Treachery's Tools (13 page)

“What else has gone wrong … or might?” asked Alastar dryly.

“Something unusual happened last night. Oestyl and Glaesyn wanted to get away. It was around fifth glass. They crossed the Bridge of Desires and walked up to that bistro on West River Road. The one where—”

“I remember.” How could he have forgotten? “That's not a short walk.”

“It's the best bistro on the west side of the Aluse, according to Oestyl. Anyway, he noticed a rider on a chestnut that seemed to be following them. Glaesyn thought that the man was just riding north and taking his time, but when they left the bistro, they could hear, at times, hoofs on the pavement behind them. Glaesyn can handle basic protective shields. He's hopeless with concealments. Oestyl can use a blurring shield, but not a full concealment. That was enough for them to slip into a side lane and then move to where the lamp from one of shops let them see that the same man was following them again.

“Oestyl kept up the blurring shield, and they took a back walkway for a time, but when they neared the Bridge of Desires, they spotted him again. He was waiting for them, but didn't see them. Oestyl used the blurring shield while they walked to the Bridge of Stones and crossed there.”

“Does either of them owe anyone anything? Or been involved with someone's wife or lady friend?”

Akoryt shook his head. “They both say that they can't think of anything, even things that could be misunderstood. That's why they wanted to tell me.”

“Can you think who might be following imagers, especially junior imagers who aren't students?”

“No, sir. Neither of them could, either.”

“I can't, either. That makes it unusual, even worrisome. I don't want to make it a command”—
not yet
—“but I'd like you to suggest to the students and the other seconds and thirds that anyone who intends to be out off Imagisle after sunset either be with another imager or good friends. See if you can get to as many as possible this morning, since many will likely go out this afternoon and evening. You can tell them that there's been more violence in L'Excelsis lately, and we'd like them to be more careful for a while. That's definitely true, about the violence, from what Cyran reported yesterday.”

“I can probably reach most of them.”

“Good … and thank you.”

After Akoryt left, Alastar sat back in his chair. Who had an interest in watching junior imagers? Was someone going to try assassinating less talented imagers? Or to discover if they used imaging in ways that could be used as a lever against the Collegium? Or merely to see if they could discover more about imaging?

The last seemed far-fetched, but he couldn't dismiss it out of hand.
Not yet.

 

7

The remainder of Samedi went uneventfully, or at least with as little drama as was possible when a ten-year-old girl was involved, as did Solayi, even to the evening services at the anomen. Since, as Maitre of the Collegium, Alastar felt obligated to attend those services, he was grateful that Chorister Iskhar's homilies were largely focused on values, rather than upon the Nameless. That was as it should have been, given that the tenets of the Nameless opposed the glorification of the individual and centered on positive accomplishments, not that there hadn't been choristers in the history of Solidar who had focused on the ritual and not the meaning.

On Lundi morning, Alastar was still thinking about a variation on that theme when he entered the administration building and headed toward his study—perhaps because Iskhar had made the point in his Solayi homily that all too often ritual became a comfort that precluded action, as did day-to-day habits.
Have you become too settled in your ways to be as effective a Maitre as you could be … as you should be?

That thought vanished as he saw Maercyl standing beside the desk outside his study. “Dareyn? How is he doing?”

“He's better, sir. Maitre Gaellen says it was the green flux, but he should be back to work in another few days. It might be longer, though.”

The green flux?
Alastar didn't like that at all. It wasn't nearly as deadly as the red variety, but it wasn't pleasant, in addition to being especially hard on infants and older people. And Dareyn was well beyond middle years … and then some. “Does anyone else have it?”

“Some of the primes have it. They're in the infirmary.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“I'll be back in a few moments.” Alastar turned and headed down the north corridor.

When he entered the archivist's study, Alastar didn't see anyone around. Nor did he hear anyone. He walked to the open door at the top of the steps down to the lower level and called, “Obsolym?”

“Coming! Coming…”

Before long, Obsolym trudged up the steps. He glared at Alastar. “If it's more history you want to know, you could have come down and saved an old maitre another climb up and down.” For all the gruffness in his voice, the white-haired Maitre D'Structure smiled.

“It isn't that. I wanted you to know that several primes are down with the green flux—”

“I know. Gaellen came and told me. You two … you'd think I was ancient.”

“You're the closest to an ancient we have, and I don't want you catching something like the green flux. I'd appreciate it if you kept some distance when you're doing your history instructionals for the primes.”

“That's all you came to say, most masterful Maitre?”

“That's absolutely all, you intransigent intellectual,” replied Alastar with a laugh.

“I'll think about it.”

“Good … and keep thinking about it.”

“You're not so young anymore, either,” Obsolym said.

“But I've had the green flux, and most people who've had it don't get it again.”

“Good thing for you.”

“With a young daughter, yes, it is. Oh … that seal of High Holder Meinyt … he has no idea what it means or how it came to be.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

“Now that I've disrupted the beginning of your day, I'll leave you in peace.”

Obsolym shook his head mournfully. “That's what they all say.”

Alastar couldn't help grinning as he turned and left.

Once back in his study, after instructing Maercyl to inform all the senior imagers that the next senior imagers' meeting would be on Jeudi morning, he went over the morning attendance report, although he was certain that Akoryt would have let him know immediately if any imagers were missing. Then he took out his copy of the Codex Legis and began to read.…

He'd been studying the Codex and had not found what he sought for less than a quint when a messenger from the Chateau D'Rex arrived with a request that Alastar meet with Lorien at the third glass of the afternoon. That would mean a long afternoon, since most meetings with Lorien were anything but short, and it took between two and three quints to ride back to Imagisle, even using the Boulevard D'Rex Ryen. Whatever Lorien wanted meant more work for Alastar, one way or the other, but since the rex seldom indicated what the difficulty might be, Alastar would just have to wait until after third glass.

