“You heard her,” Sawel said, to Rathe, and Rathe nodded.
“We’ll try not to trouble him,” he said, and started up the stairs, Cambrai at his heels.
Sawel had done her best for her brother. He lay in the chamber above the kitchen, smaller than the main bedchamber, but quieter, and warmed by the stove below as well as by the fireplace with its narrow grate. The bed had been moved to be further from the window, and a rectangle of cloth as heavy as a saddle blanket lay on the stool beneath the shutters, open now to let in the best of the daylight. A tall woman in a Phoeban physician’s saffron gown looked down her nose at them as they hesitated in the doorway. Beyond her, Dammar lay unmoving on a sloping raft of pillows, the bed curtains pulled back and the sheet and blankets pulled up to his armpits. His hands were lax on the covers, and nearly as pale as the linen surrounding him, but the bruises on his face and chest were still deep purple.
“Doctor,” Rathe said, warily. The Phoebans had a reputation for both skill and a tendency to guard their rights like fighting rats; he had no desire to get on her wrong side just yet. “We were told it might be possible to speak with Adjunct Point Dammar today.”
“The Surintendant of Points himself has been asking that daily since the man was stabbed,” Bael said. “I’d like to know what the hurry is.”
“The sooner we can ask a few questions, the sooner we can catch the one who did this,” Rathe answered. He thought he saw Dammar’s fingers twitch at that, but focused on the physician. “We try to take care of our own.”
“A bit late for that.” Bael turned back to the bed, laying one long hand on Dammar’s forehead, then seized one wrist to test his pulse. “He’s not fevered at the moment, and wasn’t last night, and his pulse is as calm as could be expected. But I’ll stay, and if you make him worse, I’ll throw you out.”
“Fair enough.” Cambrai flashed the physician a smile but she only scowled.
Rathe said, “We’ll do our best not to agitate him. All we want is a few answers to get us moving forward.” He stepped up to the bed as he spoke, and Dammar’s eyes flickered open.
“Rathe.” His voice was a whisper, but clear enough. “I heard they gave you my place.”
“Only until you’re well again.” There were stools against the wall; Rathe brought one over, and motioned for Cambrai to do the same. “I expect you know Cambrai.”
“The cap’pontoise?” Something like a smile flickered across Dammar’s face. “Pulling out all the stops, Rathe?”
“I pulled you out of the river,” Cambrai said. “That makes you mine.”
Dammar’s mouth tightened, annoyance or pain or both. “I was attacked on dry land.”
“The sur’s given it joint jurisdiction,” Rathe said.
“The sur’s involved?” Dammar sounded alarmed, and Rathe frowned.
“Of course, he’s not going to see his people attacked without taking a hand.”
“No….”
“So we’re here to ask what happened,” Rathe said hastily, not daring to glance at the physician behind them, “and to ask if you can put a name to whoever did this.”
“No.” Dammar’s voice was stronger again, and he managed to move his head side to side on the pillows. “I mean, I can tell you—it was a man, two of them, maybe a third? I’m not sure….”
His voice trailed off again, and Rathe heard the whisper of stiff satin as Bael stirred uneasily. “Start at the beginning,” he said. “You were on the bridge—on points business?”
Dammar frowned. “I think—yes. There was a complaint, one of the bridge merchants said someone had been in her storage space—chambers in the pillars of the bridge? They rent for nearly a half-crown the quarter, but the shops are small to start with, and it pays a woman to keep her extra stock there, if she can afford it—”
“I know the bridge,” Rathe said.
“Well, then. Yes.” Dammar’s eyes fluttered shut.
Cambrai leaned forward. “So you were going to—check the locks? Or had she given you a key?”
“I….” Dammar’s head swung from side to side again. “I must have had a key. My memory’s none too clear.”
“And you went down into the pillar?” Cambrai asked.
That was more of an assumption than Rathe would have been willing to make, but at least it seemed to spark some response from the other pointsman.
“Yes. It’s an iron stair and an open center.”
“With a hoist for the goods,” Rathe said. “I know.”
