Fairs' Point (6 page)

“
You could have given me this first,” he said, and Besetje ducked her head.

“
I should have, shouldn’t I? I didn’t think.”

And that was how she’d always been, and there was no point in scolding. Rathe broke the seal and studied the single scrawled line
.
If Besetje wishes it, you may come
.
It was signed with Estel’s complex monogram, and he sighed. “Can I keep this?”

“
I think you’d better,” Besetje answered. “I might forget again.”

“
When do you meet?”

“
It’s not set yet. But it’ll be after first sunset, for my sake.”

“
If you want me to be there, you’ll need to give me the time in advance,” Rathe said. “At least by that morning.”

Besetje pushed back her chair.
“I will. Or Estel will. I’ll tell her you’re coming.”

“
That would be helpful,” Rathe said, but she was already out the door. He sighed. He hated having private favors on his books, even when it was someone like Besetje, who deserved the help. And dealing with the Quentiers could be construed as poaching on Hopes or Sighs—though if he spoke to Monteia first, she’d probably give him sanction. He added that to his mental list of the day’s chores, and reached for paper and pen.

The basket lurched and barked in his arms all the way through Point of Hearts and across the Hopes’ Point bridge and into Point of Dreams. It was still barking, though more hoarsely, as he climbed the stairs to the rooms he shared with Rathe. The little dog threw himself back and forth against the woven vines, and Eslingen wasn’t surprised when the door opened.

“
Philip? What in Astree’s name?”

Eslingen saw his face change as the details registered, and no
dded, grimly. “Yes, I’m back from the redistribution.”

Rathe stepped out of the doorway.
“A basket terrier?”

“
No, it’s a magic basket that barks and shakes.”

Rathe took it from him, and Eslingen latched the door as the other man began to unwind the cords that kept the lid secur
ely in place. “She—he?—will be better once she’s out of there.”

“
He, I think,” Eslingen said. “Its name’s Sunflower.”

The basket convulsed as Rathe loosened the last knot, and the lid popped off with a shrill yap. Sunflower poked head and shoulders above the rim, then leaped up and out, landing on the table where Rathe had been working. He swore again, and caught the dog before he could do any more damage, se
tting him back on the floor. He barked again, almost in admonition, and set off to explore at full speed.

“
That’s what they gave you,” Rathe said.

Eslingen spread his hands.
“De Calior paid seven pillars for him as a puppy. Or, rather, didn’t pay.” He gave the dog a dubious look as he disappeared under the bed. “He seems fast enough.”

Rathe nodded, though Eslingen thought he was suppressing a smile.
”Has he raced?”

“
Not yet. I gather he’s only just old enough this season.”

Sunflower emerged from under the bed, dust on his sleek coat and trailing from his whiskers, and Eslingen stared hel
plessly at him.

“
What are you going to do with him?” Rathe asked.

“
I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Rathe cocked his head.
“Someone’s annoyed you. How much did she offer?”

“
Three pillars,” Eslingen said. “And it was a he.” And probably it had been foolish, but he’d taken a dislike to the man.

“
Well, you won’t get any more than that, and probably less, if you try to sell him now,” Rathe said. “Not when everyone has their kennel in place already. You could always race him, I suppose. Mind you, that would mean laying out some more money for the trainers, but if he wins, you might get a decent bit more for him. Or hire him out at stud—he is intact, right?”

Eslingen looked at the short-furred hindquarters, elevated as the dog tried to dig his way under the clothes press.
“Unmistakably.”

“
But of course if he doesn’t win, what you’ve got is a nice dog.” Rathe shook his head. “Probably best to sell him now.”

Eslingen crossed to the cabinet beside the stove and poured hi
mself a glass of beer, feeling that he’d earned it. “I don’t know. It’s not like I have the money in hand now. Why not race him, see what he does?”

“
It’s a risk,” Rathe said. “And you’d have to find a trainer willing to take him on at this late date, or else pay to house him until at least the fall meets. All of that costs.”

“
I imagine I could make a deal with a trainer to share the winnings if she shares the costs,” Eslingen said. It was always amusing to see Rathe’s southriver thrift make an appearance. “At least, horse trainers are usually willing. That would cut the expenses.”

“
It’s possible,” Rathe said. “Do you have any idea whether he might be any good? Horoscope, pedigree, anything like that?”

“
I’ve got both,” Eslingen answered, and dug in the cuff of his coat for the packet of papers. “But I couldn’t make head or tail of them.”

“
It’s a specialized business,” Rathe said. “It’s a pity Beier’s gone missing, he’d have been the man to look at them for you, though he’d have charged you what it was worth.” He sighed. “If you’re serious—you could maybe use my name with Maewes DeVoss. One of her assistants is by way of owing me a favor just now, too. She’s an odd bird, but a good trainer, if DeVoss has kept her.”

“
I’ll take that and thank you,” Eslingen said.

