Fairs' Point (41 page)

The boy glared at him.
“Dame Solveert, and she’ll take you to court in the city if you hurt her animals.”

“
Ah.” Even though he’d been expecting something like it, Eslingen couldn’t help smiling, and saw the same fierce glee in Rathe’s face as well. “We’re on the Queen’s business, shepherd—the Queen’s Royal Dragons and her points together. If there’s damage, your mistress will be compensated, of course, but we mean to cause none.”

“
Is there a hut you use?” Rathe asked.

The boy looked from one to the other.
“There’s no hut for us.”

Rathe swore.

“He can’t have just left it in the open,” Eslingen said. He lifted the compass again, but the chime was steady, still drawing them east, toward hills covered with low scrub. There was no sign of a roof, a chimney stack…

“
Any building at all?” Rathe asked.

“
There’s the wine cave,” the boy said.

“
Where?”

The boy pointed toward the hills.
“It’s set into the slope there, where the old vineyard used to be.” He scowled. “It used to be our hut, when the sheep were in this quarter, but the mistress’s son shut it up because it was falling down dangerous.”

“
Thank you, Seidos,” Eslingen said. “That has to be it.”

Rathe nodded, and held out his hand to the boy.
“If you take us there, I can promise you a share of the reward.”

“
Reward?” The boy hesitated for less than a heartbeat. “Very good, master, I’m with you.”

The boy led them by an almost invisible path up into the hills. The chime of the compass grew louder again, and Eslingen breathed a sigh of relief. They might just make it, might be able to find the silver and get it back to the city in time—

And there it was, little more than a heap of weathered boards, the thatch of the low roof blending into the grass of the hillside. But the bar across the door was new, and the chain and lock that held it in place showed no signs of rust. Eslingen swung himself down from his horse, tossing the reins to the nearest trooper, and joined Faraut and Rathe in contemplating the lock. Faraut shrugged and unslung her carabine, ready to use the butt on the lock, but Rathe said, “Wait.”

He reached into his purse, came out with a tangle of oddly shaped iron instruments. He inserted one into the lock, frowned, and chose another. A moment later, the tumblers turned over and the hasp fell loose.

“Interesting skills you have, Adjunct Point,” Eslingen said, in spite of himself.

Rathe gave him a limpid look.
“It doesn’t do to damage women’s property, Lieutenant.”

Faraut hauled the beam aside with the help of one of her troopers, and together they pushed in the door. For a moment, it wouldn’t budge, though the compass in Eslingen’s hand rang louder and louder, and then it scraped open far enough to reveal a fan of coins spilling toward the door. The compass gave a final clang and split into pieces with a force that left Eslingen shaking his fingers.

“Seidos’s Horse!”

“
It’s here,” Rathe said, and there was relief in his voice, as though he hadn’t quite believed it himself. “It’s all here.”

The woman from Fairs’ Point peered past him and nodded, and Eslingen came to see for himself. At first glance, the room was filled with silver, piled nearly knee high in the center, and strewn across the floor in drifts that made it hard to open the door. The earthen walls at the back of the room were pocked with coin, as though some of the coin had struck there first, and it looked as though there were more coins embedded in the workbench that stood to one side.

“All of it?” That was Sohier, and Eslingen heaved at the door again, pushing it back far enough that he could squeeze inside.

“
If it isn’t, it’s damn close.”

“
We’re not done yet,” Rathe said, ducking through the opening. “We’ve still got to get this back to Astreiant somehow.”

“
We’re not bringing it on horseback. We’ll need a wagon. A couple of strong cart horses, too.”

“
That’ll take too long,” Rathe said. “If we’re not back by sunset—sooner, even—I don’t know how long Coindarel can hold them.”

Eslingen looked around.
“Faraut! Get me a sack.”

“
Right, Lieutenant.” The sergeant disappeared from the doorway, returned a moment later with a heavy canvas bag with a drawstring neck. “That’s the biggest we have.”

“
Thanks.” He looked at Rathe. “We can bring back a sack of coin as earnest, to prove we’ve found it and that the rest is on its way. Will that work?”

“
It will have to,” Rathe said.

Rathe busied himself filling the sack, listening with half an ear as Eslingen gave orders to the Dragons. He sent a pair of troopers with the boy to requisition a wagon, ordered Faraut and the others to stay and guard the silver under Sohier’s orders. Hearing that, Rathe straightened, ready to reinforce the order, but Faraut merely nodded.

“
Do you think we’re likely to run into any trouble, Lieutenant?”

“
Seidos knows,” Eslingen answered. “But it’s as well to be prepared.”

Rathe weighed the bag in his hand. It wasn’t full, but it was ge
tting uncomfortably heavy, and the horses were already tired. Surely it would be enough. He knotted the cords and ducked back out of the hut. “I don’t think Solveert was planning for this to be a fight,” he said. “If nothing else, then he would have had to share. My guess is, he was planning to leave it here, and live blamelessly off his secret horde.”

“
Are you ready?” Eslingen asked, and he nodded.

“
If the horses can take it.”

Eslingen took the bag, hefting it thoughtfully.
“King of Thieves can manage it. I’m not sure about yours.”

