“So who are you doing the favor?” Eslingen demanded. “This Caiazzo or me? For that matter, it seems extraordinary that you have to make amends to two different people for matters of point scoring. I’m beginning to be just the slightest bit afraid of you, pointsman. You’re not safe.”

“It’s not as elaborate as all that. Caiazzo’s tough deserved what he got, and better for him this way.” Rathe shook his head. “Look, he called himself a duellist, but he didn’t call his duels formally. He just sort of took it upon himself to, well, execute them. Caiazzo was having fits trying to figure out how to be rid of him anyway. Not that I did it to oblige him, but when I was able to make the point, fair and square, on a charge of murder, I did it and Caiazzo didn’t make more than a token complaint. And if he’d–Douvregn, I mean–if he’d gone on like that much longer, he’d’ve gone mad. Duellists can, you know, especially if they don’t cry fair and public.”

“You know a lot about duelling. I presume that’s just in pursuit of the law,” Eslingen said, eyeing the blade that lay along Rathe’s leg.

“Not really,” Rathe answered, and Eslingen looked dubious.

“Oh?”

Rathe shrugged. “A friend of mine’s a duellist. Course, he’s also a necromancer, so he has an outlet. Of sorts.”

Both Eslingen’s eyebrows rose. “What an interesting life you lead, pointsman.” He took a breath. “I want to know about Caiazzo. You said there were a couple of ‘buts’ involved.”

“It’s about these children.” Rathe looked unhappy. “The surintendant–the surintendant of points, my ultimate boss–thinks Caiazzo might be involved. I don’t. I’ve been after Caiazzo for almost five years now, I know the kind of mud puddles he likes to play in, and children aren’t it. I’m certain in my heart he’s not involved, but the sur wants me to keep an eye on him. Took me aside this morning to tell me that, though how I’m supposed to do that when I have all these disappearances in my book, and have to check up on illegal printers…” He paused and took a breath, darting a rueful glance at Eslingen. “Sorry. But if the sur wants Caiazzo watched, then I have to take care of it. Hanse–Caiazzo needs a new bravo. You need a job and a place to live, and I can promise you, his house is a lot grander than the Brown Dog.”

“It would have to be,” Eslingen murmured, but there was no denying the sudden surge within him. He had to husband his coin if it was to last to the next campaign season, and if he could live in a gentleman’s comfort till then, all the better. “How’s he treat the hired help, then?”

“Better than they deserve, I imagine,” Rathe said. “Douvregn was always very well turned out.”

“Not livery?”

“I told you, he’s not a gentleman, Eslingen, he’s a merchant, a southriver merchant, and proud of it. He’s not the sort to ape the nobility, so set your heart at rest. You’ll be able to afford to dress as well as ever, without the spectre of livery.”

“But with the very real spectre, I imagine, of finding myself dead in the Sier if he should find out I’m spying on him,” Eslingen said.

Rathe shook his head. “Caiazzo’s not like that–not quite like that. He’s no idiot. I’m trusting you to find out that he’s not involved in these disappearances. I expect you to find out he’s not involved.”

“And if I find out he is?”

Rathe grimaced. “Then get out, fast, and let me know.”

“Why am I even considering this?” Eslingen demanded.

“Because it’s a long summer until anyone good is hiring again, you told me so yourself, especially soldiers of your rank. Because you saw what happened at the Old Brown Dog. Leaguers aren’t well loved at the best of times, and right now–”

“Right now, we’re right up there with pointsmen in popularity, aren’t we?” Eslingen said, with a return of his earlier anger. Rathe ignored it.

“Because these are children who are disappearing. Southriver, northriver, from all over the city. Gone without a trace, and I tell you, Eslingen, usually only a runaway can manage that.” He frowned into the distance, eyes fixed on something only he could see. “I’ve seen that happen enough times. The serious runaways, the ones with real, hard reasons to run. They’ll do it, and we can turn over every stone, and not find them. Because they know when and how fast to run. But this number of kids, from so wide a range of backgrounds… they’re not running, Eslingen. Someone’s taking them. And I don’t think it’s Caiazzo, but I can’t make that decision, I can’t take that risk. You need a job, a place to live. I need to be able to keep an eye on Caiazzo without having to give up the other jobs at hand, which I refuse to do.” He broke off, glaring at Eslingen, but the look wasn’t really directed at him, the Leaguer realized. He was angry with whoever had suggested he write off the children already gone. And Rathe never would.

“I was a runaway,” he said quietly. “And you’re right. I knew when and how far and fast to run. But I was reasonably lucky. It might not have ended up this well. All right. I may be out of my mind, Rathe, but if this Caiazzo will have me, I’ll keep an eye on things for you.”

Rathe smiled, and the easing of lines from his face made Eslingen wonder just how many hours a day the adjunct point was working on this business. “You want to meet him now?”

“Are you off duty already?”

Rathe made a face. “Oh, calling on Caiazzo is part of being on duty, it seems.” He stood, stretched, and came around the desk. “So, if you’re interested…”

“Oh, I am,” Eslingen assured him, and immediately wondered if he was doing the right thing. The astrologer had said his status could change at the new moon, but he couldn’t think this was quite what he had had in mind. Before he could say anything more, however, the door opened, and Monteia appeared.

“Good, Rathe, you’re back. Oh. Lieutenant Eslingen.” Monteia shut the door behind her. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you, Chief Point.”

Rathe gave him a wary glance, not quite trusting the demure tone, but the Leaguer didn’t meet his eyes.

“Good,” Monteia went on. “It shouldn’t have happened, none of it, but once it did we had no choice but to bring you in. I want to thank you for your understanding.”

“Not at all, Chief Point.” This time, it was Eslingen who looked at Rathe, and the adjunct point who wouldn’t meet his eyes. Apparently, Eslingen thought, he wasn’t intending to inform the chief point of the plan to use a deputy to spy on Caiazzo. Probably as well.

“What did the sur want, Nico?” Monteia asked.

“Mostly to ask me if I’d found anything against Caiazzo, anything that would show he was involved.” Rathe grinned. “And to complain about the grande bourgeoise.”

“He won’t get any argument from me on that, but this business with Caiazzo…” Monteia shook her head. “It’s beginning to sound unhealthily like an obsession.”

Rathe sighed, almost inaudibly. It seemed, Eslingen thought, to be a standing problem between them. “I don’t think so, Chief, with respect. I think the sur is getting some information we’re not privy to, maybe from court, maybe from gods know where, but political. Because that’s the connection he keeps pushing–the succession.”

Monteia looked askance. “Not very likely, is it, Nico?”

Rathe sighed again, louder this time. “No, it’s not, but what am I supposed to do, tell the surintendant of points, no, sir, you’re wrong, and I won’t do it? I’ve tried to tell him, gods know. But he won’t let me off.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Monteia said. “Aside from anything else, the last thing we need is for the families to think we’ve forgotten about them. So if you can do what the sur wants without its cutting into your real work, Nico, that would be lovely.”

“Yes, Chief,” Rathe said. He glanced involuntarily at Eslingen, wondering if he should mention his plan to Monteia, but decided against it. It wasn’t as though he was authorizing any fees for Eslingen against the station’s expenses–that would be Caiazzo’s responsibility. Not that Monteia wouldn’t appreciate the irony, but the fewer people who knew, the better for Eslingen.