“They were there ahead of me,” Dammar said. “Two for sure, maybe three? We fought…and one of them stabbed me. The next thing I knew, I’m in my sister’s bed with everyone telling me I’d been in the Sier.”
It wasn’t remarkable for a man to forget everything around such an injury, Rathe thought, but there were pieces that didn’t quite add up. “Who was the shop holder? The one you were working for.”
“What? Why?” Dammar blinked.
“The men were waiting for you, you said. I’m curious how they knew you’d be there.”
“It wasn’t her,” Dammar said. “She’s an honest woman.”
Rathe saw Cambrai roll his eyes, and suppressed the desire to do the same. “I’m sure she is. But she might have said something that gave them their chance, or even someone in her shop spoke out of turn. What’s her name?”
“Havys.” Dammar’s voice was a thread again. “That’s her family name, Dame Havys, I don’t know her forename. At the Two Rabbits.”
“Adjunct Point,” Bael said, and Rathe glanced over his shoulder, mustering his most harmless expression.
“Just a few more questions, please. We haven’t much more to ask.”
Bael subsided, and Cambrai leaned forward again. “Do you have any idea who they might have been? Or who sent them?”
“I never got a decent look at them,” Dammar said.
“Who would have wanted to do this?” Rathe asked.
Dammar made a noise that started to be laughter and then caught painfully in his chest. “There are plenty of people who don’t like me, Adjunct Point. Could have been any of them.”
“Names?” Rathe said.
“Too many….” Dammar’s voice was fading, and Bael straightened. “Ask Ormere. Or Sebern.”
“Adjunct Point,” Bael said. “Time for you to stop.”
“One final question?” Rathe looked over his shoulder, waiting for her reluctant nod before he spoke again. “When you went down the stair, was it dark, or was there a lantern?”
Dammar blinked. “Dark? I—I don’t remember.”
“That’s enough,” Bael said firmly. “You need to leave now, and let the man rest.”
Dammar’s eyes fluttered closed, but for an instant Rathe thought he saw relief in the other man’s expression. There was no arguing with Bael, though, and he pushed himself to his feet. There would be time to ask more questions—and better questions, too, once he’d had a chance to follow up the little Dammar had told him.
“Thank you, doctor,” Rathe said, and gestured for Cambrai to precede him from the chamber.
In the hall, Cambrai stopped, glancing over his shoulder, and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “None of that made much sense. Why attack a man in the storage cells? They’d have had to haul him up in the cargo lift to get him out, and that’s not exactly inconspicuous.”
Rathe shook his head. “I shouldn’t have assumed he was attacked on the bridge, let him tell me.”
“They’d have had to carry him there otherwise, and that doesn’t seen so likely,” Cambrai said. “And why didn’t he want to give up the shop holder’s name?”
Rathe nodded. “Or any names of people who’d like to do him in. On his reputation, I’d have expected him to list half a dozen straight off, just because he owes them a bad turn.”
“I’m none so sure he’s that sick, either,” Cambrai said darkly. “But that dragon of a doctor wasn’t going to let us stay without a fight.”
“
No. But we’ve got time, Euan.” Rathe started for the stairs. “The bridge is my territory, let me have a word with Dame Havys. Will you ask along the docks for anyone who might have hated him enough to take the risks?”
“It’ll be someone he cheated out of a fee,” Cambrai said. “You wait and see.”
Rathe nodded. That made the most sense of the story: if Dammar had gone to meet someone who’d paid a fee and not liked the results, that would explain both the secrecy of the meeting and the attack, and was a good deal simpler than Dammar’s explanation. If he could prove that—or, for that matter, confirm Dammar’s work for Dame Havys, as unlikely as that seemed at the moment—then they’d have a place to start finding new questions. Or to press harder on the old ones. “I’ll keep you informed if you’ll do the same for me.”
“It’s a bargain, Adjunct Point,” Cambrai said, with a grin, and they came decorously down the stairs to join the others still waiting in the pewter-smith’s workroom.
