Excerpt
"Oy, Nico!" That was a new voice, and he turned to see LaSier striding after him, her long hair flowing behind her like a horse's tail. "Wait a minute."
Rathe paused, suppressing the instinctive desire to put his hand on his purse, and LaSier fell into step beside him. She was younger than he by a year or two, slim and pretty, with a gait like a dancer.
"This butcher's girl," LaSier began, "she's not the only child who's gone missing who shouldn't."
"Oh?" Rathe stopped, already running down he list of missing persons they'd received from Point of Sighs. Not that that was always reliable, as every station guarded its prerogatives and points jealously, but he couldn't remember anything out of the ordinary. Runaways, certainly, and more than there should have been, or usually were, but nothing like Herisse.
LaSier made a face, as though she'd read his thoughts. "It hasn't been reported, I don't think. But there was a boy here, learning the trade, and he went out to the markets to watch the crowds and he never came home."
"No one made a point on him, then" Rathe asked, already knowing the answer — if it were that simple, the Quentiers wouldn't be worrying; prison was an occupational hazard for them — and LaSier spit on the dust at her feet.
"We checked that first, of course, though he'd been here just long enough to learn how much he didn't know, and I didn't think he was stupid enough to try lifting anything on his own. But he's not in the cells at Point of Sighs or anywhere southriver. And I'm worried. Estel's worried."
There was no need to ask why LaSier or Quentier hadn't gone to Point of Sighs with the complaint. The Quentiers had always kept a school or sort for pickpockets, their own kin and the children of friends and neighbors — Rathe sometimes wondered if there were some secret, hidden guild organization for illegal crafts — and he wasn't surprised to hear that Estel was keeping up that part of the business. But she would have no recourse when one of her "students" disappeared, not without giving Astarac, the chief at Point of Sighs, an excuse to search the 'Serry and in general look too closely into Quentier business. "Are you making an official complaint to me?"
LaSier shook her head, smiling. "If it were official, we'd've gone to Point of Sighs, they're the ones with jurisdiction. But I thought you ought to know. He didn't have any place to run, that one. Gavaret Cordiere, his name is, his family's from Dhenin."
"Would he have run back to them?" Rathe asked. "If he — forgive my bluntness, Cassia — if he decided he didn't like the business after all?"
"It's possible," LaSier answered. "But I don't think he did." She smiled again, a sudden, elfin grin. "He liked the trade, Nico, and he had the fingers fort. I'd've put him to work soon enough."
Rathe sighed, and reached into his pocket for his tablets. "I'll make inquiries northriver, if you'd like, see if he's in cells there. And you might as well give me a description, in case — anything — turns up."
A body, he meant, and Easier grimaced and nodded in understanding. "He's fourteen, maybe shoulder height on me, dark skinned — not as dark as me, but dark enough — brown hair, brown eyes. There's a touch of red in his hair, maybe, and it's curly. He cut it short when we came here, he looks like any apprentice."
"Your stock in trade," Rathe murmured.
"Exactly." LaSier squinted, as though trying to remember, then shook her head. "That's about all, Nico. He's a bright boy, button memorable looking."
"I'll keep an eye out," Rathe answered, and screwed the last note on the face of the tablet, stylus riffing into the wax. He was running out of room on the second page: not a good sign, he thought, and folded the tablet closed on itself. "And I'll check with the cell keepers northriver. Would he give his right name?"
LaSier smiled again, wry this time. "He's boy, fourteen. Maybe not."
"I'll get descriptions, too," Rathe said.
"Thanks," LaSier said. "And, Nico: I — and Estel — we'll take this as a favor."
Rathe nodded, oddly touched by the offer. Besides, this was the kind of fee that he didn't refuse, the trade of favor for favor within the law. "I'll bear that in mind, Cassia, thanks. But let's see what I find out, first."
"Agreed," LaSier said, and turned away. She called over her shoulder, "See you at the fair!"
"You'd better hope not," Rathe answered, and started back toward Point of Hopes.