A Ferran fleet had attacked a Solidaran flotilla off the harbor at Teusig, wherever that was, using fog as a cover and apparently taking our ships by surprise. The losses had been heavy on both sides, with only two Solidaran ships out of eight surviving. Reportedly, some fifteen Ferran ships had been sunk. The Council was expected to declare war imminently.
The Abiertan Isles had declared their neutrality, insisting all merchant vessels were welcome, but no warships. That cut off one of the major refueling ports for the Solidaran Navy and meant more colliers would have to accompany the fleet. The newsheet said that several advisors to the Council had raised the question as to whether Solidar should take over the port at Abierta—or the coaling station operated there by our Navy.
After folding the sheet and thrusting it inside my waistcoat, I entered the dining hall. Ferlyn was the only other one at the masters’ table, and I sat down beside him. No sooner had I poured my tea than Chassendri joined us.
“What do you think about war with Ferrum?” I asked.
“It had to happen sooner or later,” Ferlyn replied calmly. “The Ferrans don’t like us, and they don’t like the way we run our country, and we’re the ones who might keep them from annexing the chunk of Jariola that they want. They’ve been trying to provoke a war for months.”
I offered the teapot to Chassendri because her mug was on the side away from me. “And you?”
“It won’t solve anything, really. They think they won a battle, but they destroyed six older frigates and lost fifteen of their own. The Council will declare war. The war will destroy the Ferran fleets and much of Ferran commerce, and weaken ours. All the more repressive regimes will benefit, and that will assure that political change across Terahnar will take longer and require more rebellions and bloodshed. In the end, we both lose.”
“Aren’t you the cheerful one,” replied Ferlyn dryly. “You’ve obviously been listening to Maitre Dyana.”
“She’s right more often than not.”
“And she has a way of letting us know it without saying a word,” Ferlyn replied with a laugh.
“I wish I were that effective,” I said.
“You do rather well yourself.” At least Chassendri smiled when she spoke.
We didn’t decide much at breakfast . . . or agree, and I ate hurriedly.
Then I used a duty coach to get to Third District station because I’d decided that I shouldn’t be paying for transportation required by the Collegium. I’d still have to use a hack or my feet to return, but halving the cost was better than bearing it all myself.
The station didn’t look any different that morning, even with the possibility of war hanging over everyone. I didn’t even see Captain Harraf, and that was fine with me.
I didn’t have to wait long for Alsoran, and we walked out into a chill breeze that had seemingly risen in the short time since I’d entered the station. I was glad that I was wearing the heavier winter waistcoat under the patroller’s cloak.
We walked almost to Quierca before I asked Alsoran, “What do you think about the Council declaring war?”
“They’ll do what they will. It’s not as though we can do anything about it. I’m just glad my son’s only nine. Be trouble for Third Station, because the conscription teams will be here sooner and more often.”
“Next week?”
“More like two, I’d wager. Or three.”
Throughout the day, even when we patrolled the Avenue D’Artisans, I didn’t hear anyone talking about war or Ferrum. I overheard a few comments at Elysto’s, most definitely Alsoran’s favorite place to eat lunch.
“. . . Ferrans won’t learn . . .”
“. . . good at counting golds, but not at counting shells . . .”
“. . . think our Navy’s that good?”
Even when we returned to the station just after fourth glass, when the shifts were changing, I didn’t hear a word about the coming war. Did it matter that little? Or did all the patrollers feel the way Alsoran did? Or was it just that they fought their own skirmishes, day after day, with little or no recognition?
When I returned to my quarters, I found that my black formal jacket and trousers had been delivered and laid out across my easy chair and that an envelope had been slipped under my door. Inside was a note with a single line: “Meet me at fifth glass. D.”
I reached his study just before fifth glass. The door was open. I stepped inside. “Sir?”
Master Dichartyn turned from the window. “If you’d close the door, Rhenn.”
I did. Although my feet were sore, I did not sit because he remained standing.
“Did you hear that the Council declared war on Ferrum?”
“No, sir. I saw the newsheets this morning, but I hadn’t heard anything more. I had the feeling they would.”
“They don’t have much choice. Ferran forces have invaded Jariola, and the Ferran fleet attacked our other flotilla, with far less success than in the earlier battle. The Jariolans will likely be pushed back or retreat, even after our main battle fleet arrives.”
“How will that help? We aren’t going to invade Ferrum or send troops, are we?”
“We won’t have to. Once the Ferrans lose their fleet, and we confiscate the majority of their merchanters for damages, it’s likely that their Assembly might see matters rather differently.” He shrugged. “If not, a blockade on the ports will eventually bring them to their senses. If that doesn’t, the Jariolans will, once full winter hits.”
“Won’t that just create an opportunity for smugglers?”
“It doubtless will, but smugglers can’t bring in large quantities of anything. They’ll bring luxury goods and small high-value items that will damage the Ferran economy even more.”
“Won’t the fighting in Jariola continue, though?”
“For months, if not far longer, but the Jariolans have more troops, and they’ll be fighting in winter in the mountains of their own land. All that heavy equipment of the Ferrans won’t be that useful in snow and rugged terrain.”
