Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio

by Modesitt, L. E. , Jr.

  “What’s new with the Patrol business?” Father always referred to whatever I was doing as “business,” even when I’d been a journeyman artist.

  “More of the usual,” I replied as Mother came back down the steps from the nursery.

  “One moment, Chenkyr,” she interjected. “What would everyone like to drink before dinner? Seliora?”

  “The Dhuensa, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “That’s what I’ll have,” replied Father, “as if you didn’t know already.”

  “Red Cambrisio,” added Remaya.

  “The same,” I said.

  Mother slipped out to the kitchen, where I could hear Kiesela doing something with pots, but returned immediately.

  “I ran across a Madame D’Roulet on Meredi,” I said. “She knew who I was. At least, she knew I was your son.”

  Mother laughed, and Father looked puzzled.

  “Don’t you remember, Chenkyr? It was years ago, when we went to that party of Dacastro’s. She was that awful nervous woman who dragged her husband over to try to sell you a pianoforte for Culthyn…”

  Father frowned, his brow furrowed. “Why would I have done that?”

  Culthyn looked at Mother, aghast. “You didn’t…?”

  Mother ignored Culthyn. “Her name was Rachela or something like that.”

  “Rauchelle,” I supplied.

  “How did you come across her?” asked Mother.

  “Her daughter died of an elveweed overdose. The mother didn’t really know what it was. She knew there was something like elveweed, but not much more. The patrollers called me in.”

  “How terrible.” Mother shook her head. She looked to Culthyn.

  “I wouldn’t try that.” His voice held the assurance all too common to well-off sixteen-year-olds, an assurance that reminded me of poor Rousel, who’d had assurance beyond his abilities. I had, too, but I’d been fortunate enough to survive it. Rousel hadn’t been fortunate enough to survive my un-warranted assurance, even though I’d had no idea that my acts would have led to his death.

  Nellica appeared with a tray and tendered a goblet to each of us, then retreated to the kitchen or serving parlor.

  “Do you know a factor named Broussard?” I asked my father, then took a sip of the Cambrisio.

  “The one they thought had been killed in that explosion, except it was his assistant who’d taken his wife to the opera?” Father shook his head. “He’s from Piedryn, and we don’t sell much there…or buy wool. That’s grain land. He must be very well off…and well-connected. I couldn’t afford seats on the lower box row.” He laughed. “Even if I could, we couldn’t get them. Those are for High Holders…or their guests.”

  “How do you know that, Chenkyr?” asked Mother.

  “Veblynt told me that years ago. I doubt things have changed much. They never do where social matters are concerned.”

  “I meant about where he was sitting.”

  “Where his assistant was sitting, you mean. I read it somewhere. One of the newsheets, I think. I couldn’t make up something like that.”

  About that, my father was absolutely correct. He couldn’t imagine much beyond the here and now, and the logical and direct consequences of the present. That trait made him the solid and prosperous wool factor that he was and had created a reputation for honesty and solidity for Alusine Wool.

  “High Holders or not…” Mother paused. “Dinner is ready.”

  Seliora and I carried wine goblets that we’d barely sipped from into the dining room.

  After the blessing and after Father sliced and served the crisped roast lamb—always his favorite—conversation died into a lull.

  “How is Khethila doing in Kherseilles?” asked Seliora.

  “Fine,” replied Father. “I wouldn’t have thought it, not as a woman that young running a wool factorage, even with my name behind her.” He shook his head, as if still amused by the whole idea.

  “You didn’t tell them!” Mother exclaimed. “She’s now a factoria; the factors accepted her as a full factor.”

  “Oh…I thought they knew.”

  “Chenkyr, who would have told them? Her letter only arrived on Mardi. She was very pleased.”

  “That’s wonderful!” said Seliora. “Is she the only recognized wool factor who’s a woman?”

  “I suppose so,” replied Father.

