Point of Hopes (53 page)

“
I’m sorry, we can’t let just
anyone in—”

“
It’s an emergency,” Rathe said.
And one partly of my making. He killed that thought, and fixed the
woman with a stare. “Can you send for him?”

She hesitated, then nodded, and reached under her
table for a bell. She rang it, and a few minutes later one of the
heavy doors creaked open, admitting a student as round as the
proctor was thin.

“
Would you fetch Magist b’Estorr,
please?” the proctor asked. “This—”

“
Tell him Nicolas
Rathe.”

The proctor nodded. “Tell him Master Rathe is here,
and that it’s an emergency.”

The student’s eyes widened, but she faded back
through the door without a murmur. Rathe fought the instinct to
pace, made himself stand still, counting the signs carved across
the tops of the doorways, until at last the central door flew open
again.

“
Nico! What’s happened?” b’Estorr
hurried toward him, his dark grey gown flying loose from his
shoulders.

“
I sent the runners to the fair,”
Rathe said. “And Asheri came back with a charm that’s
different.”

b’Estorr drew breath sharply. “Let me see.”

Rathe held the disks out wordlessly, and the
necromancer took them from him, held them side by side in the dim
light.

“
It’s active,” he said at last.
Rathe flinched, and b’Estorr shook his head. “No need to panic, not
yet, but I’d like to take a closer look at them. My
place?”

“
Fine,” Rathe said, and retraced
his path through the yard. If I’ve put Asheri in danger, he
thought, gods, what will I do? I thought—you thought the danger
would come from the astrologers, he told himself, and you were
wrong. Now you have to make it right.

In b’Estorr’s rooms, the necromancer flung the
shutters wide, letting the doubled afternoon sunlight into the
room. He set the disks on the table, side by side in the sunlight,
and Rathe caught his breath again. In the strong light, the
difference in color was very clear, Asheri’s more green than black,
and the different pattern of the symbols was starkly obvious.
b’Estorr barely glanced at them, however, but went to the case of
books and pulled out a battered volume. He flipped through it,
glancing occasionally at the disks, and finally set it aside,
shaking his head.

“
I don’t recognize the markings,
except generally, and they’re not in Autixier. The closest thing—”
He reached for the book again, opened it to a drawing of a square
charm. Rathe looked at it, and shook his head.

“
I’m sorry, Istre….”

The necromancer went on as though he hadn’t spoken.
“The closest one listed is that, and that’s kind of, well, archaic.
It’s meant to bind one’s possessions—”

“
It’s to track her,” Rathe said
with sudden conviction. “Gods, Istre, I’ve practically handed her
to them.”

b’Estorr nodded slowly, still staring at the charms.
“You could be—I think you are right,” he said. “It could act as a
marker, help someone find her later.”

And that would make sense, Rathe thought. The
astrologers to identify the children, someone else to steal them
away, later, when they thought they were safe, could be taken
unawares. He shook the fear away. “I took it from her within an
hour of the reading—she gave it to me. Can they track her without
the charm?”

“
I don’t know,” b’Estorr answered.
“This is very powerful—more powerful than I would have expected.
She should change her clothes, at the very least not wear them
again until this is resolved. It might be better to burn
them.”

“
Sweet Tyrseis,” Rathe said. Asheri
would be hard put to afford a second set of clothes; he and Monteia
between them might be able to provide something, but it would be
expensive. If Houssaye could follow the astrologer, of course,
track him back to his lair, that might do something, but there was
no guarantee that the pointsman would succeed. Rathe shook his
head. “Istre, I thought the real danger would be from the
astrologers themselves, not something like this. How in all the
hells can we protect her?”

b’Estorr lifted the charm again, studying the
markings. “That she gave it to you, and you gave it to me—that
should help. And then, as I said, get rid of the clothes she was
wearing. Burning would be best, but I know what clothing
costs.”

Rathe nodded. “I’ll tell her that, certainly.”

“
And she should be very careful.”
b’Estorr looked up, shaking his head. “Which she and you know
already, I know. I wish there were more I could do,
Nico.”

