The light was fading steadily, paling toward true night. He went out to the garden privy, glad of the cooler air—the inn held the day’s heat in its walls and floor, a benefit in winter, but uncomfortable at the height of the year—and on his way back looked west to see the diamond point of the winter-sun almost down between the housetops, poised between two chimney pots. Even this low, it was still too bright to look at directly, and he blinked, and went back into the main room, a point of green haze dancing in the center of his vision.
Loret emerged from the kitchen in almost the same moment, began closing the shutters on the garden wall. He had to stretch to fasten the upper bolts, and in the same moment, one of the journeymen called, “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Last call,” Adriana said, from behind the bar. “It’s almost closing, so if you want another round, this is your chance.”
Eslingen moved closer to the bar, keeping an eye on the group at the table. They were the only customers, except for Jasanten, drowsing at his corner table, and there were only four of them; not bad odds, Eslingen thought, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. The journeymen exchanged glances, and then the oldest one, the one with the silver badge, stood, stretching.
“Not for us, I think. Come on, let’s pay and be gone.”
The others copied him, reaching into purses and pockets to come up with a handful of copper coins. There was only the last pitcher to pay for; they counted out the coins, and the leader, shrugging, added a last demming to bring it up to the mark. Eslingen heard Adriana release a held breath, and nodded to Loret, who came to take the coins, touching his forehead in perfunctory salute. The journeymen ignored him, as they’d been ignoring him all night, and turned in a body for the door. Eslingen pulled himself away from the bar and followed, intending to bar the door as soon as they’d gone.
Before he could reach it, however, there was a shout from outside. He stepped hastily into the doorway, blocking it completely, and looked back over his shoulder for Loret. “Go to Point of Hopes, now.”
The waiter’s eyes widened, and he darted out the garden door.
“Trouble?” Adriana called, and banged on the kitchen door, a deliberate, prearranged pattern.
Eslingen nodded, not taking his eyes from the street. A new group was moving toward him from the Knives Road, a dozen people, maybe more. The leaders, at least, carried torches, and behind them their followers’ shapes blended, in the new dark, into a single mass. The torchlight glinted from more badges at hat and coat, and Eslingen realized with a sinking feeling that at least some of these were masters, not mere journeymen. The group who had been drinking in the Old Brown Dog had stopped in the dooryard, and Eslingen could have sworn he saw confusion in the leader’s face.
“You, soldier!”
The voice was unfamiliar, sounded older than the run of journeymen, and Eslingen couldn’t suppress a grimace. If the masters were leading, this time, it would be a hell of a lot harder to get them to back down.
“Stand aside,” the voice went on, and Eslingen shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re closed.”
“What in all hells do they want?” Devynck demanded, but softly.
Eslingen didn’t dare look back at her, but he could feel her presence at his elbow. “I don’t know yet,” he answered, and kept his voice equally low, “but I sent Loret to Point of Hopes.”
“Good man.” Devynck pressed something into the palm of his hand, and with a shock Eslingen recognized the butt of his own pistol. He took it, keeping it hidden behind the skirts of his coat, looked out into the street.
“Stand aside, soldier,” the voice came again, and Devynck swore under her breath.
“That’s Nigaud, I thought he was a friend.”
“We know you’ve got the children here,” a lighter voice chimed in, “and we’re not going away until we’ve found them.”
“Huviet,” Eslingen said, and didn’t bother to hide his disgust. He lifted his voice to carry to the group’s leader. “His mother made the same complaint yesterday, brought the pointsmen here and searched, and found nothing. I don’t see why we’re still suspected. There are no children here.”
“Then stand aside and let us see for ourselves,” Nigaud answered.
“Over my dead body,” Devynck muttered. “Adriana. Fetch my sword, and Philip’s.”
Eslingen didn’t move, though he heard the rustle of cloth as Adriana did as she was told. “We’ve been searched already, by those with the right to do it. If I let you in, when you find nothing, what’ll you do, break the rest of our windows?”
