Fairs' Point (24 page)

“
Yes.”

“
Did you find silver?”

“
Yes.”

“
How much—” Eslingen began, but Rathe shook his head fractionally, and Eslingen hastily changed the question. “Was it between the timbers?”

“
And in the chimney-breast,” Albe said. “It’s mine, finder’s rights.”

Rathe nodded, and Eslingen said,
“If Nico says so, then there’s no argument.”

She looked dubious at that, and Naimi pushed her.
“Don’t be stupid.”

“
What are the right stars?” Eslingen asked hastily, and Albe shrugged.

“
Don’t know. The boy I got it from, he just gave me an almanac, like.”

Naimi pushed her again, and Albe reached into her skirts, came out with a bedraggled slip of paper. She set it reluctantly on the table, and Rathe took it, frowning.

“May I copy it?”

“
You’ll give it back?”

“
Of course he will,” Naimi said, scowling, and Albe shrugged again.

“
How’d I know that?”

Rathe had his tablets out, was hastily scribbling the dates into the soft wax. Eslingen looked back at the apprentice.

“Does it work every time?”

“
No.”

Eslingen waited, smiling, and Albe pushed a strand of hair back out of her face.

“I went three times, three days—I marked them, there—but I only found silver once. I expect someone was there before me.”

Or the days weren’t right
,
Eslingen thought, but decided that was better left unsaid. Rathe closed his tablets and slid the slip of paper back across the table. Albe snatched it, stowing it back under her skirts in a single movement.

“
Thank you,” Eslingen said, and Rathe nodded in agreement. “Both of you.”

“
Better you than anyone else,” Naimi answered. “We can trust you.” She poked Albe again, and the girl rose reluctantly to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got to get back to the kennel.”

She turned away, but Albe looked over her shoulder.
“You won’t take it all, will you? It’s—the tips have been short this spring.”

“
I don’t plan to take any,” Rathe said, but Eslingen doubted she believed him. He watched them walk away, then turned back to Rathe.

“
Well? Can you deduce the stars from that?”

“
I’m no astrologer,” Rathe said. “Though I’m sure someone can. But I think there’s a simpler answer.”

“
Oh?”

“
Yeah.” Rathe gave a crooked smile. “Tonight’s one of the nights. I think we should take a look ourselves.”

Rathe hunched over the little table in the corner of the riverside bar, keeping his face carefully averted from the door. Eslingen waited opposite him, almost unrecognizable in an unfashionable black coat buttoned high to hide his pale linen, a dark broad-brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead. It was late, nearly closing time, and for a moment Rathe envied the other man his ability to sleep at will. As soon as they had returned to their lodgings, Eslingen had stretched out on the bed and been almost instantly asleep: a handy talent, Rathe thought, but one he didn’t share. He’d managed a brief nap, but felt almost worse for it.

The nearest clock struck the quarter hour, echoed a moment later by the unmistakable chime of the University’s Great Clock, carried on a cross-river breeze, and Eslingen lifted his head.

“They’ll be closing soon.”

Rathe nodded.
“The Fair should have quieted down by now. We can go.”

Eslingen beckoned to the nearest waiter, handed him a few de
mmings to pay their shot, then rose easily to his feet. Rathe copied him, and they let themselves out into the night.

The winter-sun had set more than an hour ago, and it was full dark. The air smelled of damp, soft and heavy, holding the smells of tar and spice in the way that promised fog before morning. Magelights glimmered at odd intervals, marking a house either be
tter watched than its neighbors or pretending to be, and Rathe kept a wary eye on the alleys. This part of Fairs’ Point was mostly shops, with only a few apprentices sleeping in the back rooms to guard their mistresses’ wares, and he was glad of both knife and truncheon hanging beneath the skirts of his own shapeless coat. Eslingen had the dark lantern, shuttered until they needed it, an expensive spark of magelight at its heart.

The New Fair was relatively quiet, the cookshops and taverns all closed, only a few lights showing between the cracks of the shu
tters. The kennels were better lit, dim magelights glowing in the half-open doors and spilling into the space between the buildings; the occasional shadow betrayed the presence of a boxholder or apprentice. The dogs were mostly quiet, and Rathe gave the kennels a wide berth, not wanting to rouse them. Eslingen followed him like a shadow.

They stopped at the edge of Mama Moon’s bower to take stock, keeping to the darkness where two shadows overlapped. From there, Rathe could see the mouth of the alley where the coins had been found, and he considered it for a long moment before he turned to survey the open space beyond the bower. Surely Fairs’ Point had patrols out—surely the trainers would have paid for extra patrols—but at the moment there was no sign of anyone moving in the dappled dark. The air was still and cool, smelling strongly of dogs and spice, and the first threads of fog were creeping across the damp ground.

“Wait,” Eslingen said, softly, and caught his arm. “Look there.”

He nodded toward the entrance of the alley. Rathe looked back, and swallowed a curse. Someone was moving in the dark—a man, most likely a boxholder, pausing for a moment before vanishing into the alley.

