“I have to work at it.” Meinyt smiled wryly, then glanced toward the door, through which a serving woman walked with a tray on which were two lagers. “Talking can be a thirsty business.” Once the server had left and closed the door, he lifted his beaker. “To useful conversation.”
Alastar lifted his beaker as well.
They both drank.
“Good solid lager,” said Alastar.
“It’s an honest brew. You requested the meeting. What did you have in mind?”
“Finding out what I can from you about why Cransyr is trying to anger me and pick a fight with the wealthier factors.”
“Fairly put, directly said.” Meinyt nodded, took another swallow of lager, then set the beaker on the plain wooden square coaster that sat on the polished oak of the table. “The short answer is that I don’t know. Cransyr claims that the factors are out to destroy the High Holders and that Rex Lorien is behind it all. That doesn’t make sense. Lorien isn’t the brightest flame in the fire, but he’s not a clinker, either. Making you angry sounds stupid, and Cransyr’s anything but that.”
Alastar nodded and waited.
“I do know that Cransyr’s not fond of imagers. I don’t know why. Nualt claimed Cransyr’s family has hated them for generations, but he didn’t know why, either. Cransyr also doesn’t much care for factors. Claims that they can do anything to make golds, and no one cares, and that there are lots of small factors who pay no tariffs at all.”
“He’s probably right that there are some,” ventured Alastar. “Do you think there are that many?”
“More than the rex is tariffing. I could name a score in Alkyra. Even know a few here. I haven’t gone out of my way to discover them.”
“Why aren’t the Factors’ Councils collecting tariffs from them? What do they gain by letting them avoid tariffs?”
“Who elects the members of the Factors’ Councils?” asked Meinyt.
Frig! That made a sad kind of sense, reflected Alastar.
“Obvious when you think of it that way, isn’t it?”
“So Hulet here and other council members in the Factors’ Councils in other cities feel the same way. If they add more members, the newer members have different concerns…”
“… and the older and more established factors get replaced. The newer factors think that tariffs ought to be paid just on what they sell, and not partly on property and partly on sales.”
Alastar had to think about that for a moment. “That’s the same formula for both factors and High Holders, except the valuation on property is fixed for High Holders.”
“It’s fixed for factors, too,” said Meinyt. “It’s fixed at the value it cost when purchased, and that value includes large machines.”
And the factors probably buy or make more of those … meaning the factors pay comparatively more on their property. “Even so, there’s not that much difference in the way tariffs are calculated between those for some of the large and established old factors and High Holders.” Except over time, the High Holders do pay less, just as Hulet said, just not quite in the way he suggested. “But for the more recently established and rapidly growing factorages…”
“There’s more to it than that,” Meinyt said, “but you get the idea.”
“What happens when a wealthy factor becomes a High Holder?”
“That doesn’t happen often. There’s a definition in the Codex Legis … and if someone meets the definition, they still have to be approved by the High Council.”
Alastar frowned. “Under the Codex Legis, the rex is the one who creates High Holders.”
“He can create them and tariff them, but the High Council determines who can do more than that.”
“You mean, be invited to balls and parties and help select members of the High Council? And trade directly with, bartering and the like?”
Meinyt nodded.
“I see. And since much of the value of being a High Holder is that association…” It’s not worth it for a factor to become a High Holder without it. “When was the last time that happened?”
“Sometime before High Holder Guerdyn was head of the High Council.”
That also explained another aspect of the resentment expressed by the larger established factors, not that any would actually admit to it, Alastar suspected. “What would you advise Rex Lorien to do?”
“I’m not about to advise anyone, Maitre, even you. Giving advice saddles one with all the blame and none of the credit.”
“Then what aspects of the problem have not come to light that might make any decisions by the rex either less resented or at least more accepted.”
“The word ‘decision’ suggests action.”
Alastar shook his head. “To do nothing is also a decision, and sometimes that is the most difficult decision to defend, almost as difficult to justify as raising tariffs, or changing the tariff structure.”
Meinyt laughed. “You’ve just covered all possibilities, without suggesting which course you might recommend.”
“I may not be in a position to refrain from advising Rex Lorien. So if there is anything I have overlooked…”
“There’s an implication behind your words.”
“Since you’re known to prefer plain-speaking, I’ll say it directly, then. Because I will have to offer a recommendation based on what I’ve learned, I’ll remember, and not fondly, anything that makes it more difficult for me to ascertain the facts about tariffs, and the assets and revenues on which they are based.”
“That could be taken as a threat, Maitre.”
“I don’t make threats. I do my best to state matters factually. I said exactly how I would feel.”
“I’m curious. Have you ever not removed someone who displeased you?”
“Quite a few times. High Holder Regial displeased me enormously. High Holder Haebyn shot and tried to kill me. Both are still alive, although I understand Haebyn occasionally limps. I found High Holder Nacryon to be callow, extraordinarily self-obsessed, and without almost a single redeeming quality. I’ve done nothing adverse to him. There are several others of position about whom I have similar feelings.”
