“You are the one who pointed out the dangers of excessive imaging on women with child.”
“What do you think?” Alastar immediately asked. “About Linzya?”
“She’s close to being ready, but she doesn’t think she is.”
“Like someone else?”
“I wasn’t in a position to insist. Not until you came along, and then I didn’t have to … and you know that, great and powerful Maitre.”
Alastar winced. “Can you and Tiranya help there?”
“We’re working on it.” With barely a pause, Alyna asked, “Have you talked to Thelia about the factors … and why they’re upset.”
Meaning that you haven’t and should … and that you don’t want to talk more about Linzya right at the moment. “Not yet. I’ll make a point of it tomorrow. I’ve also asked for a meeting with High Holder Meinyt. He’s likely to be the only councilor even close to being reasonable—not that they all don’t profess how reasonable they are and how unreasonable the factors are.”
“Are the factors that much better?”
“Their range is greater,” replied Alastar, “from totally unreasonable to absolutely logical … if based on incorrect assumptions.”
“That sounds more like Lorien.”
“He’s been able to learn … at least a little. Too many of the High Holders have forgotten nothing and learned nothing. The factors, on the other hand, conveniently learn only what suits them.”
“Is this going to be like it was with Rex Ryen?”
“What do you think?” countered Alastar.
“If it’s about golds, and the factors and High Holders disagree, it could be worse, but in a different way.”
“More indirectly?”
“More personally, with fewer obvious ties.”
“Poisonings? Accidents?”
“And banque irregularities, perhaps failures, charges of manipulation of the exchanges, scandals, gossip … and in the end, High Holders trusting only High Holders, building up private armies, and withholding tariffs.”
“With the factors pressing Lorien to use the army against recalcitrant High Holders?”
“It seems far-fetched, but…”
“You think it’s possible,” concluded Alastar.
“Possible, but not inevitable. You should talk to as many factors as you can before Zaeryl arrives. That way you will be able to present how the factors feel.”
“And not just how we think they feel … or how Hulet claims they feel.”
Alyna nodded. “You’re tired. So am I.” She rose from the armchair.
Alastar did not argue, but immediately stood as well, glad that she had extended her hand to him … and then imaged out the lamp.
5
Vendrei dawned clear and still, with a silvery haze to the sky that suggested that the mid-harvest day would be hot. When Alastar and Alyna left the Maitre’s dwelling shortly after Lystara, Alastar found himself squinting against the early-morning glare.
As they neared the line of cottages inhabited by married imager maitres, Alyna spoke. “I need to talk to Tiranya.”
“About Bettaur and Linzya?”
“What else?” She smiled. “That and a few other things.”
“And I suppose Linzya insists everything is fine.”
“Didn’t she already tell you that? How could it not be?” replied Alyna sardonically. “She’s married to the most handsome of maitres, the one that all the tertias swoon over and half the boys want to emulate. I’m certain he’s as accomplished in the bedchamber as anywhere else.”
“You still don’t care much for him.”
“Do you?”
“No,” admitted Alastar, “but he’s been absolutely faultless in his public conduct. He works hard, and he’s willing to take on any task assigned to him. He’s even suggested and accomplished some good projects that took a fair amount of work.” Not an exceptional amount, but solid effort.
“So why did he marry Linzya?”
“You, dearest, would know that better than I. My masculine suspicion is that he had to. You told me that she’s expecting. He likely felt that, if he didn’t, we’d think much less of him.”
“Shades of his father,” Alyna said softly. “Even if he has no idea who his father was.”
“That’s definitely for the best.” For all concerned. Alastar doubted that anyone living since Lady Asarya’s “accidental” riding death, except himself and Alyna, knew that Bettaur and Lady Chelia were actually half-siblings. He didn’t say more as he saw Alyna to the doorstep of Tiranya and Shaelyt’s cottage, then continued on to the administration building—one designed and largely imaged into being by Alyna after the army’s attack on Imagisle years before.
Dareyn was waiting with an envelope in hand. “It’s from High Holder Meinyt, sir.”
Alastar studied the seal and frowned. He’d never seen one like it, not that the design was complex. It wasn’t. The wax was a grayish-green. The design didn’t show a crest or some form of heraldry, just a single-span stone bridge under the two moons of Terahnar. Trying to bridge between two shores … two views … two … somethings?
He took his belt knife and slit the envelope. He definitely wanted to preserve that seal, at least for a while. After reading through the short note, he then turned to Dareyn. “High Holder Meinyt will see me at two quints past second glass. We don’t have to send a messenger. He’ll be expecting me unless I inform him otherwise. He’s very practical.” Alastar paused. “Is there anything else?”
“Maitre Cyran wanted a moment.”
“That’s fine. I’ll see him immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
In little more than moments, even before Alastar had a chance to look at the studies and discipline report left by Akoryt, Cyran was stepping into the study and closing the door behind himself.
“You’re slowing down, Maitre. Some of the student thirds almost managed to keep up with you on your run this morning.”
“They should be doing better than that. Compared to them, I’m ancient.”