“
You’ve done a lot,” Rathe
answered. He forced a smile. “Now we know a little more of how
they’re being stolen, and how they’re being chosen—though, as
Monteia says, the hows don’t get us anywhere right now.”

“
Whoever’s doing this,” b’Estorr
said, “must be very powerful.”

“
Magistically or politically?”
Rathe asked.

“
Either.” b’Estorr gave him an
apologetic look. “Not that you didn’t know that, too, but this
charm is a pretty piece of work—not at all like the others—and it
must cost money to field this many astrologers.”

Rathe nodded. “I just wish that narrowed the
possibilities.”

He took a low-flyer back to Point of Hopes, wincing
at the fee but desperately afraid that Asheri or the others might
have left before he could reach them with his warning. As he paid
off the driver at the main gate, he could see the knot of runners
still gathered in the stable doorway. The younger ones, Laci and
Surgi and Lennar, were playing at jacks, while Fasquelle jeered at
them from the edge of the trough. Asheri was there, too, setting
stitches in a square of linen. It was a practice piece, Rathe knew,
against the day she could afford a place in the embroiderers’, and
he could taste the fear again at the back of his mouth.

“
Asheri,” he said, and she looked
up, automatically folding the cloth over her work. “I need to talk
to you.”

“
All right,” she said, sounding
doubtful, and followed him into the station.

Monteia looked up as they arrived, and Rathe saw,
with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, that Houssaye
was with her.

“
No luck?” he asked, and the other
pointsman shook his head.

“
He went back toward the caravans,
but I lost him there. They seem to have a gift for vanishing. I’m
sorry, Nico.”

Rathe drew breath, and Monteia said firmly, “You did
the best you could. What did you find out from the university,
Nico?”

“
Bad news, I’m afraid,” Rathe
answered. He looked at Asheri. “Asheri, I’m sorry I ever got you
into this. The charm he gave you, it’s some kind of a marker. I
think you’re in serious danger.”

“
A marker?” Monteia echoed, and
Rathe looked back at her. “That’s what Istre said. Something to
help someone find a child they want to steal.”

“
Gods,” the chief point murmured,
and Rathe saw her hand move in a propitiating gesture. “What do we
do?”

“
I gave you the marker,” Asheri
said, her voice suddenly high and thin. “I don’t have it anymore,
surely that makes it all right.”

“
It helps,” Rathe answered. “But
Istre said you should also change your clothes. He said you ought
to burn these, or at least put them away, don’t wear them until
we’ve caught these people.”

“
I can’t burn them,” Asheri said.
“I don’t have anything else half this good, not that fits me
anymore.”

Monteia said, “We may be able to do something about
that, Ash, since you’re losing the use of them on station business.
But if b’Estorr says you shouldn’t wear them, I’d do what he says.”
She looked at Rathe. “In the meantime, I’m sending to Fairs with
what we have. That’s enough to make Claes arrest these bastards,
and if we can catch one, maybe we can get more information out of
them.”

Rathe nodded, some of the fear easing. Monteia was
right about that, and Claes would act quickly enough, given this
evidence. And if the hedge-astrologers were dodging pointsmen,
surely they’d be too busy to steal another child. “I’ll walk you
home, Asheri,” he said aloud. “You can change there.”

The girl made a face, but nodded. “All right. But
I’m not burning them. I made this shirt myself. And the cap.”

“
Then put them away,” Monteia said.
“And I want to see you here tomorrow morning, eight o’clock.
Agreed?”

“
Agreed,” Asheri said, and Rathe
touched her shoulder, turning her toward the door.

“
We should be able to stop them,
now that we know what’s happening,” he said, and hoped it was
true.

