Point of Hopes (26 page)

Most of the soldiers were gone, either hired on to
one of the companies just to get out of the city, or else they’d
taken themselves and their drinking to the friendlier taverns along
the Horsegate Road, closer to the camp grounds. And who could blame
them? Eslingen thought. But it makes for a lonely night. Jasanten
was still there, ensconced at his usual table, but he’d already
given Devynck his notice, was planning to move to the Green Bell on
the Horsegate as soon as possible. It would be easier recruiting
there, he said, but they all knew what he really meant.

The rest of the customers were Leaguers, friends of
Devynck’s—the brewer Marrija Vandeale was still there, her group of
five, including a well-grown young man who had to be her son, the
largest in the inn. Eslingen shook his head again, and walked over
to the bar, more for something to do than because he really wanted
another pitcher, even of Vandeale’s best. Adriana came to meet him,
faced him across the heavy wood with a crooked grin.

“
Not a good night,” Eslingen said,
not knowing what else to say, and the woman’s smile widened
briefly.

“
No. Mother’s furious.” She nodded
to the edge of the paper sticking out above the edge of his cuff.
“Any good news there?”

“
It depends,” Eslingen said,
sourly.

“
How’s business?” Adriana asked,
arid matched his tone exactly.

“
I wouldn’t ask.”

Adriana glanced over his shoulder at the
almost-empty room. “I hardly need to.” She reached across the
counter for his mug. “What about the children, does it say anything
about them?”

Eslingen shrugged, and tucked the diviner deeper
into his cuff. “Not a lot—as you’d expect, I suppose. Metenere
trines the sun—and the moon, for that matter—which they say is a
hopeful sign, but it’s inconjunct to the winter-sun and Sofia,
which they say means there are still things to be uncovered before
the matter is resolved.”

“
That’s safe enough,” Adriana said,
and set the refilled mug back in front of him. “Gods, you’d think
the magists could do better than that.”

Eslingen nodded, took a sip of beer he didn’t really
want. “Or the points. I wonder if they’re consulting the
astrologers?”

“
They generally do. When they’re
not searching taverns,” Adriana answered, and grinned. “Your friend
Rathe, he has friends at the university, or so I’m told. Above his
station, surely.”

“
No particular friend of mine,”
Eslingen said, automatically, and only then thought to wonder at
his own response. I wouldn’t mind calling him a friend,
though.

Adriana’s eyebrows rose. “And below yours?” She
turned away before he could answer, disappeared through the kitchen
door.

Eslingen stared after her for a moment—he hadn’t
expected her to defend any pointsman—then shrugged, and made his
way back to his table. He doubted there would be any call for his
services tonight, since the locals seemed to be staying well clear
after the abortive search, but he left the beer untouched, and
tilted his stool until his back rested against the wall. Monteia
had handled the situation well, particularly getting that red-faced
butcher on her side, he acknowledged silently. If they got through
the evening without trouble, things should be all right.

The clock struck midnight at last, its voice clear
in the still air, and Devynck appeared to call time on the last
customers.

They left in a group, Eslingen was glad to see,
Vandeale and her household in the lead, and Devynck herself walked
them to the door to wish them safe home. She pulled the heavy door
closed behind them, turning the key in the lock, and Loret lifted
the bar into its brackets. It looked thick enough to stand at least
a small battering ram, Eslingen thought, and wondered if Devynck
had foreseen the necessity. He stood then, stretching, and went to
help Hulet with the shutters. Each had an iron bar of its own,
holding the wood firm against the glass outside; they, too, would
stand a siege, and he lifted the last one into place with a
distinct feeling of relief. With the tavern secured for the night,
all the doors and windows locked and barred, it was unlikely that
the butchers’ journeymen would find a way to make trouble. Hulet
stretched and loosened the ropes that held the central candelabra
in place, lowering it so that Adriana could snuff the massive
candles.

“
Philip.” Devynck’s voice snapped
him out of his reverie. “Go with Loret, make sure the garden gate’s
barred before we close up for the night.”

