Monteia was waiting in the station’s main room, fingers tapping impatiently on the edge of the worktable. She rose as he came in, saying, “Well?”

“More news, Chief,” he answered. “Monferriol says that some people–not traders, not anything he recognized–have been buying draft horses from various of the caravaners. A lot of horses, Chief, enough to pull enough wagons to carry eighty‑five children.”

Monteia went very still. “Any idea of who, or where they went?”

Rathe shook his head. “I told Jevis–Monferriol–to take himself and the others over to Fairs’ Point, let them work on it. But I think we know how they’re being moved now.”

“And damn all good it does us,” Monteia muttered. “We know two hows, how they’re choosing the kids and some of how they’re moving them, but that doesn’t get us anything useful.”

“Not yet,” Rathe answered, and hoped it was true.

Monteia sighed. “I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning. I still don’t like it, but I can’t think of anything better. Let’s get the runners in here, and see if any of them are willing to be bait.”

Rathe flinched–put that baldly, the idea seemed to have even less merit–but went to the door and looked out. The youngest of the runners, a child from the Brewers’ Court who looked even younger than his ten years, was sitting on the edge of the empty horse trough, and Rathe beckoned to him. “Laci! Find the rest of the runners, will you, and ask them to come in here, please.”

“Are we in trouble?” The boy looked warily at him, and Rathe felt his smile turn sickly.

“No.” Not unless we make some bad mistakes, he added silently, and Astree send we don’t. “The chief has a job for some of you, that’s all.”

“All right.” The boy turned away, and Rathe called after him.

“As soon as possible, please.”

Laci lifted a hand in answer, and darted away. Rathe stood for a moment, looking at the now‑empty yard, and then went back into the station. To his surprise, however, Laci was back in less than a quarter of an hour, and half a dozen of the other runners were with him.

“This was all I could find, Nico,” Laci announced. “Is that all right?”

“That’s fine,” Rathe answered. He stood back, letting the little group file past him into the station, and saw Monteia shake her head.

“In the workroom, please,” she said aloud, and the runners edged in, whispering and murmuring among themselves. Rathe followed them in, and closed the door behind them. He knew all of them, of course: Laci; raw‑boned Jacme, who’d been kicked out of his own house and slept behind the bar at the Cazaril Grey; willowy Biatris, who would get her apprenticeship next year if the station itself had to pay her fees; Surgi, dark and stocky, born in the Rivermarket docks; Fasquelle de Galhac, who had a brain despite the pretensions of her name; stolid Lennar with his crooked nose; and finally Asheri, his favorite of this year’s group. She was standing a little apart from the rest, her thin face very grave, and he wondered if something was wrong. Then Monteia had seated herself behind the table, gestured for the runners to make themselves comfortable.

“As you may or may not have heard, we’ve found something all the missing lads have in common,” she began bluntly. “They all knew their stars to a quarter hour or better, and a lot of them, maybe all of them, had their stars read by one of these new astrologers we’ve been hearing about. Which gives us an obvious option.”

Biatris was already nodding, her thumbs hooked into the belt she wore beneath her sleeveless bodice. Asheri tipped her head to one side but made no other move, while Surgi and Lennar exchanged nervous glances. Monteia gave them all a jaundiced look.

“I’ll say from the start that I’m not particularly happy with this idea, but it could work, and it’s vital that we catch these bastards.” She took a deep breath. “What we need is someone of the right age–your ages–who knows her stars close enough to go and get a reading done. We’ll be watching you, of course, myself and Nico and Houssaye and Salineis, but there’s a chance something could go wrong. So think about that before you answer.”

Surgi and Lennar exchanged looks again, and Lennar said, “I’d do it–”

“–in a minute,” Surgi agreed.

“–but I don’t know my stars that well,” Lennar finished. “And neither does Surgi. Couldn’t we pretend?”

“I asked about that at the university,” Rathe said. “Istre–a friend of mine who’s a necromancer–said that they’d be able to tell.”

“Oh.” Surgi’s shoulders sagged visibly, but then he brightened. “We could go with everybody, help make sure the astrologers don’t steal them.”

“We’ll see,” Monteia said. “All right. Do any of you know your stars to the quarter hour?”

There was a little silence then, and Asheri said, “I do. Better than that, actually, I was born on the hour.”

Biatris nodded. “I know mine to just about the quarter.”

Monteia nodded again. “And would you be willing to do this– knowing it could be dangerous?”

There was another silence, longer this time, and then Biatris shrugged. “If it might help, yeah, sure.”

Asheri looked at her shoes, and Rathe felt unreasonably guilty. She didn’t want to be a pointswoman, he knew that well enough–her real love was needlework, and one of the reasons she worked as a runner was to save the fees she needed to join the Embroiderers’ Guild. He tilted his head, trying to see her face, and was relieved to see it merely thoughtful, neither afraid nor angry. She looked up then, and nodded. “All right. I’m willing.”

“I think we should all go,” Lennar said, and Jacme nodded. He was the oldest of the group, seemed older, Rathe knew, because he’d been on his own so long.

“I agree.” He grinned, showing the gap at the side of his mouth where a tooth had been knocked out. “Even with Nico and everybody keeping an eye on us, they’ll have to stay back to keep from upsetting these astrologers, and hells, it’d have to be harder to steal just one from among a group.”

“It’s been done,” Rathe said, but looked at Monteia, and nodded. “I think he’s right, Chief.”

“I agree.” Monteia reached under the worktable, pulled out the station’s strongbox, and fished under her bodice for the key. She unlocked the heavy chest, and took put a bag of coins. “What did you say they charged, Nico?”

“Half a demming, or so most of the lads who didn’t get taken said,” Rathe answered, and Monteia grunted.

“Better give you a few more than that,” she said, and counted out three demmings for each of the runners. “If you don’t spend it, keep it. And there’ll be a seilling apiece when we all get back.”

A seilling was decent money, and Mathe saw several of the runners exchange glances, suddenly sobered. If Monteia was willing to pay that much, they were obviously thinking, then it must be serious. Good, he thought, and said aloud, “One thing more. These astrologers are also offering charms against the current troubles. If he offers you one, take it, but give it to one of us as soon as you can, all right? We can take it to the university.”

Biatris and Asheri nodded.

“All right,” Monteia said. “Stay together as much as you can without looking suspicious–Biatris, you and Asheri stay tight, that’ll make it easier to watch you. Everyone understand?” The runners nodded. “Right, then. Let’s go to the fair.”

It didn’t take long to collect the rest of the duty pointsmen and women, and to abandon the semiuniform of jerkin and truncheon. Rathe trailed behind the little knot of children as they passed the edge of the fair precinct, aware of Houssaye strolling a little behind him, parasol balanced on his shoulder. At the midafternoon, things were a little less busy than usual; a number of the stalls had fewer workers in evidence, and Rathe could see merchants snatching a hurried meal in the back of others. At least it would be easier to watch the kids than it would have been in the full crowds, he thought, as long as the astrologers do their part.