Point of Sighs Read online

  He was becoming as much of a Leveler as Rathe, he thought, and dredged up a smile for the duty point. “A bond’s been set for Mattaes Staenka. I’m to escort him home.”

  Mattaes proved to be older than Eslingen had expected, or at least old enough that a night and day in the cells had left a fine stubble on his cheeks. His clothes were crumpled, and he’d been using his cloak for a blanket, but he seemed otherwise untouched by the experience. He followed Eslingen quietly enough, but at the top of the stairs he hesitated.

  “You’re no pointsman.”

  “Philip vaan Esling, captain in the City Guard.” Eslingen sketched a bow. “Your—sister, was it?—your kin have posted a bond, at any rate, and I’ve been asked to take you back to them.”

  “On terms,” Trijn said, coming down the stairs to join them. “You’re to remain at home, in the house, unless either I or Chief Astarac of Point of Sighs grants permission for you to leave. Are you clear on that?”

  “Yes, Chief Point.”

  He sounded docile enough, Eslingen thought. It was no wonder everyone seemed to think of him as a boy.

  “Phelis will light your way,” Trijn went on, gesturing to a runner who waited with a lantern. “She knows the direction.”

  Eslingen gave her another bow, grateful he wouldn’t have to ask the way. “Thank you, Chief Point. We’ll be on our way.”

  It was full dark now, the streets nearly empty: most women were snug at home or settled into a tavern or a cookshop to wait out the hours of thieves’ dark before the winter-sun rose. The area around the station was generally safe enough, and the wealthy residential neighborhoods hired their own knives and watchmen for the weeks when the winter-sun rose later and later, but even so Eslingen was glad of the knife at his hip. He would have preferred a proper sword, but the city’s laws limited the length of blade that could be carried in the streets. His own might be a finger’s-width beyond that limit, and he certainly didn’t want to argue the question with any of Rathe’s fellows.

  Phelis opened the lantern’s shutter all the way, casting a fan of light across the beaten path. Eslingen did his best to divide his attention between his footing and the alleys that gaped between buildings, and was unsurprised when Mattaes lurched suddenly against him. Eslingen steadied him, and felt the young man shiver under his touch.

  “Are you all right?”

  He felt Mattaes shrug. “I suppose. Not hurt, at any rate.”

  He might have been referring to his stumble, but there was something in the taut stance that suggested a more general meaning. Eslingen felt his eyebrows rise. “And were you expecting to be, after your sister paid the fee to lodge you at Dreams instead of Sighs?”

  Mattaes darted a glance at him. “I wasn’t sure the fee would hold. Or that I’d get bail.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Yes.” It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Eslingen thought the other’s smile was wry. “I’ve never had—none of us have ever had much dealing with the points.”

  Eslingen could think of no good answer to that statement: everything that came to mind either seemed to blame the points, or gave Mattaes too much credit. He said instead, “You’re from the tea-house family? I’ve seen your shop on the Mercandry.”

  There was a movement in the shadows that might have been a nod. “That’s us. It’s my sisters’ business, really.”

  And that was only to be expected, in a family with two competent daughters. “And it’s your own tea captain you’re supposed to have murdered?”

  “I didn’t kill him.” Mattaes sounded tired of defending himself. “And bes’Anthe’s not really our captain, not exclusively, which only makes things worse.”

  Eslingen made a noncommittal noise, hoping to keep him talking, but Mattaes said nothing more, following in Phelis’s wake as she turned onto a residential street where trees stretched over the garden walls. Rathe would know exactly what to ask, how to keep him going, Eslingen thought, but he himself had no idea what he was doing. He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “Was that why you argued—since he wasn’t your regular captain?”

  “That was part of it. You’ll have heard that the season closed sooner than usual?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our usual captain is somewhere down the coast, or at least we hope he is, Meisenta hasn’t actually had word yet. He stayed to try to get a few extra chests of the Old Year, which he does every year—we’re known for Old Year blends, there’s no one in the city who makes better than us.” Pride seeped into the boy’s voice at last.