“Isn’t this going to be . . . costly? For us, I mean.”
“Very much, Rhennthyl. Very much. But if one goes to war, one does it right, so that future adversaries understand the dangers. It’s been almost a century since the Reduction of Stakanar, and that’s about as long as people choose to remember. Now . . . there are likely to be agents of various sorts appearing in L’Excelsis, and the Tiemprans may want to cause trouble, if they see an opportunity. If you see someone who might be such, unless he attacks or threatens you, do nothing except observe and report to me. If you cannot find me, tell Master Schorzat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now . . . what do you have to report about your Patrol activities?” Master Dichartyn’s voice dropped into a tone somewhere between tired and bored, as if nothing I said would matter all that much.
“Five taudis-toughs attacked me and Alsoran on Lundi. They weren’t from within that round and didn’t belong to the local taudischef. We injured two, killed two, and the one uninjured and two injured ones escaped. They were most likely Youdh’s men, acting on behalf of Captain Harraf.”
“That’s a serious charge. Do you have any proof?” His tone was skeptical.
“Not much. The local taudischef came out and told us that the men weren’t his. They weren’t Horazt’s, either. Beyond that, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever have any proof. That doesn’t make it any less true.”
“As far as the Collegium goes, Rhennthyl, only that which can be proved is true.”
“Would you rather I not report what I can’t prove?”
“No. If you feel you have to tell me, just say that it’s a possibility without proof. Never put anything in writing without proof behind it.”
“Yes, sir. I’d like to report, verbally, that five taudis-toughs fired pistol shots at us, then assaulted us with pointed iron bars and that it is a possibility that they acted under orders from taudischef Youdh. The word among the other taudischefs, which is only
rumor, is that Youdh and Captain Harraf have an arrangement of some sort, and that Captain Harraf and Youdh also have a similar arrangement with the Equalifier priests of Puryon.”
“You know, Rhennthyl, it might be better if you were somewhat more circumspect in your speech.”
“That might be, sir, but it’s rather difficult to be circumspect when so many people are trying to kill one, and when one has been informed that such problems are strictly one’s own.”
“The Collegium, as you well know, cannot take a position that will endanger all imagers, now and in the future, for the sake of one.”
“I understand that. Perfectly. I would ask, sir, that you not expect me to show great pleasure about that policy. While I understand its need, it does present certain rather significant difficulties for me.” Not to mention for my family, but there wasn’t any point in declaring that.
“All imagers face difficulties. That is the nature of the world in which we find ourselves. You might remember that you are far from the first to be placed in such a situation.”
I barely managed to refrain from asking that if there had been so many in that position, why the Collegium had not done something about it.
“Rhennthyl . . . although you should have asked, it is proper to take a duty coach in the morning. You are undertaking duty.”
“Thank you for the clarification, sir.”
“Do you have anything else to report?”
“Elveweed use is continuing to rise, but mainly in the taudis area controlled by Youdh.”
“That’s not surprising. He has connections to more smugglers. Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“I may not be around for a time. If I’m gone for more than a week, get in touch with Master Schorzat.” With that, he nodded a dismissal at me.
I left, and I didn’t close the door behind me.
Then I made my way back to my quarters, where I tried on the formal wear that I’d have to wear to the Council’s Autumn Ball. It fit. I hung the coat and trousers up in the wardrobe in my sleeping chamber, which held little enough, and settled into the chair behind my writing desk. While I had some ideas for dealing with Ryel, I knew I could not implement them until something else happened that could be linked to Ryel, and I had no ideas—except the most unpalatable—for handling Harraf and Mardoyt.
I frowned. I couldn’t be certain just how guilty Harraf was, not for sure. I paused, knowing that there was something . . . something I wasn’t quite seeing.
Finally, I shook my head. I knew Mardoyt was definitely fixing charges and pocketing golds. I could start there . . . and Horazt might be able to help.
On Vendrei, Alsoran and I finished the last round at half a quint before fourth glass, and I was on my way out of the station even before the glass struck, heading up toward South Middle to see if I could find Horazt or one of his toughs who could locate him. Of course, because I was finally working out something, where time might be a factor, I didn’t see anyone except elvers on stoops and bent women with baskets and laundry, and a handful of boys who scurried away when they caught sight of the blue patroller’s cloak.
So I opted for the fallback plan, and that was to go to Chelya’s place. After two wrong turns, I came to what I thought was her door. I rapped several times. Finally, it eased open, just a crack.
I opened my cloak to let the imager’s gray show. “Shault’s doing well. That’s not why I came.”
Someone widened the crack, if just slightly, and enough light fell on her face for me to confirm that Chelya stood there.
“I need to talk to Horazt, but I don’t know how to reach him. If you see him, I’d like to meet him on South Middle on Solayi at the first glass of the afternoon.”
She just looked at me.
“I’m asking a favor, one I’ll pay for. I need some information from Horazt, and nothing that would hurt him or you. Would a silver help?”
I thought she nodded, and I extended a silver. She took it, almost reluctantly, as if she disliked being beholden to me, even for a service.
