“They can bind ghosts,” Jasanten said, almost in spite of himself, and Rathe nodded.

“So they can. It’s not easy, or so I’m told. I’m not a scholar, but it can be done.”

“A madman might have the strength for it,” Eslingen said. “They’re stronger physically than they ought to be, maybe it works the same for a magist.”

Rathe looked at him, the thin brows drawing down. “Now there’s a happy thought.”

Eslingen shrugged, and Jasanten said, “That’s right, you were with Coindarel three years ago.”

Eslingen sighed–it was a subject he preferred not to think about–but nodded. Rathe cocked his head to one side in silent question, and Eslingen sighed again. “There was a man, a new recruit, out of Dhenin–he was a butcher by his original trade, in point of fact– he raped a woman and murdered her. It was pretty clear who it was, and the prince‑marshal hanged him, Rathe, so you needn’t look sideways at everyone who was paid off from the Dragons, either. But it took seven men to hold him, when they came to arrest him. And he was mad, that one.”

“I remember the broadsheets,” Rathe said. “It was a nine‑days’ wonder.” He sighed, then. “And I hope to Demis you’re wrong about madmen being magistically stronger, but I’ll check that out. It’s a nasty thought.”

Jasanten nodded, leaning forward to plant both elbows on the table. “You’ll find it’s someone like that. It has to be. No one else would have cause. Areton’s beard, I’m recruiting for Filipon’s Pioneers, and they’ve had two years of hard luck now, but I can still find grown men, even experienced men, who need a place.”

“The business,” Rathe said, with a straight face, “just hasn’t been the same since the League War ended.”

“No more it has,” Jasanten agreed, and then shot the younger man a wary look.

Rathe kept his expression sober, however, and said, “Eslingen here tells me you don’t want kids because they’re too small to handle the weapons and they don’t have skills you want. What about kids who knew how to handle horses, would you want them?”

“Ah.” Jasanten smiled. “Now that’s another matter, I admit. If you’ve got kids missing from stables, Rathe, yeah, I’d look to the recruiters. A boy with the right stars and the knack for it, or a girl, for that matter, there are girls enough born under Seidos’s signs, they could find a place if they wanted it. Or with the caravans, for that matter.”

Rathe glanced again at Eslingen, and the dark‑haired man nodded, reluctantly. “A kid would come cheaper than a trooper, and you always need people to tend to the horses. But a butcher’s brat wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“No,” Rathe agreed. He drained the last of his tea, and stood up, stretching in the fall of sunlight. “Thanks for your help, Jasanten, Eslingen–and, Eslingen, remember. If you have any trouble, anything you can’t handle, that is, send to Point of Hopes.”

“I’ll do that,” Eslingen answered, impressed in spite of himself, and the pointsman nodded and turned away. Eslingen watched him go, and Jasanten shook his head.

“I don’t hold with that,” he said, and Eslingen looked back at him.

“Don’t hold with what?”

“Pointsmen.” Jasanten shook his head again. “It’s not right, common folk like him having to tend the law. That’s the seigneury’s job, they were born to protect us–and you mark my words, Philip, this business won’t be settled until the Metropolitan gets off her ass and does something about it.”

Eslingen shrugged. He himself would rather trust a common man than some noble who had no idea of what ordinary folk might have to do to live, but he knew there were plenty of people who agreed with Jasanten–and it was, he had to admit, generally harder to buy a noble. “Maybe,” he said aloud, and stood, slowly. “I have to go, Flor.”

Jasanten looked up at him, an odd smile on his lips, but he said only, “You don’t want to waste a free breakfast.”

“No,” Eslingen agreed, and decided not to ask any questions. Good luck to you, Rathe, he thought, and went back to his table and the bread and cheese and the cooling pot of tea.

He finished his breakfast quickly enough, and returned to his room to shave, and to change shirts. He had errands to run, and he was not about to risk one of his two good shirts on the expedition–and besides, he added silently, he might have the good fortune to find a laundress who’d be willing to take his business. He tucked it back with the others in his chest, and shrugged himself into an older, coarser shirt, well aware that the unbleached fabric was less than flattering to his complexion. But that was hardly the point, he reminded himself, and slipped into the lightest of his coats. He should also probably find himself an astrologer as well, see what guidance she or he could provide– the broadsheets did well enough for entertainment, and for general trends, but these days, with the climate of the city less than favorable toward Leaguers, it might be wise to see what the stars held for him personally.

He went back down the stairs and through the main room, where Jasanten was drowsing over the remains of his breakfast, and ducked through the hall behind the bar. There was no sign of Devynck herself, but Adriana looked up as he peered around the kitchen door.

“Do you want me this morning?” he asked, and heard the girl who helped with the cooking giggle softly.

Adriana’s smile widened, but she shook her head, and tumbled a bowl of chopped vegetables into a waiting pot. “Mother will want you back at opening, but there’s no reason for you to kick your heels around here all morning. Off to fetch more broadsheets?”

Eslingen shrugged. “Probably. But I feel in need of more– personal guidance. Where does one go to get a good reading done?”

She moved away from the table, wiping her hands clean on her coarse apron. “Depends on how flush you’re feeling, now that you’re gainfully employed, Lieutenant. There are the temples, of course, but they’re expensive, and you might not want to attract the Good Counsellor’s attention just now by visiting one of his people.”

“Not particularly,” Eslingen answered. The Good Counsellor was one of the polite, propitiating names for the Starsmith, god of death and the unseen, as well as patron of astrologers, and no soldier wanted to draw his gaze, not even in peace time.

“You could go to the Three Nations,” Adriana went on. “It’s what they’re there for, especially this time of year.” Eslingen blinked, utterly confused, and she smiled. “The university students–they call themselves the Three Nations, every student claims allegiance to one of them, Chenedolle, the North, or Overseas.”

“It sounds to me as though they’re leaving out a few people.”

“Oh, the students lump Chadron and the League in with the Ile’nord, though a lot of Leaguers call themselves Chenedolliste,” Adriana answered. “And Overseas is the Silklanders and anybody who doesn’t want to be bothered with politics. It’s all political, really, a game for them and a royal pain for the rest of us.” She shook her head. “Anyway, the Three–the students have always had the right to cast horoscopes at the fairs, both the little fair, which is what’s happening now, and the great fair. It’s supposed to just be augmenting their stipend, but they tend to charge what the market will bear.”

There was a distinct note of–something–in her voice, Eslingen thought. Disapproval? Contempt? Neither was quite right. “Aren’t they any good?” he asked, cautiously, and she made a face.

“It’s not that, they’re good, all right–they’d better be, or the university would have a lot to answer for. No, it’s just that… well, the fees are supposed to be a supplement, but they tend to charge what they can get, which can be quite a lot, and the students–well, they’re students. They think well of themselves. Extremely well of themselves, in actual fact, and not nearly so well of the rest of us.” She shrugged. “They’re all right, they just get my back up–get everybody’s backs up, really, but it’s mostly because they’re young and arrogant. If you can afford it, and you want the cachet of the university, such as it is, you can go to them.”