  “So I’ve heard.” Eslingen had never actually tasted any of the Old Year teas, which sold for a silver pillar an ounce, two weeks’ wages for most women.

  “Meisenta never puts all her eggs in one basket, she had our Silklands factors ship home two-thirds of the yearly purchase with other captains, and bes’Anthe was one of them. It was a good deal for him, he’s not worked much in the tea trade before this, but Aucher said he came well recommended. And then he had the nerve to demand extra fees from me. Said he had unexpected expenses!”

  Eslingen’s attention sharpened at that. If the gang Young Steen had mentioned was affecting the tea captains…. “What sort of expenses?”

  He felt Mattaes hesitate, saw one shoulder move again in a shrug. “I wouldn’t know—he didn’t say.”

  “Surely he had some accounting to give you.”

  “If he had, he didn’t share it with me.” Mattaes lifted his head. “Good, we’re almost home.”

  He lengthened his stride, not quite running, but Eslingen had to stretch to keep up. Phelis darted up the steps ahead of them to slam the knocker against its plate, and a moment later, a severely dressed man peered out at them.

  “Yes—?”

  “I’m home, Drowe,” Mattaes said, and for just an instant the servant’s face relaxed into unmistakable relief.

  The servant nodded at Eslingen. “Very good, sir, thank you for bringing him—”

  “I’m Captain vaan Esling of the City Guard and my warrant is to give him into his sister’s hands.” That was stretching a point, he knew, but he wanted to see the rest of the family.

  “Very well.” Drowe retreated into the hall. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll inform Madame Staenka.”

  “She’ll be in the parlor,” Mattaes said, and once again he sounded as if he might collapse. “It won’t be long.”

  “This way, if you please, Captain?” Drowe beckoned from a door halfway down the hall, and Eslingen tapped Mattaes on the shoulder.

  “Let’s go.”

  This was not the formal parlor, Eslingen saw at first glance. This was the family’s room, a fire lit on the hearth and another more effectively in the tall iron stove tucked into one corner. The floor was thick was carpets, the scent of lavender rising from them with every step, and a collection of small tables was piled with books and sewing baskets and balls of yarn. A tall, sharp-nosed woman sat beside the stove, and a dark-haired man sat beside a branch of candles, a book closed on his finger to keep his place, while another fair woman had risen from her seat by the hearth, threads still clinging to her skirt. He made a general bow, and the standing woman said, “Captain vaan Esling, you said?”

  Eslingen bowed again. “At your service.”

  “And why is it the City Guard’s business to bring my brother home?” That was the seated woman, her eyes wandering even as she turned her head to him: blind or so short-sighted as not even to see shapes beyond the reach of her arm.

  “I’m acting at the request of Chief Point Trijn. As this is properly Point of Sighs’ business—their body, their point—she felt having the Guard escort him would remove any question of undue favor from his home station.”

  “Sweet Heira,” the standing woman said. “Still more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “Leave me alone, Redel,” Mattaes said tonelessly.

  The seated woman—she had to be Meisenta, the elder sister—ignored them both. “Is Poin
t of Sighs determined to pursue this?”

  “They have a dead man on their books, madame,” Eslingen answered.

  She made an impatient sound. “You know what I meant, Captain. Do they still place the blame on my brother?”

  “At the moment, yes. I don’t know what evidence they have, or whether anything new has been found since last night.”

  “Hah.” Meisenta’s hands tightened on the arms of her chair, then relaxed as though by an effort of will. “Surely we will be able to convince them of their error.”

  “If an error has been made, I’m sure they’ll find it,” Eslingen said. “In the meantime, Chief Point Trijn asked me to review the details of the bail agreement before I give Mattaes into your hands.”

  “I understand them,” Meisenta said.

  “Mattaes is not to leave this house without Trijn’s express permission,” Eslingen began, and Meisenta frowned.

