Point of Hopes (41 page)

“
That’s not legal, that is,” he
said. “How’s business, Mariell?”

“
You don’t want to know, pointsman,
trust me.”

“
That good,” Rathe said, and knew
he sounded bitter. “Is Mikael in?”

“
Why?” Mariell’s eyes narrowed.
“He’s not been working, you know. Or have you come on a
hire?”

“
I try to do my own dirty work,”
Rathe said, mildly. “And I know he hasn’t been working, but even if
he had been, that’s not what I’m here about.”

“
It’s all right, Mariell, let him
in.”

The speaker was a dark giant of a man, his face
unexpectedly ruddy under a thatch of coarse black hair, only his
beard showing a sprinkling of grey. Mariell stepped back, still
frowning lightly, and Rathe edged past her. The door was narrow,
had had slats added to it to make it narrower, and he couldn’t help
wondering how Mikael himself got in and out of it.

Mikael smiled, genial, looking for all the world
like a guildmaster well satisfied with life—as well he might, Rathe
thought. Mikael was at the top of his profession, and Rathe was
irresistibly reminded of Mailet. The butcher was clearly a man of
choleric nature who was good with a knife, whose stars had steered
him to a peaceable profession. Mikael was a good-natured man who
also happened to be very good with a knife, whose stars had led him
to a less peaceful life, sometimes as bodyguard or bravo, sometimes
as a killer.

“
So, Nico. What brings you this far
in? Business?” Mikael seated himself in a barrel chair by the open
window, gestured for Rathe to take the stool opposite. The air was
a little fresher up here, and there were herbs scattered along the
floor and hanging from the rafters. Rathe recognized one of the
hanging bunches as woundwort, and for a moment was dizzied by the
thought of Mikael as physician as well as executioner. Well, he
thought, why not. In the Court, it made as much sense as
anything.

“
Business of a sort,” he
answered.

“
Blaming us for the clock-night,
probably,” Mariell said.

Mikael ignored her and held up a sweating stone
pitcher in silent offer. Rathe nodded. Mariell made a disgusted
noise, and disappeared into an inner room, slamming the door behind
her.

Mikael shook his head, but said nothing, picked up a
mug and filled it, handing it to Rathe.

Rathe decided not to pursue the issue. “Who’s good
these days?” he asked, and nodded toward the wine jug.

Mikael made a face. “Piss poor most of it is, I tell
you, but Harin has gotten in a couple hogsheads that I’m not
embarrassed to drink, and she’s not embarrassed to sell. It’s all
been piss poor even since old Grien died.”

“
Did Grien die?” Rathe asked all
innocence. “All I’d heard was that she’d disappeared and young
Grien took off for parts unknown. Good thing Harin stepped into the
breach.”

“
Yes, wasn’t it?” Mikael replied
equally bland, “So, what sort of business?”

Which meant Mikael had had enough of that topic.
Rathe leaned back, balancing awkwardly on the stool, not
particularly reassured by the weight of the knife at his side. “The
city’s strange these days, Mikael. You must have felt it. You been
working more or less than usual?”

“
What kind of question is that for
a working man, Nico?” Mikael demanded and Rathe spread his
hands.

“
Off the books, Mikael, I’m just
trying to figure out what’s going on these days. Kids
disappearing.”

“
And you only take notice because
they’re merchants’ spawn, don’t you?” The tone was less angry than
the words, almost a token protest.

Rathe sighed. “That’s not fair, Mikael. You have to
admit, this is something outside the ordinary. The Quentiers were
telling me they’d lost a—prentice, I guess you’d call him.”

Mikael’s lips twisted beneath the beard. “Bet they
didn’t go to the points, did they?”

“
Well, they told me, and I’ve added
it to my books.” Rathe matched the other man’s half smile.
“Unofficially, of course, Estel wouldn’t thank me if I made it
official. But that’s not all of it. Caiazzo is more than commonly
edgy these days. I mean, we all know he’s not the most serene
individual, but he’s close to the edge. And that’s bad for
business, Mikael.”

Mikael’s eyes narrowed and Rathe
knew the other man had taken his oblique meaning. “You’ve been
trying to close Caiazzo down for, what, five years now, Nico?” the
knife said at last, and Rathe shrugged.