“If you don’t have anything to hide, why don’t you let us in?” Paas Huviet shouted, and there was a little murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“I won’t let you in because you don’t have a right to be here,” Eslingen called, “and you don’t offer me any promises that you won’t loot the place while you’re here. Gods, man, there were people from your guild drinking here all day, ask them if they saw any sign of the children.”
There was a little pause, and the leader of the last group stepped into the circle of torchlight. “I didn’t see anything, I admit. But they could be somewhere else in the building.”
“See?” Huviet shouted.
“They’re going to come in,” Eslingen said, under his breath, and heard Devynck’s grunt of agreement.
“Loret’s gone for the points, see if we can at least get them to agree to that.”
Eslingen nodded. “Masters,” he called, “we understand your concerns for the children—we’re worried, too, we all know someone who’s lost a child.” That was an exaggeration, but he hoped it would pass in the dark and the excitement. “But I’ve a responsibility to this house and to Mistress Devynck. Send someone to the points, Point of Hopes or Point of Dreams, it doesn’t matter, but send to them. Let one of them come with you, keep everything on the right side of the law, and I’ll gladly let you pass.”
There was a murmur at that, half approving, half uncertain, and Paas’s voice rose over the general noise. “They fee’d the points not to find them, why should we trust them?”
“Be quiet,” Nigaud snapped.
At his side, Eslingen felt Adriana’s sudden presence, glanced down to see her holding his sword at the ready. Behind her, Jasanten perched on a table, Devynck’s caliver and another pistol in his lap, busy loading them with powder and ball. Hulet stood in the garden door, half-pike in hand.
“Even if the points are fee’d in this,” Nigaud went on, “which I’m not convinced of, Paas, for all your talk, they still can’t stop us from searching where we please. I’m prepared to send for a pointsman, soldier—unless you’ve already done so?”
“Go ahead,” Eslingen answered, and Nigaud nodded to one of the younger journeymen.
“Go on, then, go to Point of Hopes.”
Eslingen held his breath, not moving from the inn’s doorway. The longer they could postpone this, the more time the butchers had to think about what they were doing and about what they might do. The masters, at least, were property owners; the more time they had to think about the precedent they were setting, the better for Devynck. The more time they waited, without hostilities, without provocation, the more time there was for the blood to cool, and it was a rare man who, untrained, could order an attack in cold blood. The group’s leaders, Nigaud and another man in a full-skirted coat, a master’s badge in his hat, were talking again, their voices too low to be heard more than a few feet away. After a moment, the leader of the last group of journeymen moved to join them, and Eslingen saw him spread his hands in an expressive shrug.
Then he heard the sound of the nightwatch’s wooden clapper again, faster now, as though its holder was running, coming from the western end of the Knives Road. About half the gathered journeymen turned to look, and one of the torchbearers turned with them, lifting her torch to send its light further down the dark street. A pointsman appeared at the end of the street, his lantern swinging with th
e beat of the clapper; the young journeyman trailed breathlessly at his heels.
“What’s all this, then?” the pointsman asked, and put his free hand on his truncheon. Eslingen swore under his breath, and heard Devynck curse.
“What do that stars have against me, that it should be Ranazy?” she muttered. “We’re in trouble now, Philip.”
“This is an illegal gathering,” the pointsman went on, lifting his voice to carry over the angry murmur that answered his first words. “I’ll have to tell you to disperse, or face the point.”
“Like hell we will,” someone shouted, and Nigaud waved his arms for silence.
“Pointsman, we have cause to think that the missing children—our missing children, anyway—are being held at the Old Brown Dog. I, and Master Estienes, and Master Follet, are all willing to swear the complaint, and anything else you like, but we won’t leave here until that place has been searched from top to bottom.”
Ranazy stopped in the middle of the street, seemed for the first time to become aware of the crowd’s temper. “Master—Nigaud, isn’t it?”
Nigaud nodded. Obviously, Eslingen thought, the man was well known, a man of real importance in Point of Hopes—and not the person we want standing against us.
“Master, this house was searched yesterday, and we found nothing. The children aren’t here.” Ranazy spread his hands, the lantern and the clapper jangling.
