, he didn’t
actually do much for me, my nativity’s not that good, just to the
hour. So he just said general things, and said he couldn’t help me
much—except for this.” She reached under her apron, into the pocket
she wore beneath the skirt, and brought out a small disk. “He said
it was for luck, that the stars were going to be unsettled for a
while, and that I’d need it.” She made a face. “He was right there,
wasn’t he?”

Rathe stared for a moment at the dark round of wax,
then said, “May I?”

Ollre shrugged and held it out, and he took it from
her hand. It was a crude thing, stamped with planetary signs around
a central figure of Areton with his shield. He recognized most of
them, but couldn’t begin to guess what the sequence meant. But
b’Estorr would know, he thought, and turned it over. The reverse
was blank. “Did Herisse get one of these?”

“
Oh, yes, and she talked to him for
a lot longer—of course, she knows her stars to the minute.” Ollre’s
fond smile vanished suddenly. “Here, you don’t think that has
anything to do with her vanishing, do you?”

“
I don’t know,” Rathe said. “It’s
possible, yeah, but we don’t know for sure. Can I keep
this?”

“
If it had anything to do with—”
Ollre shuddered. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

“
And if it didn’t,” Rathe said
gently, “I’ll see it gets back to you. Can you tell me what this
astrologer looked like?”

The girl shrugged, looked embarrassed again. He’d
been of middle years, not grey, not young; of middle height and
middle color and spoke without an accent, beyond the normal tang of
Astreianter speech. It wasn’t much, but Rathe hadn’t been expecting
much, and nodded politely. “Thanks, Trijntje, this has been a
help.”

The girl nodded, looking as though she wanted to ask
something more, but Grosejl touched her arm. “All right, Trijntje,
get back to work.” She looked at Rathe as the apprentice moved
slowly back toward her table. “What’ll you do with it, anyway?”

Rathe looked down at the little charm, then, very
carefully, slipped it into his purse, knotting the strings securely
over it. “Take it to a magist I know at the university.”

Grosejl nodded. “Gods, I hope you find her—all of
them. It’s the not hearing, you see. It’s the—the blindness of it
all. No word, no knowing what might have happened.” Her lips
twisted. “Death isn’t all bad, pointsman. At least it’s an
end.”

You don’t have a friend who’s a necromancer, Rathe
thought. He could feel the excitement rising in him at the first
real evidence he’d found, and thrust it sternly down before the
journeyman could see and misunderstand. He made his excuses
quickly, and headed back out to the street. He would visit the
other shops and families, at least the ones he could find, and then
he’d head to the fair, let Claes know about this new connection.
And then…he fought back the sense of certainty. Then he would go to
the university, and see what b’Estorr had to say about the
charm.

It took him the better part of three hours to
contact the relatives and employers of the children on his book,
and the results were less than conclusive. The brewers’ apprentices
had certainly gone to the First Fair, and had had their stars read,
though the remaining apprentices couldn’t say whether it had been
by the Three Nations or the black-robed strangers. The price would
have mattered, they admitted, but they simply didn’t know. One of
the shop boys had been star-mad, had his stars read at every
possible opportunity, and he had definitely spoken to one of the
hedge-astrologers—but, the counterwoman had warned, he’d also
spoken to a student of the Three Nations, and had at least gone
into a booth run by the Temple of Sofia. As for the rest, no one
could remember whether or not they’d spoken to any astrologers, but
at least, Rathe thought, they couldn’t say they hadn’t either. He
knew the dangers of overconfidence, of building too much on too
little fact, but couldn’t seem to stop himself from hoping. It was
the first decent piece of luck they’d had—Astree, send it’s the
right piece, he thought, and paused at one of the shrines outside
the Pantheon to buy and light a stick of incense.

The fair was as busy as ever, and Rathe knew from
experience that he was more likely to find Claes at the point
station than in the fairground itself. Even so, he couldn’t resist
the chance to pass through the teeming market, keeping an eye out
for black-robed astrologers. It was too much to hope he’d catch
them at something—if they were involved they’d been far too careful
to arouse suspicion—but still, it would be good to get a look at
them.

He reached the printers’ row without seeing any sign
of them, however, and the sight of Agere’s faded sign took the edge
off his pleasure. He turned toward it, falling in behind a
well-dressed matron whose broad body and full skirts helped screen
his approach, and then reached around her to slip a sheet from the
top of its pile. Agere turned toward him, her smile faltering as
she recognized the jerkin and the truncheon at his belt.

“
You’re not with Fairs’ Point,” she
said confidently enough. “You’ve no jurisdiction here,
pointsman.”

“
Unfair, Agere, I might just want
to buy a sheet.” Rathe skimmed through the smudged printing,
feeling his face stiffen with anger. “Not this one, though.” It was
the worst he’d seen yet, openly blaming the points for failing to
protect the missing children, and hinting that they—and perhaps the
metropolitan and the city government—were somehow behind the
disappearances. He set the page back on its pile, and gave Agere
his least pleasant smile. “So now we’re conspiring with Astreiant
herself? You flatter us, usually it’s the Leaguers, or the
manufactories, or the soldiers—of whatever nation—or anyone else
you think you can attack and get away with. And I don’t see a
bond-mark here.”