Fairs' Point (30 page)

“
Why not?” Rathe said, and looked at Eslingen. “You can stay, right?”

“
Oh, yes,” Eslingen answered, and resolved to square it with the Masters later.

It took the better part of half an hour to collect the required mat
erials and then to collect nearly two dozen extra bodies, mostly apprentices and journeymen, but a couple of full alchemists as well. Eslingen wedged himself into a corner, perched half on the edge of a tall chest, Rathe pressed tight against him. It was an awkward position, and Eslingen shifted, hoping if he couldn’t achieve comfort he could at least keep from embarrassing himself. Rathe gave him a sympathetic glance, then winced as a hefty young man stepped hard on his foot.

“
Sorry, adjunct point,” the journeyman said, and Rathe sighed.

“
It’s all right.”

“
So what are they doing?” Eslingen asked. It was hard to see, over the wall of bodies, but he thought b’Estorr and Fanier had set up a sort of wire frame on a thick slab of black stone, and had put a copper demming inside it.

“
Experimenting?” Rathe said, with a wry grin, and Eslingen would have swatted him had there been room.

“
And why the demming?”

The journeyman looked over his shoulder.
“That’s to test the process. If it will work with copper, the form is good.”

“
All right,” Fanier called from the front of the room, and there was instant silence. He raised his hands, making a series of complex gestures, and a light blossomed at the top of the frame. It spread to the corners, then snapped like lightning onto the coin below. The demming shriveled, glowed, and flowered into a brilliant filigree. There was a murmur of approval from the watching journeymen, and one of the younger apprentices gave a squeak of pure delight, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Fanier removed it, careful not to disturb the frame, and replaced it with a sliver of silver cut from a larger coin.

“
So the procedure works,” Eslingen said.

The journeyman nodded.
“It’s brought the copper back to its original, purest form—”

“
All right,” Fanier called again, and the journeyman snapped abruptly to attention. Disrespectful of normal authority the alchemists might be, Eslingen thought, but they obeyed their own like soldiers. “Let’s hav
e
Io Ander
s
.”

Eslingen looked at Rathe, who gave a tiny shrug, but the words seemed to mean something to the assembled alchemists. There was a moment of shuffling and coughing, and then Fanier lifted his hand.
“On three. One, two, three.”

The crowd of apprentices and journeymen began to chant, ragged at first, then louder and steadier as they caught the rhythm.
“
Io io anders, Demis polla mander
.
”

The words were nonsense, no language Eslingen recognized, but the hair rose on his arms. Rathe drew breath once, sharply, but said nothing. There was energy there, all right, unfocussed still, but pr
esent, the energy of marching in step or cheering a play, and he could feel it building, filling the stone-walled space like water rising. b’Estorr nodded once, sharply, and Fanier raised his hands again. He gestured, and the light flashed along the frame, struck at the piece of silver. Nothing happened, and Fanier gestured again, and yet again, the miniature lighting striking in time with the chant, and then the silver slumped and shifted. The chant faltered, and Fanier lifted his hands, signaling a halt.

The crowd stopped, ragged and off the beat, and the journeyman swayed abruptly. Rathe caught his shoulder to steady him, and the younger man gave him an apologetic glance.

“Sorry, Adjunct Point.”

“
Nicely done,” Fanier said. He began to dismantle the frame. “Very nicely done, all of you. Now, go get something to eat—tell the buttery to make a general hand-out, on my direct orders. I want everyone to have at least a slice of bread and butter, is that clear? And a proper meal would be better.”

“
I’ll see to it,” one of the other alchemists said, and Fanier nodded.

“
Thanks, Jannie.”

Eslingen waited while they all filed out, then followed Rathe down to the table, where Fanier and b’Estorr were staring at the crumpled mass of silver. Compared to the filigree of copper, it was distinctly unimpressive, and he looked from it to b’Estorr.

“Was this what it was supposed to do?”

“
Not exactly,” Fanier said. “I was aiming to turn it back to its elemental form, same as the copper, but—not enough energy, I think.”

b’Estorr nodded.
“I agree.”

Rathe picked up the lump, examined it, and handed it to Eslin
gen, who took it gingerly. It was mostly smooth, a rounded lump like a tiny hill, with a few crude strands that might have been the beginnings of filigree at one edge.

“
It was supposed to look like the copper?” he asked.

“
Yeah.” Fanier held out his hand, and Eslingen returned it. “Didn’t exactly work, though.”

“
Definitely not enough energy,” b’Estorr said, taking it from him. “But—”
He set the piece of metal back on the table and sketched a sign over it. The bright silver blackened instantly, as tarnished as if it had lain in the air for a year, and Fanier’s thick eyebrows rose.

“
Well, that’s interesting.”

“
Isn’t it?”

“
I’m not following,” Rathe said, with a wry grin. “Could you be a bit more specific here?”