“And you have done nothing?” A smile played across Meinyt’s lips.
“They did not threaten Solidar or the Collegium.”
The High Holder picked up the beaker and took a small swallow. “You would judge what is best for Solidar?”
“That is one of the duties of the Maitre of the Collegium. The Collegium will not survive unless Solidar remains strong and united, with power spread between the rex, the High Holders, and the factors.”
“The Codex Legis says little about the factors.”
“Four hundred years ago, they did not have the power they do now or will have in the future. Neither the rex nor the High Council can afford to ignore that.”
“What is the basis for that claim, if I might ask?”
“Tariff payments. Some years back, I persuaded the rex to let me look at the older tariff records. The amount of tariffs paid by factors has been growing for years, as have the number of factors paying tariffs. If the claims that some factors are not paying tariffs are true, then the growth and wealth of factors is increasing even more. At the same time, those tariffs paid by High Holders are remaining about the same.”
“That would suggest that High Holder tariffs be reduced.”
“A High Holder pays less in tariffs than a factor of comparable worth.”
“A High Holder’s assets are not so easily converted into golds.”
Alastar smiled pleasantly. “I believe High Holder Cransyr has made that point most forcefully.”
“You don’t agree?”
“The point has some validity, but it’s similar to claiming that a merchanter should pay lower import tariffs because he has a larger ship and thus fewer golds to spare. Carried to the extremes.…”
“You don’t have to carry the point to extremes, Maitre. For all that you make interesting points, I fear that most High
Holders will have difficulty accepting that factors must be considered as equals.”
“I didn’t say that. I suggested that the power of all factors will grow relative to that of all High Holders. Of course … if more of the wealthier factors became High Holders…”
Meinyt laughed, half sardonically, although also with a hint of amusement. “I’ve made that point myself before the High Council. I appear to be the only one who sees value in such a course of action.”
“The rex could also lower the lands requirement for a High Holder, perhaps by also allowing larger tracts of land in cities to count additionally, perhaps two parts in five more.”
“Some might accept that, if the rex didn’t restrict the right of the High Council to approve possible new High Holders. Even so, Cransyr would be opposed to anything along those lines.”
“Is he in favor of anything?”
“Besides double-tariffing factors? I doubt it. It’s been rumored that’s why Souven is leaving the council. That won’t help settle matters, either. Souven must have half a score of factorages across the south.”
“All of them in old Antiago?”
“Largely, I believe.” Meinyt shifted his lean figure in the chair and glanced toward the door. “I don’t know that I’ve been much help, Maitre.” He took a last swallow from the beaker before replacing it on the table.
Alastar understood. “You’ve made a few things clearer. That’s all I asked for.” Even if you did hope for more. “You’ve been kind to see me. I did have one last question, out of curiosity.”
“Oh?”
“You have a most interesting seal. Is there a story behind it?”
“There probably is,” replied Meinyt with a laugh, “but what it might be I have no idea.”
“I won’t take more of your time.” Alastar rose, then asked offhandedly, “Is the High Council scheduled to meet any time soon?”
Meinyt grinned as he stood. “Funny thing you asked. We’re meeting next Meredi. Cransyr hasn’t said why. Not yet, anyway. Wouldn’t be surprised if we talked about tariffs along with whatever else the others want to bring up.”
“I’d be surprised if it didn’t come up,” replied Alastar genially.
“There are always surprises in life, Maitre. You’d know that better than most.”
Meinyt’s parting words were still in Alastar’s thoughts when he returned to the Collegium and made his way toward his study door.
“Maitre Thelia left the cloak you requested in your study, sir.” Dareyn looked askance at Alastar. “The map is on your desk.”
“Thank you. I have to meet someone who would rather not have it known that I’m meeting him.” That was a partial truth, but Alastar didn’t want to say more.
He was studying the map when Alyna arrived, this time through the main door, which she closed behind her gently. She glanced around the study, a frown appearing momentarily. “I see a cloak and a map. Are you wearing a long dagger?”
“Just a belt knife,” replied Alastar with a smile.
“Does this have to do with what Cyran told you? You’re going to Alamara’s tonight?”
“I didn’t tell him that.”
“You didn’t have to. You still have a tendency not to say everything until after it’s over.”
“I was about to tell you. I thought it might be more effective to play the role of the worried factor father to get to see Alamara the younger. Rather to get to the point of seeing him without the entire city knowing of it.”
“Too many will still know within days. I’d say that I should go with you,” said Alyna. “Except women don’t accompany their husbands to such places, and, if they do go with a man, he’s never their husband.” She paused. “You will be careful, and carry full shields?”
“I always do, especially when I leave the Collegium.”
“And don’t drink anything … unless it’s something you image yourself.”
“You’re worried.”
“You’re going someplace where no one knows who you are, and you’ll look like you have golds. That can be very tempting.”
“I understand, but I don’t think I’ll find out what I need to know unless I go, and the longer I wait, the worse things will get.”
