Point of Knives (17 page)

“That’s where the point was called,” the leader answered, and closed the door behind her. The carriage lurched into motion.

The cells at Point of Knives were surprisingly comfortable—better than Point of Hopes by a long shot, and more freshly painted than Point of Sighs. The furniture, low cot and three-legged stool, was newer, too, and Eslingen leaned back against the wall, wondering how exactly he’d managed to experience the cells in three different points stations when he’d been less than six months in the city. Nicolas Rathe, that was how, and he hoped to hell Rathe did in fact have some kind of plan. At least there was a window, set too high in the wall to reach, but it let in light and air, and the blankets looked reasonably thick. Though with any luck, he wouldn’t have to spend the night.

The door at the end of the corridor opened, and he came to his feet, watching the door. Sure enough, it was Rathe who appeared, but he didn’t seem to have a key in his hand, came instead to stand at the door’s barred opening.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Eslingen answered. “Haven’t we played this game before?”

Rathe had the grace to look embarrassed. “It seems to happen, yes.”

“It happened because you didn’t tell them I was with you.” Eslingen kept his voice down with an effort. He didn’t really want to have this argument within the hearing of the entire station.

“There’s a reason for that—”

“There’d better be a good one.”

“I want to make the point on van Duiren,” Rathe said.

“And nothing else matters?” Eslingen felt his voice scale up, and controlled himself sharply.

Rathe glared at him. “This is ending, right? Winter-lovers and all that? So what is there to matter?”

“Friendship? Respect? Being able to work together again?” Eslingen glared back. “Minor things like that?”

“Do you want the woman to get away with this?” Rathe demanded. “This was the best thing I could come up with at the time.”

Eslingen took a breath. “Do you actually have a plan?”

“Yes.” Rathe leaned against the door, grasping the bars as though he was the prisoner. “But I still need your help.”

“Of course you have a plan.” Eslingen turned away, shaking his head.

“I do,” Rathe said.

“Well?”

“With you arrested, and me presumably cowed—because she knows damn well where we were last night—she’s gotten rid of the only people who have real incentive to keep her from getting the gold,” Rathe said promptly. “So we make your arrest known, and then you and I wait to see what she does. And stop her when she recovers the gold.”

Eslingen stared at him. “That’s your plan.”

“Yeah.” Rathe shrugged, one corner of his mouth turning up in a wry smile. “I didn’t say it was brilliant, I said it was what I had.”

There was a little silence, and then Eslingen shook his head, his mouth twitching into an answering grin. “Damn it, Nico. All right, I’m in.”

“Thank you,” Rathe said, and pushed himself away from the door.

“Hey, wait!” Eslingen pointed to the lock. “Aren’t you going to let me out?”

“Not yet,” Rathe answered. “Philip, it needs to look real. I’ll bring you dinner from Amanto’s.”

“And a bottle of good wine,” Eslingen called after him, but the pointsman was gone. Eslingen shook his head, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or curse. Only Rathe, he thought, and settled himself to wait.

Rathe paid for a better dinner than he could generally afford, had it delivered to Eslingen’s cell as a token of apology. He didn’t quite have the courage to see how it was received, however, and concentrated instead on his own plans. Mirremay was happy enough to loan him apprentice and runners, enough to set a careful watch on van Duiren, but for the bulk of the day she stayed close to home. Her own physician came and went—looking annoyed, the runner reported—and various large young men were making their presence known at the doors, but otherwise she was staying home and resting, as one would expect after an attack.

“Which does make me wonder just a bit,” Mirremay said, with a thoughtful look at Rathe. They sat in her workroom at opposite ends of the long table, a pile of slates and scraps of papers between them.

Rathe shrugged, refusing to be goaded. “Eslingen wasn’t knifing Dame van Duiren last night, chief. I can attest to that.”

