Loret emerged from the kitchen in almost the same moment, began closing the shutters on the garden wall. He had to stretch to fasten the upper bolts, and in the same moment, one of the journeymen called, “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Last call,” Adriana said, from behind the bar. “It’s almost closing, so if you want another round, this is your chance.”

Eslingen moved closer to the bar, keeping an eye on the group at the table. They were the only customers, except for Jasanten, drowsing at his corner table, and there were only four of them; not bad odds, Eslingen thought, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. The journeymen exchanged glances, and then the oldest one, the one with the silver badge, stood, stretching.

“Not for us, I think. Come on, let’s pay and be gone.”

The others copied him, reaching into purses and pockets to come up with a handful of copper coins. There was only the last pitcher to pay for; they counted out the coins, and the leader, shrugging, added a last demming to bring it up to the mark. Eslingen heard Adriana release a held breath, and nodded to Loret, who came to take the coins, touching his forehead in perfunctory salute. The journeymen ignored him, as they’d been ignoring him all night, and turned in a body for the door. Eslingen pulled himself away from the bar and followed, intending to bar the door as soon as they’d gone.

Before he could reach it, however, there was a shout from outside. He stepped hastily into the doorway, blocking it completely, and looked back over his shoulder for Loret. “Go to Point of Hopes, now.”

The waiter’s eyes widened, and he darted out the garden door.

“Trouble?” Adriana called, and banged on the kitchen door, a deliberate, prearranged pattern.

Eslingen nodded, not taking his eyes from the street. A new group was moving toward him from the Knives Road, a dozen people, maybe more. The leaders, at least, carried torches, and behind them their followers’ shapes blended, in the new dark, into a single mass. The torchlight glinted from more badges at hat and coat, and Eslingen realized with a sinking feeling that at least some of these were masters, not mere journeymen. The group who had been drinking in the Old Brown Dog had stopped in the dooryard, and Eslingen could have sworn he saw confusion in the leader’s face.

“You, soldier!”

The voice was unfamiliar, sounded older than the run of journeymen, and Eslingen couldn’t suppress a grimace. If the masters were leading, this time, it would be a hell of a lot harder to get them to back down.

“Stand aside,” the voice went on, and Eslingen shook his head.

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re closed.”

“What in all hells do they want?” Devynck demanded, but softly.

Eslingen didn’t dare look back at her, but he could feel her presence at his elbow. “I don’t know yet,” he answered, and kept his voice equally low, “but I sent Loret to Point of Hopes.”

“Good man.” Devynck pressed something into the palm of his hand, and with a shock Eslingen recognized the butt of his own pistol. He took it, keeping it hidden behind the skirts of his coat, looked out into the street.

“Stand aside, soldier,” the voice came again, and Devynck swore under her breath.

“That’s Nigaud, I thought he was a friend.”

“We know you’ve got the children here,” a lighter voice chimed in, “and we’re not going away until we’ve found them.”

“Huviet,” Eslingen said, and didn’t bother to hide his disgust. He lifted his voice to carry to the group’s leader. “His mother made the same complaint yesterday, brought the pointsmen here and searched, and found nothing. I don’t see why we’re still suspected. There are no children here.”

“Then stand aside and let us see for ourselves,” Nigaud answered.

“Over my dead body,” Devynck muttered. “Adriana. Fetch my sword, and Philip’s.”

Eslingen didn’t move, though he heard the rustle of cloth as Adriana did as she was told. “We’ve been searched already, by those with the right to do it. If I let you in, when you find nothing, what’ll you do, break the rest of our windows?”

“If you don’t have anything to hide, why don’t you let us in?” Paas Huviet shouted, and there was a little murmur of agreement from the crowd.

“I won’t let you in because you don’t have a right to be here,” Eslingen called, “and you don’t offer me any promises that you won’t loot the place while you’re here. Gods, man, there were people from your guild drinking here all day, ask them if they saw any sign of the children.”

There was a little pause, and the leader of the last group stepped into the circle of torchlight. “I didn’t see anything, I admit. But they could be somewhere else in the building.”

“See?” Huviet shouted.

“They’re going to come in,” Eslingen said, under his breath, and heard Devynck’s grunt of agreement.

“Loret’s gone for the points, see if we can at least get them to agree to that.”

Eslingen nodded. “Masters,” he called, “we understand your concerns for the children–we’re worried, too, we all know someone who’s lost a child.” That was an exaggeration, but he hoped it would pass in the dark and the excitement. “But I’ve a responsibility to this house and to Mistress Devynck. Send someone to the points, Point of Hopes or Point of Dreams, it doesn’t matter, but send to them. Let one of them come with you, keep everything on the right side of the law, and I’ll gladly let you pass.”

There was a murmur at that, half approving, half uncertain, and Paas’s voice rose over the general noise. “They fee’d the points not to find them, why should we trust them?”

“Be quiet,” Nigaud snapped.

At his side, Eslingen felt Adriana’s sudden presence, glanced down to see her holding his sword at the ready. Behind her, Jasanten perched on a table, Devynck’s caliver and another pistol in his lap, busy loading them with powder and ball. Hulet stood in the garden door, half‑pike in hand.

“Even if the points are fee’d in this,” Nigaud went on, “which I’m not convinced of, Paas, for all your talk, they still can’t stop us from searching where we please. I’m prepared to send for a pointsman, soldier–unless you’ve already done so?”

“Go ahead,” Eslingen answered, and Nigaud nodded to one of the younger journeymen.

“Go on, then, go to Point of Hopes.”

Eslingen held his breath, not moving from the inn’s doorway. The longer they could postpone this, the more time the butchers had to think about what they were doing and about what they might do. The masters, at least, were property owners; the more time they had to think about the precedent they were setting, the better for Devynck. The more time they waited, without hostilities, without provocation, the more time there was for the blood to cool, and it was a rare man who, untrained, could order an attack in cold blood. The group’s leaders, Nigaud and another man in a full‑skirted coat, a master’s badge in his hat, were talking again, their voices too low to be heard more than a few feet away. After a moment, the leader of the last group of journeymen moved to join them, and Eslingen saw him spread his hands in an expressive shrug.

Then he heard the sound of the nightwatch’s wooden clapper again, faster now, as though its holder was running, coming from the western end of the Knives Road. About half the gathered journeymen turned to look, and one of the torchbearers turned with them, lifting her torch to send its light further down the dark street. A pointsman appeared at the end of the street, his lantern swinging with the beat of the clapper; the young journeyman trailed breathlessly at his heels.

“What’s all this, then?” the pointsman asked, and put his free hand on his truncheon. Eslingen swore under his breath, and heard Devynck curse.

“What do that stars have against me, that it should be Ranazy?” she muttered. “We’re in trouble now, Philip.”