Fairs' Point (38 page)

“
I think we have to give it up,” he said softly

Rathe glared at him.
“And then what? Just let him pull off this enormous robbery tomorrow? Hand him the keys, as it were?”

“
We’re not going to find anything tonight that will be enough to convince your Surintendant,” Eslingen said. “There’s not time. What’s the best we could do, that we find a trail of sound that leads to Solveert’s house? Do you think that would be enough to call a point?”

Rathe turned away, not wanting to admit that the other was right.
“We can’t just do nothing.”

“
If I thought it would help—” Eslingen shook his head. “We can’t stop this tonight. I say we get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to face whatever comes tomorrow.”

“
How?” He needed to be doing, Rathe thought, needed to be out there trying to stop this; there was no chance he could sleep the night out knowing that Solveert was planning to rob not only the trainers and owners but every honest book-writer, every ordinary bettor, in the city…

“
We’ve got the compass,” Eslingen said. “You can warn Trijn, and she can warn the Surintendant. We’ll have to fight this like a war, Nico. We know the attack’s coming, even if we don’t know when, and we’ll be ready.”

“
If the money goes missing…” Rathe shook his head in turn. “Philip, there will be a riot that will make the last one look like a midwinter dance.”

“
I know. That’s why you’ll warn Trijn, so she can have the Surintendant warn Coindarel, too.”

“
It’s not enough.”

“
It’s all we have.” Eslingen put an arm around his shoulders, an almost tentative embrace. “Come to bed. We’ll be ready in the morning.”

“
We’ll have to be.” Rathe let himself be drawn toward the bed, knowing the Leaguer was right, then stripped and crawled between the sheets. They lay close in the dark, Eslingen’s arm warm around him. Even so, Rathe was sure he wouldn’t sleep, and lay for a while listening for the clocks that never seemed to strike, until at last his eyes closed and he sank into dreamless oblivion.

Rathe woke with the dawn, and freed himself carefully from the sheets to return to the window. In the rising light, he could just make out a shape in the alley, not the same man, he thought, but still obviously watching the house. Behind him, Eslingen stirred, rolled over, and propped himself up on one elbow.

“
Don’t tell me he’s still there.”

“
Someone is.” Rathe turned away, began to build up the fire and set a can of water on it to heat.

“
Don’t they have something more useful to do?” Eslingen dragged himself out of bed. As always, he looked entirely unlike his daytime self, hair in tangles, the shirt he slept in patched and fraying, stubble standing dark on his chin. Rathe grinned in spite of himself, but went on with the morning’s routine.

“
You’d think. Actually, I expect they will have to head back to Fairs soon enough; even with help from Customs and Graves, they’ll need every warm body they can find just to keep the peace.” His smile faded. “And more than that, if things go badly.”

Eslingen was already putting himself to rights, his hair tamed and confined by a neat blue ribbon, and he tested the water on the stove. Rathe knew it wasn’t really hot enough, but Eslingen turned to the mirror and began determinedly to shave himself.
“So what do we do now?”

Rathe ran his hands over his own hair, settling the tight curls.
“We go to the races and hope for the best. No, first we go to Dreams, and I tell Trijn what I’ve found. She’ll warn the Sur on my say-so, and I think he’ll call out Coindarel. If there’s a riot, we’ll need mounted men, no matter how little he likes the idea.”

“
That makes sense.” Eslingen splashed water on his face, then wiped his razor on a tattered towel. “They can’t stop you from going to the races—”

“
Not legally, not that I can see,” Rathe said. There were other ways, other things Voillemin might be fool enough to try, but he wasn’t going to borrow trouble. “Not when my leman’s dog is running in the finals.”

“
Better dress up a bit, then,” Eslingen suggested. He was already wearing his second-best shirt, fine lawn with no lace, and a better pair of breeches, and as Rathe watched, he reached into the clothespress for his best coat. “That way they’ll know you’re not working.”

“
If things go wrong, you’ll ruin the lot,” Rathe said.

“
But I’ll be beautiful in the process,” Eslingen answered, with a smirk. “Besides, if we save the day, surely I can get a new coat out of it.”

“
Don’t get your hopes up,” Rathe said, but he reached for a decent shirt of his own, and his better coat. Not only would the unexpected display be disarming, there was at least half a chance some of the Fairs’ Point people wouldn’t know him if he was reasonably well dressed.

“
You look very nice,” Eslingen said, and breathed a laugh. “Which I know is hardly to the point this morning, but—you do.”

“
Let’s hope it confuses some people,” Rathe said, and reached for the bread.

They made their way to Point of Dreams as soon as the clock struck half past seven, and Rathe left Eslingen in the main room while he climbed the stairs to Trijn’s workroom. As he’d expected, she was there already, her breakfast sitting on an unfolded napkin, and she eyed him balefully over her cup of tea.

“This isn’t good news, is it?”

“
Afraid not,” Rathe said. He ran down what Eslingen had told him, putting it together in the most convincing case he could make, but wasn’t surprised when Trijn shook her head.

“
That won’t hold, Rathe, and you know it.”

