Treachery's Tools (29 page)

“It's better if I do. I noticed that you stopped Akoryt before he left the house this afternoon.”

“I did. I'm going to be one of the watchers.”

“You don't…”

“I don't, but I should, and I might see more than some of the junior, or even some of the senior maitres.”

Left unsaid was the fact that Alyna could likely do more if she happened to see something happen. Alastar wasn't totally happy about that, but he couldn't argue with either her reasoning or her abilities.

“I asked for times when the younger juniors might be free and wandering Imagisle, since they can't wander anywhere else right now.”

“You think they're targeting the juniors?”

“That's not the question. Whether they're shooting at any imager or more at juniors, the juniors are the ones who need more protection.”

“You can't protect them from the first shots,” he pointed out.

“No. But protecting them from the later shots would have saved Harl and kept Glaesyn from being wounded.”

“You have a good point.” He laughed softly. “But then you usually do.”

“There's one other thing,” she said.

“Oh?”

“You were right.”

“About what?”

“A number of the younger male imagers kept looking at Malyna. It wasn't just curiosity, either.”

“Of course they would,” Alastar replied with a smile. “She looks much like you, except you're more beautiful.”

“You're too kind.”

“Hardly … just accurate.” He reached out and took her hand as they continued the walk home.

 

16

By seventh glass on Lundi morning, Alastar and Coermyd were already riding south on the East River Road. Alastar had kept his eyes open, but had seen no signs of shooters or other people who looked suspicious, but that didn't mean that some shooters weren't in position somewhere, only that he hadn't seen anyone. He would have preferred to undertake his unscheduled visit to Factorius Vaschet by himself, but since he felt he needed at least one other imager, he'd picked Coermyd, whose shields were as strong as those of many maitres.

“Might I ask, Maitre, why we're going to the ironworks?”

“Because the ironworks also apparently produces rifles, and I'd like to know who might be purchasing them.” Alastar didn't mention that it was more than a little unusual for an ironworks to be producing finished goods, especially something like rifles that required precision crafting. Because of this, he'd placed several additional items in his saddlebags, including several coils of rope, which would come in useful if he needed to tie the gray somewhere and proceed under a concealment shield.

Coermyd nodded thoughtfully, but did not ask any more questions.

Vaschet's ironworks was located on land bordered to the west by the River Aluse and on the south by a stream that fed into the river. According to the map Alastar had consulted before leaving the Collegium, just short of the ironworks the East River Road turned farther east and angled toward a stone bridge over the stream, while a smaller road circled westward around a hill to the ironworks.

What Alastar did not expect when he and Coermyd followed the road leading from the East River Road was that even from half a mille away, he could see the smoke from the blast furnace set into a low hill and almost feel the rhythmic impacts of the forge's drop hammer. Nor did he expect the stone wall around the works, and the heavy iron-bound wooden gates with two gatehouses, one on each side of the gates, as well as a guard standing post before the gates.

“Check your shields.” Alastar did just what he'd ordered Coermyd to do as he rode toward the guard, halting a good five yards away.

“The ironworks is closed to outsiders … Maitre.”

“That may be, but I'm here to see Factor Vaschet.”

“The factor won't be seeing no one, Maitre. He never does. That's just the way it is.”

Alastar smiled easily. “I'm not no one, and I will be seeing him.”

Two more guards stepped out of the shade beside the left gatehouse. They leveled heavy rifles at the two imagers.

Alastar imaged both weapons out of the guards' hands. “He will see me … and you can wager your life on that not happening … and some substantial chunks of the factorage as well.” Alastar rocked in the saddle as something impacted his shields, a jolt that had enough power behind it that he wondered if he might get a bruise from it. He immediately turned to see another guard aiming at him from the second guardhouse. He imaged an iron dart through the shoulder of the guard, pinning him to the wooden structure. The rifle dropped, its polished barrel striking the ground first, followed by the solid wooden stock.

Alastar scanned the area for more armed guards, then turned his attention to removing the gate supports from two stone posts.

As the double, iron-bound, wooden gates toppled forward, a fourth guard appeared, this time from the other gatehouse. He brought his rifle up quickly, but not quickly enough, because Alastar also imaged that away.

The first gate guard looked from one side of the gap left by the fallen gates to the other side, taking in the three remaining once-armed guards … and the guard hanging from the guardhouse, who had gone limp … and was likely dead, Alastar realized from the dark stain across his pale tan uniform.

“Hasn't anyone told you that it's not a good idea to shoot at imagers?” Alastar asked.

The four remaining guards looked blank.

“Which building is the one where I'll find Vaschet?”

For several moments, none of the four answered.

Alastar waited.

The first guard finally spoke. “His study is in the building north of the river loading dock, beside the new factorage.”

“The one that makes the heavy rifles you just tried to use?”

“It's the new factorage. That's all we know.”

Alastar had his doubts, but nodded, and then walked the gray gelding across the iron-bound solid wood gate that lay atop the paving stones. Once he was clear and on the road leading into the steelworks, he said, “Keep an eye behind us.”

“Yes, sir. Right now, they're just watching. One of them is looking at the gates you brought down.”

Alastar studied the compound. Ahead and partway up the hill was the blast furnace, with a waterwheel on one side. Below and to the east of the furnace was an expanse of sand, with trenches into which the molten iron was tapped off, and where it cooled into a sow and pigs. The forge, he realized belatedly, was actually east of the blast furnace along a millrace that powered another waterwheel, the one that doubtless operated the forge's drop hammer. Immediately to his right were several long two-story buildings that looked like barracks, except that the infrequent windows were all barred.

He glanced back at the wall bordering the gates, a wall close to three yards high. He thought he saw glints from the top.
Broken glass set in mortar?
Was Vaschet using prison laborers? How, when that was forbidden, except for High Holders on their own holdings?

