“Our pleasure, Maitre,” replied Charlina.
When the three were seated and the coach was headed toward the Nord Bridge, Charyn asked Alastar, “You expected the True Believers, didn’t you?”
“At the memorial service of the most well-known and visible factor in L’Excelsis? It was very likely. I didn’t want them to spoil the service for Elthyrd’s family.”
“Did you also expect someone to shoot at me?”
“I thought it possible. The fact that someone didn’t suggests that either no one knew you were coming or that the shooter has nothing to do with the True Believers.”
“That could be both, or neither,” suggested Alyna.
Alastar laughed. “She keeps me from jumping to conclusions. She’s more for reasoned logic than I am, but that could be her mathematical mind.”
Once Charyn returned to the Chateau, after thanking the maitres and watching them leave for Imagisle, he immediately made his way to his study.
Waiting for him was the draft language from Sanafryt dealing with choristers. He began to read.
In the interests of reassuring congregants of any religion as to how their dues, tithes, contributions, and gifts have been employed by choristers, or other religious functionaries charged with the collection, use, and disbursement of such funds, or of any of those functions, it is hereby decreed that within fifteen days after the end of each season, the chorister, or other such functionary, shall post …
While the initial premise was what Charyn wanted, the sections that followed contained definitions and conditions, all of which Charyn understood were necessary to keep choristers from finding ways around the main provisions. Which some of them will definitely try. And some, he knew, would just post fraudulent numbers and get away with it. But this will give people a tool, at least.
“Your Grace,” called Sturdyn from outside the study door, “Lady Chelia and Lord Bhayrn have returned, with Karyel and Iryella.”
Charyn immediately left the study and hurried down the grand staircase to welcome everyone back to the Chateau, not that he was that enthused about most of the returnees.
No sooner had Bhayrn stepped inside the main foyer than he looked at Charyn and demanded, “Who died? Was it Maitre Alastar? You’re wearing formal mourning clothes. One of the guards said you’d just come back in an imager coach—”
“Factor Elthyrd died. He was head of the Factors’ Council. I went to his memorial service. Maitre Alastar offered his coach and his protection.”
“For a mere factor? You lowered yourself to that?”
“For a factor who was head of the Factors’ Council and who was one of the few levelheaded ones. Yes, I went. And I accepted Maitre Alastar’s protection because, as I wrote Mother, the last time I went to services in my own coach, I nearly got shot, and would likely be dead if it hadn’t been for Maitre Lystara…”
“You should have the guards shooting them, not being the one shot,” said Bhayrn disgustedly.
“That’s not a good idea when you don’t know who’s shooting or from where. You just kill innocent people and make even more people mad at you. The madder they get, the more of them there are likely to take shots.” From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother, directing Karyel and Iryella up the grand staircase.
“Not if they get shot first. That will tell them not to do it again. I still don’t see why you had to go to a mere factor’s memorial service.”
“Because he wasn’t a mere factor, and because he was helpful in getting tariffs raised, for one thing. Besides, if I hadn’t, it would only make dealing with the other factors harder.”
“Don’t deal with them. You’re the Rex. Tell them what to do.”
“Just where did that get Father and Grandfather?”
“You’re simple and soft, Charyn.”
Before Charyn could reply, Bhayrn turned and headed up the grand staircase.
Chelia looked at her older son with a wearily rueful expression. “I’m sorry to hear about Factor Elthyrd’s death. That will make matters more difficult for you.”
“I’m glad you understand that. Bhayrn certainly doesn’t.”
“He understands what he wishes to understand.”
“It must have been a long trip back,” said Charyn wryly.
“It’s not too bad if we don’t talk about factors or most High Holders.”
“What does he think a Rex can actually do?” asked Charyn.
“What they used to do, years and years ago.” Chelia sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, dear, it has been a long trip, and I’d like to freshen up and rest a little before dinner.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“I know.”
Charyn followed his mother up the stairs, then turned and made his way back to his study. He hoped Bhayrn would be in a better mood later, but wasn’t counting on it.
34
After doing his exercises and other morning efforts, when Charyn reached the breakfast room on Jeudi morning, he was more than a little surprised to find Bhayrn already there, with a beaker of lager, particularly since Bhayrn had avoided dinner with Charyn and their mother and left the Chateau for a time the evening before. According to Maertyl, the two guards accompanying him had said that he’d gone to High Holder Laastyn’s estate just north and west of the Nord Bridge and returned fairly early.
“Oh … good morning,” Charyn offered warily.
“Charyn, I’m sorry that I was so short with you last night. It was a very long ride yesterday, especially with Karyel, but Mother really wanted to get home.” Bhayrn took a swallow of lager. “And every time I hear about things like people shooting at you, or these worthless workers burning factorages, I get even more upset.”
“I tend to get upset as well,” replied Charyn as he settled into his chair, definitely wondering about Bhayrn’s shift in attitude from the night before. “That was one reason I went to Elthyrd’s memorial service. He’d been helpful when few were, and his death is likely going to make things harder.”
“Why don’t the factors patrol their factorages and warehouses?”