“Ranazy!” The shout came from the end of the street. Rathe’s voice, Eslingen realized, with real relief, and in the same instant saw a tight knot of pointsmen, maybe ten in all, turn the corner. They, too, carried lanterns, and in their light Eslingen could see the dull gleam of armor under the leather jerkins. They carried calivers as well, new-fashioned flintlocks, as well as half-pikes and halberds: Rathe and his people had come prepared for serious trouble.
“I searched it myself,” Ranazy went on, and Paas Huviet’s voice rose above the angry murmuring.
“You see? I told you they were fee’d to let them go. Search the inn ourselves, we won’t get the kids back any other way.”
“Hold it,” Rathe shouted again, but his voice was drowned in the roar of agreement.
“Break in the door,” another voice shouted. “Save the children.”
The journeymen surged toward the inn’s door. Eslingen took a deep breath, and brought the pistol out from behind his coat. “Stop there,” he called, and leveled the barrel at the knot of young men. At this distance he could hardly miss hitting one of them, but he doubted they were cool enough to realize it. Adriana pressed the hilt of his sword into his left hand, and he took it, already bracing himself for the rush that would follow the first shot.
“We’re willing to let the points in,” he tried again, and Paas’s voice rose in answer.
“Because you paid them. Get him!”
“I’ll fire,” Eslingen warned, and promised Areton an incense cake if the lock did not misfire. The pointsmen were hurrying toward him, half-pikes held across their bodies, but the bulk of the journeymen were between them and the inn, and showed no sign of giving way.
“Cowards!” Paas shouted. “Get the Leaguer bastard!” He lunged for the door, drawing his knife, and there were half a dozen men behind him. Eslingen swore again, and pulled the trigger. The lock fired, the flash and bang of the powder momentarily blinding everyone, and then he’d slung the pistol behind him onto the inn’s floor and drew his sword right-handed. Paas staggered back, clutching his chest—the shot was mortal, Eslingen knew instantly, and didn’t know whether he was glad or sorry—and collapsed in the arms of the journeymen behind him.
“Hold it!” Rathe shouted again, and he and his troop shoved their way through the crowd that seemed abruptly chastened by the violence. “Nigaud, get your boys in hand, or I’ll call points on the lot of you.”
“He shot Paas,” one of the journeymen called, and his voice broke painfully.
“I saw it,” Rathe answered, “and I saw Paas charge the door, too.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s the nearest physician, Clock Street?” He seemed to get an answer from one of the pointsmen, and nodded. “Fetch her, quick, then, see what can be done for the boy. Now, Nigaud, what in Astree’s name is going on here?”
“They’re hiding the children,” Nigaud said, and Eslingen let himself relax at last. Somehow, exactly how he didn’t know, Rathe had gotten control of the situation again. Astreiant’s common folk might not like giving one of their own authority, but in a crisis, it seemed it was better than nothing.
Rathe said, “The chief point herself searched this house yesterday, and nothing was found. You’ve seen something that makes you think they’re here now? I know you had people watching this house, I saw them here this afternoon.”
Nigaud’s gaze faltered, but he rallied quickly enough. “The chief point may have been here, but none of us were, and the rest of the points were people like him.” He pointed to Ranazy. “We know how much his fees are, we all pay them. The Leaguer has money enough to buy his silence.”
Eslingen jumped as Devynck touched his shoulder.
“Let me out,” she said, and he stepped sideways to let her edge past him. “Rathe! I’m willing to let the masters search my house this time, if only you’ll supervise them, and I told them that all along.”
Rathe nodded, looked at Nigaud. “That’s more than you have a right to, Master Nigaud, but I’m willing to go with you, and the other masters here.”
Nigaud nodded back, but the well-dressed master—Follet, Eslingen thought—said, “And what about Paas? He was a hothead, but he was my journeyman.”
The physician had arrived from Clock Street, an apprentice, barefoot and tousled, lugging her case of instruments. She knelt beside the injured man, her movements brisk and certain, but she looked up at that, and shook her head. “I’ve done what I can. It’s in Demis’s hands now.”
