“Mine, surely, magist,” Eslingen replied, and bent his head to her.

“Where’s your gear, Eslingen?” Caiazzo asked.

Eslingen nudged the saddlebags he’d set down when Rathe had spoken to the magist. “This is it.”

“Not your weapons, surely.”

Eslingen shook his head. “They’re at the Aretoneia.”

Caiazzo looked over his shoulder at the caravel, and then at the group of factors. Something he saw there made his mouth tighten, but he said nothing, and looked back at the soldier. “Right, then. Aice, go with him, pay whatever bond they want–I’m sure the points will want their share–and bring him back to the house. Take the boat, I’ll be here a while.”

And I don’t envy his factors, Eslingen thought. He glanced at Rathe, and saw the same thought reflected in the pointsman’s half smile. He held out a hand, and Rathe’s smile widened. “Thanks.”

Rathe lifted a shoulder, but looked faintly pleased. “Like I said, I owed you this much, after last night. I wish you good luck with it.” He looked up at the sky, gauging the position of the winter‑sun. “Hanse, I’ll be seeing you.”

“Like my shadow,” Caiazzo agreed, and Rathe turned away.

“This way,” Denizard said. “What’s your first name?”

“Philip.” Eslingen slung the bags over his shoulder again, and followed her down to the end of the wharf where a private barge was moored. It was small, only four oarsmen and a steersman for crew, but Eslingen couldn’t help being impressed. It took money to keep a boat in Astreiant, almost as much as it took to keep horse and grooms–but then, if Caiazzo’s business took him along the wharves, then it was probably as much necessity as luxury. The steersman held out his hand to help Denizard down into the cushioned seats, and Eslingen glanced back to catch a last glimpse of Rathe as he turned away down the river road. It was just as well he’d gone quickly; Caiazzo had good reason to be wary of anything brought him by any pointsman, and Eslingen was quite sure that at least one reason he had been sent with Denizard was to give the magist a chance to gather her impressions of him, arcane as well as mundane. The thought of her ghostly investigation was enough to make him shiver a little as he stepped into the boat beside her, and he thought he saw her smile. She gestured for him to seat himself, and he did so, schooling himself to impassivity as the boatmen began to cast off. The astrologer had warned him against water–but there was no avoiding this. He was determined to give them no cause for suspicion: whatever Rathe’s motives had been, placing him here, this had the chance of becoming a decent position, and he wasn’t well off enough to risk losing it, at least not yet. If the trader was involved with the missing children, well, that would change everything, but even Rathe didn’t seem to believe that. The boat lurched against the current before the oarsmen could find their stroke, and he smiled blandly at the magist, trying to ignore his sudden unease.,

Denizard smiled back, and fished a small silver medallion from under her bodice, cupped it in both hands. Eslingen eyed her warily, recognizing a truthstone, and the magist’s smile widened. “Now, lieutenant–Philip, if I may. Tell me about your service. From the beginning, please.”

Rathe made his way west again along the river, skirting the Rivermarket and the warrens of the Factors’ Walk, ignoring the small twist of conscience within him. He had, after all, told Eslingen exactly why he was recommending him for the job, and what he was–and wasn’t– looking for. Nor was it entirely self‑serving; Eslingen did need a job and a place to live, and Caiazzo’s service was a good deal richer than Devynck’s. And it was unlikely that Caiazzo would put him into a position that would bring him into danger, at least not yet, not until Caiazzo had decided that he could trust his new man, and by then Eslingen would have seen enough to make the decision for himself… Still, the soldier was virtually a stranger here, with little knowledge of the city and its more notorious citizens; Rathe couldn’t stop himself from feeling slightly guilty for what he’d done.

And that, he told himself firmly, was foolish. He’d done the best he could for Eslingen, and for himself; he had other work to do before he could take Monteia’s offer and declare himself off duty. He reached into his pocket, checked his tablets. The last set of nativities–one for a girl who’d vanished from the family inn two days before Herisse Robion, the other for a boy just under apprentice‑age, son of a weaver– should be ready; he could at least collect those and bring them to b’Estorr along with the rest. He glanced at the sun again, and smiled, slowly. Better still, he would send a runner to University Point and ask b’Estorr to meet him at Wicked’s. At least that way he could be sure of getting one decent meal.

The sun was low in the sky as he finally reached the tavern, the papers with the nativities folded securely in his pocket. The building itself, long and low and old, wooden walls on a solid stone foundation, had once been a temple, though that had been generations ago, before the Pantheon had been built. On the clearest of days, with all the windows open to daylight, you could see some of the old carvings, high on the walls just below the ceilings, but those were the only lingering traces of its former life. Nor did anyone–these days, at least– consider its current use an especial blasphemy, not least because no one could remember what god it had served. There was an offering tablet, one of the blank stones that stood for all‑the‑gods, and a candle beside it to appease the prudish, but that was all. The name was more of a joke than anything, a typical southriver joke. Astreiant was, Rathe thought, usually a city that could laugh at itself. Only these days, people weren’t finding much to laugh at, and neither did he. But there was always Wicked’s, to put aside immediate worries.

The crowd was still thin, though some of it spilled into the tiny front yard, shopkeeper’s girls enjoying a chance at the soft weather after a day spent within doors. Rathe went inside: the dim, cool light was more welcoming after a day spent crisscrossing the city. Though it was still early, Wicked herself sat at one end of the massive stone bar, surveying her customers dispassionately. The current Wicked–there had been at least three predecessors, Rathe knew from neighborhood gossip, though no one knew for sure if they had been kin–had run the tavern for as long as Rathe had been a regular. She had been there when he’d signed his apprenticeship papers, and she was still there, not looking much different than before, though she had to be fifty if she was a day. She raised an eyebrow as she saw Rathe, and lifted a hand to beckon him over.

“You’d better not be visiting Devynck’s troubles on me, boy,” she said by way of greeting, but the tone took away most of the sting from her words.

Rathe shook his head, and held out empty hands. “You see before you an off‑duty pointsman, hungry, very thirsty, and in extreme need of good company. So where else would I go? Beer makes people mad, Wicked, wine makes them wise.”

“Donis help us when pointsmen turn philosopher.”

“It’s that or run mad these days.” Rathe dropped into a chair at the table nearest to her, glanced around the room. There was no sign of b’Estorr yet, and at the moment, he found he didn’t particularly care. Wicked detached herself from the bar, and came to stand looming above him, hands on ample hips.

“You look like something that washed up after a particularly nasty flood tide,” she said, and shrugged. “But then, it could be the coat.”

Rathe lifted his head, then decided it wasn’t worth arguing with her, especially when he’d reached the same conclusion just that morning. “Thank you,” he said. “Might I have some wine, please, mistress?”

Wicked snorted, but smiled, and stalked back to the bar, disappearing through the door behind it that led to the kitchens and her private stockroom. When she came out, she was carrying a tall stone bottle and two heavy glasses–real glasses, not the usual pottery cups. She set it all down on the table, and sat down opposite him.