Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  41

  On Lundi and Mardi, Charyn scarcely saw Bhayrn, except at dinner on Lundi. He did hear both Karyel and Iryella dutifully practicing on the clavecin daily. On Meredi morning, the first thing he did when he got to the study was to read the newssheets, beginning with Veritum, which reported that three more buildings belonging to factors had been burned, and that two rioters and one patroller had been killed. There was no mention of Charyn. There was also a brief story on a group of True Believers who had surrounded the Anomen D’Este on Solayi, chanting slogans against the refurbishment of the chorister’s house.

  Tableta was, again, snidely targeting Charyn, at least in part.

  … the True Believers have set forth nine theses outlining their grievances against greedy choristers. Interestingly enough, the Rex has also shown an interest in choristers. He has promulgated minor changes to the laws that will now hold choristers accountable to their congregations and made failure to do so a crime. He has also directed the Minister of Justice and the Regional Ministers of Justice to enforce the new laws. Why is our beloved Rex more concerned about a handful of religious dissenters than about the deaths and widespread violence caused by disgruntled weavers and crafters? While the Rex has been attending services regularly, if on Imagisle with his sister the Imager, for the first six months of his rule, he was found nowhere near an anomen …

  Charyn wanted to shake his head. The questions were fair enough as far as he was concerned, but no one seemed to be asking similar questions of the factors and High Holders, whose predatory and often deceptive practices and low wages had at the very least contributed to, if not caused, the violence and deaths.

  He’d barely set aside the newssheets when Moencriff brought in a message from Estafen, or rather Estafen’s transmittal of Engineer Ostraaw’s latest report. The transmittal letter was far more alarming than the financial report, particularly one section:

  … as we discussed, the ironworks has been getting its heavy coal from Factor Karl. Karl has raised the price of coal from five coppers per tonne to six coppers. The price change will take effect for any heavy coal delivered after the first of Feuillyt. Karl suggested that further price increases are likely. Under current conditions, the ironworks will barely break even if the coal price remains at six coppers. If Karl raises prices to seven coppers a tonne, you will be losing eight coppers a tonne on pig iron and more than twice that on bar iron, unless we raise our prices …

  From what Charyn had learned from Estafen, significant price increases weren’t feasible, given what the other ironworks in Bovaria charged, particularly what the one in Ferravyl charged, and with an output of thirty tonnes a day, Charyn could easily end up losing twenty golds a week, and far more if coal prices continued to rise.

  … in addition, since the Aluse freezes over for much of the winter, we will need to purchase enough to carry us through those months at the higher prices … suggest we might meet the next time you are in L’Excelsis …

  Charyn smiled wryly. Purchasing the ironworks was definitely going to cost him, one way or another. He needed to meet with Ostraaw as soon as possible to see if the engineer knew of other sources of coal, just in case.

  “Wyllum, I’ll have a letter for you in a bit. I’ll need for you to arrange for a private messenger to carry it to the ironworks south of L’Excelsis.”

  “Sir?”

  “The ironworks owner doesn’t want anyone to know that the reply came from the Chateau.”

  In less than a quint, Charyn wrote out a reply to Ostraaw, saying that, since he was currently in L’Excelsis, he would be able to meet early on Vendrei morning and would be arriving in a gray coach at seventh glass. He’d hurried his reply to Ostraaw, because he was expecting Eshmael before long, who had readily agreed to accompany Charyn on a tour of factors’ properties damaged by unhappy crafters and workers. He sealed the envelope with the black wax he’d used earlier, with an unmarked imprint, then handed it to Wyllum.

  “You didn’t want me to write a final draft, sir?”

  “There wasn’t time. Now … you need to arrange for a private courier. Tell the courier that it contains papers for Engineer Ostraaw at the ironworks. Factor Estafen asked me to look them over and return them to Ostraaw, but I don’t want Ostraaw knowing the papers came back from the Chateau.” That much was certainly true.

  Charyn handed Wyllum three silvers. “It shouldn’t cost much more than a silver from here to the ironworks. In a quint or so, Factor Eshmael will be here, and I’ll be taking a coach ride with him to survey the damage to factorages and warehouses. After you take care of the courier, make yourself available to Lady Chelia for any scriving she may require.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Not even a quint had passed before Moencriff announced Eshmael’s arrival.

