Rathe glared at the letter, then abruptly broke the seals. The broad pen strokes filled the page, a sprawling clerk’s hand ordering him to appear before the regents at half past ten, to answer for unwarranted interference in a matter he had already been forbidden to handle. He swore under his breath, wondering how Voillemin had found out– Falasca, of course; she would still have been on duty when he arrived the night before–and swore again, wondering which of the regents was acting as Voillemin’s patronne. The clock struck half past nine then, and he shoved his keys back into his pocket, carefully refolded the letter, and headed for Trijn’s workroom.

She greeted him with a preoccupied smile, but the expression faded as he shoved the regents’ letter under her nose. “What’s this?”

“Read it, please, Chief.”

She made a face, but skimmed the brief paragraph, finally leaning back in her chair to lift an eyebrow. “And what’s brought this on? Have you been meddling?”

Rathe grimaced. “Yes and no, Chief.”

“I’d have preferred a simple no.”

“Nothing’s ever that simple,” Rathe answered. He reached for the chair that stood beside her desk, seated himself at her nod. “First, Kurin Holles came to me to complain that Voillemin hadn’t talked to him at all–and it was Holles who found the body, never mind anything else. I told Holles I couldn’t interfere, but I’d speak to Voillemin, which I did, to tell him that he shouldn’t worry about hurting Holles’s feelings, he was more than willing to speak to the points.”

“And?” Trijn asked.

“At the same time, I saw someone had come from Little Chain saying she had information about the death, but Voillemin had written it off–said it was just a printer trying to get details for a broadsheet.” Rathe took a breath. “So I told him I thought he should speak to the woman.”

“It’s possible,” Trijn murmured, “but he should have gone. All right. Go on.”

“Then yesterday, after I dealt with another body at the Tyrseia– you did get my report on that matter?”

“I did,” Trijn said. “There are too damn many of them, Rathe. I suppose we’re still waiting for the alchemists’ report?”

Rathe nodded.

“Then I can assume you went to Little Chain yourself to talk to this woman.”

Rathe sighed. Put like that, he was at fault–he’d been warned off the case by the regents, for one thing, and for another, he had no right to interfere in another pointsman’s case without gross evidence of neglect. “I did,” he said, and Trijn made a face.

“Damn it, Nico, I thought better of you.”

“Chief.” Rathe took a careful breath. “I had cause–I had reason to think it was important. And I believe I was proved right. The woman who sent to us is a flower‑seller, she sold the intendant the makings of a bouquet that she believes came from an edition of the Alphabet, and which she feared might have harmed him.”

“That sounds like misadventure to me,” Trijn said.

Rathe shook his head. “The ghost was bound,” he reminded her, and she swore.

“So it was. Could it have been the Alphabet that bound him?”

“Chief, I don’t know. But I don’t think it can be written off until we find out.”

“Damn the man for a fool.” Trijn glared at the summons, then shoved it back across the tabletop. “And this–this is outside of enough. I’m not best pleased with you, Nico, you should have come to me, not handled it on your own, but Voillemin has overstepped himself. I’ll deal with him later, but in the meantime…” She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m glad you brought this to me. I’d half had you written down as the sort of hero who’d try to face them down by yourself.”

Rathe laughed, and knew Trijn heard the anger in it. “I’m not that much of a fool, Chief.”

“Then let’s be on our way.” Trijn rose gracefully to her feet, reaching for a fur‑trimmed cloak. “If they’re in such a hurry, they can deal with us in our working clothes.”

Rathe glanced down at his own coat, well aware that he’d worn it to shapelessness. Trijn, on the other hand, was almost as neat as a regent, though her wine‑red skirts were brighter. He looked even more common by contrast, wondered if it was fully wise to provoke the regents even further, but Trijn seemed unaware of any potential problem. “We’ll take a low‑flyer,” she said, and swept out of the narrow room.

They were early to All‑Guilds, thanks to a wall‑eyed coachman who took the bridge at a speed to make the apprentices curse him, but Trijn paid him off with a look almost of satisfaction. She led the way into the hall, moving through the chill passages with an unsettling familiarity, finally paused in the doorway of a clerks’ room to beckon the woman nearest the door. The blue‑robed woman, barely out of girlhood, rose with alacrity, smoothing her gown over her skirts, and bobbed a curtsy.

“Can I help you, madame?”

“Tell their mightinesses the regents that Chief Point Trijn–and Adjunct Point Rathe–are here now, and wish to see them.”

The clerk’s eyes widened, and for an instant Rathe thought she would protest, but Trijn raised an eyebrow. The clerk swallowed whatever she would have said, and bobbed another, deeper curtsy. “I’ll tell them, madame,” she said, and hurried off, her skirts billowing.

Trijn nodded with satisfaction, and Rathe’s eyes narrowed. If it had been left to him, he would have looked for a doorman, not a clerk, certainly wouldn’t have invaded the clerks’ working space even though that seemed to be the correct procedure. “You’re known here,” he said aloud, and Trijn gave a weary nod.

“I suppose it would out at some point. Yes, I’m known.” She forced a wry smile. “Most people have relations they would prefer not to claim. My burden is my sister. Madame Gausaron.”

“The grand bourgeoise,” Rathe said, and knew he sounded breathless.

“Herself.”

Rathe started to say something, then closed his mouth over the words. “I’m so sorry.”

Trijn choked back a laugh as the clerk reappeared, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her eyes.

“The regents will see you, madame,” the clerk said with another curtsy. “And sir.”

“Good,” Trijn answered, and the clerk flung open the heavy doors.

“Chief Point Trijn and Adjunct Point Rathe, of Point of Dreams.”

“You’re very peremptory, Chief Point,” Gausaron said from her place at the center of the dais, and Trijn shook her head. Even knowing they were kin, Rathe could see no similarity between them, wondered if they had perhaps had a different father.

“You have overstepped yourself, madame,” Trijn said. “What do you mean by summoning one of my people without notifying me? Courtesy alone would have required it, procedure demands it. If you have fault to find with my adjunct point, I expect to be notified of it first. It is my place to correct my people, not yours.”

“Adjunct Point Rathe has intervened in the matter of the Leussi death,” another regent said. She was a thin woman, with deep lines bracketing the corners of her mouth, the pallor of her skin set off by the deep, true black of her high‑necked gown. “As he was expressly forbidden to do. This was brought to our attention. If you cannot rectify the situation on your own, Chief Point, you must not be surprised when we are asked to intercede.”

Neat, Rathe thought. If Trijn says she didn’t know I’d interfered, that she didn’t know Voillemin was unhappy with it, they can accuse her of not keeping enough of an eye on her own affairs. He bit his tongue, knowing he had to keep silent as long as possible. He was his own worst enemy here– let Trijn handle it, he told himself, and clasped his hands behind his back, tightening his grip until his joints ached.

“The matter was brought to my attention this morning,” Trijn answered, “as it should have been, by the man whose concern it most is. The matter was brought to your attention because Voillemin is your spy in my point–and I will not tolerate that, madame, not a day longer. If you have a complaint, and I’m sure you have, you can address it to me now, as you should have done from the beginning.”