Fairs' Point (34 page)

“
But if you know where the silver went,” Eslingen said, “they’re bound to come to collect it sometime.”

“
I’d rather catch them before they have a chance to take the prize money,” Rathe said. “Sweet Tyrseis, if that goes missing on finals day…” There would be a riot that made the one three days ago look like a student frolic. “Couldn’t you, I don’t know, interrupt the conjuration?”

“
I don’t know if we can do that,” b’Estorr said. “Not without causing some thoroughly nasty side effects—and by that I mean explosions and fire.”

Fanier nodded in morose agreement.
“You saw what happened with one coin when we put it on the fire instead of letting the spell run its course. Imagine that with a strongroom full of silver.”

Rathe swore again. No, that was no solution, and that left him li
ttle option. “Can you trace the silver that’s already gone missing?”

“
We can try,” b’Estorr said. “But even if we come up with something that would let us do it, we’d have to cross the trail, so to speak. We know where Beier died, but we also know where that silver went.”

“
Straight into him,” Eslingen muttered.

“
I know where some of the thefts took place,” Rathe began. Except he didn’t, not really. He knew that money had been taken from strongboxes, but most of those strongboxes belonged to book-writers, which meant that they were on the move. And the few shopkeepers with fixed addresses were firmly in Fairs’ Point, as far out of his reach as if they’d been in Chadron. “But probably not closely enough to help us. Istre, I’d take it kindly if you and Fanier would do whatever you can to make that—compass, you called it?”

b’Estorr nodded.
“Of course we will.”

“
And in the meantime…” Rathe shook his head, not liking his choices. “I need to talk to Trijn.”

Trijn heard him out over a pipe and a pint of autumn ale, and sat frowning for a while after he’d finished. “So you think this unknown person is after the silver kept at Fairs’ Point for the races? But you don’t have any idea who she might be.”

“
That’s the sum of it,” Rathe answered. “And because of both those things, I think we need to warn Fairs straightaway. But Voillemin won’t take it from me.”

“
What makes you think he’ll take it from me?” Trijn’s pipe had gone out, and she busied herself relighting it. “Claes would, give him his due, but Voillemin—he knows I didn’t think much of him when he was here, and he’ll see your hand in it.”

“
Not that he’s wrong,” Rathe said, with a sigh.

“
Just so.” Trijn gave a thin smile. “All right, Nico, if this were your case—if it were happening here, rather than Fairs, all the gods forbid—how would you proceed?”

Rathe paused. He’d given the matter some thought on the walk back from the deadhouse, but the ideas seemed even thinner now that he had to put them into words.
“In an ideal world, with nothing else demanding much attention? Get b’Estorr and Fanier to put together several of these compasses they’re talking about, and then send some of the juniors out to quarter the area where the thefts took place, see if they can’t pick up a trace of the missing silver.”

“
Because you can’t know exactly where a book-writer lost her money,” Trijn said, nodding. “And given that there’s the races to worry about?”

“
I’d still try it. Start with the shops, maybe, since a few of them lost coin. If that didn’t pick up the trail—” Rathe stopped, shrugging. “I’d need to talk more to b’Estorr, but I’d try moving the silver. Spread it out over a few different places, preferably in other parts of the city—we don’t know what the range of this conjuration is, or how many caches of coin it can target at one time.”

“
Not possible on Finals Day,” Trijn said.

“
I know.” The owners and trainers expected to be paid in coin, bags of it that they could hoist overhead, and the city looked forward to that demonstration, the visible, tangible reward for the conjunction of luck and effort. He shook his head. “The rest has to be points’ work—who’s got coin who shouldn’t, what Beier’s job was, the one that he put off Caiazzo to finish, anyone who’s acting oddly. Things I don’t know to look for because Fairs’ isn’t my patch. And if that doesn’t turn it up, then—”

“
Then there’s going to be hell to pay on Finals Day,” Trijn said. “Surely they’re already doing those things.”