“I did mention that they should be able to keep up with a man twice their age.”
More like three times the age of some. “What’s on your mind?”
“You know I meet weekly with the commander of the Civic Patrol…”
Alastar nodded and waited.
“There have been a few … episodes … between young men in the last few weeks.”
“Young men often have episodes, over either claims of physical prowess or women. Or over cheating at plaques. You’re suggesting these are different.”
Cyran offered a twisted smile. “These have been between the sons of wealthy factors and the sons of High Holders.”
It took Alastar a moment before he said, “It has to be about plaques or bones and at the gaming houses. That’s the only place … well, except at the Yellow Rose, but…”
“There was one episode at The Yellow Rose, but the others were at Alamara’s and at Tydaael’s.”
“Alamara’s? I thought they claimed to be factors of artworks.”
“Smugglers of art and other items of dubious provenance, you mean?” asked Cyran. “That’s the father. The son is Alamara the younger, and he has a tavern of some elegance, with several gaming rooms.”
“I’m missing something, Cyran. Usually those establishments forbid weapons at the tables and enforce that with guards.”
“They do. The incidents occurred later … outside.”
“Has anyone been seriously hurt?”
“Commander Murranyt doesn’t know. He thinks no one has been killed.”
“Thinks? Commander Strosyl would have known.”
“That’s because Strosyl was once a street patroller.”
“And Murranyt … I’d heard he only spent a few years on patrol before he went to headquarters. I can see him becoming commander, since he was the subcommander, but how did he get to be subcommander?”
“Favors and fortune, I’d guess. I asked after Strosyl
’s death. Things seemed to happen to people who crossed him.”
“And he got promoted?”
“He never took a copper from anyone, anytime. Everyone knows that. He also was the one who cleaned up those patrollers who were shaking down the grain teamsters.”
“A ruthless, honest patroller?” That combination of traits wasn’t exactly to Alastar’s liking, but honest and ruthless was better than dishonest and ruthless, and too many Civic Patrol commanders before Strosyl had been both. “It was too bad about Strosyl.”
“The red flux isn’t particular. Murranyt’s worried someone’s going to get killed if matters get more heated between the youngblood High Holders and the sons of wealthy factors. He didn’t quite say it, but that’s how I’d image it.” The tall Maitre D’Esprit paused, then said, “There are over a hundred High Holders who maintain houses or chateaux in or close to L’Excelsis. There might be even more.”
“That many?” While Alastar knew some High Holders who were not councilors had residences near the capital, that over a hundred did definitely surprised him. “And the incidents are increasing?”
“That’s what Patrol Captain Heisyt told me.”
“Do you think Alamara the younger would talk to me?”
Cyran chuckled. “There’s no one in L’Excelsis in his right mind who wouldn’t talk to you. Whether he’d tell you anything is something else.”
“I might visit him.”
“If anyone sees you…”
“I know. He’ll likely say even less. I’ll have to approach him in a fashion that few know who I am.”
“That might be difficult.”
Alastar shook his head. “There are more than a few gray-haired men in L’Excelsis. If no one sees the imager grays, who among those in the city would even look again?”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“If I carry full shields, the worse that can happen is that I’ll be discovered.”
Cyran frowned. “You think it’s necessary?”
“I’m not certain, but it’s better to look into matters that might not need looking into than to dismiss matters as unnecessary that prove otherwise. Is there anything else?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Good. Let’s hope it remains that way.” Alastar doubted that it would.
After Cyran departed, Alastar walked out of the study. “Dareyn … I’m going to see Maitre Thelia. I shouldn’t be that long.”
Thelia had a small study off the main corridor, just south of and beside the senior imagers’ conference room. She was seated behind a narrow table desk and looked up from what appeared to be a stack of invoices. “Maitre … what do you need?”
“Information … and after that, a cloak.” Alastar settled into the single chair across the table from Thelia, a willowy Maitre D’Aspect with natural silver-blond hair and gray eyes, whose appearance and name had always left him slightly unsettled, no matter how much he reminded himself that she was absolutely no relation to Thealia. “The information first. I understand that you talk fairly often with your mother.”
“Often. Less than many daughters do.”
“Partly because your mother is a most successful factoria, I would gather.”
“Partly.” An amused smile crossed her thin lips.
“She has clients among both the wealthy factors and among a number of High Holders, I’ve heard. She is likely one of the few factors privy to overhearing observations and comments in a less rigid situation. I’ve received information that matters between a number of the more wealthy factors and High Holders are becoming increasingly strained. I wondered if she had mentioned anything along those lines to you.”
“Maitre … such observations are possibly the last thing she would share with me. By mutual consent, we talk little beyond pleasantries, what is in fashion, and how the Collegium’s factorage might provide goods to our mutual benefit.”
“She should be proud of you,” observed Alastar bluntly. “You’re an imager maitre and have a position of responsibility.”
“She is … now. But beyond abilities with numbers and the understanding of what lies behind trade, and the obvious tie of blood, we have little in common.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“Ruel will inherit everything, obviously, since he is her only other child.”
