Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “That number will likely increase, Your Grace. The area where the clerks began has more of the smaller factorages.”

  “Have you found out any more about Aevidyr?”

  “He has some four thousand hectares of property on the tariff rolls. Outside of some five hundred hectares here in Bovaria, most of the other properties are in Antiago. One property consists of five hundred hectares of oil nut trees. The annual tariffs are almost fifty golds…”

  “That means what?”

  “That the income is close to a thousand golds a year.”

  And he’s still staying on as Minister of Administration at two hundred golds a year? But Charyn only asked, “And the others?”

  “They’re lands that produce various crops. The tariffs on the rest run to not quite sixty golds.” Alucar laid a folder on the desk. “You should look through this yourself.”

  Charyn took the folder and set it to the side. “Does it say how he got them?”

  “The transfers say from whom and use the standard language—ten golds and other considerations of value. They also list the size of the parcel and the tariffs paid for the previous five years.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your digging that up.” After a momentary pause, Charyn asked, “What properties do you have, Alucar?”

  “A small house on twenty hectares just outside of Extela where my sister and her husband live. Ten hectares are in vineyards, and I pay, or they pay for me, four and a half golds a year, since a vineyard is, for tariff purposes, a factorage. Over the years, I’ve also bought a hundred hectares of regrowth timberlands near Vaestora, and, of course, the house where my wife and I live in L’Excelsis.”

  “And you’ve been Minster of Finance some six years?”

  “Not quite seven.”

  “You’re obviously good with coins, and in some years as a landwarden and then seven years as Finance Minister, you’ve managed to buy a modest house, I assume, and a hundred hectares of land.”

  “We’ve been very careful, sir. Neither Hesphya nor I have wealthy immediate relatives.”

  “And without familial and other … alliances … care has been necessary.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Most necessary.”

  “I’m young, Alucar, but it seems to me that lack of care eventually catches up to almost everyone … in some fashion or another.”

  “There are some who believe that will not happen to them.”

  “Sometimes … it just takes longer,” replied Charyn, offering a sardonic smile.

  “At times, sir, it’s seemed to me that depends on those who have the power to see that such occurs.”

  “I think it just takes longer when those in power don’t notice or act. And sometimes, it only seems that they don’t act.”

  “Unless someone perceptive is watching closely, Your Grace.”

  “I’m working on being perceptive. When you’re young, there’s more to learn. Every week, it seems I discover something I wish I’d known earlier.”

  “I think that’s true at any age, Your Grace … if one is willing to look.”

  “Very good point, Alucar … and thank you, again, for the information.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  Honest as Alucar seemed and had so far proven, Charyn was quite certain that the Finance Minister had been pleased to provide that information.

  Once Alucar left, Charyn read through the folder on Aevidyr slowly and carefully, checking each property. The oil nut lands had been purchased for “ten golds and other considerations” from Nualt D’Alte, of Barna, Antiago, some ten years previously. Two parcels of land, each of two hundred fifty hectares and apparently adjoining, had been purchased eight and nine years previously, each for ten golds and other considerations, from Laastyn D’Alte. Another parcel of five hundred hectares had been purchased from Basalyt D’Alte, but the documentation indicated that Basalyt had only held the property a year and that it had been previously held by Laastyn D’Alte.

  Yet another property of a thousand hectares had come from one Chaastar D’Alte of Suemyron, while one of two hundred fifty hectares had come from Kaelsyn D’Alte of Hassyl. The most mysterious was one of two thousand hectares from a Factorius Lubarun of Lucayl. The name sounded familiar to Charyn, but he couldn’t place it, yet he knew he’d seen it somewhere in the papers and petitions that had crossed his desk.

  He finally set down the folder.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Aevidyr had been using his position both as a regional minister and as Minister of Administration to give High Holders and others advantages, most likely in the case of Laastyn to remove properties from the tariff rolls. And the way the tariff system had been operated in the past, Laastyn would only have been liable for two years’ back tariffs, while, if the property dates were correct, he would have avoided tariffs for at least eight years. Given the worth of the “grants” to Aevidyr, the “exempted” properties had to be large indeed, particularly given what Aevidyr had apparently received in return.

