“I had a question about business on the docks, but now what I really want to know is what happened to Dammar.”
“My advice is to look for a man with a grudge and bloodied knuckles.”
Rathe sighed. “True. But I think this was more than a grudge.” Though a man like Dammar must collect enemies as efficiently as he took fees. “At the moment Dammar’s got a dead man on his books and has called the point on the son of a tea merchant.” He ran through the events of the previous nights, and poured them each a cup of tea when he had finished.
“I don’t suppose this Mattaes could have done it?”
Rathe shook his head, and settled himself on the guest’s stool beside the stove. “He’s young, lightly-made, not a fighter. I don’t see him being able to beat Dammar that badly. Not unless his hands were tied, and I didn’t see any sign of that, did you?”
“I did not.”
“It’s a bad business, a senior pointsman beaten and stabbed and dropped in the river. Even a man like Dammar….”
“Oh, I know his kind,” Cambrai said. “Took fees, didn’t stay bought..”
“Tell me what happened. I thought Saffroy said someone fell?”
“That was the cry that went out. A man seen to fall from the Hopes-Point Bridge, near the middle of the span. The tide was on its way out, so we launched from here—just luck I happened to be here and not at the Chain—and we rowed upriver after him. Took us some little time to find him, he might have been held under somewhere, but we picked him up maybe a quarter-mile upstream of here. And the rest—well, you saw. Someone had a score to settle with that man, I’d say.”
“It’s a long list.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Rathe groaned. “About how long did it take you to find him? Sighs will be asking about Mattaes.”
Cambrai bit a nail. “A good hour. Maybe a bit more, from the time the cry went out.”
That should rule out Mattaes. Rathe leaned back against the wall and sipped at his tea, trying not to compare it to the brews he’d tasted that morning. Cambrai stretched his stockinged toes toward the stove.
“So what was it you came to me about?”
“It seems very small all of a sudden. But we’ve heard whispers in Dreams, talk that there’s a new gang on the docks, or an old gang wanting new fees? They want more than ever before and they want to be paid in coin, not goods.”
Cambrai flushed and his lips twisted. “I don’t suppose you’ve got someone who’ll make a complaint?”
“Not I.” Rathe shook his head.
“Neither have we,” Cambrai said. “And, yes, I don’t doubt we’ve heard the same stories. Doubled fees, coin only. And if the fees aren’t paid, instead of cut ropes or cargo gone missing, women are turning up hurt—”
“I’ve not heard that part.”
”They’re too afraid to swear a complaint,” Cambrai said, “but we’ve seen broken arms and a few sets of bruises that would rival Dammar’s. We have a claim to the docks and I’ve told people that we’d press it, if they’d just make the complaint. But no one’s been willing. I think there’s a single hand behind it, one gang covering all the docks, but I can’t prove it and I can’t put a name to it..”
“If it’s mostly in Sighs,” Rathe said, “what are the odds that this attack on Dammar’s part of it?”
Cambrai offered a grin that showed a chipped tooth. “He’s our business now. I intend to pursue this, even if it takes us on dry land.”
“I’d be very interested in anything you find out,” Rathe said.
CHAPTER 4
To Eslingen’s mild surprise, Coindarel himself was at the barracks, very fine in an ivory wool coat embroidered with a border of tiny golden flowers. His buttons were larger gold flowers, as was the pin that fastened the peach and lavender cockade that graced his hat. Estradere, who was dressed for riding, looked more than a bit put out, and Eslingen hesitated at the workroom door.
“No, Captain, do come in,” Coindarel said, with a wave of a much-beringed hand. “The matter can wait—can’t it, Patric?”
“Not forever,” Estradere said grimly, but straightened, closing the ledger that he’d been consulting. “Well, Philip?”
“There’s been a bit of a development,” Eslingen said. “Chief Trijn at Point of Dreams wants our help.”
He was pleased to see his words got their undivided attention. He went through the events of the previous day, and finished by drawing the Staenkas’ letter of hand from his own cuff and laying it on top of the ledger. “Trijn has also asked that we keep the bond.”