“
Grant you that. Though I’m pretty sure it’s true—”

“
I didn’t say it wasn’t. I said it wouldn’t hold.”

Rathe dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“Granting that, too, then—someone, probably Solveert, is going to make all that silver disappear today, and there’s going to be all hell to pay when it happens.”

“
We’re on alert,” Trijn said. “And I’m told Coindarel’s Dragons are to be waiting horsed and ready in Graves, just in case, though you didn’t hear that from me.”

“
We need to stop it happening,” Rathe said. “If the silver does vanish, everyone’s prize money and all the bets they’ve made—and that’s what he’s counting on, isn’t it? We’ll be so busy trying to keep order that he can just vanish himself, and collect his prize at leisure.”

“
I know.” Trijn pushed her breakfast away, the bread and cheese barely touched. “If we even had an idea when…”

Solveert needed power, needed energy, massed energy, to move the silver. He’d gained it from the races themselves, the focused attention of hundreds of women, and he’d gained it from the riot, but to move the amount of silver in Fairs’ strongroom, he’d need even more.
“At the prize ceremony itself,” he said. “Before they start handing out the turn-back takings. They always sing the Queen’s Anthem, either the University choir or the crowd, but always. That’s how he’ll do it.”

“
Tyrseis,” Trijn said. “That could work.”

“
It will work,” Rathe said, grimly. “And all that silver will disappear.”

“
The Sur has us all on alert,” Trijn said again. “And I’ll tell him myself what you’ve just told me. I’ve also told our off-duty women that I want them at the races ready for trouble, and I doubt I’m alone in that. Call on them if you need them, Nico.”

“
I will,” Rathe said, and went back down the stairs.

They made their way through the streets toward Fairs’ Point in an ever-increasing stream of traffic. Half the shops were shuttered for the day, the first holiday of the summer season, the full moon of Maiden and the Dog Moon, and the first day of the spring ghost-tide, though it was impossible to feel those effects in the bustling streets. But every one of those correspondences would add force to Solveert’s magic, make it easier for him to raise the power he needed and move the silver—elsewhere. Rathe looked at Eslingen in sudden panic.

“Here, you have that thing, the compass, right?”

“
In my pocket,” Eslingen answered. “Do you want it?”

Rathe considered for a moment, then shook his head.
“No. I think—whatever happens is going to happen when they sing the anthem before the final payouts. You make sure you can track it, I’ll deal with Solveert.”

“
Let Fairs’ Point do it, it’s their business,” Eslingen said. “They’re still following you, by the way.”

It took all Rathe’s self control to keep from turning to see.
“If Voillemin’s involved, he’ll do everything he can to confuse the issue. I outrank him, there’s a chance the other points will listen to me.”

“
True enough.” Eslingen glanced at the clock as they came past the Fairs’ Point station, the gates of the New Fair thrown wide ahead of them. “It’s too early to go to the kennels. What do we do now? Breakfast?”

“
I’m not hungry.” In point of fact, his stomach was a painful knot. Rathe grimaced. “Place a bet or two, I think. That would be the normal thing, right?”

“
Not when my money is likely to disappear in a puff of smoke,” Eslingen muttered.

Rathe elbowed him.
“Keep your voice down, for Astree’s sake. We don’t want to change your routine, make anyone suspicious.”

Eslingen sighed.
“You’re right, of course. I just hate losing money knowingly.”

And that’s different from putting money on the dogs precisely how? Rathe swallowed the words, knowing what Eslingen’s a
nswer would be, and linked arms with him. “You must have a favorite book-writer or three. Introduce me, maybe I’ll put a demming on the race myself.”

“
That’ll be the day,” Eslingen answered, but started toward the practice tracks.

They spent the first hours of the morning stalking the book-writers. The odds on Sunflower had shortened overnight, most of the writers quoting three-to-two, but Eslingen managed to find a couple of women who were willing to give him three-to-one, and placed his bets there. He made Rathe do the same, though the pointsman refused to put more than a spider with any one writer. Still, it was more than Eslingen had seen him do before, and he thought they were making a reasonable counterfeit of a blameless day at the races. They were no longer being followed, but there were plenty of pointsmen in sight, conspicuous in their leather jerkins, and Eslingen did his best not to draw their attention.

The final race for the year’s maidens was scheduled for eleven o’clock, and Eslingen made his way to the kennels at half past ten, not surprised to find Naimi already watching Sunflower in his pen. The little dog looked fit and happy, his nose to the dirt as he searched for any missed bits of food, and Eslingen said,
“I brought Nico. I hope you don’t mind.”

Naimi’s face lightened.
“Nico! Oh, it’s good of you to come. This is the best dog I’ve had yet, and it’s all your doing.”

“
‘Best dog yet,’” Eslingen quoted, in spite of himself, and Naimi spun three times and spat in the dirt.

“
I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t say it.”

“
It’s all right,” Rathe said. “He looks fit enough. Who’s the competition?”

“
He’ll do,” Naimi said, visibly relieved at the change of subject. “They’re all good dogs, of course, that’s the trouble. But there’s Moo—”