  Charyn’s problem was simple. While the “exemption” of properties was established, if by their omission from the tariff records, there was absolutely no proof of who had accomplished the exemption. There was also no record of what Aevidyr had actually paid for the properties he had acquired, nor of anything resembling an asking price.

  Was there any possibility that there were “exempted” properties held by the other High Holders who had “sold” Aevidyr lands? Even if there were such properties, it would take weeks if not months or years to track those down, and the few “exempted” properties that Alucar discovered wouldn’t be enough to prove anything before a justicer. And while Charyn could certainly dismiss Aevidyr, any punishment that would be adequate for Aevidyr’s deeds would be seen by many High Holders as cruel and capricious, especially following on the death of Uncle Ryel and Aunt Doryana.

  And that means you’d better not do anything, at least for a few days, until and unless you can tie Aevidyr to certain High Holders.

  And, at the moment, Charyn had absolutely no idea of how to do that.

  After pondering and stewing for another glass, he left the study and limped down to the music room. There, he played the clavecin one-handed for a few moments, then shook his head. It just wasn’t the same.

  57

  Charyn was finishing his breakfast on Solayi morning, and enjoying a second mug of tea, which was more than welcome, given the grayness of the day and the drizzle that enveloped the Chateau.

  At that moment, Bhayrn appeared and eased into the chair across the table from his brother. “How are your leg and hand?”

  “They’re both still sore.”

  “But they’re better, aren’t they?”

  “Maitre Gaellen says that they’re healing well. The leg will heal faster than the hand because the bullet in the leg missed the bones and major blood vessels.”

  “That sounds like the Nameless was looking out for you.”

  “The Nameless perhaps, but definitely Rykael, Ghasaen, and the chestnut. They all took bullets meant for me.”

  Therosa almost tiptoed in, then set a tall mug of dark lager in front of Bhayrn.

  “Thank you, Therosa. I’ll have whatever’s convenient.”

  “Yes, Lord Bhayrn.”

  Thank you and whatever’s convenient. To Charyn, those phrases, especially after the apparently sincere concern about Charyn’s health, didn’t sound like the Bhayrn of recent weeks.

  “However it happened, I’m glad you’re still around,” Bhayrn said. “And I have to say, even if I don’t agree, combining the daily-wage law with the army seems to have put an end to the unrest. Do you think that will last?”

  “I don’t think it will please the angriest of the factors or the angriest of the workers, but if it eliminates most of the conflict, I’ll consider it successful.” Charyn shrugged. “But who knows? Someone could do something crazy and set everything off again.”

  “You even did something for the True Believers, b
ut that didn’t stop one or more of them from shooting at you. Do you think they’ll settle down as well?”

  Charyn thought about the question, and especially why Bhayrn had asked it, before replying. “That’s hard to say. If they’re acting on what they believe, and not on some hidden agenda, their complaint shouldn’t be against me any longer. I’ve given them the power to take control of their choristers. But … some of them clearly want more from me.”

  “What more could you give them?”

  Charyn fingered his chin, thinking and trying to word what he had in mind carefully. “They might want me to change the Codex Legis more, perhaps to place limits on the amount or share of the offerings that a chorister might appropriate for personal use.”

  “There aren’t any limits now, are there?” Bhayrn turned his head and nodded to Therosa as she set the platter in front of him.

  “No.” Charyn paused, then said, hoping he was using the words that would obtain the right effect, “The Rex shouldn’t do that. It would set a precedent that would allow the Rex to use law to control worship.”

  “But some of the choristers…”

  “You’re right. But the law I proclaimed gives the congregants a way to remove greedy choristers. It will take longer, but they can do it without breaking other laws.”

  “Do you think the True Believers will see it that way?”

