They made their way across the full width of the fairground without result, though Laci stopped to spend some of his coins on stick candy and a cup of thick, sweet Silklands tea. At the northern edge, where the linen‑sellers had their booths, the group of runners paused, and Rathe stepped back into the shade of an awning, pretending to examine the bolts of coarse cloth.

“That’s good for shirts, sir,” the woman behind the counter said. “Wears like iron, and only an aster a yard. You won’t get a better shirt for two seillings.”

Rathe nodded, not really listening. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the runners arguing about something, Biatris and Asheri pointing back toward the center of the fair, Lennar pointing toward the distant corrals. Rathe frowned–what were they thinking of, to split the group?–and then he saw the way that Laci was fidgeting. Even as he realized what was happening, Jacme caught the younger boy by the hand and started off at speed toward the corrals and the latrines beyond. Rathe swore under his breath, and turned away from the stall, looking around for one of the other pointsmen. Before he could do anything, however, he saw Salineis, conspicuous in a broad‑brimmed hat, take off after them. He allowed himself a sigh of relief–at least someone would be watching them, even if they weren’t in the most likely group–and turned to follow the others.

They had gotten a little ahead of him, were just turning into the row of stalls that sold needles and fine thread. Asheri’s doing, Rathe thought, and did his best not to hurry after them. She took her time making her way along the rows of stalls, obviously drawn in by the displays: silk and linen and even cotton thread in every thickness and every color of the rainbow; packets of pins wrapped in bright dyed paper; polishing glasses, dark and light; needles and needle‑cases and shears in every size from the length of a finger to heavy iron things nearly as long as a woman’s forearm. Biatris stayed close to her side, though from the glazed look on her face, she would rather have been somewhere else, but the rest of the runners had drawn ahead of them, and at last Fasquelle stopped, turned back to stare at them.

“Come on, will you?” Her clear voice floated above the noise of the fair, audible along the length of the row.

Biatris lifted a hand, and then touched Asheri’s shoulder. The younger girl sighed, and moved reluctantly away from the array of threads. Rathe grinned, sympathizing with both sides, and the expression froze on his face as he saw a man in a black robe turn into the row of stalls. He seemed ordinary enough, the shabby scholar’s robe half open over a plain dark suit, his round face a little pink from the heat, but Rathe felt his spine tingle. The man spoke to the first group of runners, and Rathe saw Surgi shake his head. The astrologer shrugged, smiling, and moved on. Asheri had seen him, too, and as he drew abreast, she stepped into his path. She said something–asking for a reading, Rathe knew, and didn’t know if he was impressed or appalled by her bravery–and jerked her head toward Biatris, who moved up to join her. The astrologer looked from one to the other, nodding, and then motioned for them to follow him. He led them back the way they’d come, and Rathe looked away, pretended to be examining a length of embroidered ribbon, as they passed him. He counted to twenty, then shook his head at the stall‑keeper, and trailed after the black‑robed figure. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Houssaye’s parasol, and then Monteia’s oxblood skirt and bodice suit. If the astrologer tried anything, they would be ready.

The astrologer paused then, and gestured for the girls to precede him down an alley that ran between two of the larger stalls. Asheri hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Biatris stepped firmly on, and the younger girl followed, the astrologer in his black robe trailing after them both. Rathe swore under his breath, and looked around wildly. Monteia was already moving to put herself at the far end of the alley, and Houssaye and Andry were in place as well. The sight was steadying, and Rathe made himself walk casually past the alley‑mouth. He could do nothing more than glance in, not without rousing suspicion, but in that instant he caught a glimpse of the two girls standing fascinated, eyes on the orrery held by the astrologer. He was adjusting one of the rings that gave the planetary positions, and seemed to be explaining something at the same time. And then Rathe was past, and made himself stop at the nearest stall, trying to pretend to study the display of needles.

“Andry’s gone round the other end with the chief,” Houssaye said, softly, and leaned over the other man’s shoulder. His parasol was neatly folded now, Rathe saw, ready for action.

“Good,” Rathe answered. “Is there any way of getting closer?”

Houssaye shook his head, his face reflecting the same frustration Rathe was feeling. “Not without being seen. Gods–” He broke off then, shaking his head, and Rathe laid a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no other way in or out,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. “So we wait.”

It seemed an interminable time before the girls reappeared, walking solemnly on either side of the astrologer. Both looked thoughtful, and Rathe found himself holding his breath. If the astrologer has already placed some geas on them–but that was supposed to be impossible, or at best extremely difficult without the proper tools and carefully chosen stars, he reminded himself. The astrologer said something to the girls, and then turned away, heading toward the center of the fair.

Rathe nudged Houssaye. “Follow him,” he said, and himself moved up to join the runners. The rest of the runners hurried over, too, and Rathe gathered them into a tight group.

“Are you all right?” he said, to Asheri and Biatris, and both girls nodded.

“It wasn’t anything, really,” Biatris said, and Rathe held up his hand.

“We’ll talk when we get back to the station. Where’s Jacme and Laci?”

“Laci had to piss,” Fasquelle answered, and Salineis loomed over her shoulder.

“They’re with me, Nico. The chief says we should get back to the station. She’ll meet us there.”

Rathe nodded. “We’ll take a boat,” he said, and added silently, and I’ll pay for it myself if the station won’t.

It took a few minutes to find a boat that would take the entire group upstream, but eventually they found a small barge and Rathe herded everyone aboard. Despite the current, it didn’t take long to reach the landing at the Rivermarket, and Rathe led them quickly back through the streets to the station house. To his surprise, Monteia was there ahead of them, sitting scowling at the main desk. Her frown eased a little as she saw them, and she gestured for the runners to find seats in the clutter of the main room.

“Sal, shut the door. Nico, where’s Houssaye?”

“I told him to follow the astrologer,” Rathe answered, and Monteia nodded.

“Good luck to him, then. All right, what happened?”

Biatris and Asheri exchanged glances, and the older girl said, “Not a whole lot, really. Asheri asked if he read stars, and what he’d charge to read ours. And he said it’d be a demming for both of us, and asked what our stars were. I told him mine, and he said that, since I knew mine so well, he could give me a proper reading, with his orrery. So we went between a couple of stalls where it was quiet, and he did. He didn’t say much, though, not much more than I could’ve gotten from a broadsheet.”

“I told him mine, too,” Asheri said, “and he gave me a hard time about them, kept on about was I sure that was right.” She made a face. “I think he could tell I was southriver born, and wanted to make sure I wasn’t lying. But I asked him if he thought I would ever be able to join the Embroiderers’ Guild, and he did a reading for that. He had a really fancy orrery, though.”