“
Sure. But the fact of the matter
is, his business keeps the peace along much of the southriver and
in the outer Court.”

“
His and Dame Isart’s,” Mikael
corrected automatically. Rathe met his stare, and it was the big
man who looked away first.

“
What is it you really want to
know, Nico?”

“
Just what I said really,” Rathe
answered. “What’s going on with Hanse? Things aren’t right with
him, and he’s letting it show. Have you done any work for him this
summer?”

Mikael shook his head. “All right, Nico, and this
I’ll give you for free. No, I haven’t worked for him this summer,
and that’s not usual, not through the fair. He usually hires me on
to keep an eye on things for a couple of his merchants who come in
for the fair. And there’s a banker you might know, Dezir Chevassu,
changes a lot of Hanse’s money as it comes in and out. Usually
that’s good for two weeks solid hire, and not too much heavy work,
there never is with bankers, not really. This year….” He gestured,
showing empty palms. “Nothing. Not a damned thing. He hasn’t even
told me he won’t be needing my services, and you know Hanse, polite
to the last, or if you’ve offended him, you don’t know it until
it’s too late.”

“
Yes, but who could he hire to
finish you, Mikael?” Rathe asked. “How many takers do you think
there’d be for a job like that?”

Mikael favored the younger man with a smile that was
almost indulgent. “And how many young hotheads do you have in the
points, Nico? Idiots who should know that a job is suicide, but see
it as their way of proving themselves? No, there are plenty of
people who’d try to hit Mikael, if Caiazzo wanted to hire someone,
I can give you the names of half a dozen. But he hasn’t. And he
hasn’t given me the brush. Just—nothing. And that’s not normal.” He
paused then, the animation draining from his face, and Rathe
guessed he was thinking of the children, making the same unwelcome
connections that Rathe himself had been making. “Go see Chevassu,”
Mikael said at last. “She might have some answers for you. Truth be
told, I think Hanse took more than a little business away from her.
She used to have some interests as a merchant-venturer.”

“
So is she now a resident?” Rathe
asked and Mikael shook his head.

“
Chevassu favors the money side of
things. She’s solely banking and exchange these days.”

Rathe set his empty cup on the table—ruddywood
inlaid with white stone, a pretty piece of work, and probably good
to have at hand in a brawl. He wondered if Mikael had liberated it
from one of the locals. “I’ll do that,” he said, and stood slowly.
Mikael didn’t favor sudden movements, “I assume this Chevassu isn’t
located in the Court.”

Mikael snorted. “Not likely. Chevassu lives well
north of the river—further north than most of her clients. And that
argues a lack of diplomacy, to my mind. You’ll find her in the
Chancery district, on the Temple Road. Or at the Heironeia, during
business hours. And, Nico.” He fixed the younger man with a sudden,
baleful stare. “If Hanse is involved in the child-stealing, I
expect you’ll let me know. He’s a good employer, but this—this is
bad, bad business, bad for business. I don’t like it.”

Rathe met the stare squarely. “If he is involved—and
I don’t have any real reason to think he is, Mikael, I’m clutching
straws here—then he’s mine. This is a points matter.”

“
Unless I get there first,” Mikael
answered.

Rathe nodded slowly, acknowledging what he couldn’t
prevent. “But I’ll do my best to stop you. I want this one very
badly, Mikael. Just so you know.”

“
I’ll bear that in mind,” Mikael
said, and opened the narrow door.

Rathe made his way back toward Point of Hopes, his
mood hovering vaguely between satisfaction and guilt. Mikael had
spoken honestly, for once, and that was good, but Rathe wished it
hadn’t been at the price of spreading suspicion against Caiazzo. He
sighed then. Worse than that was the nagging fear that the
surintendant might be right after all, and that meant a brief
detour.

