“On the way back,” I told him, “I’d like to make a stop at 880 Avenue D’Theatre.”
“Yes, sir.”
The address, despite the street, was actually closer to Nordroad than to the theatre area or to the opera, and when the coach came to a halt, it was outside a yellow-brick structure only ten yards wide, if four stories high, sandwiched between two larger buildings, one of which proclaimed itself the River Association Building. I had no idea that there was a River Association, much less what it might do.
I made my way to the door and rapped on it with the slightly tarnished brass knocker. Although I waited for a time, no one answered.
From there, I had the coach take me all the way out to Frydryk’s “local” estate. He wasn’t there, but in Laaryn, tending to various legalities and property transfers. The chef d’chateau expected him back on Mardi. On the way back to Imagisle, it began to snow again.
I finally got back to the house at close to fifth glass. I’d barely stepped inside, dusted the light snow off my cloak and hung it up, when Seliora appeared, one hand firmly holding Diestrya’s left hand. Diestrya didn’t look at me.
“What did she do?”
“She threw her tea at the stove to hear it hiss, and when I took her mug away, she went into the wash room and got water from the pitcher to throw it at the stove. She broke the pitcher as well.”
“Someone is going to bed before dinner.”
Seliora nodded. “Oh…we received another invitation.”
“From whom? When?”
“It’s from Councilor Fhernon and his wife, on the thirteenth of Ianus. We’re going to that ball at the Almeida’s the next night.” She looked at me. “You need to be at both. I asked mother if Diestrya could spend the night on Vendrei and Samedi. There’s really no one here, now, to look after the girls, and Klysia has that Vendrei night off and the weekend.”
“Is that all right with your mother?”
“She was fine with it, and so were the twins. So was Aegina. She said the girls needed to see just what dealing with an active three-year-old was like for more than a few glasses. After this evening, I’m more than happy to give them the experience.” Seliora turned, then looked back. “The invitation is on the card tray. I’ll be back down shortly.”
Diestrya didn’t say a word as she trudged up the stairs beside her mother.
55
As planned, we went to services at the Imagisle Anomen on Year-Turn afternoon, and then took Diestrya to NordEste Design for the family dinner. Even Odelia was cheerful. We had a good dinner and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. I tried not to think too much about Dartazn and his charges steaming their way toward Ferrum and what awaited them.
On Lundi, after reading the newsheets that held nothing new, and a few scattered reports from across Solidar that also told me little, I finally received a response from Juniae D’Shendael that said she would be happy to receive me on Mardi at half-past ninth glass of the morning. That wouldn’t conflict with my meeting with Valeun at second glass. The rest of Lundi was quiet, and that bothered me. Quiet often foreshadowed trouble, as with a three-year old who was getting into trouble and didn’t want her parents to know.
I’d only been in my study for a half-glass or so on Mardi morning when Gherard appeared at my door. “Maitre Dyana would like you to join her and Maitre Dhelyn in her study, sir.” The young imager smiled politely.
“Maitre Dhelyn? From the Collegium at Westisle?”
“Yes, sir. He arrived a quint ago.”
I rose. The odds were that Dhelyn was less than pleased, and I had a good idea why. “Then we’d best go and meet with him.”
The door to her study was open, and that told me that my suspicions were correct. Dyana didn’t have to nod for me to close it. She did stand, briefly, before she gestured to the chairs before her desk. “Rhennthyl, you know of Maitre Dhelyn.”
Dhelyn nodded but did not stand.
“That I do.” I inclined my head politely, and took the seat opposite the other end of the desk so that there was an empty chair between us.
“Now…Maitre Dhelyn,” Dyana said pleasantly, “you were saying?”
“Rhennthyl, I suspect you know why I am here.” Dhelyn had one of those smooth and deep voices, soothing and just short of boring, the kind that could lull you into complacency before he undercut you.
“Perhaps you should tell me. I’d rather not make assumptions based on suspicions.”
The faintest trace of a smile creased Maitre Dyana’s face, but she said nothing.
