Fairs' Point (40 page)

Claes took a breath.
“Right. Let him go, Adjunct Point—and you, Sieur Solveert, I’d appreciate your staying right here for the moment. Rathe, you speak to the crowd.”

Rathe’s breath caught in his throat. He was no diplomat, to find the words that would tame a mess like this, and Coindarel smiled slightly.

“Allow me,” he said, and took off his hat, waving it back and forth over his head three times. There was movement at the edges of the square, and the first of his Dragons began to pick their way into the space behind the crowd. Coindarel stepped to the edge of the stage.

“
Good people! As you’ve guessed, there has been another theft here. But, thanks to the foresight of the city points, we know where it’s gone and are sending men to fetch it.”

“
How do you know?” someone shouted.

“
When will I get my money?”

“
We want our prizes!”

Coindarel lifted his hands, and reluctantly the crowd stilled again.
“I’m sending Adjunct Point Rathe to collect it—you all know Rathe—Rathe and some of my Dragons.” He turned to Rathe. “If that’s agreeable, Adjunct?”

“
Yes,” Rathe said, and made himself nod vigorously, like an actor on stage. “Yes, of course.”

“
A little patience, good people,” Coindarel said, “only a little, and we’ll have the culprit in hand and the money back where it belongs.”

He turned away as though he expected nothing but agreement, though Rathe saw his shoulders braced for thrown rocks or rotten vegetables.

“You’d better be able to do it, Rathe,” he said.

Rathe looked over his shoulder, saw Eslingen waving at him from the bottom of the stage stairs.
“Let him up,” he called, and Eslingen ducked under the crossed halberds, his fist still closed around the compass.

“
We can do it,” Rathe went on. “We have a—sort of a compass, we can track the silver with it.”

“
How far do you think it’s gone?” Coindarel asked.

“
I don’t know.” Rathe jerked his head at Solveert. “Ask him.”

“
I’ve no idea!” Solveert glared indignantly at them. “How would I know what’s happened to the Dis-damned silver?”

“
Because it’s your working and your plan,” Eslingen said.

Rathe lifted his hand.
“It can’t be too far away. There was a lot of silver, the strongroom was full. Even with all the energy he raised, it can’t have gone far. There’s just too much of it.”

“
Outside the city,” Eslingen said. “I’ll lay money. Not far, but—outside the points’ jurisdiction, and not somewhere anyone would think to look for him.”

Rathe nodded.
“That makes sense.”

Coindarel reached into his purse and produced a silver whistle. He put it to his lips, blew a trilling call, and Rathe saw several horsemen split off from the main group, working their way around the edge of the crowd to the stage.

“Take horses—Philip, take a dozen men, you’ll want them. Rathe, if there are points here you trust, take them, too. Find the silver before we have a riot on our hands.”

“
Yes, sir,” Eslingen said.

Rathe looked at him.
“You’ve got the trail?”

“
Couldn’t miss it,” Eslingen said, and loosed his hold on the compass. It chimed loud and clear, and Rathe gave a sigh of sheer relief.

“
Right. Let’s go.”

Eslingen shoved the chiming compass into the breast of his coat, feeling it vibrate against his chest. The knot of Dragons had reached the stage and he slid down the steps to join them, glad to see that one of them was riding King of Thieves. “You,” he said, pointing, “I’ll take your horse. And I need one more—” He looked up at the stage, saw Rathe coming toward them, two more pointsmen trailing behind. “No, three more horses, solid ones. Who’s sergeant here?”

“
I am.” That was a thin-faced young woman with lemon-bleached reddish hair and the look of a hardened campaigner. “Faraut, Lieutenant, at your service.”

“
We need horses,” Eslingen said again, and she nodded.

“
Dirx, Almaraves—you, too, Mareille.”

The Dragons she named slid from their saddles without co
mplaint as Rathe came down the stairs, and Eslingen said, “You men support the Prince-Marshal. Rathe, I’ve got horses for you.”

Rathe nodded.
“Good. You know Sohier—”

Eslingen nodded, remembering the younger woman from Dreams.

“The other’s Delijle, from Fairs.”

Eslingen knew her, too: the woman who’d questioned him at the races. He merely nodded, and she gave a wry smile as she hauled herself ungracefully onto one of the waiting horses.

“Before you ask,” Rathe said, “they both say they can ride.” He accepted a leg up from one of the dismounted Dragons, and swung himself into the saddle.

“
Sergeant Faraut,” Eslingen said, nodding to the woman. “It’s her troop.”

“
Sergeant.” Rathe gave her his unexpectedly winning smile. “We don’t have much time.”

“
No, sir,” she said, her voice controlled but her eyes wary. She was very carefully not looking at the crowd, still too close to her horses’ legs, and Eslingen was glad to see that the Dragons, at least, were well armed, swords and carabines and firelocks both. “Where away, sirs?”

Eslingen pulled the compass from his coat. It chimed steadily, a note an octave above the noise of the great spell, and he saw people turn, pointing. He ignored them, spun King of Thieves in a steady circle until he was sure he was facing the strongest sound.
“Southeast.”

