Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett - Point 02 by Point of Dreams

Author:Point of Dreams [Dreams, Point of]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-01T18:50:39+00:00

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7

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rathe made sure he was early to Point of Dreams, stirred up the fire in the workroom stove even as the tower clock struck nine, and reached for his tablets, unfolding them to reveal the list of flowers. Moonwort, trisil, trumpet flower, red star-vine, bound with lemon leaves and demnis fern: not a common posy, he thought again, and fumbled for the key of the lockbox. If it was listed in Leussi’s copy of the Alphabet, he would have to talk to Holles, find out if Leussi had said anything about testing the formulae—though if he had, surely Holles would have mentioned it—and then… He shook his head unhappily. He still wouldn’t have positive proof that Voillemin was failing in his job, failing the points, might only have proved that Leussi’s death was after all misadventure—except for the bound ghost. That was the work of an enemy—or could it be some bizarre side effect of the flowers? It seemed unlikely, but b’Estorr might know, or would know who could tell him, if the posy was in the Alphabet. And he had been told not to pursue the matter. The best thing might be to take the whole thing to Trijn, and let her sort it out. She was the chief point, after all; Voillemin was her responsibility, and it was her responsibility to sort out what was really happening here. He made a face, wishing it was his case, that he didn’t have to sneak around the edges to try to make sure the job got done, and there was a knock at the door. He looked up as the door opened, and a runner peered through the opening.

“Sorry, sir, but this just came. It looked important.”

Rathe nodded, beckoned her inside. Whatever it was, it dripped with ribbon and seals, and he held out his hand. “Who brought it?”

“It was a runner from All-Guilds,” the girl answered. “Stuck-up little prig.”

All-Guilds. From the regents? Rathe turned the letter over, his frown deepening as he recognized the symbols on the seals. It was from the regents, all right, and he could guess what it was about. “Is she waiting for a reply?”

“No, sir.” The runner shook her head. “Said she had other business. Silly cow.”

“Mind your manners,” Rathe said without heat. “All right, that’ll be all for now.”

“Yes, sir,” the girl answered, and backed away, pulling the door closed again behind her.

Rathe glared at the letter, then abruptly broke the seals. The broad pen strokes filled the page, a sprawling clerk’s hand ordering him to appear before the regents at half past ten, to answer for unwarranted interference in a matter he had already been forbidden to handle. He swore under his breath, wondering how Voillemin had found out—Falasca, of course; she would still have been on duty when he arrived the night before—and swore again, wondering which of the regents was acting as Voillemin’s patronne. The clock struck half past nine then, and he shoved his keys back into his pocket, carefully refolded the letter, and headed for Trijn’s workroom.

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