Alastar wondered if he would have to drag Vaschet out of his study, but the tall black-haired and broad-shouldered figure who stood on the porch of the structure just north of the river loading dock had to be Vaschet.

Alastar reined up several yards from the porch. “Good morning, Factorius Vaschet.”

“How did you get in here, Maitre? The ironworks is closed to outsiders.” Vaschet's voice was loud, pitched to carry over the considerable background noise.

“After your guards started shooting at me,” replied Alastar in an equally forceful tone. “I took down the gates.”

“You'll pay for those … and for any prisoners who escape.”

“Use of prisoners at hard labor for hire is forbidden.”

“So? The ironworks is outside L'Excelsis.”

“What does that have to do with anything? You still can't use prisoners.”

“I know the laws, Maitre. More to the point, how do you propose to pay for or repair my walls and gates?”

Alastar sighed, loudly, then realized that the noise from the drop hammer in the forge behind him and from the factorage to his right meant Vaschet couldn't even hear something that soft, even if the factor had been listening, about which Alastar had some considerable doubt. “We'll talk about that after you answer a few questions. That's why I came out here to talk to you.”

“You've talked. You can leave. After you reimburse me for the damage you've caused.”

“Stop being an idiot, Vaschet. You don't want to make me any angrier than I am.”

“You force your way in here, and expect me to be reasonable?”

“I didn't use force until your men started shooting. That makes you the unreasonable one. Not me. Now … back to why I'm here. I'm looking to know who bought how many of those new heavy rifles you're manufacturing and to whom you've been selling them.”

“What heavy rifles?”

“The ones coming out of the new building over there.” Alastar gestured. “The factorage you built with the golds you borrowed.”

“Estafen tell you that? Be the last time I deal with that useless stripling.”

“Who's buying all those rifles?”

“I don't tell the names of my buyers, and no imager or even the rex is going to make me tell.”

“I've had two young imagers killed and another wounded by your heavy rifles, and I'd like to know who bought those rifles so that I can deal with them.”

“I can't do that, Maitre. I won't. I've given my word. It's worth more than yours. In golds.”

“Your word is void if someone has used your rifles to murder someone. And if you don't tell me, you become an accomplice under the law.”

“Now … I wouldn't be knowing that. It's just your word…” A wide and false smile followed the words that Alastar could only have described as even greasier than Vaschet's slicked-back hair. “And the law … well, sometimes the law just doesn't apply.”

“I've never been afforded the luxury of lying, Vaschet. Let's try again. Who has been buying large quantities of those rifles?”

“That's something you won't find out from me.”

“Why not? Has someone threatened you if you tell?”

“No one threatens me. No one.”

“Or do you lose special terms and privileges if you reveal your customers? I'm not interested in telling anyone.”

“Doesn't matter. Wouldn't matter if the rex put his army at the gates. And you certainly don't want every factor in Solidar angry at your little Collegium.”

“You're assuming that they'll all agree with you. They won't.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you're not getting names. Not from me.”

Alastar could see that no amount of words would convince the factor. Without uttering another syllable, he clamped shields around the factor and held them tightly until the factor turned red, then toppled forward. After dismounting and tying the gray to one of the porch posts, he took out one of the coils of rope from his saddlebags and tied up the factor, who was beginning to rouse by the time he was thoroughly trussed.

“You will pay for—”

Alastar pulled a greasy kerchief from the factor's heavy leather vest and stuffed it in the man's mouth, then looked to Coermyd. “If he manages to ungag himself, gag him again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if anyone attacks you, kill them with an iron dart. Don't hesitate. Not with all the rifles around.”

Still holding shields, Alastar opened the door to the building. Inside was an anteroom. Something struck his shields, and he staggered slightly before in the dimness he saw a massive figure swinging a short-handled wide axe at him.

Alastar imaged an iron dart through the guard's eye, then stepped aside as the man toppled. The wooden floor vibrated when the body struck. Seeing no one else in the anteroom, Alastar moved to the door to the left and behind the empty table desk where the overlarge guard had presumably been sitting.

The comparatively small chamber appeared to be Vaschet's study. Alastar began to search for the equivalent of ledgers. There weren't any on the shelves of the single bookcase, nor in the two drawers of the modest desk. There was, however, a wooden cabinet fastened to the wall with iron straps, and a heavy lock through iron hasps fastened the doors shut. Alastar imaged away the hasps and opened the doors.

Rows of ledgers were racked there.

It seemed as though a quint had passed before Alastar found four with entries dated in the last year. Two appeared to be supply ledgers, another an account of payments received, and the fourth the current master ledger, or a copy of it. Alastar took all four. He didn't want to linger at the ironworks. Too much had already not gone as planned.

Because you couldn't believe Vaschet would be so intransigent?

He hurried, if cautiously, out of the study and back outside.

Vaschet glared at Alastar from where he lay on the porch.

“I'll return these after I've had a chance to study them.” Alastar smiled pleasantly. “It would have been much easier if you'd simply told me what I needed to know.”

“Sir … there are more guards headed this way. Maybe a whole squad of them. They've got those rifles.”

“Then we should go.” Alastar put the ledgers in the saddlebags, making sure they were secure, and then untied the gelding and mounted. “Keep right alongside me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar extended his shields just enough to cover Coermyd as well. He wasn't certain that the third's shields would be able to withstand repeated heavy fire.
Will yours?

The oncoming guards were over twenty yards away, but reined up in a staggered formation, and raised their rifles.

More than twenty guards?
That wasn't something Alastar had planned for at all. He immediately imaged a cloud of pepper and salt mist across the faces of the guards, followed by even more pepper. “Coermyd! Charge!”