  Charyn hurried down to the entry hall to meet the factor.

  “Your Grace,” offered Eshmael, his voice cool, but not cold, his brown eyes hard as he inclined his head.

  “Councilor.” Charyn nodded in return. “I have an unmarked coach waiting in the rear courtyard. The guards who will accompany us wear plain brown jackets.”

  “Do you worry that much about being shot?”

  “I prefer to observe without being noticed, at least not being seen as more than a wealthy factor or High Holder.” Charyn turned and led the way to the courtyard.

  When the two stood beside the unmarked coach, Charyn turned to the factor. “Where would you suggest we begin?”

  “Start on the West River Road a mille south of the piers and come north to the Sud Bridge, then cross the river and take the East River Road south…”

  Charyn gestured to the coach, glancing back at the two mounted guards who wore plain brown jackets, then entered the coach after Eshmael.

  After nearly a glass, Charyn had seen just about enough charred stone walls that were the remnants of warehouses and manufactorages, although he had noticed that three were already in the process of being rebuilt. He also wondered if some of the buildings would ever be soon rebuilt … and whether certain opportunistic factors had set fires to collect on indemnity bonds. He did not voice any of those thoughts, but just listened as Eshmael talked.

  “You’ve seen the damage that these ruffians have caused…”

  “… that was my prime warehouse … took three ships to carry those Abiertan ceramics here … more than a hundred golds in just them…”

  “Noerbyn’s manufactorage … barely had the frames installed…”

  By the time the coach rolled back into the rear courtyard, some three and a half glasses after leaving the Chateau, Charyn had definitely seen enough burned and damaged buildings, and certainly heard enough from Eshmael.

  “Now, do you see why we’re concerned? The Civic Patrol has caught almost a hundred men and still more of them appear with oils and rags and even gunpowder … It’s about time you did something about this, Your Grace.”

  “What do you suggest, Councilor?”

  “Bring in the army. What else?”

  As one of the guards opened the coach door, Charyn replied, “Something like eighty men have been killed or executed. How will killing more of them stop anything? It’s likely that every death angers two more men, if not more, and prompts them to attack another factor. Would you have me bring in the army and kill everyone? Then who would do the work, and who would buy your goods?”

  “The ruffians only buy the least expensive goods.”

  Charyn stepped out of the coach and waited for Eshmael to join him before replying. “Even if that’s true, how will factors who have lost as much as you have any silvers or golds left to buy such goods?”

  “All the more reason for you to act now.”

  “I will give your recommendations every consideration, Factor Eshmael. I wouldn’t have asked for you to guide me and spend much of a day looking at the destruction if I weren’t concerned. I need to discuss what you’ve suggested with my ministers and possibly with Marshal Vaelln. If you’d
come early on Samedi, we can talk over the matter then.”

  “I look forward to that.” Eshmael’s words were curt, almost dismissive as he added, “Do you think courting factors with a dinner will help you?”

  “Courting factors wasn’t ever the main purpose of the dinner. Getting to know all of you better is.”

  “To what end?”

  “To find a way to get factors, crafters, and High Holders to work together.”

  “Words … mere words.”

  “You think so? Have I held lavish entertainments? Have I confiscated lands or wealth? Haven’t I put factors and High Holders under the same laws with regard to water rights and the justicers?”

  “That’s little enough.”

  “Eshmael,” Charyn said firmly, “I became Rex far earlier than I or anyone expected. I’ve been Rex for less than seven months, and as you must have seen at the last Council meeting, it’s not exactly easy to obtain agreements between factors and High Holders in any swift fashion, and both of you would be angered greatly if I imposed any requirements with which you do not agree. If I cannot obtain agreements, and if matters worsen, I may indeed have to impose requirements, but I’d prefer not to. I’d much prefer to work out matters with all members of the Council. That usually means everyone gives a little, rather than one group getting all it wants and the others getting nothing.”

  “What are you giving?”