“I will see what I can do, Master Rhennthyl.”
“You will come to see Shault a week from Solayi, won’t you?”
“If it does not rain or snow I will come.”
“He may not say so, but he would be glad to see you.”
There might have been a hint of a smile behind the sadness in her face, but then, I might have imagined it.
“Thank you.” I inclined my head to her.
She inclined her head in return and slowly closed the door.
As I headed back toward South Middle, I hoped that Horazt would be there on Solayi. One way or another, I’d find him, but Solayi would be better, far better, than later.
On the way out of the taudis, I still saw no one who looked like one of Horazt’s men. Once I was back on South Middle, headed west, as I passed Dugalle, I could see a pair of patrollers ahead. As they neared, I recognized Huerl and Koshal, heading eastward.
“Good evening,” I offered.
The two stopped, although Koshal glanced past me, as if to indicate that they had rounds to make. I ignored the glance and smiled politely.
“Evening, Master Rhennthyl,” offered Huerl.
“I was wondering if anything ever came of those two who killed themselves that night I patrolled with you.”
“No, sir. Never heard anything.” Koshal looked past me again.
“Have you noticed any spread of elvers into your patrol round? Or any more break-ins?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you. I wondered because some of the taudis-toughs have been attacking folks outside their usual territories.”
“Alsoran said something about that,” replied Huerl.
“He thought that Youdh might be trying to expand his territory, and the word seems to be that he’s not happy about something.”
The two exchanged glances.
“Hadn’t heard that, sir,” said Koshal. “Wouldn’t be good, that wouldn’t.”
“I won’t keep you. I’d just wondered if you’d seen anything like that.”
“No, sir.”
I kept a pleasant smile on my face and nodded, then continued back up South Middle.
It took longer than usual to hail a hack, possibly because the wind had picked up, and a light rain had begun to fall. That meant that I was more than a little late for dinner, close to half a glass, but when I entered the dining hall, Maitre Dyana beckoned for me to join her.
“Thank you,” I said as I took the seat to her left.
“I’m glad to see that you’re actually working late. You were working, I trust?”
“Searching out information, at least.” I decided on hot tea because the wind and rain had picked up and I had gotten chilled on the walk across the Bridge of Hopes and the quadrangle.
“That’s always a start, but only a start.” She smiled, passing the platter of curried ribs. “Most people don’t respond to information by itself. They tend to dismiss it if it doesn’t fit their opinions, or ignore it in favor of those facts presented by someone who is more powerful.”
“You’re suggesting information is useful only in determining what action to take, then?”
“I don’t recall saying exactly that.”
More word games from Dyana? “Or are you saying that one can only use information after conveying a sense of power?”
“That can be effective, but as you’ve already discovered, being perceived as powerful can also make one a target.”
I managed a smile, then took several bites of the ribs, slightly overcooked, followed by seasoned yellow rice that was moist and savory. I took another sip of hot tea before I spoke. “You have great experience, Maitre Dyana, and I’m afraid that you have the better of me, because, upon considering your words, I seem to be able to come to no other conclusion than the fact that information is effectively useless without power, and yet having power makes one a target, and being a target will eventually destroy one’s po
wer, because targets usually do get destroyed in time.”
“Your logic is good, Rhennthyl, but you are missing one point. I’m not going to tell you what that is, not tonight anyway, because you need to think it through.” She smiled again. “How are you finding the Civic Patrol?”
“As it is, I trust. So far, from what I have seen, some patrollers are dedicated. Others do their job, and a handful shouldn’t be patrollers at all.”
“That is true in all fields.”
“That is my impression, maitre, and I suppose that it applies to High Holders as well.”
“Very much so, although High Holders tend to be less tolerant of those who squander their heritage or whose actions threaten other High Holders for no worthwhile reason.”
“That makes sense.” For all that it did, I didn’t think that she had said it as a pleasant observation.
“It does indeed. Oh . . . I must congratulate you on the portrait that you did of Maitre Poincaryt. I saw it in the receiving hall earlier this week. It’s not only an excellent likeness and lifelike, but it also conveys a sense of power.”
“Thank you.”
After that, the most interesting topics were the weather and the decline of portraiture in Solidar. When I left the dining hall, I picked up a copy of Tableta and read the lead stories, but in the first paragraphs there was little real news about the war, except that the last elements of the “northern fleet” had steamed out of Westisle on Jeudi. Not until I reached the end of the story did I come across an interesting section.
. . . to increase the Army and to assure greater safety in the cities of Solidar, the Council approved a measure, effective immediately, to allow increased conscription levels of young men without permanent trades, positions, or advanced education.
I didn’t like that implication at all, especially since it appeared I’d be working out of Third District station for a time yet.
In fact, I didn’t like the implications of most matters affecting me. High Holder Ryel was clearly trying to squeeze my family, and while I had my own qualms about Rousel’s overall competence, his shortcomings and Ryel’s machinations, unless stopped, would ruin my father and my family. And, like it or not, either Mardoyt or Harraf, if not both, seemed to want to have most unfortunate difficulties befall me.
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