CHAPTER 7
Eslingen and his new ensign made their way back west along the Sier, crossing the river at the Customs House—and if anyone had been following them, or paying undue attention, Eslingen thought, he would either have been seen struggling to keep up, or have lost them in the surging crowds. He stopped at Customs Point long enough to make a brief and colorless report of an attack on a ship’s captain in the Exemption Docks, and then struck out for Point of Dreams, de Vian still trailing at his heels. At least the walk was keeping him from stiffening up, though he’d pay for it later.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep up with them,” de Vian said, for the third time. “There were just too many people.”
“You did your best,” Eslingen said. “Besides, what would you have done if you’d caught them?” He’d meant it for a joke, but the color rose sharply in de Vian’s cheeks. “You did well to try.”
“So what did they want?” de Vian asked.
“To frighten Dame Hardelet,” Eslingen answered. “Maybe to make her lose the child, they’d threatened that before.”
De Vian’s eyes went wide. “That’s horrible. Why?”
Eslingen hesitated, but if he was going to use the boy, he needed to be able to share what was going on. Besides, Young Steen and Hardelet would be on the river by now, and well out of reach. “This is not to be repeated.”
“Never, Captain.”
“They complained about dock fees, she and her man. And apparently the dockers took offense. It’s been a hard autumn for everyone.”
“Not that hard,” de Vian muttered. He shook his head. “To attack a breeding woman—that’s low.”
“But effective,” Eslingen said, before he could stop himself. That was the trouble with years of mercenary service: you got used to tactics that no one should find easy. He frowned, annoyed with himself, and heard de Vian sigh.
“Will they be all right?”
“I doubt the dockers can chase them once they sail.”
“They’ll make them pay for it later, if we don’t find out who did it,” de Vian said, and the assessment was accurate enough that Eslingen shot him a startled glance. De Vian shrugged uncomfortably. “I told you, my sister’s leman is in the tea trade.”
“So you said.”
“I don’t know what she sees in her,” de Vian muttered, then blushed. “But that’s often the way of it. Please don’t say I said so.”
Eslingen shook his head. “No, of course not. Is that Redel?”
“No, Elecia Gebellin. Her brother Aucher is married to Meisenta.”
“I haven’t met her.”
“She’s…sharp.”
“There are plenty of women who say more than they mean,” Eslingen said, and saw the boy shrug again.
“I suppose so.”
He’d missed something there, Eslingen thought, but it was too late to pursue it. He could feel de Vian’s withdrawal, and made himself relax, turning the subject to the first of the hot-nut sellers. The word stayed with him as they wound their way past Jacinte’s Well and took the shortcut by the Granary, scattering gargoyles that fluttered up to scold them from the low rooftops. Clever? Prickly? Edgy? A quality that de Vian didn’t like, at any rate; well, he was likely to find out soon enough.
The Staenka house was busy when they arrived, a private carriage drawn up at the door and a cart wedged into the narrow alley between the house and its nearest neighbor. Still, Drowe greeted them with plausible good cheer, and escorted them into the library, promising to send Mattaes to them right away.
“Any idea what’s going on?” Eslingen asked
De Vian shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t see any marks on the carriage, either.”
“No more did I,” Eslingen began, and turned as the door opened. The woman was no one he’d seen before, but there was something in the shape of her cheeks and chin that made him glance quickly at de Vian, to see recognition in his eyes. “Maseigne?”
“Captain vaan Esling.” She came forward with both hands outstretched, and he took them perforce, bowing politely. Seen up close, she was unmistakably de Vian’s sister, the same elegant bones and ivory skin, blue eyes made brighter in her case by neat lines of kohl. She was powdered, too, but the pearls that were woven through her light brown hair were glass, and her gown had been remade at least once. “Aliez d’Entrebeschaire.”
“Charmed,” Eslingen murmured, and saw her eyes slide sideways, brows contracting as she saw de Vian.
“Balfort?”
“I’ve taken him for my ensign in this business.” Eslingen wouldn’t say “runner,” not to a noble of any quarterings.