“Some of them do, and they’ve been offering rewards.” Charyn turned to Therosa as she set a mug of tea before him. “Thank you.” Then he turned back to Bhayrn. “The Civic Patrol is beginning to catch some of those responsible.”
“They should shoot them all.”
“The ones who are eighteen or younger will likely end up as indentured sailors for ten years on a navy warship.”
“That’s too easy,” said Bhayrn as Therosa set one platter before him and another before Charyn.
“Perhaps,” said Charyn, “but with all the ships lost to the Jariolans, it’s a way to get more sailors, and it also means we’re not executing seventeen-year-old boys. Executing men that young upsets people. This way—”
“The navy gets cannon fodder, and the Rex isn’t attacked as much. That makes sense. I understand that. I don’t understand why burning down manufactorages will help people who barely make enough as it is. Destroying places where they can work just means fewer of them can make enough to live. I also don’t understand those True Believers. What difference does it make what Rholan said hundreds of years ago?”
“That’s a good question,” replied Charyn. “From what I can tell, they believe that the choristers are filling their own wallets, rather than helping the poor, and, at the same time, are preaching homilies that are telling the poorer workers that everything is all right.” He took several mouthfuls of the cheesed eggs, then a bite of the fried ham slice.
“It was all right until everyone got greedy,” said Bhayrn. “The rebel High Holders got greedy. The factors got greedy. Then the workers and crafters got greedy, and they all blamed Father, and now they’re blaming you for everything they think has gone wrong.” He turned to his breakfast and ate several mouthfuls before asking, “What are you going to do about it? It doesn’t seem like anyone agrees with anyone else.”
“They d
on’t. It seems to me that, if the factors all paid workers just a little bit more, most of the workers wouldn’t be so angry, and that everyone would be better off.”
“Until the workers got greedy again.”
“What do Laamyst and his family think?” asked Charyn.
“High Holder Laastyn thinks the factors should handle matters so that the workers and crafters don’t cause trouble.”
“Did he say how?”
Bhayrn shook his head. “I don’t know. That was how Laamyst said his father felt. He said that they’d caused the problem, and they needed to fix it. The rest of Solidar shouldn’t be dragged into it.”
Charyn could definitely see High Holders feeling that way. “Unhappily, people want me to fix it.”
“You could tell the factors that they caused it, and tell them to fix it.”
Charyn laughed ruefully. “That wouldn’t help matters, but … I could tell them that the workers and much of the country felt they’d caused it, and ask them what they intend to do about it.”
“You ought to take a stronger position. Tell them to fix it.”
“I’ll think about it.” Charyn wasn’t about to demand anything. Not yet, anyway.
“You’re meeting with the councils next Meredi?”
Charyn nodded.
Bhayrn started to say something, then stopped. After a long pause, he said, “Do think about it.”
“I will.” That Charyn could promise. He finished the last of the eggs and asked, “Are you glad to be back in L’Excelsis?”
“Very glad. Can I take the unmarked coach later? Laamyst and I were thinking of visiting Gherard.”
“Gherard D’Ghaermyn? Has he talked to you about the factorages?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I had his father and several other local High Holders to a dinner two weeks ago. Ghaermyn has several manufactorages himself. I wondered if you knew how he felt about the problems with factorages?”
“I’ve never talked about that with Gherard. His sister…” Bhayrn shook his head again. “She’s much more my type than Laamyst’s sisters and cousins.”
“Has Mother given you—”
“The lecture on propriety? At least twice…”
When Charyn left the breakfast room, and in passing Karyel and Iryella, who were about to enter it, he still wondered what exactly had resulted in Bhayrn’s total change of attitude. It had to be something his friends had said, since Bhayrn clearly wasn’t listening to either Charyn or their mother. He also wondered why Bhayrn hadn’t talked about the factoring problems with Gherard, when he clearly had with Laamyst. So he made his way to his mother’s sitting room, suspecting, since she usually ate early, that she’d asked for breakfast in her rooms, rather than deal with Bhayrn, Karyel, and Iryella, especially after spending every moment traveling with them for roughly a week.
Chelia was sipping the last of her tea, it appeared, when Charyn entered and sat down across from her. She smiled. “How are you this morning?”
“Much better. Bhayrn and I actually had a pleasant conversation this morning. I couldn’t believe he was the same person as yesterday afternoon.”
“What changed him? Where did he go last night?”
“High Holder Laastyn’s. I imagine it was to see Laamyst and tell him how stupid his brother the Rex was.”
“It sounds like Laamyst talked some sense into him.” Chelia smiled sardonically. “Apparently, that’s something that neither of us is able to do. Bhayrn would rather hear sense—or nonsense—from friends than anything from family.”
Charyn had his doubts about Laamyst changing Bhayrn. More likely Laamyst had suggested Bhayrn humor his brother as a means to get his own way … and to keep Charyn from withholding a High Holding. “Do you know much about High Holder Ghaermyn?”
“Outside of the name … very little. Your father and my brother thought he was a come-lately not worth knowing, a man whose forebears parlayed small factorages and ill-paid workers into enough coins to buy near-worthless lands. At times, they have struggled to hold on to everything, although it’s said that the current High Holder is … shall we say, shrewd.” Chelia offered another sardonic smile. “The family has only been High Holders for four generations. And Lady Ghaermyn is an Aishford.”
