From there Iskhar went on at more length than Charyn would have liked about beliefs often verging on childlike wish fulfillment, and he was glad when he and Aloryana walked out into the somewhat cooler early-evening air, heading back to the Maitre’s house.
Charyn just listened as Aloryana told him about her week.
Abruptly, she asked, “When will Mother be back in L’Excelsis?”
“Sometime this week, she said in her last letter. I’d guess late on Mardi or Meredi, but no later than Jeudi.”
“Good. Is Bhayrn coming, too?”
“She wrote that he was.”
Aloryana nodded.
Less than a quint later, Charyn was enjoying a goblet of white wine in the Maitre’s parlor when Alastar turned to him and said, “Maitre Gaellen told me that you paid your respects to Elthyrd last Jeudi. That was the last day he was alert. He never really woke up on Vendrei, according to Maitre Gaellen, just slept and got weaker.”
“I didn’t know that it would be quite that soon, but I feared I’d be too late if I waited.”
“You were right. Are you planning to attend the memorial service?”
“I’d thought I would.”
“In disguise, I presume?”
“How else?”
“I think you should go, in the formal mourning garb of the Rex.” Alastar held up a hand. “Alyna and I would be more than glad to share our coach with you. The three of us together would make a stronger presence.”
Charyn appreciated the indirect offer of protection. “Thank you. I’d be glad to accept.”
Alyna smiled. “He wouldn’t have offered if you hadn’t decided to take the risk of going unshielded.”
“I do owe Elthyrd more than I can ever afford to admit publicly.”
“We both do,” said Alastar dryly. “I fear we’ll miss him too soon and too much.”
Charyn nodded to that and took another swallow of the wine.
When Charyn left Imagisle, half a glass later, he and the guards used the east bridge, but so far as he could tell, no one noticed. He was relieved when he was back in the Chateau, he had to admit.
33
By Meredi morning, while Lundi and Mardi had been uneventful with no more violence by disgruntled crafters or workers, or by the True Believers, Charyn wasn’t terribly optimistic that the calm would continue, especially since Veritum had reported the capture of three more men accused of setting fires.
Vaelln had sent another report to Charyn saying that it appeared more Jariolan warships were sailing toward the Abierto Isles in an effort to block the various ports on the Isles to Solidaran shipping and that Sea Marshal Tynan had sent two more first-rate ships of the line and several others to bolster the Solidaran fleet already in the area. That was not a surprise, but a large naval battle was bound to be costly, even if Tynan’s fleet was victorious. Yet given the continuing depredations by Jariolan privateers and warships on Solidaran merchant shipping, Charyn didn’t see that there was any real choice.
Then there was the problem of the True Believers. Saerlet was still in hiding … or dead, although Charyn had the feeling that Saerlet was too wily for the True Believers, unless the chorister had just been unfortunate. He’d also heard nothing more from Paersyt, but all the refinements that the engineering factor had mentioned would take far more time than the less than two weeks since Paersyt’s last report.
Elacia was in her study, working out details for dinners later in Erntyn and in Feuillyt, with recommendation of who should attend.
Sanafryt was working on language that would require choristers to post the totals of offerings and expenditures in a place open to their congregants within a week after the end of each season and to make failure to post subject to a penalty for the first offense, a stronger penalty for the second offense, and possible imprisonment for a third, with significant financial discrepancies subject to charges of fraud. The Justice Minister had not been happy with Charyn’s request, and even less pleased when Charyn had suggested that if he wasn’t happy that he should come up with a better idea to deal with so many greedy choristers that they had inspired a religious uprising of sorts—which was scarcely helpful when Charyn was already trying to deal with the other problem of hungry workers and factors locked into keeping pay low because their competitors did.
On top of that, Charyn hadn’t received any response to his last letter to Alyncya. Given the fact that he’d written and dispatched his last letter more than ten days earlier, the lack of a response was worrisome.
She could be traveling again. Except she’d never mentioned that. She did suggest, more than once and in various ways, that you were rushing matters. But Charyn hadn’t even suggested courtship, only wanting to know more about her. Isn’t that courtship?
He turned from the window, only half open because, for the first time in weeks, the sky held thin gray clouds, from which fell intermittently a desultory drizzle, walked back to the desk, and picked up Mardi’s edition of Veritum, reading again the article on Elthyrd, factual and largely measured. Then he lowered that newssheet to the desk and picked up Tableta, his eyes picking out the comparatively mild jabs.
Elthyrd D’Factorius, noted timber and rope factor, and the head of the Factors’ Council of Solidar, died on Solayi after a short illness that was worsened by a reported beating by unknown assailants last week … known to be one of the least unfair factors in what he paid workers and in providing adequate working conditions … considered honest by the standards of factors …
The accompanying story suggested why the writers of Tableta were comparatively restrained in their treatment of Elthyrd.
