Treachery's Tools (53 page)

“Tiranya?”

“I'm fine. That pistol … it hit my shields harder than a rifle bullet.”

Weidyn moved forward and scooped up the pistol that had skidded across the marble floor from the High Holder's hand. “It's a special design. Single shot, with a bullet half again as big as a heavy rifle slug.”

“That's why he aimed at you, then,” said Alastar. “He knew Tiranya was shielding you, but he thought her shields wouldn't be strong enough to stop that bullet.” He glanced into the chamber on his left, apparently a receiving parlor. There was no one in it. Nor was there anyone in the chamber to the left, which looked to be a reading room of some sort. “Now we need to go through the house, a room at a time.”

All they found in the central section of the dwelling on the main level were the bodies of three more brown-shirts, each with an iron dart through an eye, and the body of the brown-shirt captain.

Weidyn looked up from the captain's body and shook his head, but he didn't speak.

The north wing of the dwelling was empty of furniture on the main-floor level, as it was on the upper levels. In fact, by the time Alastar and the others had finished going through the house and bringing the three surviving family members down to the receiving parlor, it was clear that the older main section and the sitting rooms and bedchambers on the second level of the south wing were the only chambers in regular use.

While the four troopers watched Laevoryn's son, daughter, and wife, Alastar went back to the study that seemed to hold the ledgers for the estate. After half a quint, he shook his head and hurried outside to find Cyran.

“What do you need?” asked the senior imager.

“I need you to return to Imagisle with Tiranya and Belsior. Send Maitre Thelia here as soon as possible with two imagers who have strong shields. I'm hoping she can go through the ledgers and find out more than I could see.”

“You think she'll find something?”

“She either will, or she won't. Either will be useful, because Laevoryn was supposedly having a hard time paying all his expenses. All the vacant and empty rooms here would seem to confirm that it was enough of a hard time that his son murdered Factor Hulet's nephew over a gambling debt of perhaps two hundred golds, and Laevoryn shot Hulet dead … under rather dubious circumstances. Yet Laevoryn was maintaining almost a full company of brown-shirts here? How could he afford their food, ammunition, uniforms, and rifles, not to mention how the matter of paying them? We'll need three maitres here to help the army maintain control until Maitre Thelia finishes her examination of Laevoryn's expense ledgers. I'd thought Khaelis, Dylert, and Taurek. While you do that, I'll be talking to the family.”

“We'll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

After Alastar had seen Cyran, Tiranya, and Belsior off, Weidyn approached.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” Alastar grinned sheepishly. “What have I forgotten that you're about to remind me about?”

“There's close to sixty bodies scattered on the grounds.”

“And it's hot. What would be the best way to handle that?”

“Since they're rebels, we'd just hold a service for all of them and do a joint pyre. We'd collect all the personal effects and take them to headquarters for any family to claim.”

“That sounds fine to me. Is there anything I should do as a part of this?”

“Well, sir, the senior officer is usually the one who says a few words. I'm not much for speaking … and it wouldn't hurt to get a good start to the flames.”

“I can do that. About when would that be?”

“First full glass after sunset. Seventh glass.”

“All the bodies but the High Holder's. I'll leave those arrangements to his family.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know he's a rebel, too, but I don't see much sense in offending High Holders any more than necessary. Lumping his body in with the others would be throwing oil on the flames … even if he more than deserves it.”

The captain nodded. “I can see that, sir. How long will we be here?”

“No longer than tomorrow morning. Earlier, if you want to ride back at night.”

“The men would rather stay. There are provisions and quarters. I'll set up a watch and patrol rotation and get them to work on the pyre.”

“I appreciate it, Captain.”

“Our duty, sir.”

When Weidyn left to set up his patrols of the grounds, Alastar returned to the main house. Three troopers were stationed in the octagonal entry foyer. They inclined their heads politely as Alastar passed and walked into the receiving parlor.