In translation, Eslingen thought, he’s a dead man. Why in Areton’s name didn’t I aim for something less mortal? The damned astrologer got it all wrong. He shook the thought away—he’d had no choice, if he’d missed Paas he would almost certainly have hit one of the others in as deadly a spot—and looked at Rathe, wondering what would happen now. Rathe looked back at him, his face expressionless in the uncertain light of the lanterns and the dying torches.
“It’s manslaughter at the least, though there’s an argument for self-defense. Eslingen, I’m calling a point on you. Hand over your weapons and go quietly.”
Eslingen drew breath to protest, but swallowed the words unspoken. The situation was still delicate, even he could see that much, and surely Rathe was right when he hinted that he could claim self-defense. “Very well,” he said shortly, and extended his sword, hilt first, toward the pointsman.
Rathe took it, unsurprised by the weight and balance, rested its point cautiously on the top of his boot. “And the pistol?”
Eslingen jerked his head toward the inn door. “Inside, on the floor somewhere.”
“Adriana!” Rathe called, and a moment later the woman appeared warily in the doorway, “Bring me Eslingen’s pistol, please.”
For an instant, Eslingen thought she was going to refuse, but she only tossed her head, and vanished back into the shadows. She reappeared a moment later carrying the pistol, and crossed the dooryard without looking at the butchers. Rathe took the gun, slipping it into his belt beside his truncheon; Adriana turned on her heel, and went to join her mother. The pointsman looked back at Eslingen, who braced himself to hear the sentence.
“Benech and Savine will take you to Point of Sighs.” He lifted his voice to carry to the crowd. “The cells there are more secure than at Point of Hopes.” Eslingen thought he saw a fugitive smile cross Rathe’s face. “And a bit more comfortable than a stall, which is what ours are. Do you give me your word you’ll go quietly, lieutenant?”
Eslingen hesitated, wondering if he shouldn’t run—he could take the two pointsmen, of that he felt certain, and he had killed the
journeyman, not to mention being a Leaguer in the wrong place at the wrong time—but then put the thought away. He hadn’t stolen the children, and neither had Devynck; and if he ran, he would only put her further in the wrong. “You have my word on it,” he said, stiffly, and Rathe nodded.
“Right, then. See that he gets there safely.”
“Thank you for that,” Eslingen said, not entirely sarcastically, and turned to face the two pointsmen. “Lead on.”
6
« ^ »
it took the better part of the next two hours to lead Nigaud and a handful of his journeymen through the Old Brown Dog. Rathe was careful to stand aside and let them do most of the work, intervening only when Devynck’s stores seemed threatened, and at the end of it Nigaud faced him with visible embarrassment.
“There’s no one here,” he said, at last, and Rathe barely stopped himself from nodding.
“No,” he said, instead, and kept his tone and face impassive. “Will you say as much to your people, Master Nigaud, you and Master Follet?”
“We will,” Nigaud said shortly, and Follet cleared his throat.
“And how much of a difference does this make in terms of a point?”
Rathe cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean?”
Follet took a deep breath. “People of mine are liable for riot, I can see that, just as that knife of Devynck’s is liable for manslaughter. So where do we stand with that, Adjunct Point?”
Rathe studied him for a long moment, torn between anger and a grudging respect for the man. Follet’s journeymen—and Nigaud’s and probably a few others’—could indeed be taken up for provoking trouble and assault, especially after they’d all been warned the day before; at least he was acknowledging it, even if he was also angling for a fee. “Given the circumstances, Master Follet—I’ve been working on the business of Mailet’s missing apprentice myself, along with a dozen others, I know how frantic we all are. Given the circumstances, I’m prepared to overlook the formal point on your journeymen. Paas Huviet’s hurt, maybe dying, that’s enough for me. However, we will require two things from you, masters. First, I want you to post a bond for good behavior for the ringleaders among the journeymen—you know who they are as well as I do, and I’ll give you the names in the morning.” He held up his hand to forestall the automatic protest. “This is a bond, not a fee, you’ll get it back when they make their appearance at the fall assizes as long as there’s no more trouble from them. I don’t want fees from you, or from anyone right now. I want to be free to chase these child-thieves where or whoever they are. Is that clear?”
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