“I hope you find him useful,” d’Entrebeschaire said, and forced a smile. “Meisenta—Madame Staenka—asked me to make her apologies. They’re just finishing a tasting, but she should be with you shortly.”
“I’ve no wish to interrupt,” Eslingen said, though he groaned inwardly at the thought of coming back. He was definitely starting to stiffen after the fight; when he was done here, he wanted nothing more than an hour at the baths and a pint of beer to take the edge off.
“No, no, not at all,” d’Entrebeschaire said. “Meisenta would like to speak with you—especially if there’s any news?”
“Nothing’s changed, I’m afraid. Just more questions.”
“We’re of course at your disposal.” Her tone was more doubtful than the words. The door opened again behind her, revealing a shorter, darker woman in tidy mercantile black: presumably the sister-in-law, Eslingen thought.
“The factors just left, Meisenta says she’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Elecia Gebellin,” d’Entrebeschaire said, and Eslingen bowed again. “Her brother is Meisenta’s—Madame’s husband.”
“Is there any news?” Gebellin asked, and checked herself. “No, of course not, or you’d have said so already. Forgive me, Captain, we’re all very concerned for Mattaes.”
But not so concerned that you’d offer food and drink, Eslingen thought. “We’ve made some progress,” he said. “And as a result, I have more questions—in particular, about hiring bes’Anthe and your relations with the docks in general, so if that doesn’t required Madame’s attention, perhaps we wouldn’t have to interrupt her.”
The two women exchanged glances, and d’Entrebeschaire said, “That’s you and Redel, isn’t it?”
“And Mattaes, this year,” Gebellin answered. “But I know Meisenta will want to hear.”
Eslingen bowed again, feeling the muscles of his back and sides tighten toward cramp. “As you wish,” he said, and resigned himself to awkward small talk.
To his relief, however, it was less than a quarter of a hour before Drowe opened the door again and escorted them all into the large parlor. It was a handsome place, the shutters thrown back to let in the afternoon light, and both the fireplace and the smaller stoves were lit. The air smelled gently of beeswax and spices. Meisenta Staenka sat in a high-backed chair by the fire, a tall man, dark and elegantly made, standing beside her as t
hough waiting to do her bidding. The husband, Eslingen guessed, and was unsurprised when he was introduced as Aucher Gebellin. Redel and Mattaes were present, too, and Meisenta waved a hand toward the remaining empty chairs.
“Captain vaan Esling. Please be seated.”
“Shall I take Balfort, then?” d’Entrebeschaire said, to Elecia, and the other woman nodded. “You’ll excuse us, madame, I’m sure.”
De Vian gave Eslingen a sharp look of protest, but Eslingen shook his head. “Go on,” he said, and d’Entrebeschaire drew him from the room. “My assistant in this business, Balfort de Vian. I believe he’s Maseigne’s brother.”
Meisenta inclined her head in thanks. “I hadn’t realized you had a companion, Captain.”
“Have you found anything?” Mattaes asked abruptly, and Redel scowled.
“Mattaes!”
“Why pretend? We’ve got the points in and out every day, not saying one useful word, and he’s supposed to be on our side. Surely there’s no harm in just asking!”
“He has a point,” Meisenta said, with a slow and unexpected smile. “But I think the captain would have told us if there was anything new.”
Eslingen lowered himself into the nearest chair, hoping he’d be able to get back up again without flinching. “I’m afraid Madame is right. But I do have more questions about your dealings with the docks. One thing we have heard everywhere is that the dockers are demanding higher fees from everyone, and they’ve threatened violence if they weren’t paid.”
“So you’re thinking the dockers killed bes’Anthe when he wouldn’t pay?” Redel asked eagerly. “I could believe that, he’d be fool enough to hold out, thinking we’d have to pay in the end—”
“Redel,” Meisenta said.
“The points are looking into that,” Eslingen said. “Was there anyone on the docks who’d kill bes’Anthe to harm you, either personally or the business?”
There was a little silence at that, Redel cocking her head to one side like a bird, Meisenta lifting one painted eyebrow. Mattaes said, “Not personally, surely….”
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