Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  He shook his head, not for the first time.

  He’d already taken her copy to the music room and made a first, and very ragged, attempt at sight-reading his way through the “Variations,” a piece he judged to be about as difficult as Nocturne Number Three, which meant that he ought to be able to master it in time, but her thoughtfulness, as well as the hints he’d seen of an independent mind, raised another, and disturbing, question.

  Do you find her more attractive just because she reminds you of Palenya?

  He knew he’d need to answer that question, and honestly, for both their sakes, but he also knew it was too soon to even attempt it.

  In everything, timing mattered so much, as he’d learned, not always easily.

  Still, he smiled as he looked over the letter and the strong, readable, but not quite perfect penmanship. Then he took out a sheet of paper and began to write.

  More than a glass later, and after discarding several different openings and rewriting two drafts, he read over what lay before him.

  Lady-heir Alyncya—

  I cannot adequately express in ink the joy you have given me in providing a copy of “Variations on a Khellan Melody,” especially a copy created by your own hand. The care taken in the transcription is more than evident, as well as the effort and concentration it took. I have already sight-read my way through the music, and it is more than clear that it will take me some time, and a great deal of practice, before I can come anywhere close to matching the skill with which you played it last Samedi evening. Even so, I will endeavor to provide you with my best effort at a future date, hoping that I will do enough justice to Covaelyt’s genius that you will be able to enjoy listening to my playing.

  In keeping with your intimated preference for conversation between us not to be initially too frequent, nor too intense, I will attempt to be as close to a model of propriety as is possible. That being the case, I trust you will allow me the privilege of corresponding with you and sharing thoughts on matters that might be of mutual interest between a man and a woman of education.

  On a recent Solayi, I was listening to a chorister offer his homily, and he declared that Rholan the Unnamer once observed that more evil and killing was done in this world in a single year by men who wished to impose their view of what was right upon others by force than all the deaths in history caused by storms or by lightning or by the shaking of the earth. The more I have thought about his words, the more that they bothered me. That might be because he compared what happened in nature with what men do by intent. So far as I have been able to discern in my admittedly short life, nature does what nature does. There is no intent present. That men and women often suffer from the ravages of nature is not in dispute, but I see no malign intent. Men and women, on the other hand, have intent, and because we have intent, we are judged, as we should be. Those, at least, are my thoughts on the matter, and I would be most interested in yours.

  With my best wishes.

  He simply signed it “Charyn,” then sealed it.

  He did not immediately turn to the short stack of documents on the corner of the desk.

  12

  Vendrei morning, Charyn woke to the sound of heavy rain beating against the windows of the Chateau D’Rex. Not only that, but the rain and clouds were so heavy that for several moments he thought it was far earlier than it actually was.

  Two glasses later, after going through his morning routine, Charyn looked out through the closed study window. The rain hadn’t lessened in intensity. His first thought was that the growers should be happy. His second was a worry that, if the rain continued too long, the river would rise enough to weaken the west pier river walls, possibly enough to destroy the piers and flood the lower-lying parts of L’Excelsis on the west side of the river. His next thought was that perhaps the rain that his mother had written about might already have dropped enough water to the north that the river was already beginning to rise.

  So he left the study and walked down to the main level to look for Maertyl, whom he eventually found in the armory, after getting soaked crossing the open rear courtyard.

  “Sir … you could have sent for me.”

  “A little rain won’t hurt. But one of your guards is going to get much wetter. You may recall that the spring floods damaged the west river piers.”

  “Yes, sir.” Maertyl frowned momentarily. “But we’ve scarcely had any rain since then.”

  “I know, but Lady Chelia wrote me that they were expecting heavy rains in Rivages.” That was an exaggeration, but not one Charyn was likely to be called on. “This storm came in from the north. If it has been raining this heavily all the way south from Rivages, we might see some more flooding. I’d like you to send someone to the river walls where the Boulevard D’Rex ends at the West River Road, around the north bridge to Imagisle. I need to know how high the river is, and for now, I want you to keep sending men every glass or so and keep me informed whether the river is rising.”

  Maertyl nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  As Charyn hurried back through the heavy rain to the rear door of the Chateau, he doubted that there was much he could really do if the river did flood. There was no way to shore up the damaged river walls, not given the structure, which was why the additional repairs weren’t scheduled until the times of low water. Maybe the rain will end before the river rises too much.

  Once back in his study, he looked out the window again, but the downpour continued and showed no signs of slowing or stopping. But who would have thought we’d get a rain this heavy in the middle of a drought?

  At that moment, there was a knock on the study door.

  “Yes?”

  “Undercaptain Faelln, sir.”

  “Have him come in.”

  Faelln entered carrying a small package of some sort. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but a public courier delivered a package addressed to you. There was no name on the package. He didn’t know the person who sent it, but they paid him a silver to deliver it, and told him they’d know if he didn’t bring it here. Fairly shaking the boy was. So we thought it best to open it … after … what happened last winter.”