  “I said, I understood.”

  “And I hope you’ll forgive me, madame, but it’s my duty to restate the terms.” He waited, and she waved a hand.

  “Go on, then.”

  “Your brother is not to leave this house or its ground without permission from Point of Dreams,” Eslingen said, “though Chief Astarac at Point of Sighs can also release him. Your note of hand is to be held by the City Guard and will be returned to you once he makes his appearance before the judiciary or the point is dismissed.”

  “Very well,” Meisenta said. “You may tell Chief Trijn that I intend to keep my brother close at home, and he will be at her disposal should she have further questions. And I’m sure this unfortunate business will be cleared up shortly. Thank you for your time and efforts, Captain.”

  Eslingen made her his most courtly bow. “Delighted to be of service, madame.”

  Redel pushed herself away from the fireplace. “I’ll walk you out, Captain.”

  That was hardly necessary. Eslingen swallowed the words, and let her lead him to the door. In the hall, she paused, glancing over her shoulder at the half-open door, and lowered her voice.

  “My sister can be a bit abrupt. But her thanks are sincere.”

  “I never doubted it.”

  “What should we do to help Mattaes’s case? I know it looks bad—that bloody shirt. But I can’t believe he’d harm anyone.”

  “The points will be asking questions,” Eslingen said. “Tell them what you know. Point of Dreams wants to believe you, even if Sighs doesn’t.”

  “Or at least Meisenta’s fee’d them well over the years.” Redel laid a hand on his sleeve. “It was good of you to stand between them for us. Would you be willing to act as our representative, speak for us—for Mattaes—to both sides?”

  Eslingen winced. This was exactly what Rathe had feared would happen once the Guard was established, women trying to use it against the points to further their own ends. And while Rathe would certainly agree that there were questions about this point, he’d also be right to say that it was a bad precedent. And yet this was a chance to get the Staenkas to cooperate with the investigation. “The Guard has no right to interfere in the points’ work,” he said. “Our responsibilities are different. But I’ll do what I can.”

  “That’s all anyone can ask,” Redel said. “And I assure you, we will be grateful.”

  “I don’t take fees.”

  But the door had already opened into the night.

  CHAPTER 3

  By the time Eslingen returned to Point of Dreams, the clock had struck eight and the dinner Rathe had ordered from Wicked’s had grown cold in its basket. It was also raining again, the winter-sun and the waxing moon both hidden by clouds, and he was feeling more than a bit put-upon by the time he’d shrugged his still-damp cloak over his shoulders. Eslingen was looking a bit frayed himself, though, and Rathe buried his annoyance in making sure the oilcloth that lined the basket was snugged tightly in place. At the door, Eslingen balked, staring out into a driving rain that splashed from the puddles and turned the muddy cobbles dangerous underfoot.

  “I thought it was slacking.”

  “Not noticeably.” Rathe watched a sheet of rain drive across the courtyard, caught in the magelights. “And not looking likely to any time soon. We can sleep in the cells, or dry off when we get home.”

  “I’ve seen your cells once today,” Eslingen said, and settled his hat more firmly on his head.

  They made their way through nearly empty streets, the rain beating down on them. At least the wind was at their backs, Rathe thought, hunching his shoulders to tip his hood forward. He was grateful for his boots as well, a good secondhand pair that Eslingen had insisted on buying for him: shoes and stockings would be soaked through already by now, but he was only just beginning to feel the damp on his toes. “So you got Mattaes back to his sister in good order?”

  Eslingen slipped and splashed into a deeper puddle, righted himself with a curse. “Yes. And I’ve another bit of news for you. You remember Young Steen?”

  “The summer-sailor?” Rathe squinted into the rain, glad that piracy was not his business. That was a matter for the pontoises, the boatmen who had jurisdiction over the river and its docks.