“
But they don’t know about the silver,” Rathe said. “Or the compass.”

“
You’re sure that will work?”

“
b’Estorr thinks it will.”

“
And you trust him.”

“
With good cause,” Rathe said, and it was Trijn’s turn to sigh.

“
True enough.” Trijn fiddled with her tobacco-pouch, twisting the ties between her fingers. “I think we need to take this to the Surintendant. I can’t make Voillemin do it, but Fourie certainly can.”

“
If he doesn’t, it’s only going to make things worse,” Rathe said.

“
I know it. And to that end, you, Rathe, are not to speak unless they need something clarified. I’d leave you at home if I could, but you understand the details better than I do.”

“
A letter?” Rathe suggested, without much hope, and wasn’t surprised when Trijn shook her head.

“
We have to make them see it—we can’t not warn them,” Trijn answered. “Finals Day is coming…”

Rathe nodded, not happily. If the prize money—and the bonds, and the bettors’ cash—disappeared before it could be paid out—no, that wasn’t something anyone wanted to contemplate. But he had no real desire to take the matter to Fourie, either.

As he’d expected, the Surintendant responded by summoning them all to Temple Point, where he held his own court in a three-story tower built onto the side of the larger points station. It also held the station’s clock, and as Rathe climbed to the second floor in Trijn’s wake, he could feel the steady ticking of its gears.

The meeting room was surprisingly pleasant, curtains drawn back to reveal tall, narrow windows that laid stripes of sunlight across the parquet floor. There were herbs in the pierced holders beside the fireplace, where the remains of the morning’s fire was being allowed to die, and there were enough chairs set at the long table to seat more than the group Rathe would have expected. Fourie sat at the center, severe in black and narrow lace, his thinning hair cropped close to his skull and his hands and face bare of paint. A secretary hovered at his shoulder, murmuring in his ear, and the Surintendant nodded, but broke off to give a narrow smile.

“Chief Point. And Rathe. Be seated, please.” He gestured toward the seats at his left, and Trijn gathered her skirts, sitting straight as a Regent. Before Rathe could take his place beside her, the door opened again, and one of Temple’s runners looked in.

“
Acting Chief Point Voillemin, sir. And the Patent Administrator and the Senior Racing Secretary.”

Those were the extra chairs, Rathe realized. At least Fourie was taking it seriously.

“Sit, please,” Fourie said, before any of the newcomers could draw breath to protest, and after only a moment’s hesitation, they settled themselves at the opposite end of the table. “Now, Trijn. You say you have some alarming news to broach.”

“
It is alarming.” Trijn folded her hands on the tabletop. “We have reason to believe that the numerous small thefts of silver reported by Fairs’ Point and the murder of Aardre Beier are all connected, and may in fact be leading to a much larger attempted robbery.” She went through the chain of inference point by point, laying out what they’d done, and why, and when she’d finished, the Patent Administrator spread his hands.

“
Surely this is madness.”

“
And it’s none of Dreams’ business,” Voillemin said, his voice tight. “None of these cases should be on their books at all, they’re all within our jurisdiction—”

“
With respect,” Trijn said, “I told you how we came to each of them. Beier’s woman is our resident, and she came to us with the complaint. And these small thefts were placed in circular, which makes them of general concern.”

“
But not to the point of coming into our area,” Voillemin said, “searching rooms within our bounds. Surintendant, you cannot allow this to stand.”

“
While I’m prepared to agree that at least some of this is not Dreams’ business,” Fourie said dryly, “I think we have a larger question to worry about, my masters.”

“
You can’t be taking this seriously,” Solveert said. “Perhaps—perhaps!—someone has found a way to move small amounts of silver, but the prize money for the races? There’s easily several hundredweight in the strongroom, probably more. You cannot move silver by magistry, not without a great deal of energy, and to move that much—again, I say, it’s madness.”

“
You’re very sure of that,” Fourie said.