He was pointing straight at a wall of stables, of course, but Rathe nodded.
“Out the gate there, and then double back on the Royal Road south.”

He kicked his horse into a trot, and Eslingen copied him, waving for the others to follow. A few voices raised a cheer as they passed along the crowd’s flank, but most stared silently, promising trouble to come.

Rathe led them through the maze of streets toward the broader thoroughfare that was the Royal Road that ran south toward the coast at Evrenne, and as they turned onto it Eslingen was relieved to hear the chime strengthen again. He nudged King of Thieves forward so that he rode level with Rathe, and the pointsman glanced quickly over his shoulder.

“
Still good?”

Eslingen nodded.
“I think we’ll still need to go a bit east once we’re out of the city.”

“
If we go east too soon,” Rathe said, “we’ll be in the marshes south of Customs Point, and I don’t think Solveert would send his silver there.”

“
Not if he has any sense. And he’s not lacked for cleverness so far.”

They made their way down the Royal Road at a trot, all other traffic making way for them. Faraut’s men rode in loose formation, the points trailing a little to the side, and Eslingen wished again that he was armed. Well, if worst came to worst, he could borrow fir
elock or sword from one of the Dragons, and that would have to be enough. Besides, it was at best even odds whether Solveert would have left anyone to guard the place where he’d sent the silver. It would be dangerous, for a start—presumably Solveert had seen what had happened to Beier—and once they reached the countryside, a guard would draw unwanted attention. Solveert had been clever so far; they’d hope he’d been clever still.

They reached the edge of the city proper, where the Royal Road became a rutted, dusty track and the neat walled houses of me
rchants-resident gave way to thatch-roofed cottages. They were built in clusters, three or five together, and then fields in between, and Eslingen held up the compass again. It seemed fainter, but when he turned King of Thieves through a full circle, the road’s direction was still where the sound was strongest.

“
We’re outside the city,” Rathe said. “These are all part of a pair of little villages, Atheria and Forza; they give allegiance to the Soueraine of Bederes, not to the city or the Metropolitan.” He gave a flick of a smile. “I hope the Dragons carry a royal writ.”

“
Near enough,” Eslingen answered. They were an armed troop, it was unlikely anyone could stand against them. “And you know the Queen will back us.”

Rathe nodded, not entirely appeased. And that was a thing they would need to be sure of, when the Guard was established, Eslin
gen thought, and shook his head at his own lack of concentration. The main thing now was to find the silver.

A few miles further on, the land changed, the farmland giving way to rolling hills. This was demesne land, held directly from the crown; the only buildings visible were a manor house and its ou
tbuildings a mile or so to the west, nestled in a shallow valley. To the east, a scattering of sheep dotted the hillside, and one of the troopers pointed toward them.

“
There’s dinner if we need it.”

“
If we take that long, there may not be a city to come back to,” Rathe said, his voice grim.

The troopers exchanged looks, and Faraut said,
“That bad?”

“
You saw the crowd,” Rathe answered, and she grimaced.

The chime was softer again. Eslingen lifted his hand to halt the party, let them mill about in the middle of the road while he walked King of Thieves back the way he’d come. Sure enough, the chime grew stronger again, but faded as he crossed the shallow stream. He turned back, fixing the point where the sound was strongest.

“Rathe! It’s east from here.”

“
Damn.” Rathe stood up in his stirrups, surveying the ground. “I don’t see a track—or much of anything out there, except the damned sheep.”

Eslingen shaded his eyes, but could make out nothing in the hazy distance. The later afternoon sun was behind them, throwing long shadows.
“Where there’s sheep there’s usually shepherds, but I don’t see any.”

“
Astree’s tits,” Rathe said. “Shepherds have huts, especially in this neighborhood—it’s too close to the city, we get too many hungry travelers.”

“
You think that’s where he’s sent it?” Eslingen asked.

“
If not there, then to another outbuilding,” Rathe answered. “This is manor land, that shepherd belongs to someone.”

“
Right.” Eslingen turned, lifting his arm. “Faraut! We’re cutting cross-county. Keep an eye out for any buildings. There’s bound to be a shepherd’s hut, maybe more.”

He kicked King of Thieves forward without waiting for her a
nswer, felt the big bay stretch to jump the roadside ditch, and urged him to a trot, not daring to risk a faster pace across the uneven ground. The sheep scattered away from them, bleating, and a dog leaped out of nowhere to nip at the horses’ heels. Faraut swore, reaching for her firelock, and Rathe yelled, “No! Leave her be!”

Faraut pulled her horse away, swearing as it kicked out beneath her, and a boy came running, heavy staff in hand.

“Leave her alone, leave my sheep alone—”

“
Call off the dog,” Eslingen said, pitching his voice to carry. “In the Queen’s name, call it off.”

The boy whistled sharply, and the dog ran back to him, to bark and snarl from the shelter of his legs.

“You’re on my mistress’s land, you’ve no business here frightening the sheep.”

“
Who’s your mistress?” Rathe asked.