… no recent reports of attacks against factors and their manufactorages in the past few days … early word is that the Factors’ Council is leaning toward the replacement of Elthyrd with Eshmael D’Factorius, one of the factors reported to demand the most out of his workers and to pay them the least … Eshmael’s selection is likely to be condemned by all the crafting guilds … if Eshmael is confirmed this newssheet would not be surprised to see attacks against the most oppressive factors to redouble in the days and weeks ahead …
If that isn’t a barely veiled threat, I’ve never seen one. And from what Charyn had seen of the factors, it was more likely, not less, to result in the Factors’ Council picking Eshmael. That would only make Charyn’s efforts more difficult.
At ninth glass Charyn made his way to the front entry of the Chateau D’Rex. He wore the same attire as he had for his father’s memorial service, formal regial greens without insignia, and a black-trimmed green mourning sash.
Maertyl met him at the entry. “I’m glad you’re going with Maitre Alastar, sir.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Do you think there will be violence at the memorial service?”
“At the service? I don’t think so. Afterwards, it might be possible. If anyone wants to take a shot at me, I’d say that it would be then. Before a memorial service wouldn’t help anyone’s cause because it would be considered not only hurtful to the mourners but also a form of Naming. At least, I’d think so.” Charyn shook his head. “But when people are hungry and angry, habits set by manners and tradition can vanish quickly.”
“Even Tableta showed Factor Elthyrd some respect.”
“They were easier on him than they’ve been on me or most factors.”
“People don’t realize … well … that even the Rex can’t change things alone.”
That, Charyn knew, was an apology, one best acknowledged indirectly. “You’re right. Some do, but most don’t. Part of the job of a Rex is to work things out so that everyone thinks he is working for everyone’s good, and not just for the High Holders or the factors … or even just for the crafters. That’s the hardest part. At least, it seems that way to me. That was one of the reasons I kept meeting with Craftmaster Argentyl. If I’d known earlier what I know now, I would have worked more with him much earlier. But it’s so much easier to see where you should hav
e gone once you’ve walked to the edge of a cliff with mountain cats creeping up around you.”
At that moment, Charyn caught sight of the gray and silver coach. “If you have any thoughts about that, I’d like to hear them later. Either late today or in the morning.”
“I’ll think about it, Your Grace.”
“Good. I look forward to hearing what you have to say.” After a nod to Maertyl, Charyn made his way down the white stone steps to the waiting coach, which he entered.
“Good morning,” offered Alastar.
“The same to you … and my thanks. You’re going well out of your way to take me with you,” said Charyn as he settled into the rear-facing seat in the gray and silver coach.
“It’s not that far,” replied Alastar.
“By that,” replied Charyn with a wry smile, “I take it you mean it’s a slight inconvenience compared to the difficulties of dealing with yet another Rex.”
“That’s almost exactly what he means.” Alyna punctuated her words with an amused smile. “Especially since the only remaining trustworthy members of the regial family are a fourteen-year-old imager and the widow of the previous Rex.”
“I didn’t realize you had such a high opinion of my current heir,” replied Charyn.
“Do you dispute that opinion?” returned Alyna, her voice amused, but scarcely cheerful.
“No, but I would be interested in knowing how you came to that opinion.”
“By observation, by listening,” said Alastar, “and by your brother’s choice of friends.”
“Which ones do you take exception to?” asked Charyn.
“I’m not aware of anything terribly prurient about any of them, but neither am I aware of any outstanding qualities in any of them.”
“And their families?”
“The same of them. I do believe that Ghaermyn is as greedy as the most grasping of factors and that Laastyn may be extended more than is wise in his efforts to increase his lands, as Ghaermyn appeared to be a decade or so ago.”
“Has Laastyn borrowed to do so?” asked Charyn, thinking about Ferrand’s father, although the late High Holder Delcoeur had borrowed to enable his gambling, not to buy lands.
“Not that I’m aware, but taking on distressed lands, which are usually those available at an apparently reasonable price, often results in unforeseen costs.”
Charyn had been aware that Laastyn had bought timberland in Tilbor, but not that he was buying lands continually, only that he seemed to have quite a number of holdings in different places. “I don’t think I’ve said much, except that Bhayrn doesn’t seem to want to learn about being a High Holder.”
“That says a great deal in itself,” replied Alyna. “If he can’t be bothered to learn that, can he be counted on to learn what a Rex needs to know?”
“Also,” said Alastar, “Bhayrn has never sent Aloryana a single letter, nor ever visited, although she still writes him occasionally. You never failed to write her at least once a week. You visited frequently, and recently you’ve made much greater efforts. Character isn’t just measured by large deeds. All deeds count.”
Charyn had to nod at that, but he also felt guilty that he hadn’t visited Aloryana as much as he should have in her first months at the Collegium.
As the coach crossed the Nord Bridge, Charyn glanced down at the River Aluse, noting that the water level had dropped considerably. Possibly enough for repairs to the river walls?
The Anomen D’Nord was roughly some five blocks north of Elthyrd’s small mansion, and as the coach came to a stop, Charyn saw that there was almost a squad of civic patrollers spaced out in front of the building. All of them wore black mourning sashes.
With them were two mounted imagers in gray, one woman and one man.
“You sent maitres in case of problems?”
