Smiling Jack’s bluster and crude threats had deflated quickly enough when Cora explained the situation, and he’d been almost pathetically eager to deal. The prospect of a suspension of interest on his loans was enough to wring the promises they needed out of him, and Raesinia had taken pains to point out that in the event of her and Cora disappearing, the arrangement would vanish with them, leaving Jack once more at the mercy of the banks of the Exchange. Even crime lords can’t stand up to countinghouses, it seems.

The upshot was that Smiling Jack undertook to open some unused property of his to the refugees who were still streaming into Mrs. Felda’s, and to keep them safe from the seedies, at least until Janus’ army arrived. Similar arrangements, on a smaller scale, had already relieved the pressure a bit, but this would improve conditions considerably.

“And,” she said, “according to Cora we’ll even make a profit on the deal.”

“Smiling Jack’s ventures seem basically sound,” Cora said. “We purchased the debt at a discount, but I’m convinced it’s viable in the long term. Of course, it does tie up those assets for a while.”

Andy shook her head and looked at Raesinia. “Where did you find her?”

“Working as a messenger for the Exchange,” Raesinia said. “If I hadn’t distracted her helping me save Vordan, she’d probably own half the world by now.”

Cora, already red, blushed further and looked at her feet.

“What about your side?” Raesinia said. “Any progress?”

“We grabbed another seedie wagon,” Andy said. “More gunpowder. Marcus and Viera are trying to figure out what they’re up to.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“Not seriously. They had more guards this time, though. We had to shoot a couple of them.”

“Have you seen Sothe?”

“Upstairs.” Andy gestured at the balcony, which with the decreased crowding had been cleared to allow planning in private without resorting to the attic. “She’s waiting for you.”

“I’d better go, then.” Raesinia patted Cora one more time, waved to Walnut and some of the other Leatherbacks who’d come to greet their returning party, and fought her way to the stairs.

Sothe was waiting in what had become an impromptu conference room. A big dining table, donated by one of the refugee families, bore a hand-drawn map of the Docks on big rolls of butcher paper, annotated and scribbled on to represent what they knew of the seedie and Patriot Guard activities. Most of the handwriting was Marcus’, but when Raesinia came up the stairs Sothe was adding a few notations in her precise handwriting.

“I take it your plan worked?” Sothe said, setting her stub of pencil aside.

“It was Cora’s plan,” Raesinia said. “But it worked brilliantly. This is going to make it a lot easier to feed and house everybody who needs help.”