They spent the rest of the evening making arrangement for the dog—the weaver who had the old stables offered her daughter to exercise it during the day, for a suitable fee, and in the walled courtyard Eslingen felt it was reasonably safe.

“And if you were at the Court,” the weaver said cheerfully, once the price was settled at a demming each walk, and not more than three per day, “you can tell me, maybe. Is it true the judges paid Gaeten Solveert’s debt in corms bought last winter?”

Rathe snickered, and Eslingen shook his head.
“I don’t know, I left as soon as I was given the dog. And what’s so funny about that?” Even as he asked the question, though, he understood. The goods that passed through the court were valued at what de Calior had paid for them, and corms bought at the height of last winter’s folly would have cost ten or twenty times their real value. “And why does the court hate this Solveert?”

“
It’s not really him they’d like to punish,” the weaver said cheerfully, “it’s his sister. She gave countenance to the de Caliors, sister and brother, and there’s a whisper that she encouraged Malfiliatre to repudiate the boy’s debts. Though he’s old enough to know better, I’d say.”

“
Definitely,” Rathe agreed. He glanced at Eslingen. “Ariealle Solveert’s just been elected a Regent, too, so there’s not much the judiciary can do to her. But they can send a message by way of her brother.”

“
Hard on him, if he had nothing to do with it,” Eslingen said. He had no siblings that he knew of, though he supposed there might be a sister somewhere, or a brother, if his mother had kept trying for the heir she wanted, and he felt that Astreianters sometimes overvalued those ties.

“
He contributed,” the weaver said, and Rathe nodded.

“
All the Solveerts gave them countenance—I think they were the first to back them, and I heard that Ariealle got all her friends to fund them, too. She has some things to answer for.”

“
But—” Eslingen stopped, shaking his head, and Rathe touched his shoulder.

“
It won’t hurt him, except maybe his pride. He’s the Patent Administrator this year. Second year in a row, too.”

“
And what’s that mean?” It was happening less often, but now and then Eslingen was sharply reminded that he was still a foreigner.

“
He’s the Administrator of the Royal Patent for Non-Veterinary Horoscopes,” the weaver began, and Rathe cut in.

“
He’s one of the two people who runs the Dog Moon races, him and the Racing Secretary, and of the two, Solveert’s the important one.” He shook his head. “At least he’s being a little less demanding than he was last year—it seemed like every time you turned around, there was another circular from the Patent Administrator demanding the points put a stop to some astrologer or other. He and Aardre Beier had a broadsheet feud to rival anything Aconin ever wrote, and if Beier is missing, I’d be inclined to look hard at Solveert.”

“
Is that true, then?” the weaver asked. “Beier’s missing?”

“
His friends say so,” Rathe answered. “And there’s been a circular posted. And now you know everything I do, dame.”

The weaver grinned, unabashed.
“More likely Solveert bought him off for the season. Which would be too bad. His horoscopes were better than most, and mostly honest, too.”

“
Which is why I don’t think he’d let himself be bought,” Rathe said later, after they and the dog were all fed. “It would go against the grain.”

It was past second sunset by then, and Sunflower retreated to his basket to mumble over the lamb shank they’d bought him. Eslingen eyed him thoughtfully, but the dog seemed content, and he retreated to his own bed, sliding into the space against the wall.

“After the fuss it made all the way back from the Western Reach, you wouldn’t think it would choose to settle there.”

“
Well, they call them basket terriers for a reason,” Rathe said, stripping off coat and breeches, and slid between the sheets in nothing but his drawers and a shirt so thin as to be almost transparent.

They had left the bedcurtains open and the shutters cracked to let in the night breeze; Eslingen could hear a tower clock in the di
stance and the sound of a cart on the cobbles beyond the garden wall. Part of him wanted to postpone this conversation even if just for the night, but he knew Rathe would blame him if he delayed.

“
Coindarel was at the Redistribution.”

“
Oh?”

“
I talked to him a bit,” Eslingen said. “Well, to Estradere, really, but—”

“
Estradere?” In the dark, it was impossible to read Rathe’s expression, but his tone was utterly neutral.

“
Coindarel’s leman.” Eslingen gave the most reassuring answer first. “And his Master-Sergeant, most days.”

“
And what’s that when he’s at home?”

“
Second in command, but of the entire regiment, not with a company of his own like a captain.” Eslingen paused, trying gauge the other’s response, but could make out nothing in the shadows. “He made me an interesting offer.”

“
Did he.”

“
There’s apparently some talk that the Metropolitan might raise a new mounted unit,” Eslingen said carefully. “The City Guard, or some such, to be a bodyguard to the Queen and her heir, and to supplement the points outside the city walls where the writ doesn’t run. He said if it happens, Coindarel will offer me a captaincy.”

Rathe was silent, not even a shift of breath to give away his rea
ction.

“
It’s a promotion,” Eslingen said. “Well, obviously. And regular pay, better than I have now. And no chance—well, almost none—that I’d be sent elsewhere to fight.” He made himself stop then, and lie still in the dark.