Fairs' Point by Melissa Scott Page A

this.”
    “ I’m a soldier. Of course I do.”
    He heard Rathe draw breath sharply, and then subside. There was a thump from the foot of the bed, and then the ma ttress shifted as Sunflower walked up the sheets between them and flung himself down at the edge of Eslingen’s pillow. Eslingen swore at the sudden hot and acrid breath in his face, and Rathe scooped the dog neatly away.
    “ Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, and there was another thump as it hit the floor. Nails scrabbled on the boards, and it jumped back onto the foot of the bed.
    “ Persistent,” Eslingen said, as Rathe repeated the eviction.
    “ They’re a stubborn breed.”
    Rathe sounded amused again, and Eslingen released a soundless sigh. “It may not happen, you know,” he offered, and felt more than saw Rathe’s nod.
    “ I know.”
    The bed sagged again, though Sunflower was slower to claim the head of the bed this time, and Eslingen sighed.
    “They should have named him Distaff.”
    “ What?” Rathe had started to sit up, but stopped, cocking his head to one side.
    “ You know, in the fairytales. The heroine always puts her distaff down the middle of the bed to prove she’s kept her chastity.”
    “ That’s a Leaguer story,” Rathe said. “And I’m not letting a dog keep me chaste.”
    “ I’m very glad to hear it,” Eslingen said. There would be more to say later, but for now, he was glad of the distraction.
     
     

Chapter Three
     
     
    Rathe sorted through the piles of paper on his workroom table, more surprised by what wasn’t there than what was. Half a dozen complaints about illegal horoscopes, yes, and about as many reports of false dealing, but nothing like what they usually saw at this time of year. Maybe Solveert was settling into his job, then, had achieved some modus vivendi with the broadsheet astrologers. Stranger things had happened. And without Beier fanning the flames, it could only be easier. There was no mention of Beier in the week’s circular, or in Dreams’ daybook, and he allowed himself the unworthy hope that the man would stay away for the duration of the meet. There was, however, a brief notice from the Surintendant, stating that the Metropolitan of Astreiant had proposed the establishment of a new City Guard and that the matter was under advisement. Confirming the rumors, Rathe thought, and set the sheet neatly back in its place. He didn’t like the idea, didn’t like the idea that Eslingen was being recruited for it, but he couldn’t see anything he could do about it for the moment.
    “ Nico?” Sohier pushed open the workroom door, a runner in City Point livery hovering at her shoulder. “This just came from the Surintendant, and Trijn’s not here to sign.”
    “ Bring it in,” Rathe said, and accepted the sealed packet from the runner. He signed her book, and nodded to Sohier. “See she gets her tip out of the strongbox, would you?”
    “ Right, boss,” Sohier answered, and led the runner away.
    Rathe eyed the packet warily, tempted to leave it for Trijn. Nothing good ever came under triple seal—but that was e xactly why he shouldn’t delay. He broke the seals and unwound the blood-red ribbon, then unfolded the full royal sheet. It was half again as wide as a broadsheet, and covered in neat scrivener’s hand, and Rathe let his eyes travel to the foot where the seals were impressed in the thick paper. Fourie’s, of course, directly under his uncompromising signature, but also the seal of the city’s Regents, and Rathe swore under his breath as his eyes went to the title.
    An Act for the Protection of Credit as well as Regulating the Craft of Book-Writing . He swore again as he reached the end. Put in plain terms, the Regents had looked at the bankruptcies that bid fair to follow on Malfiliatre’s repudiation of her brother’s debts, and panicked: not only were they requiring more solid guarantees for those bankers who held Letters Patent from the city, but they were now requiring