Lady Laevoryn, a slender dark-haired woman dressed in an off-white dress with lavender trim, sat in one of the armchairs. Her daughter, also slender and black-haired, sat in the side chair she had obviously moved to be next to her mother. She wore a tan riding jacket, matching trousers, and even tan boots. The daughter immediately looked away from Alastar as he walked toward them. The son stood by the front window and turned his back on Alastar.

“Lady Laevoryn … one of the servants indicated that you have another younger son who is visiting relatives?”

“Yes.” The single word was clipped and cold. “What have you done with my husband?”

“His body is laid out on oilcloth in the first lower-level bedroom in the south wing, one of the ones that was closed. We'll be gone by the morning at the latest.”

“I would have thought you'd make some great display.”

Alastar chose not to respond to her words, instead asking, “What can you tell me about the men who were quartered here?”

“Why should I talk to you? You're the reason why my husband is dead, and my life is in shreds.”

“Your husband is the reason for that. If he hadn't supported the rebels, murdered Factor Hulet, and attempted to kill Captain Weidyn, he'd still be alive.”

“What choice did he have? What choice did any of us have?”

“Would you care to explain why a High Holder and his family had no choice?”

Lady Laevoryn was silent.

“Was it because, with the drought and the ruinous rains, the lands no longer provided the golds necessary to live as in the past? Others faced drought and less income without resorting to rebellion and murder.”

“You'll never understand.”

“Understand what? That there haven't been enough golds for years? That more golds come from factoring and manufacturing than from lands? That because the wealthy factors bought cheaper grain in the east and carted it here, prices stayed lower than they would have, and what crops there were didn't fetch the prices they once would have?”

“They're greedy gold-grubbers, all of them.”

“Most people need golds to live.”

“They think of nothing else. They understand nothing of art or poetry or music.”

“What composer's work do you find most enjoyable to play? I assume you do play because the clavecin in the salon looks to be a beautiful instrument.”

“I prefer not to discuss music, or any other pleasantry at the moment.”

“Then tell me why your husband agreed to take part in this ill-considered rebellion.”

“He didn't believe it ill-considered, but necessary.”

“Could you tell me why he thought it so necessary?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“Perhaps to you and to him, but not to most of the rest of Solidar.”

“All that matters to Lorien and to the factors is golds. Golds and more golds. Tradition is nothing. Culture is nothing. Being responsible for the lives and futures of tenants and crafters who have served a family for generations is nothing. All the factors want is more golds, faster and faster. They use golds to destroy others so that they can amass more.”

“Many of them do seem to live for little more than the pleasure of amassing golds.” Alastar couldn't disagree, in general, with her observation.

“If you think that, Maitre, why do you side with them?”

“I don't side with either the High Holders or the factors. I side with the Codex Legis and the structure it represents. There are a number of factors who are as displeased with me and the Collegium as you are.”

“What a pity.”

“You're angry because your husband was killed. I'm angry because the brown-shirts here killed four innocent students at Imagisle, as well as a young gardener and several others. None of them had done anything against you, your husband, or any High Holder. Then those brown-shirts attacked the Collegium—twice. We attacked no one. And you sit here, steeped in self-pity, but you have lived in a gorgeous estate, amid fine furniture, with fine fare upon your table … and you complain because your husband had to pay for the killings he supported and made possible. You know nothing and wish to know nothing beyond a narrow world of privilege.”

“You're no better,
Maitre
. You live in a fine house yourself.”

“I didn't always, Lady, and I remember those years well.” Alastar looked to the daughter, most likely two to three years older than Lystara. “I imagine you ride well.”

“I'm not talking to you.”

Alastar refrained from pointing out that she just had and walked toward the young man, who had his father's sandy hair, if somewhat lighter in color, but the dark blue eyes of his mother.

Before Alastar could say anything, young Laevoryn turned and asked, “How long will you be defiling my hold?”