“You don’t know that they’re that bad.”
“Tell me that again, dearest.” Alastar looked directly into Alyna’s deep black eyes.
Abruptly, she shook her head. “You’re right. But I don’t have to like it.”
“Neither do I.”
“I’ll have Jienna keep some supper for you, just in case.” She paused. “You are not to eat anywhere besides here tonight.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” She softened the firmness of the single word by following it with a warm smile.
After she left, Alastar walked over to the dining hall and into the kitchen where he begged some bread and cheese and half a mug of dark lager. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do much imaging, but if he did, he didn’t want to do it on an empty stomach.
Noergyn, also wearing a cloak, if of brown, rode up outside the main entrance of the administration building just before two quints past fifth glass. “Where to, sir?”
“Alamara’s Tavern. Do you know where it is?”
“It’s in the theatre district. That’s all I know.”
After making one wrong turn, Alastar did find Alamara’s, located on Players’ Lane, a street unnamed anywhere except on the map that Dareyn had found for Alastar and located two blocks southeast of and running parallel to the Avenue D’Theatre. He reined up several yards from the brass-bound and dark oak double doors.
“Noergyn … just wait around here. I doubt that I’ll be longer than a glass, possibly much less. Use a blurring shield on and off so that no one realizes you’re here all the time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alastar dismounted, then made his way to the doors. A pleasant-faced young man opened one for him without speaking. Beyond was a large public room, with solid but polished dark oak tables and chairs. About two-thirds of the tables were taken, but it was early, especially for a Vendrei, but a woman with a lutelin stood on a low platform, not even a dais, in the corner, singing.
… high upon headland, and clear out to sea,
my true love did sing out his song to me …
He sang and he wept and his words sounded true,
that never the night did I think I would rue …
Alastar recognized the song as an old folk tune, although he had no idea from where it had come, only that his mother had sung it at times. For a moment, he could say nothing, but he forced himself back to the task at hand as he scanned the room. From the layout, the gaming area was likely in the rear. He turned and made his way toward the archway on the left in the back, since he saw servers coming from the left archway with pitchers and trays.
“Sir … that’s for gamers.”
“I know. I’m looking for a gamester named Eleon … they say he’s a friend of Estafen D’Elthyrd.”
“Never heard of him,” said the sweet-faced server, whose eyes were as cold as stone. “You need a pass to game.”
“I’m not a gamer. I’m looking for someone.”
The server eased aside, and from a recess just inside the archway stepped a large beefy man. “Sir, this is for invited gamers.”
“I’m looking for a frequent gamer.” Alastar stepped forward, using his shields to lever his way past the guard—or bouncer.
“Hold it. Right there.”
Even in the dimness, Alastar could see the short, iron-headed cudgel.
“Don’t care who you’re looking for. You’re leaving.”
“I don’t think so,” Alastar said quietly, easing farther along the corridor, before stopping and anchoring his shields to the walls and floor.
The bouncer grabbed for Alastar’s shoulder, but his hand slid off the shields. The cudgel came up, level with Alastar’s eyes. The man tried to shove Alastar, who didn’t move.
“Old man, you’re going to move … or you’re going to have a busted skull.” The bouncer’s spittle splattered off the shields, but the man seemed not to notice.
“I’ll move,” said Alastar, letting the cloak open to reveal grays beneath, but only to the bouncer, “but just to see Alamara the younger. If you use that cudgel, you’ll break your wrist and look like a fool.”
The bouncer attempted to knee Alastar, but staggered, his face turning white.
“I am an imager maitre, and if you don’t take me to see him, you likely won’t live the night.”
The man was anything if not persistent and tried to jab Alastar in the gut.
Alastar imaged away the short cudgel. “Try anything else, and I’ll image away a few fingers. Just yell out that the boss will take care of me and lead me there.”
The bouncer swallowed, then finally swore, “You old goat! Let’s see what the top has to say.”
With those words, everyone looked away, except for the hard-eyed serving girl, who gave the smallest of headshakes.
Alastar unlocked the shields but kept them close to himself as he walked beside the clearly shaken guard along the corridor, past two more brass-bound doors, one on the left and the other on the right.
The guard paused at the last door, this one a shimmering black, but also brass-bound, then opened it and half-gestured, half-pushed Alastar into the chamber beyond, before following and closing the door. A gray-haired woman looked up from where she sat at a table desk placed just to the right of and forward of another door, this one of white oak. Against the wall to Alastar’s right were three armless oak chairs.
“The top has to see him,” the hapless guard announced.
The gray-haired woman looked coldly at Alastar.
He looked back evenly. “I’m here to see Alamara the younger. It’s a matter of golds, of life, and, in a way, death. You don’t want to know. You really don’t.”
Abruptly, the woman nodded. “Joast … get out of here. You forget you came here, and who you came with, and I’ll forget about having you disappear.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
In instants, Alastar stood alone with the woman.
“Should I know you?”
“That’s up to Alamara.”
Treachery's Tools Page 8
