“Sit, man,” she said. “It’s not you I’m annoyed with, not personally.”

There was no good answer to that, and Rathe perched warily on the nearest stool.

“I take it the night was quiet?” Monteia went on.

“According to Sal, yeah. Nothing but false alarms, though by the look of the book that kept them on the run.”

Monteia grunted. “That’s what I’m hearing from all the points, and it’s one piece of good news, I suppose. There hasn’t been a child stolen in the last ten days–oh, plenty of reports, but those kids have all been found.”

“So what’s the bad news?” Rathe asked, after a moment. “Aside from the fact we haven’t found the first eighty‑five.”

Monteia gave him a sour look. “The bad news is what I’m hearing from our own markets. Not only are all of us too busy to do more than shake our fists at the illegal printers, the printers are blaming us for the kids–and I want to see that stopped. Claes tells me you were inquiring after one called Agere?”

Rathe nodded. “She’s printed some of the worst that I’ve seen sold here. I told Claes we’d split the point if we made it, since Agere works out of Fairs’ Point. I handed the sheets I got over to the judiciary.”

“Fair enough.” Monteia’s scowl deepened again. “But I want her.”

Rathe hid a sigh. Tracking down illegal printers seemed less than vital, given the missing children, but he knew Monteia was right. They couldn’t abandon everything else, no matter how much they might want to concentrate on the children. “I’ll do what I can, Chief.”

“I know.” Monteia shook her head. “Sorry, Nico, it was a long night.”

“More bad news?” Even as he asked, Rathe knew that wasn’t it, or not precisely so, and wasn’t surprised when Monteia shook her head again.

“Not exactly–it might even turn out to be good news. Have you heard there’s a new species of astrologer working the fair?”

“I’ve heard something. I’ve spoken with a few people about them. Not affiliated with the university or the temples, and the Three Nations are all upset because they’re undercutting the student prices.”

“That about covers it,” Monteia said. “Fairs’ Point say they think there are six or eight of them, but they’re very shy of the points.”

“Probably don’t want to pay the fees,” Rathe said.

Monteia gave him a thin smile. “Only Claes says he thinks they’re paying entirely too much attention to children.”

“Did he question them on it?” Rathe demanded.

“Of course he did, do you think he’s an apprentice?” Monteia reined in her temper with a visible effort. “They say–and I’ll be damned if I can contradict them–that of course they are, since children are most in need of protection and advice these days.”

“But still–” Rathe leaned forward, unable to keep still. “No one knows who these people are, or where they’ve come from, right? So we should find out, and fast, before anyone else goes missing.”

“They could be a visitation from the gods,” Monteia said, and snorted. “After clock‑night, I’d believe it. Some people would rather blame anybody else before they’d question an astrologer.” She held up her hand, forestalling Rathe’s instant response. “But I agree with you, Nico. Claes is having them watched, but I want you to start on it from our end. See what you can find out, see if there’s any connection between them and our missing, and do it fast, before this lull ends, and we start losing children again.”

Rathe pushed himself up from the stool, his mind already racing. He would visit Mailet’s workshop first, he decided; the rest of the children came from families or work places that were less settled than the butcher’s, would be harder to find. “I’ll talk to Istre, too,” he said aloud. “The university has a stake in dealing with these hedge‑astrologers.”

Monteia nodded. “We’ve been working them pretty hard, even your friend. We’re not the only people who had the clever notion of sending nativities to the magists. Between the twelve of us, I think we’ve sent nearly eighty birth‑stars over there, and none of us have gotten anything back yet.”

That was sobering, but Rathe shoved aside the uncertainty. “I’ll ask Istre when I speak to him,” he said. “Gods, this could be the chance we’ve been waiting for.”

He made his way quickly through the streets, barely aware of the uncertain glances, truculent and oddly embarrassed all at once, as he reached the Knives Road. Mailet’s hall was busy–busy enough, Rathe saw, that Mailet himself was working the front of the shop, flanked by sweating journeymen. The air smelled of animals and blood, and Rathe was glad they were working in the street and not in the close confines of the building. Mailet glanced up at Rathe’s approach, brows drawing together in a scowl, but he mastered himself instantly, and finished his business with his customer before turning on the pointsman.

“And what do you want here this time, Rathe?”

“I want to speak to Trijntje Ollre,” Rathe said, and curbed his own excitement before it could turn into irritation.

“Why–?” Mailet broke off, his eyes focussing on something over Rathe’s right shoulder. “Not before time, Liron. Now, get these stones sluiced down.”

Rathe glanced back, to see an older apprentice hurrying toward them, water buckets hanging from a carrying yoke balanced on his shoulders. He turned his attention back to Mailet, and said, “I need to talk to her because we have some new information.” He grimaced at the sudden hope in Mailet’s face, “It’s nothing solid, not yet, but–it would help if I could talk to Trijntje.”

Mailet took a deep breath, but jerked his head toward the main door. “You know your way by now. She’s in the hall with the others.”

“Thanks,” Rathe said, and ducked past him into the shop.

As promised, the apprentices were at work at their long tables, knives flashing in the sunlight that poured in through the high windows. They seemed in less of a rush this time–Rathe didn’t see a magist to keep track of favorable stars–but the piles of vegetables at each broad table were still visibly diminishing. He could smell the peppery, pungent odor of all‑save, and saw a young apprentice moving from table to table distributing the shabby bunches. The journeyman Grosejl saw him then, and moved quickly to intercept him, her face drawing into a wary frown.

“Any news?”

Rathe shook his head. “Not directly, no. But there are some questions I need to ask Trijntje–we have some new information that may help.” He saw the hope flare in her eyes, and added, guiltily, “I don’t know for certain–I can’t promise anything.”

“Something’s better than nothing,” Grosejl answered, and waved toward the line of tables. “Trijntje! Come here a moment.”

The girl put down her knife obediently, and came toward them, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is–” She broke off, unable to finish the question, and Rathe shook his head.

“We haven’t found anything, either way, but there are some questions I need to ask.”

“I don’t know what else I can tell you.” She wound her hands in her apron, then frowned at herself, and stopped.

Rathe said, “Have you–did you and Herisse consult any astrologers recently? Or did any of the other girls?”

Ollre looked up at him, her frown deepening, but more perplexed, he thought, than angry. He caught himself holding his breath, not wanting to say more, for fear of telling her what he wanted to hear.

“At the First Fair, we did,” she said at last, and shrugged. “It’s supposed to be auspicious for butchers, and then Metenere was trine the sun, and all. So we had our stars read.”

Rathe nodded. “You and Herisse together?”

“Yes.”

He held his breath again. “What stall did you visit, do you remember? Or did you go to one of the students?”

Ollre shook her head. “We didn’t have to go to one of the booths or the Three Nations, which was a good thing, too, at their prices. There were some astrologers walking around, I don’t know their affiliation– I thought they were students, at first, but their robes were black, not grey. So we went to one of them.” She seemed to see something in Rathe’s expression, and her head lifted. “Well, neither one of us had coin to waste, and he was cheap enough, and honest‑sounding. Not at all forbidding, or obnoxious, like the Three Nations.”