Point of Knives by Melissa Scott Read Free Book Online

sensitive about it after this past summer.” A crazed magist had stolen the city’s children to mine aurichalcum, queen’s-gold, that he intended to use to influence the succession and become the power behind Astreiant’s throne: the queen and her agents were still keeping a very close eye on the banks and traders.
    “Yeah. But Dad didn’t know,” Steen said. “If he had, he’d have left it another season.”
    And Caiazzo still needed gold, Eslingen thought, the pieces slotting into place at last. He’d lost his ready coin in the summer chaos, still had caravans to fund and less-legal businesses to support, and the last, in particular, dealt in cash, not letters of credit. Of course Caiazzo had jumped at the chance to change silver for gold, and of course Old Steen had been glad to take legal coin for untaxed, unworkable gold that he couldn’t easily explain….
    “And now that miserable bitch is going to claim Dad’s goods,” Young Steen said. “The gold along with it.”
    “Rathe doesn’t believe her,” Eslingen said. “He’ll delay as long as possible. Which means you should call up those witnesses you spoke of—his crew, his friends, anyone who can speak to the matter—and haul them down to the station or get a sworn statement or both. That’ll slow things down, at the very least.”
    “Why should the pointsman care?” Steen tossed down the last of his beer.
    “Because it’s justice,” Eslingen said, and shrugged. “His stars run that way, I suppose, but—that’s how he is. He’s the man who saved the children, and he did it because someone had to.”
    “And I know you, now, too,” Young Steen said, slowly. “You worked with him—you’re the other half of that, Lieutenant.”
    “I helped,” Eslingen said. “But it was Nico—Rathe—who did most of it.”
    “I’ll call up my witnesses,” Young Steen said. “And would you take a word to Caiazzo?”
    “Of course.”
    “Tell him that if I can claim my father’s goods, I’d be happy to make the same bargain with him that Dad did.” Young Steen pushed himself to his feet, and Eslingen copied him, tossing a handful of demmings on the tabletop to cover the cost of the meal. Of course Young Steen would say that; it was the best way to get Caiazzo to back his claim. But it was also obvious that van Duiren was a liar—and probably after the gold herself, Eslingen thought.
    “I’ll tell him that,” he said, and made his way through the tables to the door.
    He caught a low-flyer back to Customs Point, paid it off at the bottom of the street where Caiazzo had his house, and went in by the side door, hoping to steal a moment to pull his thoughts together before he had to take his news to Caiazzo. Unfortunately, his wish was not granted. Aicelin Denizard, Caiazzo’s magist and left hand, was crossing the hall as the door opened, and stopped in her tracks.
    “Eslingen! You were looked for hours ago.”
    “I know,” Eslingen answered. “Is himself about?”
    “Above in his workroom, and contemplating sending runners to find you,” Denizard answered. “I’ll send him word you’re here.”
    “Come up with me,” Eslingen said. “You’ll want to hear as well.”
    She lifted an eyebrow at that, but turned, the heavy grey silk of her magist’s robe rustling against her fashionable ox-blood gown, and led the way up the central stairs.
    Caiazzo’s workroom was at the end of the gallery, with long windows like the stern of a ship overlooking the garden behind the house. His counter ran along the wall beneath it, piled with papers and ledgers and an abacus, and Caiazzo himself sat on a high stool near its center, while his clerk sat at a low table, diligently making notes. He broke off as the door opened, and the clerk looked up, pen poised.
    “All right, Biblis, that’ll be all for now,” Caiazzo said. “Philip, I hope you have a good explanation for where you’ve been.”
    The clerk stoppered her inkwell and hurried out,