Dhelyn smiled politely. “Very well, I will. While it is doubtless a waste of time, at this point a few more moments will make little difference.” He paused. “Last Jeudi, some thirty imagers from here boarded a Navy fast frigate in Westisle. In less than four glasses, the ship steamed out of the harbor. Within several glasses of its departure, I received a number of inquiries. As you well know, I could not offer an explanation. My ignorance did not help the Collegium, nor the position of imagers. I do believe, with the exception of Maitre Dyana and Maitre Jhulian, I am the most senior imager in the Collegium, and I was informed of nothing. I would very much appreciate an explanation, and I came to request one from Maitre Dyana. She informed me that it would be best if both of you were here.”
I’d thought of being conciliatory, but the arrogance beneath his smooth tone put me off, and I wanted to squash him. That wouldn’t help matters. So I smiled before saying a word. “My dear Dhelyn, I understand the position in which our actions may have placed you, and I’m deeply sorry that you felt blindsided. The situation which all Solidar faces, however, requires a drastic solution, and the greatest secrecy. Even now, the exact details of the plan we are implementing are known to exactly two people. Even Maitre Dyana does not know all the details. Nor does Sea-Marshal Valeun. Now…why do we need such secrecy? First, are you aware that the Ferrans are perilously close to breaking our blockade, if not destroying a large portion of the northern fleet? Second, because of the damage inflicted by Ferran agents on the engine works in Ferravyl, there is no way that Solidar will be able even to begin to build any replacement vessels for a year, if not more. Third, Ferran agents were behind the series of explosions that took place all across Solidar, as well as behind the murder of Chief Councilor Suyrien and the near-assassination of acting Chief Counselor Glendyl. Fourth, the Stakanarans have unofficially allied themselves with the Ferrans and are the ones behind the growth and distribution of the stronger elveweed that has killed thousands of users in the past few months.”
“I understand all of that, but urgency is no excuse for not informing one of the most senior imagers of the greater Collegium,” protested Dhelyn.
“Indeed,” I agreed, “urgency itself is not. But the greater the number of people who know the details of the operation, the greater the possibility that the Ferrans will find out its nature and take steps against it. I can tell you that, once the operation is concluded, for better or worse, and it is extremely risky, you will be informed, and you will be among the first to know.”
“I cannot believe you are telling me this.” Dhelyn turned to face Maitre Dyana. “You are letting him ignore long-standing tradition and seniority.”
“Maitre Dhelyn,” replied Dyana calmly, “as Maitre, I am responsible first and foremost for the safety of the Collegium. If Ferrum is not stopped, and soon, there will be no land anywhere on Terahnar where imagers are safe. This attempt to stop Ferrum requires secrecy. I have not pressed Maitre Rhennthyl for details.” She smiled politely. “If I, as Maitre, do not need to know those details, I trust you can accept that you do not need to know them either.”
“You would trust his word on something such as this, what ever ‘this’ is?”
“No. I do not trust his word. I trust him. He has been the recipient of more attacks than any senior imager in generations, with the possible exception of Maitre Dichartyn, and his acts have always benefited the Collegium. He has also earned the Collegium much respect in his years as a comm
on Civic Patroller and as a Patrol Captain.”
Maitre Dyana was stretching matters a trace in saying I’d been a common patroller, although I had walked the rounds with common patrollers and just like one, but I was getting the feeling she didn’t like Dhelyn much better than I did.
“Still, Maitre…I must protest…”
“Maitre Dhelyn, you have every right to protest, and I have heard your protest.” She smiled. “I do deeply appreciate your concern for the rules and the need to stick by them, and I think you would serve the greater Collegium even better if you took charge of the Collegium at Mont D’Glace. Matters there of late have been lax, and I’m certain that—”
Dhelyn twitched, and I could sense that he was about to image.
