Mikael’s eyes narrowed, and Rathe knew the other man had taken his oblique meaning. “You’ve been trying to close Caiazzo down for, what, five years now, Nico?” the knife said at last, and Rathe shrugged.

“Sure. But the fact of the matter is, his business keeps the peace along much of the southriver and in the outer Court.”

“His and Dame Isart’s,” Mikael corrected automatically. Rathe met his stare, and it was the big man who looked away first.

“What is it you really want to know, Nico?”

“Just what I said, really,” Rathe answered. “What’s going on with Hanse? Things aren’t right with him, and he’s letting it show. Have you done any work for him this summer?”

Mikael shook his head. “All right, Nico, and this I’ll give you for free. No, I haven’t worked for him this summer, and that’s not usual, not through the fair. He usually hires me on to keep an eye on things for a couple of his merchants who come in for the fair. And there’s a banker you might know, Dezir Chevassu, changes a lot of Hanse’s money as it comes in and out. Usually that’s good for two weeks solid hire, and not too much heavy work, there never is with bankers, not really. This year…” He gestured, showing empty palms. “Nothing. Not a damned thing. He hasn’t even told me he won’t be needing my services, and you know Hanse, polite to the last, or if you’ve offended him, you don’t know it until it’s too late.”

“Yes, but who could he hire to finish you, Mikael?” Rathe asked. “How many takers do you think there’d be for a job like that?”

Mikael favored the younger man with a smile that was almost indulgent. “And how many young hotheads do you have in the points, Nico? Idiots who should know that a job is suicide, but see it as their way of proving themselves? No, there are plenty of people who’d try to hit Mikael, if Caiazzo wanted to hire someone, I can give you the names of half a dozen. But he hasn’t. And he hasn’t given me the brush. Just–nothing. And that’s not normal.” He paused then, the animation draining from his face, and Rathe guessed he was thinking of the children, making the same unwelcome connections that Rathe himself had been making. “Go see Chevassu,” Mikael said at last. “She might have some answers for you. Truth be, told, I think Hanse took more than a little business away from her. She used to have some interests as a merchant‑venturer.”

“So is she now a resident?” Rathe asked, and Mikael shook his head.

“Chevassu favors the money side of things. She’s solely banking and exchange these days.”

Rathe set his empty cup on the table–ruddywood inlaid with white stone, a pretty piece of work, and probably good to have at hand in a brawl. He wondered if Mikael had liberated it from one of the locals. “I’ll do that,” he said, and stood slowly. Mikael didn’t favor sudden movements. “I assume this Chevassu isn’t located in the Court.”

Mikael snorted. “Not likely. Chevassu lives well north of the river–further north than most of her clients. And that argues a lack of diplomacy, to my mind. You’ll find her in the Chancery district, on the Temple Road. Or at the Heironeia, during business hours. And, Nico.” He fixed the younger man with a sudden, baleful stare. “If Hanse is involved in the child‑stealing, I expect you’ll let me know. He’s a good employer, but this–this is bad, bad business, bad for business. I don’t like it.”

Rathe met the stare squarely. “If he is involved–and I don’t have any real reason to think he is, Mikael, I’m clutching straws here–then he’s mine. This is a points matter.”

“Unless I get there first,” Mikael answered.

Rathe nodded slowly, acknowledging what he couldn’t prevent. “But I’ll do my best to stop you. I want this one very badly, Mikael. Just so you know.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Mikael said, and opened the narrow door.

Rathe made his way back toward Point of Hopes, his mood hovering vaguely between satisfaction and guilt. Mikael had spoken honestly, for once, and that was good, but Rathe wished it hadn’t been at the price of spreading suspicion against Caiazzo. He sighed then. Worse than that was the nagging fear that the surintendant might be right after all.

Chevassu lived in Manufactory Point–well northriver, as Mikael had said, but not as undiplomatic a choice as the knife had implied. It was a good neighborhood, but not old; for a woman who’d almost certainly been born southriver, it was a wise choice. The adjunct point at Manufactory was a woman named Talairan, small, with a deceptively lazy air. Rathe had seen her crack skulls once, during an ugly guild fight, and was not deceived. She grinned up at him as he came into the station, and jerked her head toward a side room. Rathe nodded, relieved–he wasn’t particularly fond of Huyser, Manufactory’s chief point–and followed her into the narrow workroom. She closed the door firmly behind him, and perched on the end of the bare table.

“What in all hells is going on southriver, anyway, Rathe? One riot, one near riot, and a man shot dead in the street? And before the clocks, so there’s no excuse.”

“That was self‑defense,” Rathe said, automatically, and Talairan shook her head.

“Sounds like you’re having a rare old time down there.”

“Nothing we’d like more than to share it with you,” Rathe said dryly. “You telling me it’s all peace and tranquility here?”

Talairan’s mouth twitched. “Hardly. Not only are these missing kids not in the manufactories, no matter what they think southriver, we’ve lost some of the ones that are supposed to be working there. Now, some of them are just runaways–and I can’t fully blame them, not from most of those places, it’s not like they’re learning a trade. My feeling is, the older ones are thinking, well, if I get caught, I can always blame it on the child‑thieves.”

Rathe nodded, not surprised. The manufactories weren’t the worst places to work in the city, but they weren’t the best, and they lacked the community of the guild system, and room for advancement. A chairmaker there would make chairs all her life; an apprentice carpenter had at least some faint chance of becoming a master, though that, too, was changing. “I’ve a question for you,” he said, and saw Talairan’s gaze sharpen.

“About the children?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t think so. But the sur thinks possibly.”

Talairan lifted an eyebrow. “You’re flying high these days, my son. All right, try it on.”

Rathe nodded, and took a breath, wondering precisely how to phrase his questions. “There’s a banker lives hereabout, name of Chevassu. Know her?”

Talairan laughed. “Sure I know her. I keep my beady eye on her, seeing as I’m sure she shaves the rate of exchange the way her lessers shave coins. Last I heard, though, bankers were hardly the most likely suspects.”

“Tell me about her,” Rathe said.

Talairan blew air from puffed cheeks. “Where to begin? She’s a respected woman hereabouts, the question is how she got that respectable–seeing as she came from southriver.” Rathe nodded, unsurprised, and Talairan went on, “Rumor has it she has partial interest in a couple of the better class houses over in Hearts, which is where her own coin comes from, and, of course, they say she banks for folk in the Court–not the queen’s–and the ’Serry and the Old Crossing. Why?”

Rathe ignored the question. “Is she a fence?”

“No. Or not anymore. Like I said, my main concern is how she juggles her books and with whom.” She fixed him with a sudden glare. “I would take it very badly, Rathe, if you were going after her on my ground.”

Rathe shook his head. “No–my word on it, Tal. It’s just… well, you mentioned court connections. I hear they’re with Caiazzo, probably legal enough, and I’ve some questions for her. That’s all.”

Talairan nodded, appeased. “I’ve been hearing some very odd talk about him, trickling up from Fairs’ Point. Business problems, I heard. Is there a connection with the children?”