  “No one was hurt?”

  Faelln shook his head. “There was nothing in it—just the cloth around it and … this.”

  Amid the cloth was another white cloth belt.

  Charyn wanted to shiver. Once could have been happenstance. The second time was anything but.

  “I don’t pretend to understand this, Your Grace, except it must be some sort of message.”

  “I understand what it’s supposed to be from,” replied Charyn, “but I don’t have the faintest idea what it means.” At Faelln’s puzzled look, he went on. “It has to be something dealing with the True Believers. They’re the only people who wear white. A belt like this was left for me to find at the Anomen D’Rex. Am I supposed to be concerned about them? I already am. Or are they saying that I need to listen to them?” He smiled wryly. “They have my attention … if I only knew what it meant.”

  “We’ll keep an eye out, ser.”

  “Thank you. That’s all you can. You can take that, but keep it safe, just in case.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  After Faelln left, Charyn just looked at the window, trying to puzzle out what it might mean.

  Finally, he turned his attention back to the desk. He still needed to write a quick note to Maitre Alastar. Less than a quint later, he read the words.

  Maitre Alastar—

  If it meets with your approval, I would like to attend services at the Anomen D’Imagisle this Solayi with Aloryana, as well as on the fifteenth. On the twenty-second, I would propose taking her to services at the Anomen D’Rex, which would, of course, require an imager escort.

  This seemingly irregular schedule will, I hope, make it more difficult for those who might wish me harm to ascertain where I might be. In this regard, I would appreciate any suggestions you might offer.

  After signing
and sealing it, he gave it to Moencriff to arrange for dispatch to Imagisle.

  He walked back to the window and studied the rain, but it continued to fall as heavily as before, and the clouds from which it fell seemed even darker.

  Another quint passed before Moencriff rapped on the door and announced, “Factor Councilor Elthyrd is here to see you, sir.”

  For a moment, Charyn didn’t say a word, because Elthyrd hadn’t asked to see him. But if he’s here without an appointment, it can’t be good, especially in this rain. “Please have him come in.” Charyn stood.

  The gray-haired factor entered the study. Charyn noted that neither his trousers nor his jacket were damp, suggesting that he had come by coach and left a waterproof at the Chateau entry.

  “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “You have seen me more than a few times when I arrived unannounced. Your arrival in this weather suggests a matter of urgency or import.” Charyn gestured toward the chairs and seated himself.

  “It may not seem of import, but I fear it may be.” Elthyrd coughed several times, immediately covering his mouth with a large handkerchief, then went on. “Did you hear about the incident where Factor Belliark had much of the porcelain in his shop destroyed?”

  “I read the story in the newssheet. There is more I should know?”

  “Indeed.” Elthyrd coughed again. “Belliark imports porcelain from the Abierto Isles. It is of good quality, and even with the costs of shipping, is considerably less expensive than wares fired here in Solidar. Every piece of imported porcelain was smashed or damaged. The Solidaran wares were not.”

  Charyn nodded and waited.

  “This is not the first incident of this nature. It is not the second. Since the twenty-fifth of Juyn there have been three other incidents where shops were broken into and imported wares destroyed. Bronzework in one instance, woolens in the others.”

  “Was anything else taken?”

  “Not a thing. Even the doors were closed after the damage was done. It has to be someone connected to the guilds. I just don’t understand why it began on the twenty-fifth. If they were unhappy with what the councils decided … why did they wait an entire week?”

  Charyn knew, unfortunately. “Because I asked Craftmaster Argentyl to see me. He came on the twenty-fourth. I told him what happened at the Council meeting because I promised I would. He asked what I intended to do. I told him that the councils, based on the advice of Minister Sanafryt, had felt that imposing legal penalties based on the artificers’ standard was unworkable. I also said that I was still looking for a way to deal with the problem. He said that crafters were having to let go apprentices and that waiting for a solution wouldn’t put bread on the table.”

  “Did he make any threats?”

  “No. He asked why I had to spend so many golds fighting with the Jariolans when crafters and artisans were being hurt. I told him that the artisans wouldn’t have any tin or spices if we didn’t because those came by ship. I said I’d try to find another solution. He said he appreciated my listening, but listening alone didn’t help. He said there might be those who wouldn’t wait for such a solution, but the people who told him that wouldn’t say who the others were. Then he left.”

  “Did he seem angry?”

  Charyn shook his head. “He seemed sad, unhappy, almost defeated.”

  “Then it’s more likely to be someone he told.”

  “Or someone he told that told someone else,” said Charyn dryly. “There are more than a few handfuls of crafters.”

  “It can’t be just one person. In each instance, whoever did it knew exactly what was imported and what was not.”

  “Has the Civic Patrol found anyone?”

  Elthyrd gave Charyn a sour look. “Your Grace, most of the civic patrollers come from the families of crafters or those who work for crafters. They aren’t looking that strenuously.”

  “What do you expect of me?” Charyn was honestly curious. The civic patrollers worked for the factors, and they paid for the Patrol.

