Point of Dreams

“Oh, you’ll pass,” Caiazzo said, and his smile matched Duca’s. “Don’t worry about that.”

2

It was cold already in All‑Guilds, where the regents met. The heavy stones of wall and floor seemed to suck all warmth out of the air–pleasant enough in summer, Rathe thought, but hard to bear at this end of the year. The young women who bustled importantly about the lobby had buttoned their guild‑robes to the chin, and more than one had thickened her ankles with an extra pair of stockings. At least the guild mothers had allowed the ancient guard to light a brazier at his post, and when they were finally ushered into the long room where the regents sat, he was glad to see another pair of stoves, as well as the massive fireplace. All were lit, and he edged gratefully toward the nearest of the stoves, letting it warm him at least from the knees up. Holles spoke first, impressive in the black‑banded scarlet that contrasted so sharply with the regents’ sober black, relieved only by spotless lace and the silver and gold of guild badges at neck and sleeves. The grande bourgeoise was the plainest of all, every stitch proclaiming that her family had held its shop in the Mercandry for a hundred years, and had no need of additional finery. Rathe glanced along the row, was not surprised to see the gold‑edged lace and the frippery of black‑on‑black striping, satin on plain weave, only on the youngest woman. New‑rich herself, or a new‑rich merchant’s daughter, she seemed to have no qualms about setting herself apart from the others, and he hoped that was a good sign.

Holles spoke well–speaking on his own behalf must be strange to him, Rathe thought, and had to admire if not the cold eloquence then the simple emotional justice of his plea. He showed good sense in not trying to make this a court‑speech, downplaying the legal aspects in favor of the personal, and Rathe saw one or two of the regents nod in agreement as he worked his way toward his conclusion. Then, in spite of himself, he glanced toward the frieze that wound its way around the room, the carved figures centered above the grand bourgeoise’s chair. In any of the courts, high or low, that frieze would show the Pillars of Justice, the four deities who guarded court matters. Here in All‑Guilds, the theme was Heira’s Banquet, Heira herself presiding over the great gathering of the goddesses, from the solid, familiar figures pressing toward her for her gifts, to the lesser known, less loved, clustering behind them. And somewhere, Rathe knew, probably opposite Heira herself for the balance of the composition, Bonfortune, the god of the Merchants‑Venturer, would be at his tricks, persuading i

“Adjunct Point Rathe and Magist b’Estorr both worked with the intendant,” Holles said, and Rathe jerked himself back to attention at the mention of his name. “And Chief Point Trijn is an impartial witness. They have all viewed the evidence I’ve laid before you, and have agreed to stand with me today, in support of my plea before you.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the regents leaned toward each other, conferring in lower voice. The lines of their bodies mimicked the lines of the frieze above them, and Rathe wondered if they were aware of the effect. Finally the grand bourgeoise straightened, glancing to either side until the other women subsided. “It seems to me, with all due respect to the advocat, that there is no clear evidence of murder. Suggestions, yes, but nothing more.”

Someone gasped–not Holles, Rathe thought, the advocat had himself too well in hand for that, but perhaps one of the regents. He glanced sideways to see b’Estorr looking dangerously demure, studying a crack in the stone floor with the same intensity he would focus on a particularly interesting set of bones. Holles started to speak again, but Trijn spoke first.

“It seems to me, with all due respect to the regents, that the evidence in hand combined with the sanction–the agreement–of the points should be enough to satisfy the regents that murder, in fact, has been done, as well as violence after death. Even if the evidence were inconclusive, the matter must be resolved. The intendant Leussi was one of the brighter ornaments of the judiciary. His murder must not be allowed to go unpunished.”

The regents were staring at Trijn, Gausaron with particular disdain, and Rathe knew he was staring with them. It wasn’t like Trijn to make speeches, even less like her to antagonize the powers that be–even in the short time Rathe had served with her, he had learned that she was more likely to get her way by bowing and catering to people’s pretensions. But this… There was a particular ring in the chief point’s voice, triumph almost, or sharp attack, that made him suspect there was more here than he knew. Which might explain why she volunteered herself for this, he thought, but it doesn’t mean it’s going to help us.

A woman with a softly lined face under a starched cap said, “Forgive me, Advocat, but isn’t it possible that there was some–quarrel, some anger between you, perhaps even something petty of which you weren’t even aware, that’s holding his ghost from you?”

“If I may, madame,” b’Estorr said, and Gausaron waved her hand in permission. “A ghost may withdraw itself from the people and things she was most concerned with in her lifetime, but at the ghost‑tide she will still be present, if unfelt, until those people and things have no more presence in this world. If that had been the case, I would have felt the intendant’s presence, and indeed, that was what I expected to find. But there was nothing.”

“The lack of a ghost is hardly decisive evidence,” Gausaron said.

“In any other time of year,” b’Estorr said, “the lack of a ghost would hardly be evidence, indeed. There are many who die untimely who don’t feel they’re–worthy–of the attention their ghost would draw. Who feel, for one reason or another, that it was, however violently, their time to die. However. We are well into the ghost‑tide. The only time of year when the timely dead are felt. The city–this very room–teems with them. And Intendant Leussi and Advocat Holles were lemen for close to twenty years. The only possible reason that neither the advocat nor I have touched the ghost is that his ghost has been bound. And by the person who murdered him.” He tilted his head to one side, and smiled, a singularly sweet smile that Rathe had learned to mistrust. “I hope that’s sufficiently clear to the regents.”

Gausaron glared at him, and leaned back in her chair.

“With respect,” Rathe said, “the alchemist’s report also suggests that there were–anomalies–involved with the death.” He had received the report the previous afternoon, hastily copied but legible, and he’d worked with the chief alchemist Fanier often enough to recognize when the man was hedging his bets. Fanier had noted changes consonant with “external influences,” though no internal evidence of that influence: not enough on its own, but coupled with the absence of a ghost, enough to raise questions in the mind of any pointsman. He only hoped it would be enough for the regents.

“And there have been similar cases in the court records,” Holles said, “both precedents for reopening an investigation such as this, and for ghosts bound at death. I have taken the liberty of compiling a summary list of those cases, and my court clerks will be happy to bring any related documents the regents would like to see.”

“A generous offer, Advocat,” one of the regents murmured, and Gausaron’s frown deepened.

“And one I see no need of.”