“
Right” Eslingen trailed the
yawning waiter out into the sudden dark. The winter-sun had set at
midnight, and the air was distinctly chill, pleasant after the heat
of the day. Loret fumbled with a candle and lantern, and Eslingen
glanced up, looking for the familiar constellations, but a thin
drift of cloud veiled all but the brightest stars. Then Loret had
gotten his candle lit, and Eslingen followed its glow through the
garden and down to the back gate. The bar was already up there, a
chain and lock the size of a man’s fist holding it firmly in place,
but Loret tugged at it anyway before turning back to the inn.
Eslingen glanced along the walls, checking for trouble there. They
were in good repair, and high, taller than himself by a good yard;
he couldn’t remember if they were topped with spikes or glass, but
would not have been surprised by either. In any case, they would be
hard to climb without ladders: it’s good enough, he told himself,
and followed Loret back to the tavern. Nonetheless, he was careful
to lock the door behind him at the top of the stairs, and to bar
his own door after him. The banked embers at the bottom of the
stove were dead, not even warm to the touch. He considered finding
flint and steel, rekindling them, but it was late, and it would be
easier in the morning to borrow coals from the kitchen fire. He
undressed in the dark, leaving his coat draped neatly over the
chair, and crawled into the tall bed.

He woke to the sound of breaking glass, groped under
his pillow for his pistol and found only the keys to his chest. He
had them in his hand before he was fully awake, and flung back the
covers as he heard another window break. The sound was followed by
shouts, young, drunken voices, and then he heard another shout from
inside the inn: Devynck, waking her people to the trouble. He
dragged on his breeches as another window shattered, and stooped to
his clothes chest. He hastily unlocked the lid and dragged out his
pistol and the bag that held powder and balls. There was no time to
load it; he jammed it instead into the waistband of his breeches,
the metal cold on his skin, and caught up his knife on the way to
the door.

Jasanten was ahead of him in the hall, balanced
awkwardly on his crutch, a long knife in his free hand. “What in
all hells—?”

“
Don’t know,” Eslingen answered,
and unlocked the stairway door. “Stay here, keep an eye on
things.”

“
Like I could go anywhere fast,”
Jasanten answered, but stopped at the head of the stairs, bracing
himself against the frame. Eslingen pushed past him, scanning the
garden. It was still dark, and quiet; most of the noise had come
from the front of the inn.

“
Devynck?” he called, more to give
her warning than to find her, and pushed open the tavern
door.

A thick pillar candle guttered on the end of the
bar, throwing uneven shadows across the wide room and the empty
tables. Devynck, ghostly in shift and unbound hair, stood by the
main door, a caliver in her hands as she peered cautiously through
a newly opened shutter. Slow match smouldered in the lock, a bright
point of red. Adriana stood at her mother’s back, a half-pike
balanced capably in her hands, her legs bare beneath the short hem
of her nightshirt.

“
They’re gone, the little
bastards,” Devynck said, and turned away from the window. “No
thanks to you, Philip.”

“
No thanks to any of us, Mother,”
Adriana said, and Devynck made a noise that might have been meant
as apology.

“
All clear out back,” Hulet said,
and Eslingen jumped as the two waiters appeared behind
him.

“
So what happened?” he asked,
cautiously.

Devynck disengaged the slow match from the lock, and
set the caliver down before answering, holding the still-lit length
of match well clear of her loose nightclothes. “Someone—and I dare
say we can all guess who—came down the street and broke in our
front windows. Areton’s spear, what do I have to do to make a
living in this city? I’ll have the points on them so fast they’ll
think lightning fell on them.”

“
We can’t prove it was Paas,”
Adriana said. “Unless you got a better look at them than I
did.”

“
Who else could it have been?”
Devynck demanded, but she sounded less certain.

“
Do you want me to go to the
station?” Eslingen asked. “Rathe—and Monteia—said we should tell
them if there was trouble.”

Devynck shook her head. “No one of mine is going out
on the streets tonight. I doubt we’ll have any more trouble,
anyway, they got what they wanted.”

