Fairs' Point (29 page)

He wound his way through the fairgrounds twice, west to east and then back along the main axis, but saw only a handful of wo
men sitting in their stalls at the eastern end of the ground. They were all professionals, women who wrote book on cargos and caravans as well as the dog races, and all of them had their licenses conspicuously displayed. Eslingen frowned at that, and nudged a man he knew had dogs running with DeVoss.

“
The points are cracking down?”

The dog-owner—Nacoste, his name was—rolled his eyes.
“That acting chief, Voillemin, he’s had his people sweeping the fairgrounds since yesterday demanding to see every license and patent he can think of. Respect for the law, he says.”

“
Respect for his fees, more likely,” the woman next to him sniffed, and Nacoste grunted agreement.

“
And when what’s really needed is help with the repairs—no, I’m not in charity with the man.”

“
No one is,” the woman said.

“
I have business with a writer, but I don’t see her here today,” Eslingen said. “Any idea where she might have gone?”

“
A bunch of them relocated to the Basket of Grapes, over by the river,” the woman said, “but Voillemin’s probably found them by now.”

Nacoste nodded morosely.
“Waste of time and money.”

Eslingen left them grumbling, and traced his way through the maze of riverside streets only to find the Basket of Grapes closed up, its front door barred and the windows shuttered. He stared at it for a minute, startled, and the woman sweeping the street in front of her smaller shop next door leaned on her broom.

“Don’t get on the wrong side of the points, master, that’s the lesson for you.”

“
What happened?”

The woman snorted.
“The points chased half the book-writers out of the New Fair, so they came down here to think what to do—a couple of them were all for a complaint to the Regents, as if that would help—and the points followed them. What a bloody mess, women trying to get out the back, jumping out the windows, and if a few of the points went home with bloody noses, it serves them right.”

“
Did they call many points?”

“
Not this lot.” The woman smiled, not pleasantly. “All the writers got away, so they arrested the house, from Sareij Versluys who owns it down to the boy who minds the fire. Cooks and waiters and all. Bloody fools, the lot of them.”

“
Lovely.” Rathe would be furious, Eslingen thought, and rightly so. “I was supposed to meet one of the writers, but I suppose that will have to wait.”

“
You might try over the border in Point of Graves,” the woman answered. “Seems as though most of them were headed that way.”

Anything to get out of Fairs’ Point, Eslingen thought, and no
dded. “Thanks, dame.”

In the end, he tracked Calaon’s daughter to her mother’s shop in Manufactory Point, and listened to Calaon’s indignation over a glass of beer. She had the list for him as well, and he tucked it into his sleeve.
“I’ll certainly have a word with Rathe when I see him,” he said, for the third time. “I doubt anyone outside Fairs likes this proceeding.”

“
Mairet’s got a bruise on her ribs the size of a plate,” Calaon said. “She can hardly breathe for it. And she says she’s a lucky one.”

“
I know,” Eslingen said. “I heard there was some talk of going to the Regents. Do you think that would help?”

Calaon sighed.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think so, but—we have to do something.”

“
Couldn’t hurt,” Eslingen said, though he was afraid he was being overly optimistic, and headed for the University to give the list to b’Estorr.

Of course the necromancer wasn’t in his lodgings, or at classes, but the doorkeeper unbent enough to say that he thought b’Estorr had gone to the deadhouse, and might still be there. Eslingen thanked him, not entirely happily, but turned toward the Univers
ity’s bounds. He had no particular desire to revisit the deadhouse, but he had an itching feeling that he shouldn’t delay.

To his surprise, the apprentice who answered the deadhouse door brought him straight back to a narrow workroom, much like the examining rooms except that there was no table for a dead body. Instead, there were twin stone-topped tables, an alchemist’s stove in one corner, and a pair of cabinets crammed with experimental vessels and less identifiable tools. Fanier sat astride a wooden bench, glasses down on his nose for once as he probed what looked like the mechanism of a lock, while b’Estorr and Rathe stared m
orosely at the pair of silver coins lying on the nearer table.

“
Philip!” Rathe sounded glad of his presence, and Eslingen couldn’t help a grin. “Did you get the list?”

“
Finally.” Eslingen handed it across, and Rathe unfolded it, using a pair of bankers’ weights to pin the corners. “It’s been a bit of a morning.”

“
Oh?”

“
Voillemin’s gone after the book-writers,” Eslingen answered. He gave a succinct explanation of his morning’s search, and Rathe swore.

“
That’s all we need. Bloody waste of time—”

“
‘Respect for the law,’” Eslingen quoted, and received the look that deserved.

“
The law doesn’t need help, at least not from him. Was anyone hurt?”

“
Bruises and bloody noses, from what I heard. And Voillemin’s people got the worst of it.”