He went back to searching the Codex.

At less than half a quint before ninth glass, Alastar dismounted before the “upper factorage” mentioned by the factoria—a low brick-walled structure just off the West River Road west and south of where the Sud Bridge spanned the River Aluse. He handed the gelding's reins to Aelbryt and walked toward the entry.

A young girl dressed in gray trousers and shirt stood on the single low front step of the factorage. Drab as her clothes were, they were clean and without holes or patches, and she wore sandals that had seen better days. Without a word, she opened the door for Alastar, but did not follow him inside.

“She's in her study, Maitre,” said a white-haired woman who rose from the table desk in the small anteroom. “It's the first open door there.”

“Thank you.” Alastar tucked his visor cap under his arm as he made his way to the door and entered the study, closing the door after himself.

With a narrower face than her daughter, but with striking silver-gray hair, light gray eyes, and a slender but feminine figure, Factoria Kathila was an attractive woman. She rose gracefully from behind a jet-black table desk with wide rounded corners. The only objects on the desk were ten buttons, a broach, and what Alastar thought was a hair clasp, laid out on a dark green velvet cloth. All were silver.

“You closed the door, Maitre Alastar. Am I to assume either secrets or my daughter to be the subject?” She frowned momentarily, then smiled. “Secrets, most likely, since your actions suggest you're pleased with Thelia.” She gestured to the single chair before the desk and reseated herself.

Alastar sat down and replied, “I'm more than pleased with her. You should be as well.”

“You have a daughter. Are you pleased with her?”

“So far,” replied Alastar with a smile. “There are times that I'm less pleased, but I suspect that's true of all parents.”

“What if she were not an imager?”

“If she worked hard and did well at something else, I'd like to think I'd also be pleased.” Before Kathila could say more, he went on. “Is it because she is so well suited to carry on what you have done and is precluded from doing so because she is an imager … and you're letting me know that?”
While not mentioning that your son is not half the person your daughter is.

“You can build something that will outlast you.”

“No, Factoria, I can build something that has the potential to outlast me … and it can be destroyed by poor decisions in years. It's almost happened several times.” That might have been an exaggeration since Alastar only personally knew of one time. “I will grant that I have some greater say in grooming those who may succeed me, somewhat more than in the case for great factors and factorias, or High Holders.”

Kathila gestured to the objects on the green velvet cloth. “They're solid silver, all of them, except for the broach. The stone is peridot. What do you think they're worth?”

“Whatever someone will pay for them. That much silver, unworked, is likely worth half a gold. I don't know gemstones.”

“You're as cautious as my daughter claims. Strange for a man who risked his life to save a nearly worthless rex and a failing Collegium.”

“Compare all that to unworked silver, Factoria.”

Kathila's laugh was soft, but somehow slightly off-key. After a silence of several moments, she said, “I didn't have to say what I did, Maitre, and it's not that I'm not proud of Thelia.”

“But she will never be Maitre of the Collegium, and she might have become a truly powerful and wealthy factoria.”

Kathila nodded. “Now that I've explained that, what do you want from me?”

“Information and insight that will likely benefit us both.”

“Such as?”

“Besides feeling that tariffs are too high … what do you feel should be done about them and why?”

“You won't support a reduction in them. Why should I say anything?”

“It's not possible to reduce them. It would make everyone's life easier if Rex Lorien could.”

“You can always spend less. I know.”

“One can always spend less by doing less. Do you wish fewer patrols in the Southern Gulf … and more piracy? Fewer warships, and Jariolan and Ferran privateers boarding more merchant ships? Less spent on roads and longer times in transporting goods? Less spent on the Civic Patrol and more brigandage? I've studied the matter for years. Rex Lorien has reduced spending wherever he can. The finances of Solidar are not perfect, but there are no great savings to be made without requiring far higher tariffs within a year or two.”

“Then why ask?”

“As a starting point. I met with Chief Factor Hulet last week, and then with Chief High Councilor Cransyr.”

“Were you not the fortunate one?” murmured Kathila.

“Each felt that his people were overtariffed and that the other's people were undertariffed. Both feel most strongly, more strongly than I've seen at any time since the last time tariffs were an issue.”

“That surprises you?”

“No. But the degree of vitriol does concern me. That is why I wish your thoughts and observations.”

The factoria nodded, but said nothing for several long moments. “Hulet is plainspoken. He is rough, but he has tried to keep tempers down in council. The last meeting … he was furious.” She paused. “That was before he met with you. We have not met since.”

“Did he say why he was so angry?”

“No. Elthyrd asked him. Hulet only said that it was past time that the High Holders could threaten and demand and expect factors to back down.”

“I wonder who threatened him,” mused Alastar.

“I thought the same, but I could not say.”

“Did anyone ask him if he'd been faced with a demand or a threat?”

“Goeryn did. Hulet said that anytime anyone thought they could coerce him with threats was when the Nameless took up naming.”

“Do you know of anyone else who's faced threats … or veiled hints?”

Kathila smiled sweetly. “I know less than anyone, except that which comes before the council and that which I've discovered from wives and daughters, and that is comparatively little.”

“If that is so…?”

“Why am I even on the council?” Her smile turned cold. “It might have something to do with my creation of various products in high demand, both for factorages … and other purposes, and I know who has used them and for what.”

“It also might have to do with the facts that you are one of the wealthiest of factors and that you maintain ties with your daughter, who is an imager maitre.”