Point of Hopes by Melissa Scott

Author:Melissa Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy, fantasy, gay romance, alternate world
Publisher: Lethe Press, Inc.

Rathe made his way west again along the river, skirting the Rivermarket and the warrens of the Factors’ Walk, ignoring the small twist of conscience within him. He had, after all, told Eslingen exactly why he was recommending him for the job, and what he was—and wasn’t—looking for. Nor was it entirely self-serving; Eslingen did need a job and a place to live, and Caiazzo’s service was a good deal richer than Devynck’s. And it was unlikely that Caiazzo would put him into a position that would bring him into danger, at least not yet, not until Caiazzo had decided that he could trust his new man, and by then Eslingen would have seen enough to make the decision for himself…. Still, the soldier was virtually a stranger here, with little knowledge of the city and its more notorious citizens; Rathe couldn’t stop himself from feeling slightly guilty for what he’d done.

And that, he told himself firmly, was foolish. He’d done the best he could for Eslingen, and for himself; he had other work to do before he could take Monteia’s offer and declare himself off duty. He reached into his pocket, checked his tablets. The last set of nativities—one for a girl who’d vanished from the family inn two days before Herisse Robion, the other for a boy just under apprentice-age, son of a weaver—should be ready; he could at least collect those and bring them to b’Estorr along with the rest. He glanced at the sun again, and smiled, slowly. Better still, he would send a runner to University Point and ask b’Estorr to meet him at Wicked’s, At least that way he could be sure of getting one decent meal.

The sun was low in the sky as he finally reached the tavern, the papers with the nativities folded securely in his pocket. The building itself, long and low and old, wooden walls on a solid stone foundation, had once been a temple, though that had been generations ago, before the Pantheon had been built. On the clearest of days, with all the windows open to daylight, you could see some of the old carvings, high on the walls just below the ceilings, but those were the only lingering traces of its former life. Nor did anyone—these days, at least—consider its current use an especial blasphemy, not least because no one could remember what god it had served. There was an offering tablet, one of the blank stones that stood for all-the-gods, and a candle beside it to appease the prudish, but that was all. The name was more of a joke than anything, a typical southriver joke. Astreiant was, Rathe thought, usually a city that could laugh at itself. Only these days, people weren’t finding much to laugh at, and neither did he. But there was always Wicked’s, to put aside immediate worries.

The crowd was still thin, though some of it spilled into the tiny front yard, shopkeeper’s girls enjoying a chance at the soft weather after a day spent within doors.

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