“
Sorry,” b’Estorr said. “What I did was supposed to add a light patina, a bit of age, but instead—well, you see. There was energy held in the metal that reacted disproportionately to what I did.”

“
And you think that’s what’s happening with the missing silver?” Rathe asked.

“
Maybe? I don’t know that I’d go that far.” b’Estorr gave the silver a dissatisfied glare.

“
We’ve settled two things,” Fanier said. “First, we’ve shown just how much energy it takes to work silver—that chant’s what we use for re-setting the preservatories on the workrooms, and we do that once a quarter. It’s a lot of energy, and you saw where it got us.”

“
Not very far,” Rathe said, nodding.

“
And we’ve shown that the silver holds the energy.” Fanier took the lump of silver and set it in a crucible, then placed the crucible on the waiting stove. “Mind yourselves, now.” He covered the crucible and worked the bellows.

b’Estorr took a step back.
“I’m not sure that’s—”

There was a crack like a firelock going off, and the crucible wobbled on the hob. Fanier seized a pair of tongs and snatched it away.
“Maybe not, but at least that’s defused it.”

“
You hope.”

“
Believe me, it’s going in an earthen box for a few weeks before I meddle with it again,” Fanier said.

“
That was the excess energy?” Eslingen asked, and the alchemist nodded.

“
Most of it, anyway.”

“
So what this means,” Rathe said, slowly. “What this means is that whatever is being done has left the silver wildly unstable.”

“
Yes,” Fanier said, and b’Estorr shook his head.

“
But that’s not the interesting point, Nico. I don’t see how anyone could be raising that kind of energy, not without being noticed. You saw how many people it took to do the little we did.”

“
So how many people are you talking about?” Rathe asked.

“
Hundreds,” b’Estorr said, then shook his head again. “Well, at least a hundred, I’d think, but probably more. I can do some calculations, get something more exact for you, but—a huge crowd.”

“
Surely someone would have noticed,” Eslingen said, startled.

“
You’d think,” Rathe agreed. “Is there any other way to do it? Without a crowd?”

“
I don’t know,” b’Estorr said. “I’ll look into that as well.”

“
Thanks.” Rathe clapped Eslingen on the shoulder. “Come on, I’m starving myself, even if I didn’t do any of the work.”

“
Oh, I’m not surprised,” Fanier said. “A chant like that, it’ll pull from bystanders once it gets going. You’ll be tired tonight, I daresay.”

“
Let’s hope it’s a quiet night, then,” Eslingen said, and followed Rathe from the workroom. He was hungry, too, as though he’d been working in the salle, or spent a day at the races, and he shook his head at the power involved. Though if you had thirty women, and drew the rest from bystanders? No, presumably they’d have to hear the chanting, and someone, surely, would not only have noticed but mentioned it to one of her friends, and the gossip would have been all over the city. Surely. He made himself put the problem aside, focusing on the immediate question of a cheap meal and a hasty trip to the salle to catch his last few lessons. Perhaps not thinking about it for a bit would help it all make more sense.

Rathe made his way back to Point of Dreams still puzzling over the experiment’s results. There had to be a connection to the races, but at the moment he couldn’t see what it might be. His worktable was piled with circulars: more unlicensed book-writers and astrologers, plus the usual run of illegal printers. He skimmed through the pile, then hauled himself to his feet again.

“
Chief?”

Trijn was still at her worktable where she’d been when he left, though the piles had changed shape and there were dishes stacked to one side, the remains of a meal from someone’s tavern.
“If you’re looking for me to let you loose on Fairs’ Point’s business, the answer is no.”

Rathe shook his head.
“Just wanted to know what you thought was the priority in the mess you left me.”

Trijn gave an unwilling smile.
“Our business is the printers. Mathiee Gasquine was here this morning complaining that someone’s pirated a copy of their latest play, and she wants that stopped.”

“
Demars, for a demming,” Rathe said, and the chief point nodded.

“
I don’t doubt it. See what you can do.” She paused. “Any progress on this other mess? Voillemin’s useless.”

“
Nothing solid,” Rathe answered. “Useful hints, maybe, but nothing to call a point on.”

“
If you get something that’ll bear a point, I’ll back you,” Trijn said.

That was not entirely unexpected, but Rathe felt a weight ease from his mind. He would need Trijn’s support to bring this to the Surintendant of Points, because with Claes out of commission, no one of lesser stature would listen to him.
“Thanks, Chief,” he said, and headed out in pursuit of illegal play scripts.

As he’d expected, the other printers were quick to deny involv
ement, and to point their fingers at Anfelis Demars. When he tracked her to her latest lodgings, on a narrow alley behind the Bells, she didn’t bother to deny it, just shook her head as she slowly jogged her fussing baby from one side to the next.

“
Call the point, Rathe, I can’t pay the fines.”

She was looking worn, Rathe thought, and glanced around the narrow room. It seemed empty, for all that it was small, and he frowned.
“Where’s your man? What’s his name, Kaas?”