“Doesn’t she trust her counterpart at Sighs?” Coindarel steepled his long fingers, pressed them thoughtfully against his lips. Estradere unrolled the bond, examining first the seals, and then the sharp lettering.
“I don’t know that she does,” Eslingen said. “Not entirely. And certainly there’s cause to want a neutral party involved.”
“And she’s willing—Trijn’s willing—to consider us that?” Coindarel grinned. “She’s changed her tune.”
“She’s doing what the queen has ordered.” Eslingen couldn’t keep a sharp note from his voice.
“Written in haste.” Estradere re-rolled the bond as though neither man had spoken. “But it’ll do the job. We can keep it in the strongbox here safely enough, I believe.”
“Chief Trijn would take that kindly,” Eslingen said, after a moment, and Coindarel nodded.
“Yes, by all means, we must cooperate with the points—and before you say anything, Patric, I know it was agreed.”
“The surintendant’s written again?” Estradere asked.
Eslingen winced. The Surintendant of Points, Rainart Fourie, had not taken well to the notion of sharing power with another organization, least of all one specifically intended to police the non-resident nobility. Compounding that dislike, his stars lay in complete opposition to Coindarel’s, so that the two men could barely be in the same room without quarreling.
Coindarel heaved a sigh. “No. No, he has not, not since the last—but we will let that pass. Yes, Philip, we will certainly hold this bond for Sighs and Dreams, and you have my permission to act on behalf of the Staenka family.”
“They’re merchants resident,” Estradere said. “Our writ was the nobility and non-residents, the people the points can’t touch. Not freeholders of the city.”
“They want an advocate with the points, not an investigator,” Coindarel retorted. “Isn’t that right, Philip?”
“More or less,” Eslingen said, cautiously.
“Then I see no problem in helping them,” Coindarel said firmly.
“Of course you don’t,” Estradere muttered, quietly enough that the prince-marshal could pretend not to hear.
Coindarel waved his hand, dismissal this time. “Keep me informed, if you please.”
“Of course, Colonel,” Eslingen said, and backed away.
In the hall outside, he nearly tripped over Balfort de Vian, who blushed to the roots of his bright hair. “Excuse me,” the boy said, and tried to slip away, but Eslingen caught his sleeve.
“Did you want something, Balfort?”
“I was just bringing a report to the colonel,” de Vian answered, another wave of color sweeping over him. He pointed to the table beside the workroom door, where an untidy pile of papers lay beside a locked dispatch-case. ”It’s there.”
Eslingen nodded, but didn’t bother to look. “And you weren’t listening?”
De Vian bit his lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear. The Staenkas—Meisenta Staenka is my sister’s leman’s brother’s wife. So I had some right.”
“We all swore an oath to be impartial where we could and to withdraw where we couldn’t. Where do you stand in this?”
De Vian glanced over his shoulder at the workroom’s closed door, and Eslingen let himself be tugged further down the hall. “She’s my sister,” de Vian said. “How can I not be…well, partial? But I can’t believe any of the Staenkas would
stoop to murdering anybody. Mattaes least of all.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s…careful, I suppose you’d say. It’s all about the trade with him.” De Vian shrugged one shoulder, looking momentarily even younger than his years. “And anyway, Mattaes is too tidy to attack someone who’s heading for the privies.”
And that, Eslingen thought, was the difference between an eight-quarter noble’s son and the son of a merchant resident. “Tell me again how you’re related?”
“My sister Aliez—she’s the Vidame d’Entrebeschaire now that Mother’s dead—Aliez swore lemanry with Elecia Gebellin. She was supposed to marry the younger son, Oleguer, but our mothers couldn’t agree on the contract, and then when Mother died Madame Gebellin said we were too chancy. I don’t think they could afford the marriage-portion Aliez wanted—but that’s not important. The older son, Aucher, he’d already been married to Meisenta Staenka, and he and Elecia took Aliez’s side when she quarreled with Madame Gebellin. Elecia’s gone to work for the Staenkas with Aucher.”