  I didn’t say anything, but I was glad that Khethila was recognized as a factor in her own right, as Khethila D’Factoria, rather than just as Father’s daughter. I couldn’t help but understand her satisfaction, since she’d had to petition the association and face a real board of inquiry, rather than the mere formality that Rousel had gone through. But she’d succeeded. I did smile.

  “She bought the adjoining property, too,” added Mother, looking at me. “She’s going to expand in time. She said you’d made it possible.”

  “I hope she didn’t have to trade too hard on my name.”

  “No…the Banque D’Kherseilles approached her, saying that the owner would like to sell the property at a reasonable price. She wrote that the Banque D’Rivages represented the owner and handled the sale through the Banque D’Kherseilles. She didn’t know the owner, but the banker who approached her asked if she was indeed the sister of Maitre D’Structure Rhennthyl. She said to thank you.”

  “I’m certain that she managed it all on her own,” I replied, knowing that reasonable as the price might have been, the first payment had been made in blood by Rousel years before. But it had been thoughtful of Iryela, even if it made me suspicious, given the timing. Very suspicious.

  Father cleared his throat, then said, “She did say that the factors in the Abierto Isles—the ones who ship to Cloisera—have cut back on their orders.”

  “That suggests they think that war will break out and Ferrum will attack any shipping bound for Jariola.”

  “They did before,” interjected Culthyn.

  “They also lost much of their fleet,” Father replied.

  “They’ve spent a great deal of golds and effort rebuilding the fleet with more modern vessels. They’ve also developed better land-cruisers. That says that they haven’t given up on obtaining the Jariolan coal fields.”

  “And anything else they can grab,” asserted Culthyn.

  “Can we talk about something other than war?” Mother smiled broadly and turned to Remaya. “How is Rheityr doing in the grammaire?”

  It was my nephew’s first year in school, and Mother doted on every episode that indicated Rheityr’s potential.

  “He’s already reading the first primer…”

  “That’s not new,” Culthyn said. “You really had him reading before he went to school…” His words died away as all three women at the table looked at him.

  After that, all the conversation was about family, or food, or the books that Mother and Remaya had read. I had to admit that I missed Khethila’s comments on Madame D’Shendael, and Father’s dismissals of that most intellectual of High Holders. But Seliora and I did add a few comments about Diestrya. Just a few.

  Mother had paid Charlsyn to stay late and use the family coach to take us back. We were halfway to Imagisle when Seliora, rocking Diestrya gently in her arms, asked quietly, “The opera explosion still bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “There’s something about it. None of it rings true. A wealthy grain factor is assassinated, except he’s not. He’s sitting where only High Holders are, with seats that are difficult to obtain, and it happens in L’Excelsis, when he’s from Piedryn, and that’s something like a thousand milles away.”

  “Maybe he was trying to make a statement, and hedging his wagers.”

  “Anything is possible,” I hazarded. What ever it was, it didn’t seem likely that it would ever involve me, but I hated things that didn’t fit.

  11

  On Samedi morning, I did make the effort to get up early and struggle through Clovyl’s exercises, although I didn’t have to go to the station, since Alsoran and
I had traded Samedis. I’d hoped to see Master Dichartyn there, since, as a member of the security section, even if he headed it, he usually joined the exercise group. Unfortunately, he didn’t show up.

  After I finished the run and caught my breath, as I walked back toward the house, hoping I’d get there before Diestrya woke, my eyes turned westward, where, occasionally, I could make out the indistinct shape of the Council Chateau in the faintest graying of the night sky that would soon show the light of dawn. Artiema, less than full, hung over the Chateau in the western sky. Erion had set glasses before.

  On the section of the River Aluse that flowed along the west side of Imagisle, a steam tug puffed upstream towing three barges. Although it was hard to tell, two of the three looked to be riding higher, as if they were empty or lightly loaded. Most barges only traveled as far as Ferravyl, or if they came as far upstream as L’Excelsis, they usually docked at the barge piers, adjoining the ironway transfer station south of the city, about a mille south of Alusine Wool. The handful that went farther upriver could only go so far as Rivages before the river became too shallow.