“
Whatever that was,” Hulet said,
and shook his head. Behind him, Loret nodded, stuffing his shirt
into the waistband of his trousers.

“
I could go to Point of Hopes,” he
offered, and Devynck glared at him.

“
I said no one, and I meant it.
It’s, what, it lacks an hour to dawn, that’s time enough, once the
sun’s up and there are sensible people on the streets, to send to
the points.” She fixed her eyes on Eslingen’s waist. “Is that a
lock, Philip—and if it is, I trust you’ve got permission to carry
it in the city?” Eslingen felt himself flush, and was grateful for
the candlelight. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten
Astreiant’s laws. “Well—”

“
I’ll take that as a no,” Devynck
said, sourly. “Well, my lad, you can come with me to Point of
Hopes, then, and I’ll see if I can’t get Monteia to grant you a
writ for it. After tonight, I think she’ll be willing
enough.”

“
How bad is the damage?” Eslingen
asked.

“
All our front windows smashed,”
Devynck answered, “and a nice profit the glaziers’ll make off of me
for it. I haven’t taken the shutters down to see how many panes
were actually broken—time enough for that in the morning.” She
looked around the dimly lit room. “Hulet, you and Loret stay up,
keep an eye on things. If they come back, give me a shout, and you,
Loret, run to Point of Hopes. But I don’t think they
will.”

Eslingen shivered suddenly aware of how cool the air
was on his bare chest and back. Adriana gave him a sympathetic
glance, hugging herself, the half-pike still tucked in the crook of
her arm.

“
Right,” Devynck said briskly.
“Back to bed all of you. Philip, I’ll leave for Point of Hopes at
eight, and I want you with me.”

“
Yes, ma’am,” Eslingen answered and
took himself out the garden door. It wasn’t as bad as it could have
been, he thought, hearing the tower clock strike the half hour. At
least he could get another few hours sleep before he had to face
the pointsmen.

Jasanten was still waiting at the top of the stairs,
the knife—longer than the city regulations, Eslingen was willing to
swear—still poised in his hand. He relaxed slightly, seeing the
younger man, and said “So the alarm’s past?”

“
For tonight, or so Devynck says.”
Eslingen sighed and eased the pistol from his waistband. “Some of
the local youth, she thinks, broke in the front
windows.”

“
Not good times,” Jasanten said and
stood out of the doorway, balancing himself awkwardly on his
crutch: “Not good times at all.”

And likely to get worse before they get better,
Eslingen thought, remembering the diviner. “Get some sleep, Flor,”
he said and went back into his own room, locking the door behind
him. He hesitated for an instant, looking at the unloaded pistol,
but in the end decided not to load it. Devynck knew her neighbors,
or so he would trust; still, he set it on the table in easy reach
before he undressed and climbed back into bed.

He woke to the noise of someone knocking on the
door, and groped blearily for the pistol before he realized that
the sun was well up. He swore under his breath—he was already late,
if the sun was that bright—and Adriana’s voice came from beyond the
door.

“
Philip? Mother says you should
hurry. I brought shaving water and something for
breakfast”

“
All the gods bless you,” Eslingen
said, scrambling into shirt and breeches, and unlocked the door.
Adriana looked remarkably awake and cheerful, considering the
night, and he couldn’t repress a grimace.

She grinned, and set a bowl and plate down on the
table, lifting the plate away to reveal the hot water. Eslingen
took it gratefully, washed face and hands and carried it across to
the circle of polished brass that he used as a mirror. In full
light, and with care, he could shave, and it was cheaper than the
barber’s—not to mention, he added silently, running the razor over
the stone, safer, given current sentiment. “Do you think there’s
any chance of my getting a dispensation, or have I lost a good
pistol?” he said, and began cautiously to shave.

In the mirror, he saw Adriana shrug. “Mother’s had
one for years, for the same reason she’ll give for you, to protect
her property against people who don’t like Leaguers. Monteia—no, it
wasn’t Monteia, it was Wetterli, he was chief point before
Monteia—he gave it to her when she first came here. It wasn’t long
after the League wars, people weren’t always friendly.”