“
I’m a Fellow of the University.” Solveert drew himself up to his full height. “It’s basic magistry.”

“
If it’s not Dreams’ business,” Voillemin said, “then they should be told to lay off.”

Rathe drew breath himself at that, met Trijn’s glare, and subsi
ded. She was right, it would do no good for him to argue. He was only here to clarify what he’d found, and only if he was asked.

“
And that’s for me to decide, Acting Chief,” Fourie said, his voice still mild.

The Racing Secretary cleared her throat.
“It is indeed an alarming story, Chief Point,” she said. “And Acting Chief. Surintendant. But what, precisely, do you suggest we do about it?”

There was a little silence. They could all see the problem—Trijn had laid it out clearly the day before, and Rathe had found no better answer. Voillemin snorted.

“Yes, Rathe, what do you want to do? Stand guard on it yourself? Do you think that’ll do any good when it disappears from under your feet?”

Rathe glared, and Trijn laid one hand flat on the table.
“You’re the Acting Chief at Fairs, as you’ve been so quick to remind us. Perhaps you might come up with an idea rather than blaming your betters.”

“
Enough!” Fourie barely raised his voice, but the word cracked like a whip in the quiet room. “Chief, and Acting Chief, I will have courtesy between my people. Is that clear?”

Voillemin nodded jerkily, and Trijn took a breath.

“Yes. My apologies, Surintendant.”

“
Madame Secretary has a valid point,” Fourie went on. “The prize money must be there on the day of the races, and the races cannot be delayed. What do you suggest we do?”

“
Move at least some of the coin elsewhere,” Trijn suggested. “The bonds, perhaps. The book-writers can collect them from their local stations.”

“
No one outside of Fairs’ Point is equipped to keep that much coin locked away safely,” Voillemin said, his voice smug.

That was true enough, and Trijn looked at her hands.
“We have to find out who’s behind this—”

“
And that’s the thing Dreams hasn’t managed to come up with,” Voillemin said. “A name, any hint of an actual person behind this farrago of theory that’s better suited to the stage—”

He stopped abruptly, as though he realized he’d gone too far, and Fourie said,
“Quite. And you have no one, not even a breath of suspicion, Chief Point?”

“
We don’t.” Trijn met his eyes squarely. “We have a technique that may help us locate the stolen goods, but—”

“
That doesn’t lead us to the villain,” Fourie said. “Not quickly enough.” He tapped one finger on the tabletop, thin lips slightly pursed, then straightened. “Nonetheless. Acting Chief, I want you to take this as information received and treat it with appropriate seriousness. You are to redouble your efforts to find the person behind the original thefts of silver—yes, I know you’re overwhelmed and short-handed to boot. You have my authority to borrow from Customs and Graves as you need—Dasset, make a note of that.”

“
Yes, Surintendant,” his secretary murmured, scribbling on a sheet of paper.

“
Chief Point, I expect you to leave the matter to Fairs’ Point. Your man’s done good work, but he’s overstepped his bounds.”

“
Very well, Surintendant,” Trijn said.

“
Sieur Administrator, Madame Secretary, we will of course take all precautions, but perhaps it would be wise to move some of the coin elsewhere, as the Chief Point suggested.”

The Racing Secretary nodded, but Solveert cocked his head to one side.
“I wonder, Surintendant. If someone has to raise enough energy to move a mass of silver—well, surely the more silver there is, the harder it is to raise that sort of strength. I wonder if we mightn’t be better protected by leaving it all together, if that wouldn’t make it that much harder for the thieves. If in fact there are any thieves.”

For a moment Fourie looked nonplused, then rallied.
“Sieur Administrator, I believe the threat to be real. For the rest—I’d recommend you consult with a magist or two before you decide.”

“
I’ll certainly do that,” Solveert said, with a half-bow. He looked at the Secretary. “Don’t you agree, Myntas?”

“
I think it’s a good idea to ask,” the woman answered, grimly, and Fourie nodded.