Eslingen squatted beside the chest that held his
weapons, considering the pair of pistols Caiazzo had redeemed from
the Aretoneia. He distrusted midnight meetings, liked them even
less when the messenger had failed to appear twice already, and a
pistol might provide some measure of surprise, if there was
trouble. He glanced at the half-open window. On the other hand, it
was a damp night, and they were going by river, which increased the
chance of misfire; besides, he added, with an inward smile as he
shut the chest, a pistol shot inevitably attracted attention, and
he’d had entirely too much of that lately. Caiazzo probably
wouldn’t thank him, either, for inviting interference in his
business. He stood, and belted sword and dagger at his waist,
adjusting the open seam of the coat’s skirt so that it left the
sword hilt free, and glanced in the long mirror that hung beside
the clothes press. The full skirts hid most of the weapon, only the
hilt visible at his hip, and it was dark metal and leather,
unobtrusive against the dark blue fabric.

“
Are you ready,
Eslingen?”

He turned, to see Denizard standing in the open
door. She had put aside her scholar’s gown for a black riding suit,
shorter skirt, and a longer, almost mannish coat that buttoned high
on the throat, hiding her linen. She carried a broad-brimmed hat as
well, also black, and a longish knife—probably right at the legal
limit—on one hip.

She saw where he was looking and smiled, gestured to
his own blade. “I assume the bond’s paid on that?”

“
Caiazzo paid it,” Eslingen
answered, and she nodded.

“
Be sure you bring the seal
”

Eslingen touched his pocket, feeling the paper
crackle under his hand. “I have it, believe me.”

“
Well, with a pointsman for a
friend, you should be all right. Or you would be if it were any
other pointsman.”

Eslingen tilted his head curiously. This was the
first time anyone had mentioned Rathe since the day he’d been
hired. “Stickler, is he?”

“
You mean you didn’t notice?”
Denizard answered. “And stiff-necked about it.” She glanced over
his shoulder, checking the light. “Come on.”

Caiazzo was waiting in the great hall, talking,
low-voiced, to his steward. He nodded to the man as he saw the
others approaching, and the steward bowed and backed away. Caiazzo
looked at them, and nodded. “Good. I’m not expecting trouble, mind,
but it’s always well to be prepared.”

“
Any word?” Denizard asked, and the
trader shook his head.

“
Not since last night.”

Last night’s message had been a smudged slate,
barely legible, delivered by a brewer’s boy, that did nothing more
than set a new time and place for the rendezvous. There had been no
explanation of why the messenger had missed the previous meetings,
or any apology—which could just be the limits of the medium,
Eslingen thought, but in times like these, I don’t think I’d like
to count on it. He said “Then maybe we should expect trouble.”

Caiazzo shot him a glance. “I trust my people,
Eslingen, don’t forget it.”

“
It’s not him I’m worried about,”
Eslingen answered and the trader grunted

“
Your point. But there’ll be three
of us, plus the boat’s crew. That should be ample.”

“
You’re coming, Hanse?” Denizard
asked and the trader frowned at her.

“
Yes. I’m getting a little tired of
doing nothing, Aice.” His tone brooked no argument. The magist
sighed and nodded. Caiazzo smiled his good humor restored. “Let’s
be off, then.”

Caiazzo’s boat was waiting at the public dock at the
end of the street, its crew, a steersman and a quartet of rowers,
hunched over a dice game, their backs turned to the other,
unattached boatmen, who ignored them just as studiously. The
steersman looked up at Caiazzo’s approach, and nudged his people.
They sprang to their places, dice forgotten, and Caiazzo stepped
easily down into the blunt-nosed craft. Eslingen followed more
carefully—he was still not fully happy with boats—and Denizard
stepped in after him, seating herself on the stem benches.

“
Point of Hearts,” Caiazzo said, to
the steersman. “The public landing just east of the
Chain.”

The steersman nodded, and gestured for the bowman to
loose the mooring rope. The barge lurched as the current caught it,
and Eslingen sat with more haste than dignity. It lurched again,
then steadied as the oarsmen found their stroke, and the soldier
allowed himself to relax. Caiazzo was watching him, and smiled, his
teeth showing very white in the winter-sun’s silvered light.

“
Not fond of water,
Eslingen?”