“So the Gebellins are a tea family, too?”
De Vian nodded. “They don’t have their own firm yet. They were factors for Perrin and Pett, but then Madame Gebellin made a killing on a side shipment, and persuaded old Madame Staenka to let Meisenta marry Aucher. He’s trained to keep the books, you see, and of course Meisenta being blind, she needs help with that.”
They had reached the courtyard, and Eslingen winced at the bracing wind. “Here,” he said, and towed de Vian into the shelter of the arcade that faced the barracks building. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rijonneau watching from the stables, and as their eyes met, the other man touched his hat in ironic salute. Eslingen suppressed a sigh—of course Rijonneau would be the one to see him steering the prettiest of the would-be guardsmen into private conversation, not two days after defending the boy’s right to the position—and pointed to one of the benches that stood against the wall instead of going inside out of the wind. De Vian seated himself obediently, folding his hands between his knees. It was tempting to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder against the wind, but Eslingen leaned instead against the pillar opposite. “How do the Staenkas feel about this, now that their mother’s gone?”
De Vian looked blank. “They seem happy enough. Aucher’s useful, Aliez says—he knows what he’s doing. There’s no child yet, but it hasn’t been but a year and some. And Meisenta and Elecia are good friends.”
Eslingen tucked his hands behind him, bracing one foot against the pillar. It sounded to him as though Madame Gebellin was more than commonly ambitious, even for a merchant resident, if she’d succeeded in marrying one son to the eldest daughter of a major tea family, and had been angling for a vidame’s heir. Not that d’Entrebeschaire was an important title, not if its previous holder had been one of the Mistresses of the Wardrobe—one of the queen’s accountants, important within the household, but not a post that required nobility. And it was interesting that the daughter, Aliez, hadn’t inherited her mother’s post. No, if he were betting on the matter, he’d guess that the Staenkas were regretting that marriage—an excellent reason to postpone a pregnancy—and that d’Entrebeschaire thought she was well off to be free of a man who didn’t bring a decent portion. Except that she was leman to the sister: perhaps it wasn’t so simple after all.
“But you see, I can be useful,” de Vian said. “There’s a lot I can tell you.”
“I don’t doubt it. But if I take up your offer—there’s a chance I’ll find out all your family’s secrets, even ones you’d rather I didn’t know, and an even better chance that I’ll have to use them in a way that will make your sisters angry. And they’ll blame you, not me.”
“There’s only one sister,” de Vian interjected. “Just Aliez. And then there’s me and three brothers.”
“That’s not the point,” Eslingen said. “If you’re going to do this, you’re choosing the Guard over your family.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Your sister nominated you.”
De Vian made a face. “I asked her to. I have the stars for it, when I haven’t for anything else useful, and I want—I want to serve the queen’s justice.”
For an instant, Eslingen wished Rathe were here to hear that declaration, and to tell him what to say to it. That sort of fervency was nothing he had heard in any of the companies where he’d served. “There’s a reason the points don’t ask their people to act against family and friends,” he said, as gently as he could. He saw the disappointment in de Vian’s eyes, and held up a hand. “I’m not saying no. I won’t deny that you could tell me some useful things—you’ve already done so, and I’m grateful. But if you’re to work any more closely on this, I need to know that I can trust you completely. And that means I need to know you’ve thought the matter through. Take today and tomorrow, if I remember right, the stars are good for contemplation, and give me your answer the day after. There’s no shame in either choice, mind you, and I won’t hold either one against you. But you need to be certain you can stand the consequences.”
De Vian looked up at him, and for a moment, Eslingen thought he saw the shadow of the man beneath the still-childish face. “I will. Thank you, Captain.”
“I’ll talk to you on the third day,” Eslingen said, and turned away.