I clamped full shields around him, not to hurt him and giving him a full yard on each side, but to restrict any attack. Where he stood was suddenly a pillar of ice two yards across. I dropped the shields and a gout of steam a yard wide flared into the plaster ceiling overhead, removing the plaster all the way down to the laths beneath. A shower of whitish and grayish dust and fragments spray-sifted down into the chamber. When the steam cleared, there were fine dark water droplets everywhere, but nothing more of Maitre Dhelyn, except a sour-bitter odor that permeated everything.
Maitre Dyana shook her head.
“Was I wrong to shield him?”
“No. You were kinder than I would have been. If he had not tried to attack, nothing would have happened to him. In effect, he destroyed himself. We will, of course, have to report this to the full gathering of masters. Dichartyn brought him here years ago to warn him, and he held his peace.” She walked to the window and forced it full open, ignoring the gust of chill but fresh air that surged into the study.
“Until Maitre Poincaryt and Maitre Dichartyn were gone.”
“He always believed he should be Maitre of the Collegium. He was more interested in what he thought he deserved than what he could do for the Collegium and for Solidar.”
“Who will take over there?”
“We don’t have to decide yet. It would be better not to for a time, until matters settle.”
“Until we discover whether Dartazn is successful?”
“He’s likely to succeed, but the cost is another matter. Few of those junior imagers are anywhere near as capable as either of you. How many do you think we’ll lose?”
“We could lose three out of four,” I admitted. “I’d be relieved if we only lost one in three.” Not happy, but relieved.
“Valeun won’t be happy to lose three out of four gunboats, or even one of three.”
“Better the gunboats than the entire fleet, which will happen if we don’t succeed.”
“He’ll still blame you and the Collegium.”
“We’ll have to see how that turns out as well,” I pointed out.
“Indeed. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Not at the moment. I’m still trying to track down some loose ends. I met with Artois yesterday. Strong elveweed use is up in the hellhole and Sixth District, but not anywhere else…so far. There haven’t been any more explosions or Ferran agents found, but there’s been a rash of high quality lead-tin counterfeit silvers. He asked me about imaging. I pointed out why that didn’t make sense. He seemed satisfied.”
“If that’s all…?”
“That’s all.” I nodded and departed.
After checking with Schorzat and Kahlasa, I donned my winter cloak and made my way to the duty coach stand, where I had to wait for a quint for Davoryn and another coach to take me to Madame D’Shendael’s.
Juniae D’Shendael’s town-dwelling—and it was hers in the same fashion that Ryealte really belonged to Iryela—was by far the most modest High Holder dwelling I’d seen, a three-story structure a mere thirty-five yards across, behind a walled front garden and before equally walled rear grounds. On the south side of the property was a drive that led to a covered portico, and that was where the duty coach came to a halt.
A young woman in livery, rather than a footman, opened the coach door. “Welcome, Maitre Rhennthyl. Madame is expecting you.”
Another young woman in livery opened the door to the dwelling and escorted me to the small study on the north side of the foyer.
Juniae D’Shendael stood beside a high straight-backed armchair upholstered in a pale blue velvet. At an angle to it was another identical chair, with a low marble-topped table between the two. She wore pale green velvet trousers, a cream blouse, and a darker green velvet jacket. “Greetings, Maitre Rhennthyl. To what do I owe the honor of this call?” She gestured to the chair adjoining hers.
I inclined my head politely, before I replied with a smile, “To your grace and intelligence, of course. And to your writings.”
“You do me great honor, and offer excessive flattery.” She settled into the armchair.
“The honor is deserved, and some of the flattery.” I took the other chair.
She laughed, almost girlishly. “I am certain you did not come here to flatter me. You could do that on Vendrei. In fact, I would be pleased if you did. What did you have in mind for today?”
“To learn what I could from you.”
“From another, I might ask how you could learn from a mere woman. Given your wife and your handling of the Ryel affair, I will not.”