  “The Factors’ Council just wanted you to be aware that these events happened. We fear that there may be more to come.”

  “Are there that many factors importing cheaper goods?” asked Charyn.

  “It’s not just about imported goods, Your Grace. It’s also about cloth made by the new manufactorages, and less expensive metalwork stamped or formed by machines.”

  “Argentyl didn’t mention that.” Cloth? Both belts were cloth. Did they even come from the True Believers? Charyn wanted to shake his head at the ambiguity of the belts.

  “Why would he? It’s much more favorable to portray the problem in the guise of shoddy goods being passed off as better than they are. The new goods allow common people to have wares they couldn’t afford before.” After the slightest pause, Elthyrd said, conversationally, “I understand that Factor Suyrien has purchased the ironworks. That includes a rifleworks. Those rifles are far cheaper than those made by a gunsmith. It makes golds for the works, but the rifles are also cheaper for your troopers. That means you don’t have to raise tariffs or that you can spend more golds on repairing the river walls … which may need some more urgent work if this rain doesn’t stop.”

  “I have men watching the river.”

  “You should. It doesn’t look good.” Another fit of coughing came over the timber and lumber factor, coughs that he again suppressed with the larger handkerchief.

  “Are you all right?”

  “A touch of temporary consumption, that’s all. I’m sure it will pass.” After another cough, Elthyrd said, “That’s all I had to convey.”

  Charyn rose. “Then I won’t keep you. I appreciate your letting me know, and please take care not to get chilled on the ride back to your factorage.”

  Elthyrd stood. “Thank you for your time and your concern, Your Grace.”

  His carriage was erect and determined as he left the study, but Charyn still worried. Despite Elthyrd’s factoring bias, he was far easier to work with than many others, and he was anything but a young man. If he became too sick to continue, it would make Charyn’s dealings with the councils even more difficult.

  Charyn glanced to the window. The rain continued. Then he sat down and just looked at the empty conference table, not really seeing it.

  So far, there had been no reply from Alyncya. She did say they were traveling to Vaestora, but she didn’t say when. Still, he couldn’t help but hope she’d reply before too long. But she had made that comment about not wanting another conversation until the Autumn-Turn Ball.

  13

  On Solayi morning, rather than exercise, Charyn decided to make an informal inspection of the stables, since it had been several weeks since he’d last done so. He doubted he’d ever find anything out of place. He did wonder whether the roof might be leaking, although the rain had lightened overnight from a downpour into a lighter but continuous fall. As he hurried across the rear courtyard to the stables, Charyn just hoped that the rain would end soon. Already, some crops were doubtless ruined, and some fields likely had standing water that would not soon drain … including some of his own at Chaeryll.

  Once inside the stable, Charyn studied the beams around the closed main doors, but they didn’t look damp, and he didn’t see any puddles of water on the floor. At the sound of steps he looked up and watched as the stablemaster approached him.

  “Your Grace … can we do anything for you?”

  “No, Aedryt. I was just worrying about the rain. It appears that everything here is tight and dry.”

  “Yes, sir, for the most part. Yesterday, when it was coming down real hard, and the wind picked up, some water came in under the main doors so heavy that the slop gutters couldn’t carry it away fast enough, but the boys took care of that.”

  “You couldn’t tell that now. How are you coming with the trees in the hunting park?”

  “We’ll have everything trimmed and the deadwood all removed by the end of Agostos, even if we lose some limbs to
the rain. We likely won’t need as much wood to be shipped in for the Chateau this winter.”

  “Unless winter is colder.”

  “I can’t speak to that, sir,” replied the stablemaster with a smile.

  “Is there anything that you need?”

  “No, sir. Norstan and I have got things worked out.”

  Charyn knew what that meant, and he just nodded. “I will be needing a coach around fifth glass.”

  “Yes, sir. Undercaptain Faelln let me know.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once Charyn returned to the Chateau, he headed for the music room, where he settled himself at the clavecin, beginning with Nocturne Number Three before turning his attention to “Pavane in a Minor Key.” After close to a glass working on that, he turned to the opening of “Variations on a Khellan Melody.”

  Then there was a knock on the music room door, and Guard Undercaptain Faelln appeared.

  Charyn immediately rose from the clavecin, fearing what Faelln might say.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I thought you should know. The Civic Patrol sent a messenger, sir. The west river walls south of the piers have given way, and that part of the city immediately west and south of there is flooded.”

  South of the piers? Not at the piers? Was that because the temporary repairs made in late spring had held, and the river walls south of there had been weaker than anyone had known? Or had been willing to tell Charyn?

  He took a deep breath. “I’ll need to ride down there and look at the damage.”

  “Is there anything you can do, sir?”

  “I doubt it, but that doesn’t matter. If I’m not seen to be there, everyone from High Holders to the lowest crafter will think I don’t care. First, I do care. Second, seeming not to care will make working with the factors and crafters even harder.”