A shadow fell across the table, and he looked up to see Denizard returning from the open doorway. She was frowning, her fingers tapping against the bowl of her wine glass, and one of the waiters hurried to her side.

“Is everything all right, madame?”

Denizard forced a smile, nodded. “Fine, thanks.” She glanced at the table, littered now with emptied plates. “You can bring us another serving of the cakes, however.”

“At once, madame.” The waiter bowed, and hurried away.

Denizard made a face, and reseated herself, settling her skirts neatly around her.

“No sign of–?” Eslingen, asked, and left the sentence delicately unfinished.

The magist sighed. “No. And if he’s not here by now, I doubt he’s coming.”

Eslingen waited, but no more information seemed to be forthcoming. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Can you tell me, I mean? I’m generally more useful when I have some idea of the circumstances I’m dealing with.”

Despite his best efforts, the words came out more sharply than he’d intended, and Denizard gave him a hard glance. “You’re not indispensable, however, Eslingen.”

Eslingen held up his hands. “Agreed. But, until you dispense with me…” He gave her his best smile, and, to his surprise, the magist smiled back reluctantly.

“True. And Hanse said I should use my discretion.” She glanced around again, and Eslingen looked with her. The tavern was hardly crowded, most of the drinkers clustered at the far side of the wide room by the unlit fireplace. A man and a woman, the woman in a wide‑brimmed hat and hood that effectively hid her face, sat at a corner table, leaning close, their plates forgotten. Conspirators or clandestine lovers, Eslingen guessed, and not much interested in anything except each other.

“It’s the Ajanine property,” Denizard said. She kept her voice low, but didn’t whisper. “Hanse–and Madame Allyns, but mostly Hanse; he takes the risk for her–has owned this land for four years now, and we’ve never had any trouble, but this year…” She shook her head again. “This year, we haven’t seen our gold, or had word from the so‑called landame. The mine is seigneurial, the landame has full control of the takings. So she pays her debt in gold, and we–Hanse has the funds he needs to finance his caravans and caravels. But this year, Maseigne de Mailhac hasn’t done her part.”

Which explained a great deal, Eslingen thought. It explained Rouvalles’s impatience, and Caiazzo’s temper, and probably even the old woman in the Court. He said aloud, “You can’t mean we’re waiting for the gold. Not just the two of us.”

“I thought you were good, soldier,” Denizard answered.

“No one’s that good.”

Denizard grinned. “At least you’re honest. We’re waiting for one of Hanse’s men, he sent him north a good month ago, and he should have been back some days since.” She shook her head, the smile fading. “There’s something very wrong at Mailhac, Eslingen, that’s for sure. And I’m very much afraid Hanse is going to have to send one of us to deal with the situation.”

Eslingen nodded, but said nothing. Denizard sighed again, and pushed herself away from the table, went to the door again to peer out into the soft twilight. Eslingen watched her go, turning the stem of his wine glass in his hand, and wondered what he should do with this knowledge. He had promised Rathe word of anything strange about Caiazzo’s business, and part ownership of an Ajanine gold mine–an Ajanine gold mine located of necessity on noble land–was certainly out of the ordinary. Except, he added, with an inward grin, maybe for Hanselin Caiazzo. He had known from Rathe’s own words that Caiazzo’s dealings weren’t all legal, but he was only just beginning to understand the scope of the longdistance trader’s operations, legitimate as well as not. Perhaps an Ajanine manor wasn’t so far out of Caiazzo’s usual range as he’d thought.

He leaned back as the waiter returned with the dish of cakes, replacing the previous dishes with quick deference. He liked Caiazzo’s service, liked the sober elegance of the house and his own place in it, suspected he would be aping the cut of Caiazzo’s coat for years to come. He didn’t want to give it up–and why should he, especially for Rathe, whom he’d known less than a solar month?–and he’d be lucky if the job was all he lost if he betrayed Caiazzo to the points. He remembered the old woman in her empty shop at the heart of the Court of the Thirty‑two Knives, and shivered, trying to blame it on the evening air. If she found out he’d betrayed Caiazzo, he’d be fighting off her bravos for the rest of the year, and think himself lucky to escape to the border fighting. Besides, illegal Caiazzo’s dealings might be– were, he corrected himself, unmistakably outside Chenedolle’s laws– but they had nothing whatsoever to do with the missing children. That was all he’d promised Rathe; unless and until he found any indication Caiazzo was dabbling in that, he would keep Caiazzo’s business strictly to himself.

As Rathe had expected, Monteia didn’t like the idea of using the runners to force the hedge‑astrologers into the open. She shook her head when he had finished, and leaned back against the window frame, her long face very sober.

“It’s a long shot, Nico, a very long shot,” she said at last. “I think you’re right, this has to be the reason these kids are being taken, but to risk our runners…” She shook her head, her voice trailing off into silence.

“Can you think of a better way of stopping them?” Rathe asked, and Monteia shook her head again.

“Not offhand, no. But I want to try. I owe them that much, Nico.” She drew herself up, planted her elbows on the table. “I’m going to draft a letter to all the points, and to Claes in particular–that might get his attention better than just sending you to talk to him.”

Rathe made a face, but admitted that Monteia was probably right. Claes was ready to be annoyed with Hopes over his presence in the fair the day before; better to follow protocol than to risk angering him just when they would need him most.

“On the other hand,” Monteia went on, “there’s one thing you said that we can follow up on, and we haven’t yet. If the kids aren’t in the city, then where are they?”

“They have to have been taken away,” Rathe said. “We’d’ve found them otherwise.”

Monteia nodded. “I agree. And I know you’ve got friends in the caravans.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Rathe said. “I did Monferriol a favor once.”

“Then he can do you one,” Monteia said. “Give a shout for Andry and Houssaye, will you?”

Rathe did as he was told, and a moment later the pointsmen appeared in the doorway, looking puzzled.

“Come on in,” Monteia said, “and close the door. I’ve got work for you.”

The two filed in, wedging themselves into the space between Rathe’s chair and the wall, and Houssaye shut the door carefully behind him.

Monteia nodded. “All right. Nico, you’ll take the caravans at the fair, since you know Monferriol. Andry, I want you and Houssaye to take the river, Exemption Docks to the Chain. We’re looking for any way that these child‑thieves could have taken the kids out of the city– anything out of the ordinary, someone leaving too soon or too late, hiding his cargo, anything at all.”

The pointsmen exchanged glances, and then Andry said, cautiously, “We’ve done a lot of that already, Chief. And so far, nobody’s noticed anything.”

“Well, do it again,” Monteia answered. She hesitated, then said, almost reluctantly, “We may have something to go on. Nico and his necromancer friend have found something all the kids have in common, though the gods alone know why it matters. All of them knew their stars to better than the quarter hour. You can pass that on as you see fit–it may calm some people down–but be careful with it.”

Andry nodded, his face thoughtful, and Houssaye said, slowly, “I don’t think the river‑folk are involved, Chief. I’ve spoken to friends of mine in Hearts and Dreams, and they say they’ve been keeping a close watch on the Chain. Nobody’s gone upriver without being searched.”