He couldn’t help thinking about the boy as he made his way back across the Hopes-Point Bridge and into Dreams, dodging the usual traffic without paying much attention. He remembered what it had been like at that age, to want to give oneself over totally to something, whether it was a cause or a craft or, as in his case, a lover. He hadn’t thought of the man in years, remembered him with wry affection as much as anything: Sijmon Stalla had been another Leaguer, a big, bearded man who’d taught him the finer points of pike and sword, fended off his excesses of affection, and sent him on his way in the spring with the bribe of a promotion to the cavalry. He had been sure his heart was broken, and had even tried his hand at poetry to prove it, but a week with the horses had cured him of that. This, though…this had the potential to end badly, and he found himself hoping de Vian thought better of his offer. He misliked the way things were shaping between the families, regardless of whether Mattaes had killed the captain or no, and didn’t want to see de Vian disowned—especially if that meant his sister would no longer sponsor him for the Guard. Though surely Coindarel could be persuaded to keep him on, if worst came to worst, and the more so if he’d lost that sponsorship in helping with the case…. And surely Rathe would have useful advice. It could hardly be an uncommon problem.
The steps in front of the Staenkas’ house were scrubbed spotless in spite of the weather, and the knocker was newly polished. Eslingen used it gingerly, aware that he was leaving smudges on the brass, and the door opened with gratifying speed.
“Captain vaan Esling,” Drowe said, with what might pass for actual enthusiasm. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.” Eslingen followed him into the hall, and relinquished his hat and cloak to the waiting maidservant. “I’d like to speak to either Madame Staenka or to her sister, if that’s possible.”
“Madame has gone to the factor’s, but Dame Redel will be glad to see you. If you’ll wait here?”
He ushered Eslingen into a narrow library, pausing only long enough to open the upper shutters, and then disappeared again. Someone had already had a fire in the narrow stove, and it wasn’t quite out yet, giving the room a ghostly warmth that dissipated as soon as the wind rattled against the tall window. It was clearly a working room, books stacked beside drifts of papers on the worktable, and the inkstand held four colors of ink as well as a selection of well-used pens. The shelves were crowded, too, books of every size and shape jammed in according to some unknown organizational system. He recognized a Great Herbal, given pride of place in its own stand, but the others bore only abbreviated labels, or authors’ names stamped on the leather spines. Most of them carried a house tag, a bright-
red seal in the shape of a poppy at the base of the spine, but its exact meaning he couldn’t guess.
The door opened behind him, and he turned to make his bow. Seen by daylight, Redel was much prettier than her sister, the blade of a nose softened, her figure more generous—softer in general, Eslingen thought, though he doubted that applied to more than her looks. Even the second daughters of tea families understood their place in the business; they were no more likely to falter than the sons of the Ajanes, turned out with a sword and a horse to find their fortunes.
“Captain vaan Esling. I hope you’ve come to tell us you can take our part.”
“The Prince-Marshal has agreed to hold your brother’s bond, and I’m allowed to act for your family in the investigation. But I must warn you that I can’t withhold evidence. If I find proof that your brother is guilty, I will hand it to the points.”
“Mattaes has always been our peacemaker. Would you hold it against me if I say I’ve regretted that? In way of business only, you understand.” She waved toward the nearest of the room’s chairs. “Please, do sit down, Captain. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering tea here—less chance that we’ll be interrupted, and I’d like the chance to talk plainly.”
“So would I.” Eslingen seated himself beside the stove, and Redel bent to stir up the fire before she took the chair opposite him. She was more neatly dressed than he would have expected for an ordinary working day: there was fine lace at her wrists and peeping above the neck of her bodice, a stiff lace cap perched high on well-dressed curls, and an expensive set of pearls, necklace and earrings both as fat and round as mistletoe. And as waxy-pale, too, which made them easily worth a petty-crown, perhaps even a full crown—very much not jewels for everyday, and he wondered exactly what she was trying to prove. A maidservant appeared with a table and tray, and Redel fussed with it, making sure the pot was warm and the tray of cakes properly arranged, then dismissed the girl and poured out tea for each of them. Eslingen took his cup with another half-bow, his eyebrows rising as he sipped at it. He had expected nothing less than good, but this was outside of anything he’d tasted.
Point of Sighs Page 8