“The Ryel affair? I had not realized—”
“Oh, most have forgotten, because it is convenient, but I found it rather interesting that the series of incidents that befell that family left the only even-headed and competent heir, and considering that heir was a woman, and considering that only one person had both the ability and motivation to orchestrate those events…”
“You would understand all of that, of course,” I replied. “And that brings up the matter at hand, which is why you offered that opening.”
Her face presented a pleasant, almost insipid smile, but there was a glint and a hardness in her eyes. “You may continue.”
“You may recall some weeks back, there was an explosion at the Midroad branch of the Banque D’Excelsis. When I was investigating I received an unsigned message in an exquisitely calligraphed hand. I’ve seen that same hand twice since, but the message suggested I investigate several fund transactions of purportedly dubious nature. Two I could not, for various reasons, but when I began to look into the circumstances surrounding the death of the clerk associated with an apparent embezzling, I came across several interesting facts.” I looked evenly at Juniae.
“You do have an interesting way of putting matters, Maitre Rhennthyl. From what you have said, one could not possibly discern what, if anything, you might require of me, or even if you do.”
“The clerk was deathly afraid, terrified, in fact, of water, so much so that he would not even walk the river promenade. Yet he drowned. He also had two lovers, both of whom were men. One of them had red-and-silver hair cut in a military fashion, and often picked him up in a severe black carriage trimmed in brass. This older lover also lavished clothing on the clerk. Now, only a clerk or someone highly placed in the banque would have known the details of certain funding transactions, but at the time I received those details, the clerk had been dead for some time.” I smiled.
She nodded slowly. “You do not seem to need me in the slightest.”
“No…but there is somewhat more to this, and were it merely an intrigue to embarrass or remove a possibly corrupt Councilor or subcommander, I would consider letting matters lie. Unhappily, there is another aspect to this…and one far more serious. The attacks on Imagisle itself do not appear to have been the work of Ferrans but of those within Solidar. The funding used to lease the barges and tug that carried the bombards came from a numbered account. I cannot go into the details, but that account required two people to access it, and one of them was an individual with red-and-silver hair. The other individual has vanished without a trace. In addition, though the barge lease was counterfeit, all the forms and authorizations were authentic, as were
the procedures, and the munitions were Naval issue.” I shrugged. “You can see why I might be concerned, and why I am trying to discover if the individual in question is operating out of personal motivation or whether he has ties to the other explosions and attacks that have been confirmed as Ferran in nature.”
“You do face an interesting dilemma, and, from your approach, one might guess that, certain as you may be, elements of your evidence are less than iron-clad in their solidity.”
“There is also the possibility that not all of what has been presented to me is accurate in terms of the implications of financial transactions involving those in the Council and the Civic Patrol.”
“You still have not indicated what I might contribute to this…situation.”
“Madame…I would prefer not to press you.” I emphasized the word “prefer” ever so slightly. “Yet any information you might provide that would assist me in dealing with matters would be appreciated.”
Juniae smiled politely. “Let us say that, were I to write a novel, not that I would ever stoop to anything so frivolous, I might posit as a villain of sorts a character of great charm and wit, one whose hair might be that mixture of fire and age that can so lead men astray. As with all too many who end up deviating from their heritage, this villain’s family would have fallen from high places, through cruelty and villainy of another and through no fault of his own. He believes that, because no one offered mercy or assistance to his mother and her children, he is under no obligation to reciprocate to others. He places himself where he can learn much about everyone, and he charms men and women alike, generally using them gently, often so gently that they do not know they are being used. Some who do not bend to his whim face ruin if they reveal what they know, yet they are powerful enough that he cannot destroy them without risking his own position, and useful enough that there is no reason to try. Yet never are there any firm links back to him. It pleases him to use seduction equally on men and women, as if to illustrate his control, and those he has seduced range from young and potentially powerful High Holders to clerks, and all tend to regard him with fondness. Such a villain, of course, cannot be brought before the bar of justice, because he has compromised so many that were such even contemplated, either the villain or the accuser, if not both, might well soon be found dead.” She paused. “Do you not think that such a fiction would result in a marvelous villain?”
Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio Page 47