From Thelia’s tone, Alastar suspected Thelia had doubts about her brother. “Then perhaps I should meet with her.”
“I have no doubts that she’d be absolutely charming, Maitre. It would be best, I think, if you or Dareyn contacted her directly.”
“I see.” And Alastar did, even as he felt sorry for Thelia. “Would you rather have others…?”
“Linzya is taking over more of that. She does it well.”
“I did not mean…”
Thelia smiled, an unstrained expression. “I understand, Maitre. Mother and I are best with figures and ledgers between us and at being friends with a slight distance. I respect her great ability. She has come to respect my ability as an imager. Should I ever wed and have children, she will be a doting grandparent.”
Alastar had wondered more than once why Thelia had not found someone. She was attractive and intelligent. But quietly strong-willed. “I’ll take your advice. Now … about the cloak. I need one that would signify tasteful wealth and cover my imager grays.”
“Meaning that you wish to be seen, noticed slightly, but not attract much attention.”
“And not be completely out of place in an establishment less than perfectly suitable, perhaps as a father investigating the whereabouts of a son whose behavior he has doubts about.”
“When do you need it?”
“Preferably before this evening.”
Thelia nodded. “We can find or create something like that. Would fourth glass be sufficient?”
“More than sufficient. Thank you.” Alastar rose.
Next, after stopping by his study and picking up the envelope with High Holder Meinyt’s seal, he walked to the north end of the building where Obsolym had a study—and a private staircase and entry to the Collegium archives, some of whose records had been reconstructed, as possible, from Obsolym’s recollections and research based on them.
The oldest Maitre looked up from the wide table desk and the stack of papers beside him. “Maitre … to what obscure question do you require an answer? Assuming I even know about it?”
Alastar extended the seal. “This is High Holder Meinyt’s seal. Can you tell me anything about it?”
Obsolym studied the seal for a time before setting it on the table desk. “Meinyt … Meinyt.” After a long pause, he said, “I can’t be certain, but, as I recall, that High Holding was granted to the first regional governor of the lands that were Khel. “Other than that…” He shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m meeting with him later today, and I’ve never seen a seal like that. I wondered if there was a story behind it.”
Obsolym laughed. “There must be, but it’s not one that I’ve heard. If you find out, I’d like to know.”
“You’ll be the second one to know … if I find out.”
“So long as it’s your lady, that’s fine with me.”
Alastar was smiling as he made his way back to his study, but the smile vanished before he stopped at Dareyn’s desk. “I’ll need a rough map of the areas of L’Excelsis around Alamara’s—that’s the gaming house, not the ‘artisans’ factorage—and Tydaael’s.”
“Sir…?”
“Maitre Cyran brought some problems the civic patrol is having there. The maps will be helpful. And … unhappily, I need them by around fourth glass. “I’ll also need an escort, one of the thirds with strong shields, like Beltran or Noergyn, for an errand starting around two quints past fifth glass.”
“Yes, sir.” Dareyn’s tone was not quite glum. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you.”
With that, Alastar returned to his study where he wrote out a note request
ing a few quints with Factoria Kathila and then had Dareyn dispatch that. Seemingly before he knew it, he was riding north on the West River Road, accompanied by Beltran and Coermyd, both thirds who often served as his escorts.
High Holder Meinyt’s dwelling in L’Excelsis was positively modest for a High Holder, roughly the size of the Maitre’s house on Imagisle, a two-story gray stone structure overlooking the unnamed stream that fed into the River Aluse and located half a mille north and west of the Nord Bridge. The low iron gates were open, and the stone-paved lane led directly to a small covered portico on the east side of the main level.
A footman in green livery trimmed in gray appeared at the top of the portico steps just before Alastar reined up. “Welcome, Maitre.”
The cheer in the footman’s greeting was a rarity. In fact, offhand, Alastar couldn’t remember the last time a High Holder’s functionary had welcomed him so warmly. “Thank you.” He dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to Coermyd.
“There’d be water for your men and mounts in back, sir.”
“They’ll appreciate it. So do I.” Alastar gestured.
“Thank you,” offered Beltran before the two eased the mounts forward and onto the lane that curved around the dwelling.
Alastar followed the footman through the door and into a comparatively narrow hallway floored in polished gray and white marble.
The footman stopped at the second doorway, where the door was open, and gestured. “High Holder Meinyt.”
Alastar stepped into the very modest study, an oak-paneled room no more than six yards by four. Meinyt stood at one edge of a round table, a trim figure wearing gray trousers that were so dark they were almost black and a deep green jacket. He had graying brown hair and offered a pleasant smile. “Welcome, Maitre Alastar.”
“I do appreciate your seeing me so quickly.” Alastar had officially met the High Holder less than a handful of times, always at the annual year-turn ball held by the rex, and their conversations had been pleasant enough but short.
“I’ve heard that it’s wise to meet with you, and always beneficial in one fashion or another.” Meinyt motioned to the table. “Dark lager, I recall.”
“You have a good memory.”
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