She looked for a moment as though she was going to make an obscene quibble, then shook her head. “Be that as it may, she’s not exactly doing anything actionable now. In fact—”

“I know,” Rathe said. “She’s doing exactly what you’d predict.” He pushed himself away from the table. “But this is her best chance to get at either the gold itself, if she knows where it is, or whatever it is that tells her where Old Steen hid it.”

“That’s pushing it, Rathe,” Mirremay said. “All the papers, hers and Caiazzo’s, have been impounded by the judge.”

“Not all of them,” Rathe said. “Dame Lulli—she was Grandad’s landlady—she had papers that belong to both of them. I sealed them in Grandad’s room, and they’ve not been sent for. The judge said to leave them there.”

“You’re sure?” Mirremay asked.

Rathe nodded. “I sent a runner to double check. I’ve warned Dame Lulli, and she’s taking herself and her people off for the night, leaving the house for us. That’s where I think van Duiren’s going.”

“You’d better be right,” Mirremay said.

“I know,” Rathe said, and let himself out of the workroom. And if he did find gold or the key to it—what then? He couldn’t just let Eslingen take it, though in many ways that might be the least complicated solution; he didn’t really want to let Mirremay claim the reward, either, but she would be in her rights to claim a share, and Monteia wouldn’t stand against her. It might be better if he didn’t find anything, except that then it would be hanging over their heads, missing gold ready to cause trouble…. He shook his head. There was one more errand to run before he could release Eslingen and set his trap, and he couldn’t pretend he was looking forward to it. But the tower clock was striking three, and there wouldn’t be time to get to Customs Point and back before dark if he didn’t hurry.

Caiazzo’s house was expensively plain, the stone corner pieces brought by barge from Courtheim, the wood of the door polished
mahara
from the Silklands, the brass fittings beautifully cast and scrupulously polished. As always, Rathe felt even more disheveled than usual as he turned the bell-key, and drew himself up to his full height as a maid neat as a pin drew the door back. Caiazzo was southriver born, for all his current wealth; they were two of a kind.

“Adjunct Point Rathe, to see Master Caiazzo.”

She bobbed the slightest of curtsies. “Yes, Adjunct Point, he was expecting you.”

I was afraid he might be.
Rathe swallowed the words as too revealing, and followed her up the broad central stair to Caiazzo’s workroom.

Caiazzo’s clerk hurried past them on the landing, and Rathe was unsurprised to find the merchant venturer alone in the paneled workroom. The afternoon light slanted in the long windows, warming the space and raising the smell of beeswax from the polished wood.

“So,” Caiazzo said. He was standing at one end of the counter, very neat in an expensive suit of dark green wool. His hair was cropped as short as a working man’s, incongruously so, but then, Rathe thought, Caiazzo was always a practical man. “I hear you’ve called a point on the man I sent to help you.”

Words and tone were unexpectedly moderate, but Rathe still took a moment to consider his answer. “I did,” he said at last.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not,” Rathe said. That earned a lifted eyebrow.

“Go on.”

“You’ve heard this already,” Rathe said.

Caizzo grinned. “In point of fact, I have, or at least some of it. But I’d like to hear your version.”

“It’s simple enough,” Rathe said. “I want the person who killed Grandad and his son. If it’s not van Duiren, though I think it is, she knows who did it. If she thinks your knife is out of the picture, she’ll make her move—she has to, because she’s not going to win the court case.”

“No more is she,” Caiazzo said. “But what makes you so sure the courts haven’t already impounded whatever it is she’s looking for?”

“If they had, she’d be trying to make a deal with you,” Rathe said.

Caiazzo nodded slowly. “Fair enough. So what brings you to me?”

“Three things,” Rathe said. “First, I wanted to tell you myself what had happened with Philip—with Eslingen.”

“Which I appreciate,” Caiazzo said.

“And I wanted to warn you that tonight might be a good time to stay at home, among witnesses. I’d very much prefer that your presence be accounted-for, so van Duiren can’t make any wild claims.”

“That’s very…tactful,” Caiazzo said.