  “They should.”

  “Isn’t that saying they should see it your way?”

  “The law is designed to keep the Rex out of the affairs of every anomen. That’s not seeing it my way.”

  “The most violent among them might not see it that way.”

  “They might not,” Charyn agreed. “But it’s not good for me to do something that will lead to greater problems in the future.”

  Bhayrn nodded, then said, “I do hope you’re not thinking of attending services this evening.”

  “I promised Maertyl and Faelln both that I wouldn’t leave the Chateau for at least a week, and I’ll definitely be keeping that promise.”

  “Good. I know you want to see Aloryana, but why couldn’t she come here?”

  “I’d like that,” admitted Charyn, “but I haven’t asked her.”

  “It might be best if Mother wrote Aloryana and suggested it. I’ll talk to her later.” Bhayrn smiled. “I’d like to see her, too, but not on Imagisle.”

  Not wanting to disrupt Bhayrn’s pleasant mood, Charyn just nodded, then asked, “How are things going for you?”

  “I spent the last few days with Laamyst. We didn’t do much, except talk and play some plaques. The Yellow Rose is closed because of the curfew.”

  “I didn’t know you liked risqué theatre.”

  Bhayrn offered a crooked smile. “It’s not my favorite, but Laamyst likes it, and every so often it’s not bad.”

  “What about Gherard?”

  “He’d prefer to game at Alamara’s or Tydaal’s, but he’s not like Uncle Delcoeur was. He usually wins. He knows the odds for every hand. He got that from his father, but Ghaermyn stopped gaming when he became the High Holder. Gherard will, too.” Bhayrn shook his head. “I don’t go with them when they want to game for real silvers. That wouldn’t be wise. Odds and mathematics aren’t my talents.”

  “Half of success is knowing what your talents are and sticking to them,” replied Charyn.

  “You do that well.”

  “I try, but sometimes, as you pointed out, things don’t quite work out that way.”

  After a moment of silence, Bhayrn spoke again, conversationally. “You know that someone’s impersonating you? Either that, or you’re doing something you shouldn’t be.”

  “Impersonating me?” Charyn offered an incredulous look. “So that they can get shot instead of me?”

  “Not that you. You know Gherard is at the exchange a lot for his father. He told me that the ironworks and the rifleworks were sold several months ago to a Factor Suyrien D’Chaeryll. The Chaeryll lands are yours. That means someone is impersonating you.”

  Charyn debated, then shook his head. “No one is impersonating me. I’m also a factor and a member of the commodity exchange under that name. I have been since well before I became Rex.”

  “You? You’re Factor Suyrien?”

  Charyn wasn’t certain, but he thought that Bhayrn paled. “It took a little doing, but I need the ironworks for a project I’ve been working on.”

  “But that means you also own the rifleworks.”

  “I didn’t even think about that part, but it’s been useful as well.”

  “People won’t like it that you’re the one selling rifles to the army.”

  “Almost all of those were sold before I bought the ironworks.”

  “But in the future…?”

  “Anything I do that’s constructive someone won’t like. In fact, anything I do will make someone unhappy.” Charyn smiled wryly. “That’s one thing I’ve discovered.”

  “I suppose that’s so. When do you think you’ll be able to play the clavecin again?”

  “Even badly, most likely several months.”

  “It must be awful not to be able to use your right hand.”

  “I can write a little, and use the good fingers to hold something in place. That’s about it.”

  After another quint of pleasant, if innocuous, conversation, Charyn and Bhayrn left the breakfast room, and Charyn went to his study, while Bhayrn went to the main entry to wait for Gherard, after promising that he’d be back no later than eighth glass, possibly earlier, since Gherard didn’t want to use his coach much later than that because of the curfew.

  Once in his study, Charyn sat behind the goldenwood table desk, thinking. He would have preferred to pace back and forth in front of the windows, but they were closed against the rain that had followed the drizzle, and too much walking still hurt his leg. In fact, any walking hurt, but the pain was worse if he kept walking.