Alastar nodded. “Charlina and Belsior. They’re Maitres D’Structure. They both have strong shields. Charlina has other strengths as well. It seemed like a good idea, and it also will give them some experience.”
As Alastar reached to open the coach door, Charyn asked, “Are you expecting trouble here?”
“It’s a possibility.” Alastar opened the door, stepped out, and nodded to Alyna.
Charyn followed the pair from the coach to the stone wall leading to the anomen and from there inside the anomen, which possessed a nave perhaps two-thirds the size of the Anomen D’Rex. The small crowd parted for the two maitres, then even more as they saw Charyn.
Alastar moved to the left side of the nave, where he and Alyna took a position with their backs to the wall. That didn’t surprise Charyn, who stood beside Alyna.
Both imagers surveyed the mourners, who numbered several hundred, even at close to half a quint before the glass. Charyn did the same, not that he could have done much, even if someone pointed a pistol at him, except to draw and fire in return. And run the risk of shooting someone else. It was far wiser to trust in Maitre Alyna’s shields.
A small choir, located in a loft above the right side of the nave, began the service with a sung invocation, followed by a spoken one from a tall chorister with a powerful baritone voice.
Charyn paid more attention to the mourners, finally locating Estafen, standing beside a dark-haired woman, likely his wife, with his mother on his other side. Beyond Elthyrd’s wife was another couple, the man being most likely Thyrand, who would inherit the timber factorage, from what Estafen had indicated.
When the time came for someone to speak for the family, Estafen was the one who stepped forward and onto the dais. For a moment, he just stood there. Then he began.
“My father did not inherit a High Holding. He did not inherit a factorage. When he began, he started with a leaky barge and a flatboat he’d built himself. He knew what working with his hands meant. That’s why he paid anyone who worked for him what they were worth. That’s why he didn’t keep those who wouldn’t work as hard as he did. He taught each of us the value of work … and the worth of those who worked with their hands. Every one of us spent years working as laborers on boats and docks or with timbering crews. His honesty and his hard work earned him admiration, from those who worked for him, with him, or against him. Yet he liked people and was willing to help almost anyone who honestly wanted his advice. He loved and took care of his family and those who worked for him. To the last day of his life he had friends who still worked with their hands, friends who had coins, and those who did not. He never forgot friends, and he treated them each the same. No one who truly knew him would be surprised by those with whom he shared time and confidences. Those who did not know would likely be astounded. He took people as they were, and they took him as he was. I’d be honored if anyone could say half that of me when my time comes…”
When Estafen stepped off the dais, the anomen was silent for several moments before the chorister stepped up to the pulpit and offered the closing thanks for the life and spirit of Elthyrd, at the end of which the women let the mourning scarves slip from their hair.
Charyn realized that Alyna had not worn a mourning scarf, but rather a mourning sash, as had Charyn and Alastar.
The closing hymn was traditional—“For the Glory”—and after the echoes of the last words faded away, Charyn looked to Alastar. The Maitre did not move. Neither did Alyna. So Charyn stayed put. Almost a quint passed before the majority of the mourners left, and then Estafen, his wife, and his mother eased toward the three standing by themselves on the left side of the nave.
“You honored him,” said Estafen. Then he looked to Charyn in particular. “I was surprised to see you here, Your Grace.”
“For all that he gave me,” replied Charyn, “how could I not have come? Also, for what you have given me.”
“We still appreciate all of your presences,” said Elthyrd’s wife. “Thank you.”
“Oh…” said Estafen. “Might I introduce my wife Zairleya? Maitre Alastar, Maitre Alyna, and Rex Charyn.”
Zairleya looked stunned at Charyn’s name, murm
uring, “You never said…”
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
Zairleya looked sideways at her husband and raised her eyebrows.
Estafen flushed. “I am sorry.”
Charyn smiled at the dark-haired woman. “He didn’t know I was coming. That was my fault, not his. Don’t blame him for my failings.”
For a moment, Zairleya smiled at her husband, even as she shook her head almost ruefully.
“We won’t keep you,” said Alastar, “but we did want a few words without intruding.”
“You were anything but intrusive,” said Estafen, “and we appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
Alastar gestured for Estafen and his wife and mother to lead the way from the anomen, then moved after them, if walking more slowly than he usually did, so that the gap between the two groups widened. Charyn wondered about that, but only until he stepped out into the still-cloudy afternoon, although the drizzle had faded away.
As soon as the three stepped outside the anomen, the red-haired Maitre Charlina rode up and reined in her mount a yard or so from Alastar. “About fifty True Believers formed up a little after the service began. Belsior and I used shields and just herded them away from the anomen. One or two tried to go around us, but we held, and they finally gave up and went away.”
Belsior, who had reined up behind Charlina, added, “Some of them ran when I said that they could either leave or get arrested by the civic patrollers.”
“Were there any rifles?” asked Alastar.
“We didn’t see any, and there weren’t any shots.”
“Good. Once we’re in the coach, you two can return to Imagisle,” declared Alastar. “Thank you for taking care of things.”
Endgames Page 28