  “I gather he’s honest now. Mostly,” Eslingen said. “His owner’s taken him for her man, or at least to father her child, so he’s staying on the right side of the law.”

  “That’s a change for that family.”

  Eslingen laughed. “He might find it a tad safer.”

  Young Steen’s father and grandfather had been pirates as well, and both had ended up murdered. “So what did he want?”

  Eslingen glanced behind them, and sputtered as a gust of rain struck him in the face. “Damn this weather. He said he was having trouble with a gang on the docks—that all the captains were.”

  “There’s always graft on the docks,” Rathe said. “And that’s Point of Sighs’ business, not mine. Or the pontoises.”

  “I hadn’t thought of them,” Eslingen said. “But, anyway, Young Steen says it’s worse than usual this year. The gangs are demanding bigger fees, and they want to be paid in cash, not kind.”

  “And it’s still not my business,” Rathe said. “Who’s his owner—one of the Hardelets, wasn’t it? She’s got money enough to fee Sighs well enough to get the problem stopped.”

  “Apparently she doesn’t think so. She’s increasing, Steen says, and the gang’s threatened her directly.”

  “Nasty.” Rathe shook his head. “But we’re already at odds with Sighs over this murder. If we try to interfere with this, Astarac will have every reason to go straight to the sur.”

  “I told him there wasn’t much you could do,” Eslingen said, “but he said he wanted someone he trusted to know about it. Do you think the pontoises might be able to help?”

  Rathe winced as another blast of wind-driven rain lashed across his shoulders. “They claim the parts of the docks that extend into the river. Though, like the women at Sighs, they’re not always the most honest.”

  “I hear they stay bought,” Eslingen offered.

  “Which I’ll admit is more than I can say for Sighs.” They were at their own gate at last, and Rathe fumbled with the latch. “I can talk to the cap’pontoise, if you’d like.”

  “I can’t see how it would hurt,” Eslingen began, and swore again. Rathe glanced back to see that one of the trees outside the weaver’s door, weighted down with apples and rain, had swept the hat from Eslingen’s head. He clapped it back onto his dripping hair, and released another stream of water to drip from nose and chin. Rathe suppressed his laughter, and hurried across the courtyard to the stairs that led to their rooms. Eslingen pressed into the lobby beside him, soaked and squelching, and Rathe closed the door again behind them.

  “Come on, we can get you dry upstairs.”

  They felt their way up the familiar stairs, not bothering to light a lamp, and Rathe worked the lock of his own rooms. It was equally dark inside even with the shutters open; he heard Sunflower struggle out from his favo
rite corner between the clothes press and the chest, and then he’d struck a spark and gotten the first candle lit. He heard a wet slap and a yelp behind him, glanced back to see Eslingen methodically discarding his soaked clothes while Sunflower bounced back and forth around the growing puddles. The Leaguer’s lips were tightly compressed, as though he were holding back some particularly pungent comment, and Rathe looked away, concentrating on lighting the rest of the candles.

  When he looked back, Eslingen had stripped naked—even his smallclothes appeared to be soaked—and he was squeezing water out of the ends of his long hair. Rathe grimaced in what he hoped would be taken for sympathy, and moved the kettle to the front of the stove before starting to build up the fire. “When you say your stars are bad for water….”

  “Yes.” Eslingen’s voice was tight, but he made an effort to smile. “Apparently it applies to rain, too, at least this time of year.” Sunflower approached the piled clothes with a growl, and Eslingen snatched them up, disappearing into the narrow bedroom.

  Rathe coaxed the fire to life, found the tea chest and teapot and had everything waiting by the time Eslingen returned. He had wrapped himself in his brocade dressing gown and combed out his hair so that it lay like black satin across his shoulders. Sunflower frolicked at his feet, and Rathe reached automatically for one of the bits of dried biscuit they kept for bribery. “Settle.”

  Sunflower snatched the biscuit from his hand and retreated under the clothes-press. Eslingen quirked a smile. “Got anything for me?”