“Of course we’re not the only ones with the almanac,” Eslingen murmured.

“
I thought they’d be abed by now,” Rathe answered.

“
What now?”

“
We wait.” Either the man would return the way he’d come, or he’d go straight through. Straight through would bring him out closer to the kennels, and the chance of raising the dogs, but on balance Rathe thought that was the better choice.

“
What if he finds the coin?”

“
We should be able to see where he dug it out,” Rathe answered.

“
Yes, but—” Eslingen shook his head. “I know we’re not looking for the silver, but a mark on the wall isn’t exactly proof of anything.”

“
I know.” Rathe glanced up, wishing they were further past the new moon. “But it’s a start.”

Eslingen was silent. They stood for a while longer, Rathe tilting his head to listen, but there was nothing to hear. He had to be gone, Rathe thought. They’d given him time to make his way down the alley, even stopping to search; surely he’d seen whatever there was to be seen, and moved on. He looked back at Eslingen.

“Let’s go.”

By silent agreement, they crossed the open space as though they belonged there, just two late-homing travelers. There was no movement from the shadows, no sound beyond a distant clatter, wood on wood, the yelp of a dog too distant to rouse the kennels. Rathe took a breath and slipped into the alley’s mouth, pausing just inside to allow Eslingen to open the dark lantern. The Leaguer fi
ddled with it for a moment, adjusting shutter and lenses, and produced a neat beam of light that he directed at their feet.

The alley was empty, empty and ordinary, the wall of Mama Moon’s to their right, plaster and timber and then the shallow bulge of the brick chimney breast. To the other side was a caravaners’ storehouse, currently rented out as housing, but there were no wi
ndows to break the timber walls. There was a smell of stale urine, no surprise, and rotting vegetables. Eslingen lifted the lantern, letting the light play along the tavern’s wall.

“
Did they say it was only Mama Moon’s wall, or both of them?” he asked.

“
They didn’t say,” Rathe answered. The plaster looked ordinary, yellowed and cracked in the magelight; the timbers were equally battered, though some of the marks… “Put the light here.”

Eslingen did as he was asked, and Rathe examined the gouge in the tarred wood.
“Someone’s been digging here.”

“
Looks like it. Tonight, do you think?”

“
I can’t tell.” Rathe shook his head. “Come on.”

They worked their way slowly down the alley, the fog thickening around their ankles. Rathe found half a dozen more marks where it looked as though something had been dug out of wood or plaster, but there was no sign of any silver. The darkness felt heavy, and he couldn’t help glancing back toward the alley’s mouth, as though something might be waiting there.

There was nothing, of course, not even a patrol, and he shook his head. Surely Claes had people walking the streets, keeping an eye out for trouble, though the gods knew it would be nearly impossible to steal a dog. But there were plenty of other things that could be taken, the silver thefts had made that clear.

“
Nico.”

Rathe lengthened his stride to catch up, and saw Eslingen adjust the lantern, widening the shutter just a fraction.
“Something?”

“
Sorry.” Eslingen shook his head. “Just what looks like a new mark.”

Rathe nodded in agreement. There was a gouge in the mortar b
etween two bricks, a little longer than a thumb-joint, and when he ran a finger over it, the mortar crumbed readily. “Feels new,” he agreed, and glanced toward the alley’s mouth again.

There was a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and then a gentle pop. Eslignen shuttered the lantern instantly, and they stood frozen, but the sound was not repeated. After a moment, Eslingen carefully reopened the lantern, and let the beam play over the wall again. Rathe heard his breath catch.

“Nico.”

“
Yeah?”

Eslingen lifted the lantern, and Rathe saw it, too, the bright flash of magelight on coin silver.

“That—was that there before?”

“
I don’t know,” Eslingen answered. “I hadn’t looked this far along.”

Rathe drew his knife, began prying at the coin. It was sunk a
lmost all the way into the wood of the beam next to the chimney, a seilling buried almost to its fluted edge. Or maybe it was coming out of the wood? There was no way to tell. Had the sound been its arrival, either breaking the surface of the beam or slamming into it? Or had it been something else entirely, and the coin had been there all along? He got the knifepoint under it at last, and levered it free. It looked ordinary enough, a plain city seilling, horsehead on one side, the city’s mint-mark on the other, and he held it out to Eslingen. “See anything odd?”

Eslingen held it in the lantern’s narrow beam, turning it over thoughtfully.
“No—”

There was another sigh, this one just at the edge of hearing, a breath of air that barely disturbed the creeping tendrils of fog. Rathe tensed, listening, and thought the following pop came from behind him, toward the alley’s mouth.

“Philip.”

“
I heard.” Eslingen pocketed the seilling and turned the lantern toward the sound, the beam slicing for a moment across bare dirt.

“
Careful.”

“
Sorry.” Eslingen fiddled with the shutter again, eclipsing most of the light, and began searching along the wall. “Ah. Here.”