Rathe shrugged. “I want a clean point, or I wouldn’t bother. And I am serious. Whatever she’s after, you’re better off not involved, and with an alibi that even your own advocates couldn’t break.”

“I always take you seriously, Adjunct Point,” Caiazzo said. “And I promise you, I won’t be anywhere that Dame van Duiren can complain of.” He paused. “So. That’s two. What’s your third?”

“You paid Eslingen’s bond to keep his pistols here,” Rathe said. “I want them. And his shot and powder.”

Caiazzo’s narrow eyebrows rose sharply, but he moved to the end of the table, rang a silver bell that was standing there. A few moments later, an older man appeared—the house steward, Rathe guessed. Caiazzo reached under his coat, came up with a small ring of keys.

“Go to Lietenant Eslingen’s rooms, and bring back the case of pistols he keeps there.”

The steward bowed stiffly and disappeared again. Caiazzo looked at Rathe.

“Is that necessary?”

“I hope not,” Rathe answered. “But….”

“In that case,” Caiazzo said, “I will be doubly careful to stay out of your way.”

The steward returned with a polished wooden box, bound in brass and fitted with a solid lock.

“I’d open it for you,” Caiazzo said, with irony, “but Eslingen has the only key.”

“I’m shocked” Rathe answered, and Caiazzo lifted a hand, acknowledging the hit.

“Don’t get my knife killed, Rathe. He’s actually good at his job.”

The steward led Rathe back to the main door—no one was going to leave him unobserved for a moment in Caiazzo’s house, no matter how much their interests currently ran parallel—and he tucked the box under his arm, wondering if it was obvious to everyone that he was carrying a brace of pistols. At least Caiazzo seemed inclined to take him seriously, and that meant that he and Eslingen could concentrate on stopping van Duiren—although there was something about Caiazzo’s attitude that left him worried. The man was always cocksure, but rarely this calm about something that touched his business so nearly, and he’d given up the pistols far too quickly. Was this all some plan of his? Had he already given orders for Eslingen to kill the woman if he got a chance?

Rathe shook his head. That wasn’t outside of possibility, at least not where Caiazzo was concerned, but he couldn’t see Eslingen going along with it. And murder was business for an outside knife anyway, with no household ties, not the public bodyguard. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was missing something.

Dinner had arrived with a table and chair, and an unlocked door so that Eslingen had access to the necessary without having to shout for a guard. Of course, the door at the end of the wing of cells was still locked, so it was a cheap concession, but he wasn’t going to complain too loudly. At least not until Rathe was there to listen.

He cut himself another sliver of the onion tart, less because he was hungry than because he was bored, and set it down untasted as he heard the outer door open. A moment later, Rathe pushed open the cell door. Eslingen’s eyes went instantly to the familiar box under his arm.

“You’re expecting trouble?”

“I think we should be prepared.” Rathe’s tone was grim.

Eslingen lifted an eyebrow at that, but took the box, reached into his purse for the key. “Maybe you should explain what you have in mind,” he said, and seated himself on the foot of the bed.

“I think she’s going to break into Dame Lulli’s tonight,” Rathe said. “That’s the place she can get at that she hasn’t searched.”

“Then shouldn’t we be searching it first?” Eslingen asked. He opened the box, took out the pistols and the powder flask.

“We’ll do that, yes,” Rathe said. “Now that Mirremay’s given me permission to break the seals. But I want van Duiren.”

Eslingen folded the patch around the ball and rammed it home. “Just you and me?”

Rathe nodded. “Mirremay isn’t that convinced I’m right. And van Durien fee’d her to look after her interests.”

“That seems awfully convenient,” Eslingen said. He rammed home the second ball, and checked to be sure both weapons were safely at half-cock.

“Yes, Mirremay would prefer that any awkward consequences fall on me,” Rathe said. “And, no, she’s not going to send us at the head of half-a-dozen strong points. Thus the pistols.”