  Later, a glass after breakfast, I walked over to Master Dichartyn’s house. He was actually home and was even the one to open the door. I could hear the voices of two girls, with tones that suggested either a heated discussion or an argument.

  He glanced back over his shoulder and shook his head before saying, “This isn’t social, is it, Rhenn?” His smile was faint but knowing.

  “No, but it won’t take long.”

  He stepped out onto the porch, closing the door. He waited for me to speak.

  “You may recall that there’s a newer and stronger form of elveweed coming into L’Excelsis, and we’re seeing a lot more elver deaths everywhere…” I explained what I’d seen in Third District and told him about Commander Artois’s directive. “…and I found out that the stronger version seems to be distributed only in Estisle, Solis, Westisle, and Kherseilles, and, of course, L’Excelsis. Interestingly enough, in the other four cities, there have been a number of deaths of Pharsi men, married men, far more than would seem natural. All of them were the eldest sons.”

  “What do you consider more than natural?”

  “There have been at least fourteen deaths in the last month, all of oldest sons.”

  For several moments, Dichartyn was silent. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t even have an idea, except that they must be connected in some fashion, since the cities involved are the four largest ports and the capital.” I stopped. “Oh…there’s one other thing. There’s a story going around that smoking the stronger elveweed will make youngsters like imagers, or even something better.”

  Dichartyn shook his head. “That rumor comes up every few years. It has ever since I’ve been here. If it were true, most of the Collegium would have come from the taudis. Still…that’s troubling, especially now.”

  “Why now?”

  “What do you think?”

  He was always turning questions back to me, but I answered anyway. “It’s only a matter of weeks before Ferrum finds a pretext—or makes one—to invade Jariola. If we don’t help the Oligarch with troops, which I don’t see happening, the Ferrans will take the coal fields, along with a large chunk of Jariolan territory. The Council will be split, and if there’s more unrest in the taudis, along with the unresolved conflict between the freeholders and the High Holders, the Council won’t want to get involved in the Ferrum-Jariola fighting, and that will lead to the eventual decline and fall of Jariola.”

  “Why would that be bad? I don’t think you’ve ever been a supporter of the Oligarch.”

  “I’m not, but the Ferrans pose a far bigger danger to Solidar than Jariola ever will. The Jariolans just want to hang on to what they have. The Ferrans want to rule the world, and they’d like it to be a mercantilist empire, with factors as commercial High Holders or the like, without any of the internal restraints present here in Solidar.” I paused just briefly. “I’ve offered my thoughts. What about yours?”

  He smiled, ruefully. “I agree with you about the Ferran motives and the likely outcome of war in Cloisera. Our Navy is presently somewhat under-strength, and while the Council has debated funding ten additional warships, nothing has happened. Suyrien’s works would build them, and Glendyl’s manufactory in Ferravyl would supply the engines and turbines, and those details are causing delays. The Naval Command is also complaining that they’re having trouble getting enough recruits and that the conscription teams have been restricted in recent years.”

  “Only in L’Excelsis,” I replied dryly.

  “It appears that the Civic Patrols in other cities have also decided that the precedent you set is one that keeps the taudis areas more peaceful. The Navy can’t argue against that, but they don’t like it. Then, there is the grain problem.”

  I waited.

  “The Navy purchases a great deal of grain—flour, actually. They prefer not to deal with a large number of sellers. So they put out orders for bid, and the bidders have to guarantee the quantity, the quality, and the lowest bidder who can satisfy the first two criteria wins the order.”

  I thought I could see what was coming. “The bids have all gone to High Holders?”

  “Until this year. One Broussard D’Factorius assembled a flour cooperative, to which most of the freehold growers and flour factors in the area around Piedryn belong. He built a large mill and storage facility.”