“With that attitude, young Laevoryn, it might not be your hold for long.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“Don't try my patience. You're in enough trouble in your own right, and as the heir to a rebelling High Holder, young man, you have no rights at all. Unless Rex Lorien is merciful, he could give the entire High Holding to anyone he pleases and leave you and your family with nothing.”

“That is unacceptable.”

“So was your killing of Enrique D'Hulet.”

“I didn't lay a blade or bullet on him.”

“I'm certain you didn't, but whatever you did, it certainly shouldn't have been over a mere two hundred golds. Did you ever tell your father?”

“That is a shameful accusation.” Those icy words came from Lady Laevoryn.

“Nothing accurate is shameful, except to the one who has committed the act, but then, what your sire did to Factor Hulet was shameful as well. Killing the unarmed seems to run in the family.” Alastar turned back toward Lady Laevoryn.

She did not meet his eyes, nor did her daughter.

Alastar doubted that either felt shame, only that they preferred to dismiss him as someone who could not possibly understand the trials of a High Holder.
In that regard, there's little difference between them and Lorien.

Distasteful as it was, he addressed Lady Laevoryn. “You can have your servants fix you dinner. Eat it in the breakfast room. Then retire to your chambers.”

Again, none of them spoke in return. Alastar was just as glad that they didn't. He returned to the study and resumed his search of Laevoryn's papers, initially without much success. Then, in a side drawer inside a small leather folder, he found several cards and sheets of paper. He read through them one after the other, his eyed picking out the key phrases.

… appreciate your support in the matter discussed last night, and we will consider what might be done …

That one was signed by Cransyr, but not dated. There were no specifics on “the matter.”

… in addition to the sum agreed upon … must convey an appreciation for a quiet and permanent resolution …

Whatever the resolution was remained unmentioned, and the note was unsigned.

… with thanks for the swiftness of disposal …

That card was signed with a symbol Alastar did not recognize. Several other notes and cards and even a long letter followed a similar pattern. In some cases, he noted, the signature had been inked out. Clearly, Laevoryn had “repaired” matters for either golds or to call in favors. One of the last cards was more intriguing.

In return for the tonic, it will be taken care of as you wish.

The undated card was signed only by an “M.” Alastar frowned.
Murranyt?
What had been taken care of, and in return for what?

The thought of Murranyt called up when Strosyl had died. It had seemed so ironic that a man who had come up from a street patroller, dealing with the worst types, had died from a case of the red flux, especially in the prime of life. He looked at the card again, then replaced it in the small folder, which he tucked inside his summer gray jacket.

At three quints past sixth glass, Khaelis informed Alastar that Thelia had arrived, accompanied by Tiranya and Belsior.

Alastar hurried to meet Thelia outside, where he dismissed Tiranya and Belsior to return to the Collegium and then escorted the accounts maitre into the dwelling through the octagonal foyer to the study that held the ledgers. Gesturing to the ledgers on the desk and those remaining on the shelves, he said, “They're all yours, metaphorically speaking.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Evidence that Laevoryn was participating in the High Holders' revolt. He had a company of brown-shirts quartered here, most likely those who destroyed Naathyn's family and factorage and fired the old port tower … and attacked Imagisle last Vendrei. My guess is that someone else paid him to do it. One whole wing of this place is closed off, as is half the south wing. The rooms in the north wing are without furnishings, and I'm fairly certain that young Laevoryn either arranged for the death of Hulet's nephew or killed him himself over a two-hundred-gold gambling loss.”

Thelia nodded. “He might have handled all that in coin. There'd be no trace of it in the ledgers.”

“That's all right as well, because it shows, in a different way, that he was at least cooperating with the rebels, and it would also show that the rebellion went beyond the four High Holders who died in the explosion at the Chateau D'Council. While you're doing that, I'll be going through his desk and files to see if there are any messages or letters that reveal anything. I'll try to stay out of your way.”