Fairs' Point (16 page)

“
It’s a wise man who knows his limitations,” Solveert said. “But I’m not sure you’ll do it in a maiden ladder.”

He moved off before Eslingen could decide how to answer. And after all, there was nothing wrong with his words—from almost anyone else, Eslingen would have admitted they could have been well meant. There was just something about the man that put E
slingen’s hackles up.

“
Lieutenant?” the secretary said, and Eslingen shook himself back to the business at hand.

“
Yes. I’m here to enroll my dog in the Trechaunter Stakes—first rung of a maiden ladder.” He held out the packet of papers.

The secretary took them, comparing the entry form to the details of the pedigree and the horoscope, then looked up thoughtfully.
“You know, this dog’s also eligible for the Homebreds, and there’s a maiden stakes. Would you be interested in another entry? It’s only a heirat for that one, if you enter by the end of the day. No ladder, of course, but it’s a decent purse.”

Eslingen hesitated. He had no idea whether Sunflower would be ready to run then or not, or if he was likely to be overmatched, but a heirat was little enough to throw after his two pillars. Naimi could overrule him if she didn’t like the idea.
“Why not?”

“
An excellent choice, Lieutenant, I don’t think you’ll regret it.” The secretary pointed to the third clerk at the end of the table. “If you’ll just give these to Felise, she’ll take the fee and write your entrance.”

“
Thank you,” Eslingen said, and moved down the row. He folded his papers back into his cuff while he waited for Felise to finish with the woman ahead of him, then presented the secretary’s note and produced the necessary fee. Felise handed him the stamped brass tokens that would permit Sunflower to run in each of the two races, and Eslingen secured them in the purse he kept inside the waistband of his breeches. Nothing was proof against pickpockets, but it was better than most alternatives. Although if Voillemin was right about a special gang targeting the races—but there wasn’t much else he could do about it.

He worked his way back out of the crowded house, and stopped in the shade of a plane tree to savor the relative cool and the thread of a breeze from the river. He needed to give the tokens to Naimi, and then perhaps he would have time to buy himself a decent lunch before he had to return to the salle.

“Lieutenant vaan Esling, isn’t it?” A woman with a parasol gave him a searching glance.

For an instant, Eslingen was tempted to deny it but then he re
cognized her. Elis Calaon had a shop on the north side of the river, on the edge of Manufactory Point, where she sold teas and spices; she bought most of her goods from Caiazzo, and carried more than a few items that had never paid their full customs duties. She was small and round and pretty, her sleeveless summer bodice showing spotless linen and honey skin, her heavy dark hair pinned up off her elegant neck and secured beneath a delicate lace cap. “Dame Calaon,” he said, with a bow, and she smiled with what looked like relief.

“
How fortunate that I’ve found you. Might I persuade you to walk with me a little?”

“
I’d be honored,” Eslingen said, politely, but didn’t try to hide his wariness.

“
It’s my business, not Caiazzo’s,” she said. “If that makes a difference.”

“
I won’t deny it does.”

She twirled her parasol nervously, the painted flowers blending for a moment to streaks of pale color, then moved off toward the training pens. Eslingen fell into step at her side, and she gave him a sidelong glance.

“You’re still Rathe’s leman, aren’t you? It’s not as personal a question as it seems.”

“
I am,” Eslingen answered, “but if you’re wanting him to do something, or not do something—I won’t be your agent for that, dame.”

“
It’s not quite like that,” Calaon answered. They had reached the training pens, and she stopped beneath one of the awnings set up for owners. There were no dogs in the nearest pen, and the space was empty except for an apprentice damping the dust with a watering-can. She beckoned to him, and held out a seilling. “Fetch us a pint of Demis-ale, and you can keep the change.”

“
Yes, madame,” the boy answered, and darted off, leaving the watering-can behind.

“
I’m in a rather awkward position,” Calaon said. “For the last ten years, I’ve made book on the Dog Moon races, and never once have I had trouble paying out. In fact, I’ve always made quite a nice profit on the business. And I will be damned before I put up good money for a bond I don’t need.”

Eslingen nodded.
“I gather you’re not alone in that.”

“
Not in the slightest,” she agreed. “However… This year is something different.”

“
Might you need the bond after all?” Eslingen asked. Gods, he hoped she wasn’t going to ask him to speak to Caiazzo for her.

She gave a snort of laughter.
“I never risk more than I can afford to lose. That’s not the problem.” She stopped, shaking her head. “My daughter minds the book for me. She’s dog-mad herself, but sensible, and she’s done it three years now and made a good profit. Do you know how it’s done?”

Eslingen shook his head.
“I’m still new to the city. This is my first spring here.”

“
Every book-writer keeps a book, and all the bets are recorded there,” Calaon said. “And most book-writers carry a strongbox with them, with a slot to drop the money in and a double-lock so it takes two keys to open the main compartment.”

“
And they only carry one key with them while they work,” Eslingen said, nodding, “or none at all.”

