The newcomer lifted an eyebrow, but said, equably enough, “I’ve come about those extra horses you wanted. I can spare you two, but you’ll pay.”

“I always do when I deal with the godless Chadroni,” Monferriol muttered.

The other man–Rouvalles–lifted a shoulder in a shrug. He was almost as tall as Monferriol, his long hair drawn back with a strip of braided leather that had probably come from a broken harness. “They’re good horses and you know it.”

“Better than those last screws you sold me?”

“Those screws are pure Vestaran blood, Jevis, but if you don’t want them you don’t, and there’s no point in my forcing them on you.” Rouvalles glanced at Rathe, nodded politely. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“How in the name of all the gods, and poor Bonfortune above all, does Caiazzo ever turn a profit with you?” Monferriol demanded, rolling his eyes to the tent’s peak. “You won’t bargain, you won’t even allow the possibility of haggling–”

“I don’t have time to haggle,” Rouvalles said, cutting through the tirade with what sounded like the ease of long practice. “I’m already two weeks late, as you damn well know. You can have the horses or not, it makes no difference to me.”

“Money came through finally, did it?” Monferriol asked, and Rouvalles shrugged.

“As you also know.”

“So you’re Caiazzo’s caravan‑master,” Rathe interjected. He hoped he sounded casual, but doubted it.

Rouvalles glanced at him, the smile ready enough, but the pale eyes cool and assessing. “You know Hanselin, then–oh, I see. Pointsman.” He grinned suddenly, and the humor looked genuine. “Then I guess you would know him. Yes, I’m his caravan‑master, and no, I’m not spiriting any children out of Astreiant. You can check my camp if you like, but you wouldn’t find any children there in any case, they’re useless on a long route like mine.”

“Fairs’ Point already spoke to you, then,” Rathe said, apologetically, and was surprised when Rouvalles shook his head, one dirty gold curl escaping from the tied leather.

“No. Hanse’s new knife, in actual fact, which should count in Hanse’s favor. Have you been looking in his direction, pointsman? It wouldn’t be like him, you know.”

“I do know,” Rathe agreed. “You said you’re late leaving the city. You haven’t noticed anyone who’s left early, or in a hurry, or just been acting odd?”

Rouvalles shook his head again. “Not that I’ve noticed.” He looked at Monferriol. “So, Jevis, you want the horses?”

“I want the damn horses, yes.”

“All right, then, I’ll have them brought round once you send the money. How many children are you missing, pointsman?”

Monferriol slid off his stood. “Oh, very funny, Rouvalles, indeed. Would you get out?”

“No, I’m curious.” Rouvalles lifted a hand, and Monferriol subsided, muttering. Gesture and response seemed automatic: the Chadroni was almost aristocratic, for a caravaner, Rathe thought, and stilled his own instinctive rebellion. “How many?”

“Throughout the city, eighty‑five. Why?” He fixed his eyes on Rouvalles, and the Chadroni looked away.

“You should probably ask Jevis why he’s buying horses so late in the season.”

“You bastard,” Monferriol flared, and Rouvalles glared at him.

“I’ve heard the same story from half a dozen people, and if you lot won’t go to the points you brag of in every other city in the world– well, by all the gods, I will.”

“Jevis?” Rathe looked at Monferriol, and the big man threw up his hands.

“There’s no law against selling horses, for Bonfortune’s sake. And there’s no reason to think this had anything to do with the children.”

“Except,” Rouvalles said, “that this pointsman is asking about anything out of the ordinary. And by Tyrseis, this is just that.”

Rathe looked from one to the other. “One of you can start from the beginning and explain. Jevis?”

Monferriol looked distinctly abashed. “It’s nothing, really–almost certainly. But, oh, a week or two ago, maybe seven, eight days, a man came to me and wanted to buy a pair of draft horses. Suitable for pulling a baggage wagon–hells, I thought he was a damn mercenary, there are enough of them around these days. But he offered me half again what the beasts were worth, and when I hesitated–I thought I’d heard him wrong–he upped the price again. So I sold them, and even at his prices–” He jerked his head at Rouvalles. “–I’ll still make a profit.” He stopped then, glaring first at Rouvalles and then at the pointsman.

Rathe shook his head. “Interesting, but I don’t see–”

Rouvalles stirred, and Monferriol said hastily, “The thing is, the same thing’s happened to a dozen of us, a man coming and wanting to buy draft horses. And offering too good a price to turn him down. It hasn’t been the same man, always, but still, well, it got some of us wondering. They’re not traders, that’s for sure, but beyond that, who knows? We didn’t know if we should go to the points or not. Nico, it might have been something ordinary.”

Rathe nodded, absently, his mind racing. A dozen traders, selling one or two horses each–that would easily be enough to transport eighty‑five children. The only question was, where had they been taken? He said, “I don’t suppose you have any idea who this person was?”

Monferriol shook his head. “I told you, I thought he was a mercenary, the successful kind. He dressed like an upper servant, mind you, nice coat, nice manners.”

“What did he look like?” Rathe asked, without much hope, and wasn’t surprised when the big man shrugged.

“Ordinary. I’m sorry, boy, he was–well, middling everything. You know the sort, sort of wood‑colored.”

Rathe grinned in spite of himself, in spite of the situation. He knew exactly the sort of man Monferriol was describing, brown‑haired, brown‑skinned, brown‑eyed, utterly unremarkable features–the points took dozens of them for thieving every year, and released half of them for lack of a victim to swear to them. “What about you?” he said to Rouvalles, and the Chadroni shook his head.

“All I know is what I’ve heard from Jevis and some others. I don’t use draft horses, you can’t take carts over the land‑bridge.”

Rathe sighed–that would have been too much good luck–and looked back at Monferriol. “Jevis, I’m going to tell you this once, and I want you to do it for me. Consider it the favor you owe me.”

“We’ll see,” Monferriol said, but nodded.

“Go to Fairs’ Point with this,” Rathe said. “Get together everybody who’s sold to these people, and go to Guillot Claes, he’s the chief at Fairs’, and tell him what you’ve told me. They’ve probably left the city, but it’s worth trying to find them, and this is Fairs’ business, not mine.”

“You couldn’t keep us company,” Monferriol said, without real hope, and Rathe shook his head.

“It would look better if it was just you.”

“Right.” Monferriol made a face. “Bonfortune help me, but I’ll do it.”

“Thanks,” Rathe said, and included Rouvalles in his nod.

The Chadroni smiled, the expression a little melancholy. “It’s a bad business, this,” he said. “Not to mention bad forbusiness. I hope you find them.” He looked back at Monferriol. “Send the money, and I’ll send the horses. And sooner would be better than later, I’m going to be busy the next few days.”

“You’ll get your money,” Monferriol growled. Rouvalles waved a hand, acknowledgement and farewell, and ducked back out the tent flap. Monferriol looked at Rathe. “I would’ve gone to the points sooner, Nico, but–hells, I didn’t realize, none of us did, just how many horses were being bought this way.”

“Go now,” Rathe said, gently. “Claes will be grateful, I’m sure of that. It’s one of the first solid things we’ve had.”

“I hope you catch the bastards,” Monferriol answered. “Hanging’s too good for them.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Rathe answered, and followed Rouvalles out of the tent. And that was more than he’d thought they’d be able to do yesterday, he thought, as he made his way back toward Point of Hopes, but still not enough.