every licensed book-writer in the city to put up a bond—he checked the letter again—a bond equal to their likely losses, based on their previous year’s records. He swore again, more loudly, and Sohier checked in the doorway.
“ Boss?”
“ Have you heard anything about new regulations for book-writers?”
Sohier grimaced. “I heard there was some plan to make them all post a bond or something. I’ve a friend over at Fairs’ Point, and she said they were going mad because if it happened, they’d be the ones to keep the coin.”
“ Well, they already have the strongroom for the purse monies,” Rathe said.
“ Yeah, but they’ll need three more clerks just to keep track of who’s posted what,” Sohier said. “And Claes doesn’t want to pay for it—he’s making noises about getting the Patent Administrator to loan him some o f hi s staff, while last I heard Solveert said it wasn’t his problem.”
“ It’s madness,” Rathe said. Every sororal group in the city ran a betting book on the Dog Moon races, with a portion of the money going into the group’s treasury; seasonal traders and widowers and orphans traditionally supplemented their income by writing book. And, yes, every year someone failed to pay out, but it was rarely ruinous, mostly just a matter of getting the bettors back their original stake. But none of them were de Calior—changing the rules here wouldn’t solve any of the real problems.
Sohier nodded. “It’s tying up the basket after the dog is out. What does the Surintendant say?”
“ What can he say?” Rathe asked. “The Regents passed it, we have to deal with it.”
“ At least for now,” Trijn said, coming heavily up the stairs. “What they were thinking, or if you can even call it that—but I’ll spare you my rant.”
“ Excuse me,” Sohier said and ducked away. Trijn watched her go, and shook her head again.
“ So that’s it?”
Rathe refolded the announcement and slid it across the t able. Trijn eyed it unhappily but didn’t pick it up.
“ How bad does it look?”
“ I haven’t read it carefully,” Rathe said, “but—it’s not good. Is there any chance the Regents could change their mind?” Trijn’s elder sister was a Regent; for all that the two of them didn’t get along, there was always the chance that Gausaron might have let something slip.
“ I doubt it.” Trijn’s voice was grim. “She voted against it, you know. Gausaron, I mean. Which just tells you what a bad idea this is.”
“ It’s likely to be unenforceable,” Rathe said. “Sweet Sofia, all a woman has to do is not apply for the license. All that changes is that the crown doesn’t get her share.”
“ And the book-writer can’t come to us if there’s a problem,” Trijn said. “It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“ How many licenses have we issued already?” Rathe asked.
“ I’m not going to find out. My ruling is, this isn’t retroactive, and anyone who was quick enough doesn’t have to post a bond.” Trijn shook her head. “Not that that will make much of anyone happy, either.”
“ Probably not.”
Trijn slid the paper back across the table toward him. “Get this posted somewhere conspicuous, and if anyone complains, tell them to take it up with the Regents.”
As if that would do any good, Rathe thought, but knew be tter than to say it. “Yes, chief.”
“ You settled Corsten, right?”
“ The alchemists ruled it suicide,” Rathe said. “Though the real cause is de Calior’s bankruptcy, and I’d love to try to call the point.”
“ That dog won’t jump,” Trijn said. “Don’t even think of trying it. Anything on Beier?”
“ Not that I’ve seen.”
“ Well, the next time you’re in Fairs’ Point, see if they’ve made any progress and haven’t bothered to tell us. Just don’t step on Claes’s toes.”
And precisely how am I supposed to do that ? Rathe swallowed the words, knowing they were pointless, and collected the
“ Boss?”
“ Have you heard anything about new regulations for book-writers?”
Sohier grimaced. “I heard there was some plan to make them all post a bond or something. I’ve a friend over at Fairs’ Point, and she said they were going mad because if it happened, they’d be the ones to keep the coin.”
“ Well, they already have the strongroom for the purse monies,” Rathe said.
“ Yeah, but they’ll need three more clerks just to keep track of who’s posted what,” Sohier said. “And Claes doesn’t want to pay for it—he’s making noises about getting the Patent Administrator to loan him some o f hi s staff, while last I heard Solveert said it wasn’t his problem.”
“ It’s madness,” Rathe said. Every sororal group in the city ran a betting book on the Dog Moon races, with a portion of the money going into the group’s treasury; seasonal traders and widowers and orphans traditionally supplemented their income by writing book. And, yes, every year someone failed to pay out, but it was rarely ruinous, mostly just a matter of getting the bettors back their original stake. But none of them were de Calior—changing the rules here wouldn’t solve any of the real problems.
Sohier nodded. “It’s tying up the basket after the dog is out. What does the Surintendant say?”
“ What can he say?” Rathe asked. “The Regents passed it, we have to deal with it.”
“ At least for now,” Trijn said, coming heavily up the stairs. “What they were thinking, or if you can even call it that—but I’ll spare you my rant.”
“ Excuse me,” Sohier said and ducked away. Trijn watched her go, and shook her head again.
“ So that’s it?”
Rathe refolded the announcement and slid it across the t able. Trijn eyed it unhappily but didn’t pick it up.
“ How bad does it look?”
“ I haven’t read it carefully,” Rathe said, “but—it’s not good. Is there any chance the Regents could change their mind?” Trijn’s elder sister was a Regent; for all that the two of them didn’t get along, there was always the chance that Gausaron might have let something slip.
“ I doubt it.” Trijn’s voice was grim. “She voted against it, you know. Gausaron, I mean. Which just tells you what a bad idea this is.”
“ It’s likely to be unenforceable,” Rathe said. “Sweet Sofia, all a woman has to do is not apply for the license. All that changes is that the crown doesn’t get her share.”
“ And the book-writer can’t come to us if there’s a problem,” Trijn said. “It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“ How many licenses have we issued already?” Rathe asked.
“ I’m not going to find out. My ruling is, this isn’t retroactive, and anyone who was quick enough doesn’t have to post a bond.” Trijn shook her head. “Not that that will make much of anyone happy, either.”
“ Probably not.”
Trijn slid the paper back across the table toward him. “Get this posted somewhere conspicuous, and if anyone complains, tell them to take it up with the Regents.”
As if that would do any good, Rathe thought, but knew be tter than to say it. “Yes, chief.”
“ You settled Corsten, right?”
“ The alchemists ruled it suicide,” Rathe said. “Though the real cause is de Calior’s bankruptcy, and I’d love to try to call the point.”
“ That dog won’t jump,” Trijn said. “Don’t even think of trying it. Anything on Beier?”
“ Not that I’ve seen.”
“ Well, the next time you’re in Fairs’ Point, see if they’ve made any progress and haven’t bothered to tell us. Just don’t step on Claes’s toes.”
And precisely how am I supposed to do that ? Rathe swallowed the words, knowing they were pointless, and collected the
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