Point of Hopes

“Some,” the messenger answered, but Eslingen thought his voice sounded stronger.

“All right, then.” Caiazzo glanced over his shoulder, beckoned to the others. “What’s going on with de Mailhac?”

Malivai took a deep breath and then flinched, his face tightening in pain. Caiazzo fed him another sip of the wine, visibly curbing his impatience.

“Take your time.”

Malivai nodded. “She–there’s a magist at Mailhac, but not of your kind, Aicelin. He seems to have de Mailhac and her people under his command.”

Denizard looked startled at that. “There was no magist there when I was.”

“You’ve been there?” Eslingen asked, involuntarily. “This year, I mean?”

“At the end of Lepidas,” Denizard answered, and shook her head. “And I didn’t see a magist there then.”

“Well, there’s one there now,” Malivai said. “And de Mailhac does what she’s told.”

Caiazzo frowned. “Why? And how did he manage that?” The messenger’s eyes slid to Eslingen, and the trader sighed. “Eslingen– Philip Eslingen–is my knife, and he probably saved your life tonight. You can speak freely.”

“It’s the mine,” Malivai said. “He–all I could get was that he promised to increase the takings from the mine, and she agreed to it. And he’s been there ever since. And as best I can see, Hanse, it’s him who calls the tune.”

“And if he promised to increase the taking,” Caiazzo said, “why haven’t I seen an ounce of it this summer?”

Malivai shook his head. “He’s not letting it leave the estate. They– he’s keeping it, but he’s not spending it, and I never saw any of it, no one did. The mine’s guarded now, never like it used to be. I’m sorry, Hanse.”

“For what?” Caiazzo said. “Start from the begi

“Sorry,” Malivai said again. He took a cautious breath. “I got to the estate on the thirteenth of Sedeion, didn’t go to the house, like you told me, but went to the stables, they’re usually hiring there. Only this year they’re not, the head hostler said, for all I could see they were short‑handed. When I asked him about that, he said they’d spent too much on their time at court, and couldn’t afford extra hands–”

“Court?” Caiazzo said, and Denizard shook her head.

“De Mailhac hasn’t been in Astreiant, I’d stake my life on that.”

“The Spring Balance,” Malivai said. “The queen was on progress then, de Mailhac joined the court there.” He took another slow breath. Caiazzo reached for the wine, but the messenger waved it away. “I’ll sleep if I have much more, I have to finish first. So I asked if anyone else on the estate was hiring, said I wanted to be near my leman in Anedelle, and that I’d been able to summer on the estate before–I’ve kin there, they’ll speak for me. And I think he would have hired me, but one of the stewards came out, and when he heard who I was, told me to get off the Mailhac lands. So I went down to Anedelle then, and asked what was going on at Mailhac, and nobody seemed to know, except that there was a magist there who had de Mailhac under his thumb. Nobody likes him in the household–he’s had the maseigne selling off her goods and he’s ba

“Ba

Malivai made an abortive gesture that might have become a shrug. “Some project of his, they think, but no one knows.”

Denizard shook her head. “What sort of magist is he? Did you get a name, or whose badge he wears?”

“I never got a name–I don’t think any of them knew–but he doesn’t wear a badge,” Malivai answered. “All I know is, in Anedelle they say he has de Mailhac completely cowed–she dances to his tune–and he seems to have control of the mine.”

Caiazzo muttered something profane, fingers tightening on the wine cup. With an effort, he put it aside before he crushed it, and stood up. “All right, Mal, sleep. You should, given what I put in the wine. Philip, Aice, come with me.”

He led them to his workroom, where someone had already lit a branch of candles. Almost absently, Denizard lit a second branch of six, and Eslingen watched the shadows chase each other across the face of the clock. It was a little past two, two hours past the second sundown, and he could feel the weight of the hours on the back of his neck.

“We have to tell someone, Hanse,” Denizard said, and set the last candle in its place.

“Oh, really?” Caiazzo stopped pacing long enough to glare at her, resumed his stride in an instant. “And whom do you propose we tell? Tell what, for Bonfortune’s sake? Officially, I don’t own this estate, Aice, it’s petty treason for a commoner.”

Denizard leaned forward, planting both hands on the table. “Gold, Hanse, is the queen’s metal, it and the royal house were born under the same stars. And right now, with the star change imminent, that link is going to be stronger than ever.”

“I handle gold every day of my life–well, these last ten years,” Caiazzo objected. “And I’m common as they come. That hasn’t made any difference.”

“That’s coin gold,” Denizard said. “It’s not pure gold, they add other metals to it in the refining, precisely to keep it safe. But what comes out of the mine is pure, and it can become aurichalcum if you handle it right. That’s queen’s gold, Hanse, and they call it that for a reason. The tie between them, the queen and her metal, it’s too strong. And that’s too dangerous to just ignore.” She smiled then, not without a certain sour humor. “And after the clock‑night, I find ba

“You can’t think this magist had anything to do with that,” Caiazzo said.

“I don’t know how,” Denizard admitted, “but I do know this is dangerous.”

“And betraying ownership of an Ile’nord–hells, an Ajanine– estate isn’t dangerous?” Caiazzo’s voice was less certain than his words. He stopped at the far end of the room, scowling at the cold stove. Eslingen stared at him, wondering what to do. Malivai’s news was too strange, too important not to let Rathe know about it, especially if Denizard was right about the gold, and there was a link between it and the queen, and the clocks and the magist. Caiazzo would not be happy– Caiazzo would be murderous, an i

Denizard’s voice broke through his reverie. “It’s become political, Hanse. And that’s a game you don’t play.”

Caiazzo dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He stood there for a long moment, unmoving, then lowered them and turned back into the light. For an instant, he looked older than Eslingen would have thought possible. “All right,” he said, softly. “All right. Eslingen–in the morning, I want you to go to Rathe–since he got you this job, maybe he’ll give you a break on this one. Go to Rathe, tell him about this night’s business.”

“All of it?” Eslingen asked, startled–this was the last thing he’d expected from Caiazzo–and the trader nodded.

“Well, as much as you have to, which, knowing Rathe, will be most of it. It was clearly self‑defense there in the square, and on my orders, so neither you nor I need to worry about that, but somebody’s bound to be asking questions about those bodies.” Caiazzo nodded slowly, as much to himself as to the others. “Yes, tell him what’s been happening–my people set upon in the streets, my business interfered with. That should keep him busy. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help put a stop to whatever is going on with de Mailhac.”