Charyn raised his eyebrows.
“The Aishfords have been struggling for years to remain as High Holders.”
“Hasn’t that become a problem for more than a few families?”
“If you were a High Holder, you wouldn’t have that problem. Unless Bhayrn changes, his children will … unless he marries very, very well.”
“What about Karyel?”
“I suspect he’ll do very well. So will Iryella. It’s a good thing she’s your close cousin, otherwise she’d be setting her eyes on you or Bhayrn.”
“She just turned twelve.”
“A wife eight years or so younger isn’t unheard of.” Chelia’s tone was amused. “And she’s already interested in power. Everyone in that family is.”
“You’re in that family,” Charyn pointed out gently.
“I said everyone. I meant everyone,” replied Chelia. “There were just some things I wouldn’t do … unlike my father, brothers, and sister.”
“You’re the only one left alive, aren’t you?”
“Of my generation or before. There’s often a very high cost to seeking power by any means … or even to holding on to it that way. I drew a few lines. They drew none.” She smiled. “I also sent word to Elacia that the two of us should meet on Lundi morning. You really won’t be needing her quite as much, but she still could be helpful at times.”
“I leave that in your most capable hands, Mother.”
“I appreciate that. Is there anything else, Charyn?”
“There is one thing. My personal scrivener Wyllum. I was hoping that you could spend a glass or two going over some of the details of formal correspondence. He’s very bright, but he was raised on Imagisle.”
“I can certainly give him some of the basics.”
“This morning for a glass or two?”
“Of course. I’ll be here. I’m sure you have much to do.”
“Then I’ll see you later.”
From Chelia’s chambers, Charyn made his way to the guard duty room, where he found Maertyl.
The guard captain looked up. “Sir?”
“If you’d stop by the study sometime when it’s convenient for you and there’s nothing pressing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charyn’s next stop was at Norstan’s study, where he told the seneschal to arrange for Choristers Refaal and Faheel to meet with Charyn on Lundi on a matter of importance to all choristers.
“Do they know what that matter is, Your Grace?”
“They know what the problem is. I’m trying to work out a solution, or part of one. That’s all they need to know.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
Once Charyn was in the study, followed by Wyllum, who had been waiting outside, doubtless talking to Moencriff, he turned to the scrivener. “We’ll start on several replies to personal letters. Later this morning when Guard Captain Maertyl comes, you’re to go to Lady Chelia’s study. She’ll give you a few more pointers and basics about wording and phrases, those to be used, and those to be avoided. Now … the letter to High Holder Ghaermyn. All I want to do is to convey that his letter to follow on our conversation raised some good points, and matters that I will certainly be bringing to the attention of the joint councils next week…”
For close to a glass, Charyn worked with Wyllum, then sent him off to Chelia when Maertyl arrived.
Charyn gestured to the chairs in front of the goldenwood table desk. “We never finished our talk yesterday, and I’d be interested in any thoughts you have about the violence that seems to be aimed at manufactorages and choristers.”
“Your Grace … I’m just an armsman fortunate enough to have worked my way up in the Chateau Guard.”
“Maertyl, you’re more than that. You were picked by some very capable imager maitres, and you’ve done a good job at making the Guard much better. You know more than you ever let on. My problem is that I can’t easily leave the Chateau without a certain amount of risk. I might take that risk if I were my father’s age and had a capable heir. Right now…” Charyn shrugged. Maertyl had to know Bhayrn’s shortcomings.
After several long moments, Maertyl cleared his throat. “I do see … not often … I see some friends from where I grew up. They tell me things…”
“You believe what they said, but you don’t know for sure? Go on…”
“Yes, sir. Well … one of them was working for a master weaver. Not a big place, maybe three old-style frames. He was making three, maybe four coppers a day. They were doing hose. Then High Holders and factors stopped wearing hose and doublets and started wearing trousers and jackets. The master weaver couldn’t make enough cloth and the frames weren’t right. He had to let Jaskyn go. Best Jaskyn could do was as a shuttleman at a manufactorage. A little less than two coppers a day for ten glasses every day. His wife has to take in laundry now. He’s got no way to get his own boys into a craft or trade…”
“This is happening in more and more places across Solidar,” said Charyn. “Do you know of others?”
“There’s Baertyl. He was a gunsmith. Used to do real well. Now, he can barely get by, and that’s only on special pistols and hunting weapons. That rifle factorage at the ironworks turns out good solid rifles for half what Baertyl used to get…”
Charyn managed not to wince. He kept listening for almost a quint, before asking, “How much would it help if the manufactorages had to pay workers more, say two coppers a day instead of one and a half?” Most guards only got four coppers, but they got fed and had their uniforms supplied.
“It’d be a start. Wouldn’t help everyone, but men could at least feed their families. That’s what bothers most of them.”
“It doesn’t give them a trade or craft to go into, either,” said Charyn.
“No…” Maertyl stretched out the word. “… but if the factors did what you did, with the lead guards, and an undercaptain, then men would see that, if they were good, they could look forward to something.”
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