Free Point of Knives by Melissa Scott Page A

“He will for this.”
    It was the work of only a few minutes to spread a ragged circle of wax across the shutters and press the head of his truncheon, heavy with the royal seal, into the soft surface. He did the same with the door, covering the lock, but waited until Lulli’s watchman arrived before he left. In the street, he squinted at the nearest tower clock—Point of Knives, stubbornly five minutes out of step with the rest of the city—trying to decide if it was too early to meet Eslingen. It was earlier than he’d intended, and he supposed he could talk to Mirremay himself— He allowed himself a crooked grin. No, he was not going to go into Point of Knives without Eslingen at his back.
     
    Eslingen picked his way along the riverfront, past the long low barns that were the rope-walks and the taller warehouses that lined the river’s edge. The masts of the ships docked further south along the river’s edge rose above the russet-tiled roofs of the warehouses, black needles against the brilliant autumn sky. He threaded his way along the Factors’ Walk and crossed onto the docks proper, searching for the flag bearing a woman with a scepter that was the house-mark of the Soueraine of Bedarres . Since joining Caiazzo’s service, he’d spent a fair amount of time on the docks, but he hadn’t managed to lose the landsman’s sense of unease around the river’s deep water and swift currents. The high hulls of the ships that carried Astreiant’s trade to the edges of the world seemed little protection against the uneasy depths. He told himself it was just reasonable caution, his stars being bad for water, but he couldn’t quite rid himself of the sense that the boards were shifting under him as he made his way onto the quay where the Soueraine was docked. Laughing gulls wheeled overhead, diving for scraps off the end of the pier; the air smelled of damp and tar and spices and other things he couldn’t identify.
    The Soueraine was smaller than he’d expected, with a sharply raked bow and a pair of the scrolled brass cannon they called chasers tucked up beside the anchor ports. They weren’t defensive weapons, and Eslingen gave them a sour glance. He’d had chasers turned on him before, in a fight on the bleak coast north of Altheim, and he hadn’t liked it one bit. The Soueraine and her captain weren’t trying very hard to hide that they were summer-sailors.
    He stopped at the base of the gangway, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. “Permission to come aboard?”
    For a long moment, there was no answer, but at last a tousled head appeared above the rail. “What’s your business?”
    “To see Young Steen,” Eslingen called back.
    “What’s the name?”
    “Eslingen.”
    “Come aboard, and I’ll see if he’s free.” The girl vanished.
    Eslingen made his way gingerly up the ramp, not at all reassured by the sudden appearance of the little-captain. It growled at him from the rail that guarded the high stern platform, and Eslingen was careful to come no closer. At least the river was relatively quiet here, not as choppy as it could be down by the Exemption Docks. He could hear voices from beneath the deck, quite a few voices, but couldn’t make out the words. They didn’t sound angry, at least, but it didn’t sound precisely like a friendly gathering, either—more like a meeting or the crowd at an auction, though the latter was prohibited shipboard. Cargos were put to bid at the public auction hall in Point of Sighs or in guild-owned halls along Mercandry, where they could be seen and taxed. Not that half those bids weren’t fixed in advance, he’d learned that much from Caiazzo, but in theory the system was open and fair.
    The voices were suddenly louder, and a door opened between the ladders that led to the stern platform, disgorging a stream of people. There were a good dozen of them—a lunar dozen, Eslingen amended, fifteen, mostly men but a few sharply-dressed women, trailing out from what had