“
Exactly. I had one specially made last year, with a section that only needs the one key—Mairet, my daughter, said she’d do better if she could make change for the bettors—and then the main compartment with the double-lock. She works out of the Briar Rose, next door to Mama Moon’s, and does a decent business there. But two days ago she came home and when we opened the double-lock, there was nothing in the strongbox but copper coin. She swore she’d taken two pillars in silver, and the book bore her out. And all the silver was gone from the change box, too, though she thought she’d had a few seillings left there.” Calaon fixed him with a steady stare. “Someone stole the silver from her box, Lieutenant, only I’ve no idea how it could have happened.”

“
You’re sure—forgive me, but you’re sure there’s no other key?” Eslingen tipped his head to one side, considering. “And I assume there were no marks on the box, no signs of tampering?”

“
You assume correctly,” Calaon answered. “Not a scratch, not a nick. It looks as nice as when it was made. And Mairet is honest, she wouldn’t cheat me.”

“
That’s…extremely peculiar,” Eslingen said, and Calaon gave an unhappy smile.

“
Isn’t it? What’s even more peculiar—I made inquiries, of course, discreetly, and I’ve heard a whisper that I’m not the only woman it’s happened to.”

“
Has anyone gone to the points?” Eslingen asked.

Calaon snorted.
“No one’s paid their bond, Lieutenant.”

“
Quite.”

She nodded.
“But if that’s true—if someone is stealing silver from locked and double-locked strongboxes—it’s a matter of concern.”

“
It is that,” Eslingen said. “But, dame, what am I to do?”

“
A word in your leman’s ear,” Calaon answered. “Whisper a rumor to him over your dinner. Make sure that at least one honest pointsman knows there’s something wrong.”

He could do that, Eslingen thought. It was easy enough, and Rathe would thank him for it—it was exactly what Rathe had asked him to do, after all. But it would relegate him to a mere go-between, do nothing to prove to Rathe that Coindarel’s offer was something he could do, and do well.
“I’ve another thought,” he said slowly. “You think this is magistry, right?”

“
I’m not a magist,” Calaon answered. “But I don’t know another way it could be done.”

“
What if I were to arrange with you to meet with Rathe, to have a quiet talk about a purely hypothetical problem? Perhaps even with a magist in attendance? They’re always interested in hypothetical questions.”

She blinked, tilting her head as she considered.
“It’s a thought,” she said, “and a better one than mine. All right, Lieutenant, if you can arrange it, I’ll certainly do my part.”

“
I’ll send word,” Eslingen answered, and hoped he could deliver on his promise.

The afternoon’s lessons at the salle stretched out interminably, sons and occasional daughters of nobility and merchants-resident both vying for a turn in the free hours just to say they’d gone a touch or two with one of the Sights of Astreiant. Usually it was easy enough to let it all slide off him, but this afternoon the sligh
test word seemed to rub him the wrong way. He managed to get through the scheduled lessons without losing his temper, but wasn’t quite able to keep himself from scoring a flashy touch on a particularly annoying young man. Luckily, the young man’s friends were duly impressed, and the young man booked a lesson to learn the counter, but Eslingen slipped out of the salle, hoping to catch a breath of fresh air and calm himself down. The nearest bay had its windows open to the breeze, and he stood for a moment, letting the sweat dry on his skin.

“
A word, vaan Esling.”

Eslingen grimaced, recognizing the voice, but knew he’d earned the reprimand. He pulled back his damp hair and turned to face Gerrat Duca, the senior master of the Masters of Defense.
“Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Duca eyed him thoughtfully.
“Take the rest of the day—tomorrow, too. Soumet and Siredy can cover your lessons.”

There were only three scheduled, but every demming helped. E
slingen grimaced, torn between needing to get away from the routine, lessons and free bouts played for tips, and needing the money, and Duca’s expression softened.

“
They get to us all, vaan Esling. You’ll feel better for a day away.”

“
Yes,” Eslingen said. He wasn’t a natural teacher; it was one thing to train up raw recruits, and entirely another to teach swordsmanship, one on one and day in and day out…

Duca nodded.
“Be off with you, then.”

Eslingen took him at his word. The baths were uncrowded at this hour, and he wallowed in the pools for longer than usual before dragging himself out and heading home. He arrived at the gate a few steps ahead of Rathe, who carried a loaf of bread under his arm, and they climbed the stairs in companionable silence. Inside, Eslingen poured them each a cup of wine while Rathe unpacked the rest of the night’s dinner, and they settled on opposite sides of the table.

“I had an interesting morning,” Eslingen said, after a moment looking up from under his eyelashes to gauge the other man’s reaction.

“
Oh yes?”

“
I met a woman I knew from Caiazzo’s service—”

“
I had Caiazzo himself this morning,” Rathe said, shaking his head. “Go on.”

Quickly, Eslingen outlined his meeting with Calaon, and her
“hypothetical” problem.

“
That’s bad business,” Rathe said, “and just the sort of thing we were afraid would happen, damn it. And it’s still Fairs’ Point, and I’m still warned off.”

“
I had a thought,” Eslingen said, and Rathe gave a quick smile.

“
Painful, was it?”

Eslingen kicked him under the table, gently enough, and Rathe subsided.