  Bhayrn had been almost effusive, and Charyn feared he knew exactly why. Unfortunately, a good part of Charyn’s problem with Bhayrn lay in his grandsire’s and his father’s reputation for being arbitrary and unreasonable. Even in dealing with the factor/worker conflict, at least some of the factors, particularly Eshmael, thought Charyn was being unreasonable. Given what Charyn wanted to accomplish and the balancing act required to keep matters under control, anything Charyn did to rein in or neutralize Bhayrn had to be seen as fair and rational, particularly by the High Holders.

  He took a deep breath.

  After a time, he thought about trying to write Alyncya a letter, then shook his head. Even the short response he had penned had been a tiresome struggle, as was even signing his name, and his signature definitely looked strange. And he certainly didn’t want to dictate a letter to Alyncya.

  Instead, he took out the folder with her letters and the poems he’d copied and read through the letters, then began to reread the poems. Recalling what he hadn’t said to Bhayrn about the Nameless—that he had his doubts about whether there was a Nameless—he smiled as he reread one he had not marked for Alyncya.

  UNHOLY FIRE

  More brightly glows the greater moon’s soft golden globe,

  Pursued through space by fleeter hunter’s striving speed,

  Deities most ancient, oft praised in holy fire,

  Signs long viewed on bright vestments and the priestly robe,

  Stories justifying each arbitrary deed,

  As if justice ever trumped man’s hot desire.

  Has the progression of deities always trailed the development of people … acting like an anchor … or does belief reinforce moral values so that progress can occur?

  Probably both.

  He was still pondering over that when there was a knock on the study door. Charyn frowned. “Yes?”

  Chelia opened the door. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I wanted you to meet someone who came to visit me. If you wouldn’t mind coming to my sitting room … it would be a pleasant surprise.”

 
; Charyn immediately stood. His mother seldom requested anything of that nature. Over the years, she’d occasionally suggested he meet various women of her acquaintance. Still, he wondered if the visitor was one of the High Holders’ wives with whom she played plaques, or some distant relative, although there were few enough of those after the events of the last decade or so.

  Chelia led the way to the sitting room, walking somewhat more slowly than her usual brisk pace to accommodate Charyn. Once there, she opened the door.

  Charyn’s mouth dropped open when he saw Alyncya standing beside one of the armchairs. Then he shook his head and glanced ruefully to his mother and then back to Alyncya. “I never even guessed.”

  “You weren’t supposed to, dear,” replied Chelia, seating herself in her chair.

  Charyn continued to look at Alyncya, who wore a light brown jacket and matching trousers, with a high-necked cream blouse.

  “It hasn’t been that long, Charyn,” she said in an amused tone.

  “For me, it has. I was just bemoaning the fact that I couldn’t write you a letter. So I was rereading yours.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “They’re still lying on my desk. You can go look if you want.”

  “He was reading something that looked suspiciously like a letter,” confirmed Chelia, smiling, then adding, “You need to sit down, both of you.”

  Charyn took the straight-backed chair and turned it, left-handed, so that he could easily look at both his mother and Alyncya, then seated himself.

  “Alyncya’s been here for almost a glass, and we’ve had a lovely talk.”

  “And who…?”

  “It was my idea,” said Alyncya. “I did write your mother and asked if I could call on her. She was gracious enough to say that today would be a good day to do so.”

  “Scarcely gracious. I wanted more time to talk to the woman my son wants to marry.”

  Charyn tried not to flush. He wasn’t certain he succeeded. “Have you had enough time?”

  “I’m certain, Charyn, that I will have more than enough time in the years ahead, that is, if you don’t do something insanely inane.” Chelia rose from her chair. “I’m going to stretch my legs. I won’t eavesdrop, and I’ll knock so that I won’t overhear what you don’t want overheard. Letters are all well and good, but talking is better, and since Alyncya was calling on me, no one will know otherwise.”