  “They’re undercutting…Haebyn,” I had to struggle for the name, “and the other High Holders.”

  “Not so much as they could,” Dichartyn went on. “They’ve had to employ a large number of guards at the facility to prevent thefts and vandalism that doesn’t seem to occur at the facilities of High Holders. That cuts into their profits. They’re complaining to the various factoring associations, and to the Council. The High Holders are complaining that a flour cooperative is unfair collusion.”

  “That’s why mills and silos and other facilities are suffering damage?”

  “No one can prove it. Not yet.”

  “That can’t make Broussard all that popular with the High Holders. Even so, I still don’t see why someone would blow up Broussard’s carriage. Anyone with enough skill and knowledge to do that surely would have known that his assistant was in it.”

  Dichartyn shook his head. “Broussard claims he came down with stomach poisoning at dinner just before the performance. He and the assistant were attired in a similar fashion…”

  “So he knew or suspected that someone was after him, and he let them take care of his domestic difficulties?”

  “That’s only a surmise, but he is a very, very intelligent man.”

  “That way, he’s still around to point the Civic Patrol and the Council in the direction he wishes.” I paused. “Does he have any Ferran connections?”

  “Not that Schorzat or I have been able to discover. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “Are any other factors or freeholders following his example—the idea of cooperatives and the like?”

  “Councilor Caartyl is pressing for a change in the laws to declare such cooperatives unable to bid on governmental procurements unless their organizational structure binds them to commitments made by a permanent head of the organization with a fixed term of office that is at least two years and not more than five, who cannot succeed himself for more than one term.”

  “He doesn’t want the Ferran mercantile structure creeping into Solidar under the guise of cooperatives.”

  Dichartyn nodded. “Not surprisingly, the factoring associations oppose the proposed law. The guilds, of course, support it, and the High Holders are split. Suyrien is leaning to support it as a compromise, but he hasn’t said so publicly.”

  “Has the Ferran envoy commented?”

  “In recent years, no Ferran envoy has commented on much of anything. Publicly or privately.” He looked to me.

  There was no point in replying to that. Envoy Vh
illar had more than deserved what he’d gotten. “What else is happening that you haven’t told me?”

  “Besides the fact that you gave Draffyd pause with your medical imaging?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “As I recall, when you get into those positions, usually trouble follows.”

  “That was why I went to Draffyd.”

  “He was grateful. He did admit you might make a competent imaging medical surgeon, but he wouldn’t want to put a scalpel in your hand. You have the dexterity, but not any practice.”

  “I wouldn’t, either.” The thought of cutting into people, even for a good reason, wasn’t all that appealing. “What else?”

  He shrugged. “Everything is very quiet at the moment.”

  “That’s the most disturbing thing you could have said.”

  We both laughed, and before long I was headed back to our house to spend what I hoped would be a quiet afternoon and evening with my family.

  12

  The rest of Samedi was quiet and pleasant. So was Solayi, until I had to stop by Third District station for a glass or so in the afternoon. As I’d suspected might occur, there had been five more elver deaths, three in the taudis areas, and two others, one just off the Plaza SudEste and one in a quiet area only a block from the Anomen D’Este, where my family attended services. There wasn’t much to do but record the deaths. The rest of Solayi was pleasant, or as pleasant as it could have been with the drizzle that oozed over the city in late afternoon and turned everything chill and gray.

  The beginning of the week was routine, even for Seliora, with only few more orders coming into NordEste Design. As for Third District, on Lundi, Mardi, and Meredi, the patrollers reported another six deaths from elveweed, three in the taudis and three outside. Thefts and assaults were down, and there was only one killing, at a tavern off Sudroad, near the Guild Square. That was also low for half a week, but I wasn’t complaining.

  When I arrived at Third District Station on Jeudi, my first question to Lyonyt, seated behind the duty desk, was, “How many last night?”