Point of Knives by Melissa Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

matter what Monteia said, and he couldn’t decide if that thought was pleasant or not.
    “Hello, Philip,” he said. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
    Eslingen looked over his shoulder with a wry smile. “Caiazzo has a claim to make, though I gather we’re too late to have the effects impounded.”
    “Afraid so,” Rathe answered. “Not that there was much to consider. As you saw.”
    “It’s the principle of the thing,” Eslingen answered, in the dulcet tones that always made Rathe want to snicker. “Lunele—his advocate—is closeted with your Chief, and I imagine she’s making that very point.”
    “I daresay.” Rathe lowered his voice slightly, just enough to keep the duty point, all ears at the desk, from hearing clearly. “I don’t suppose you’d care to share what Young Steen told you when you took him off? Which I do appreciate, by the way.”
    “You’re welcome,” Eslingen answered. “No more than he told you already, I’m afraid. I left him heading for Point of Knives to roust out witnesses to his father’s non-marriage.”
    “Is that where Old Steen lodged?” Rathe asked.
    Eslingen shrugged. “So his son says.” His gaze sharpened. “And that’s important how?”
    “Point of Knives—you know the Court of the Thirty-Two Knives, I know I told you about it, and I know Caiazzo has dealings there.”
    Eslingen gave a soft laugh. “I’ve had an adventure or two there, yes, since entering his employ. Nothing to concern the points, of course.”
    “Oh, I’m sure of that,” Rathe said, and managed to keep a straight face. The Court of the Thirty-Two Knives had once been a great mansion, fallen into disrepair two centuries ago, and during the civil wars, the original thirty-two knives had turned it into a fortress from which they terrorized most of the area south of the river. It had taken a regiment of soldiers with artillery to batter them into submission, and there were still plenty of folk southriver who would rather handle justice in the Knives’ fashion than acknowledge the law or the points. “Point of Knives is the area that grew up around the Court, among other things. The regents forced our surintendant to open a points station there three years ago, but it went to Mirremay, who’s a direct descendant of one of the bannerdames—the Knives’ only real rivals, and the people who took over when the Knives were driven out. She paid a huge sum in fees to get the place, or so one hears, and she’s taking fees hand over fist herself to make up for it. If that’s where Old Steen lodged—we won’t get any help from Mirremay, not unless Caiazzo’s willing to meet her price.”
    “I don’t know that he’d be averse to it,” Eslingen said. “Though he does like to get value for money.”
    “She stays bought,” Rathe said, reluctantly. “That’s all the good I can say of her.”
    “Well, if it’s just a matter of the fee,” Eslingen began, and a door closed sharply upstairs.
    Rathe looked up to see Caiazzo’s advocate and Monteia emerge from the chief point’s workroom, the advocate still talking quietly while Monteia nodded with decreasing patience. The advocate—Lunele—seemed to realize she was harming her case, because she stopped and made a polite curtsy instead, her black-and-red gown rustling. Monteia matched the gesture, and Lunele descended the stairs, as graceful as if she were at a soueraine’s ball. She looked discreetly pleased with herself, however, and Rathe’s mouth tightened. As Eslingen had just pointed out, Caiazzo was hardly opposed to paying for the law.
    “Rathe!” Monteia reached for her pipe, was filling it as she spoke. “A word with you, please.”
    Rathe looked at Eslingen, who gave a fractional shrug. And I believe him, Rathe thought, as he started up the stairs. Whatever this is about, I don’t think Philip knew it beforehand.
    Monteia closed the door of the workroom behind them, and waved Rathe to the nearest stool. She