Chevassu lived in Manufactory Point—well northriver,
as Mikael had said, but not as undiplomatic a choice as the knife
had implied. It was a good neighborhood, but not old; for a woman
who’d almost certainly been born southriver, it was a wise choice.
The adjunct point at Manufactory was a woman named Talairan, small,
with a deceptively lazy air. Rathe had seen her crack skulls once,
during an ugly guild fight, and was not deceived. She grinned up at
him as he came into the station, and jerked her head toward a side
room. Rathe nodded, relieved—he wasn’t particularly fond of Huyser,
Manufactory’s chief point—and followed her into the narrow workroom
She closed the door firmly behind him, and perched on the end of
the bare table.

“
What in all hells is going on
southriver, anyway, Rathe? One riot, one near riot, and a man shot
dead in the street? And before the clocks, so there’s no
excuse.”

“
That was self-defense,” Rathe
said, automatically, and Talairan shook her head.

“
Sounds like you’re having a rare
old time down there.”

“
Nothing we’d like more than to
share it with you,” Rathe said dryly. “You telling me it’s all
peace and tranquility here?”

Talairan’s mouth twitched. “Hardly. Not only are
these missing kids not in the manufactories, no matter what they
think southriver, we’ve lost some of the ones that are supposed to
be working there. Now, some of them are just runaways—and I can’t
fully blame them, not from most of those places, it’s not like
they’re learning a trade. My feeling is, the older ones are
thinking, well, if I get caught, I can always blame it on the
child-thieves.”

Rathe nodded, not surprised. The manufactories
weren’t the worst places to work in the city, but they weren’t the
best, and they lacked the community of the guild system, and room
for advancement. A chairmaker there would make chairs all her life;
an apprentice carpenter had at least some faint chance of becoming
a master, though that, too, was changing. “I’ve a question for
you,” he said and saw Talairan’s gaze sharpen. “About the
children?”

“
I don’t know yet. I don’t think
so. But the sur thinks possibly.”

Talairan lifted an eyebrow. “You’re flying high
these days, my son. All right, try it on.”

Rathe nodded and took a breath, wondering precisely
how to phrase his questions. “There’s a banker lives hereabout,
name of Chevassu. Know her?”

Talairan laughed. “Sure I know her. I keep my beady
eye on her, seeing as I’m sure she shaves the rate of exchange the
way her lessers shave coins. Last I heard though, bankers were
hardly the most likely suspects.”

“
Tell me about her,” Rathe
said.

Talairan blew air from puffed cheeks. “Where to
begin? She’s a respected woman hereabouts, the question is how she
got that respectable—seeing as she came from southriver.” Rathe
nodded, unsurprised, and Talairan went on, “Rumor has it she has
partial interest in a couple of the better class houses, over in
Hearts, which is where her own coin comes from, and, of course,
they say she banks for folk in the Court—not the queen’s—and the
’Serry and the Old Crossing. Why?”

Rathe ignored the question. “Is she a fence?”

“
No. Or not anymore. Like I said,
my main concern is how she juggles her books and with whom.” She
fixed him with a sudden glare. “I would take it very badly, Rathe,
if you were going after her on my ground.”

Rathe shook his head. “No—my word on it, Tal. It’s
just…well, you mentioned court connections. I hear they’re with
Caiazzo, probably legal enough, and I’ve some questions for her.
That’s all.”

Talairan nodded, appeased. “I’ve been hearing some
very odd talk about him, trickling up from Fairs’ Point. Business
problems, I heard. Is there a connection with the children?”

“
I don’t know—I didn’t think so,
still don’t, really. But there’s no denying there’s something wrong
there.”

“
He’s never dealt in human flesh,”
Talairan said, doubtfully, “and especially not
children.”

Rathe nodded, ran a hand through already disheveled
hair. “Tell me about it. But I don’t like the coincidence, what
pointsman does?”

“
A lazy one,” Talairan answered,
and jerked her head toward the wall she shared with Huyser’s
office.

Rathe smiled, but wryly. “So I need to look into
it.”

“
Caiazzo’s rightfully Customs
Point’s concern.”

“
Customs Point,” Rathe said,
enunciating each syllable with acid precision, “thinks Hanselin
Caiazzo is an honest businessman and a boon to the
district.”

Talairan stared at him. “They said that?”

“
They’ve said it,” Rathe said
grimly.

She whistled softly. “His fees must be
powerful.”

“
So they tell me. Thanks for your
help, Tal.”