“
You carry it, then,” Rathe said, and dragged himself gracelessly into the saddle. He had little occasion to ride in the city, and the muscles of back and thigh were already complaining. He’d be miserable in the morning, but he could worry about that later. Eslingen mounted with discouraging ease, tying the bag to the saddle in front of him.

“
Let’s go,” he said, and sent King of Thieves into an easy trot. Rathe kicked his horse into motion and followed.

It seemed to take forever to reach the road, though after a m
oment Rathe realized that Eslingen was leading them at a different angle, cutting off a few hundred yards. Once they’d reached the road, Eslingen pulled up long enough for Rathe to catch up, and shook his head.

“
We’ll need to take this in stages, give them a breather partway or they’ll never make it.”

Rathe looked to the west, where the sun was barely the width of two hands above the horizon. The winter-sun was still up, its bri
lliant pinpoint nearly lost in the dazzle: they’d have its light for an hour or so after sundown, but no longer. “Right,” he said, and braced himself to follow.

The road unreeled beneath them as the sun set, their shadows stretching grotesquely across the fields, but at last they were among the houses of Forza, and then Atheria, and finally as the sun kissed the western horizon they crossed into Astreiant proper. The streets were empty, shops closed, doors and windows tightly-shuttered, and Rathe felt a stab of fear at being too late. He took the lead, then, urging his tired horse up the Royal Road and through the ta
ngle of lesser streets that led to the New Fair. He could hear the rumble of voices as they approached, saw Eslingen’s eyes roll like a horse’s as he registered the ragged chant
—
prizes, prize
s
—and he was unsurprised to see a detachment of points lined up at the entrance to the Fair, truncheons at the ready.

“
Let us pass,” he shouted. “Queen’s business!”

The Adjunct in charge turned, tension giving way to something like relief, and she cursed and dragged her people out of the way.

They broke into the Fair itself near where they’d left the few hours before. The crowd was no bigger, but it was also no happier, and there were clear signs that the points and the Dragons had already broken up smaller fights. Torches were lit on the stage—magelight would have been better, Rathe thought, but guessed there hadn’t been time to arrange it—and Coindarel was once again addressing the crowd. Rathe raised his hat, waved it over his head as he spurred toward the stage, people and points and Dragons giving way before them. Coindarel saw him and stopped, and there was a shout from the crowd as they realized what was happening. The nearest people surged toward them, ready to see the coin for themselves, but a handful of Coindarel’s men moved to block them, and Rathe reached the stage stairs, Eslingen at his heels. Rathe flung himself off his horse and dragged himself up the stairs, not caring what happened as long as a riot could be forestalled.

“
We got it, Prince-Marshal.”

Even in the uncertain torchlight, Coindarel’s relief was clear.
“You found the coin?”

“
We did.” Rathe’s voice carried to at least the first rows. “We found it. In a vineyard hut belonging to the Patent Administrator’s mother.”

Coindarel gave him a sharp glance at that, and Solveert said,
“That doesn’t prove anything! My mother’s property is near the road, and extensive enough that anyone might make use of the outbuildings. Why, our vineyards have been abandoned ten years or more.”

“
I’m calling the point,” Rathe said.

Voillemin stepped between him and Solveert.
“That’s circumstantial, it’s not proof. And it’s not your place—”

“
Where’s the coin?” someone yelled from the crowd, and other voices picked up the call. “Where’s the prize money?”

“
Rathe,” Coindarel said sharply. “Give them an answer.”

“
Most of it’s still in the hut,” Rathe shouted. “You saw yourselves, we had ten women and no wagon. And you know how much coin there was. We left the rest of our people to load it and bring it back to the city, and we rode ahead to bring the news.”

“
I don’t believe you!” someone shouted, and there was a roar of agreement. “Show us the coin!”

Eslingen promptly held the sack over his head, and Rathe pointed to it.
“Here’s what we brought.”

“
That could be anything!”

“
Show us the coin! Show us the coin!”

Coindarel shrugged, and doffed his hat, holding it upside down. Eslingen picked at the ties that held the bag closed, frowning as though the knots were tighter than he’d expected.

“No—” Solveert took a step backward, cannoning into Malfiliatre, just as the last knot came free.

The air was filled with a hissing rumble, and the coins seemed to leap from the bag. Solveert flung up his arms in fruitless defense, but the first coins battered him to the ground. And they kept co
ming, driving into and through him, his body jerking and hitching like a puppet made to jig. Malfiliatre dropped to her knees beside him, screaming, her own arm bloodied, and the Racing Secretary dragged her away.

“
The silver has avenged itself,” Coindarel shouted. Even he sounded a little shaken. Beside him, Eslingen was white as paper, holding the empty bag at arm’s length as though it was likely to attack again. He seemed to realize what he was doing, and let it fall, his eyes still wide.

“
The robbery is solved, and the thief is dead,” Coindarel repeated, sounding more confident. “The rest of the silver is on its way back to Fairs’ Point, and the prizes will be handed out tomorrow—” He glanced at the Racing Secretary, and received a determined nod. “Tomorrow at nine o’clock in the morning. But for now, good people, disperse to your homes, let the points handle this matter as is proper.”