“
Better than it could be, I suppose.” Rathe looked at b’Estorr. “Anything?”

The necromancer shook his head.
“Nothing that leaps out at me, anyway. I’ll make a closer comparison later. But for now—I’d really like to know what happened here.”

“
Not to mention how,” Fanier said, not looking up from his work.

Eslingen looked at Rathe.
“Trouble?”

“
Of a sort.” Rathe sighed. “Our silver’s gone missing, too.”

“
But not all of it,” Fanier interjected, looking up from the lock. He set his glasses on his head. “And I’ll tell you this for free, there was no tampering with lock or box. We put a few extra protections on them both, since we keep so many dead women’s goods, and none of them were touched. I’m Dis himself if I can tell you how it was done.”

“
Or why,” b’Estorr said. “I don’t see anything either, Nico. I’m sorry.”

Rathe turned the coins over, the metal ringing softly on the stone top.
“These—I think these are the coins we took out of the wall.”

Eslingen came to join him, frowning at the pieces of silver. Rathe had said that the piece taken from Poirel’s chest had been a cut pi
llar, and there was nothing like that here; these were two seillings, worn and ordinary and he shrugged. “I can’t swear they’re the exact ones, but—they certainly look the same.”

“
That’s interesting,” b’Estorr said. Fanier put aside the pieces of the lock and came to prod at the coins.

“
Very.”

“
I’m not sure I quite see how,” Eslingen said, and surprised a smile from b’Estorr.

“
You remember I said it took a great deal of energy to manipulate silver?”

Eslingen nodded.

“I did manage a quick word with Maseigne Vair, and one thing she told me about trying to work silver magistically is that not only does it take a lot of energy to get it to react, the silver then tends to cling to that energy, and release it unpredictably.”

“
So you’re thinking that the coins are disappearing because they still have energy attached?” Rathe asked. “What was the original intention, then, I wonder?”

“
Not exactly,” b’Estorr said. “I think it’s more as if—I think there may be more than one thing happening here? There’s the original act, the one that puts all the energy into the silver, and then anything magistical around it sets off the residue.”

Fanier was shaking his head.
“That can’t be all of it, there’s been enough magistry in use here since the coins were found.”

“
All right, what if the original operation was incomplete, and the silver is trying to complete it?” b’Estorr shook his head in turn. “No, because all the evidence suggests that these deaths were intended—”

“
Couldn’t they have been an accident?” Eslingen asked. “Something gone horribly wrong?”

“
You must have tested for intent,” Rathe said, in almost the same moment, and Fanier looked at him over the top of his glasses.

“
You know as well as I do that intent’s a particularly tricksy thing to diagnose. Especially when the body’s been let lie a while.”

“
For what it’s worth, I think the intent was to kill them,” b’Estorr said. “Beier and Poirel. But I can’t prove it either.”

“
Philip said you thought there was magistry done at Mama Moon’s,” Rathe said thoughtfully. “And there’s been magistry done with this silver, at least enough to kill two men, which you say would leave a residue of power in the silver. The original working couldn’t call them back, could it?”

“
Ah.” Fanier cocked his head to one side, and b’Estorr gave a slow nod.

“
That makes some sense, actually. Whatever was done, it isn’t finished until the coins have spent their last energies, and without further intent, the coins would tend to repeat their last action.”

“
Except they haven’t killed anybody yet,” Eslingen said.

“
Well, no.” b’Estorr tapped his fingers lightly on the nearest coin.

“
But they could be returning to the site of the death,” Fanier said. “Or be trying to, anyway. It seems likely both men were killed in Fairs’ Point, why not in that alley?”

“
Why not, indeed?” Rathe said. “I don’t know where Beier lodged, but it’s easy enough to find out, and, anyway, he’s bound to be have been a regular at Mama’s, all the dog fanciers are. Philip, do you know where Poirel lodged in race season?”

“
Most of the boxholders sleep in the kennel,” Eslingen answered. “But I can find out.”

“
Thanks.” Rathe looked at the others, alchemist and necromancer. “Is there any way you can test this? Give me proof enough to call a point?”

b’Estorr shook his head doubtfully.
“I just don’t know—”

“
It’ll take time,” Fanier said. “Maybe more time than you have, but I can build up the proof, I think. And the first thing we need to do is try that with the silver.”

“
Try what?” Rathe asked.

“
See how much energy it takes up, and how much is released when we complete the working. Istre and I were talking about that before you got here.”

“
It would be useful to know if Vair’s right,” b’Estorr said.

Rathe nodded.
“Might as well. When can you do it?”

“
Now, if you’d like,” Fanier said. He squinted up at the clock set high on the wall behind what looked like an iron cage—a sign, Eslingen thought, that experiments sometimes get out of hand. “It’s the end of our watch, most of the apprentices and journeymen should be available now.”