  “Every bit of the reserve funds has gone to needs that the Council has wished. So far, what have you given? And don’t mention the damage we just viewed. I’ve had nothing to do with that, and neither did my predecessors. If you’re honest, you’ll acknowledge that.”

  Eshmael frowned. “We … factors don’t have the power to stop those ruffians. You do.”

  “Factor Councilor … there’s more than one kind of power. I’d like you to think about that, and we can talk about it later. I understand the costs of the damages to factors’ buildings. Believe me, I do. You might recall that last Finitas certain ruffians destroyed most of the grain held in the regial granaries near Tuuryl. The loss was near twelve thousand golds.”

  “Twelve thousand? That can’t be.”

  “It was. You’re welcome to go and talk to the landwarden there. Otherwise there would have been more golds in the treasury reserves.” Not all twelve thousand, but Charyn wasn’t about to get into those details.

  “It’s not the same.”

  “No … it’s not. Everyone suffers losses, but the losses are different. A warehouse is important to a factor. A ship and cargo lost to the Jariolans is important to a trader. Losing a job because a new manufactorage can weave cloth more cheaply is important to a weaver. Each loss strikes each man as important to him. That’s something that I’d like the councilors to consider.”

  “We’re creating jobs with the manufactorages,” declared Eshmael.

  “You are. Cheaper cloth is better for many people, but there’s a cost to others. If such costs are too high, people get upset. Some get angry. If the costs are too high, there can be rebellions and thousands of lives lost. We’ve seen that happen twice in my life. I’d rather it didn’t happen again. I’d like to think you wouldn’t, either. I’d like to think that other members of the Council would consider that as well.” Charyn smiled as warmly as he could manage. “I appreciated the tour and hearing what you had to say.” Even if I didn’t agree with some of what you said. He gestured toward Eshmael’s modest carriage, which had been brought to the rear courtyard, and began to walk toward it.

  “Your words won’t change anything, Your Grace.”

  Charyn looked directly at the factor. “You’re absolutely right. Only acts change things. You can act or not. And how you and the other factors—and the High Holders—act will determine what I must do as Rex.”

  “What about the crafters and their ruffians?”

  “They’ve already acted, haven’t they? The question isn’t about their acts, but about what will most effectively stop their acts without creating even more destruction and deaths. That’s what the Council needs to address at the next meeting … and what we can talk over on Samedi, if you wish. Now … if you will excuse me…” Charyn stepped back a pace from the factor’s carriage, since it was clear that Eshmael would always have a response … if Charyn gave him the opportunity.

  Eshmael looked as if he wanted to say something, then paused. After several moments, he finally spoke. “It may be that, if you don’t use the full regial power, you shouldn’t have it.”

  “While some would take that as a threat, I won’t.” Not yet. “I would point out that someone has to make such decisions in everyone’s interest, not just in one group’s interest. If the Rex’s interest is paramount, then everyone else will be angry … but the same would be true if the High Holders obtained more power. You should have seen where that could have led. Likewise, if the factors’ interests are paramount, what will the High Holders do? Both the factors and the High Holders wanted a greater say in how Solidar is governed. I’ve provided that.” With the help of the Collegium. “But so far each of you is far more interested in your interests than in everyone’s interests. In fact, you all seem to totally ignore other interests. I could make a decision in what I see as everyone’s best interests, but it might be better if, before I do, you all come to an agreement as to what your common best interests are.”

  “Perhaps we should.” Eshmael’s words were icy, almost a threat. “Perhaps we all should.”

  “Again … I look forward to seeing you on Samedi.” Charyn managed to hold a pleasant smile until the small carriage was headed down the drive to the Ring Road. Then he took a deep breath before turning and heading up to his study.

  When he reached the study door, Sturdyn said, “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Wyllum is doing some scriving for Lady Chelia. She said that if you needed him urgently just to send for him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s a dispatch from the Marshal on your desk.” Sturdyn tried not to smile as he added, “And a letter.”

  “You obviously know the writer.”

  “It would be a guess, sir.”

  “Not much of one, I’d wager.”

  Charyn was still smiling as he walked to the desk. The smile became a puzzled frown as he realized that with the letter was a wrapped package about the size of a small and thin volume. He immediately picked up the envelope. The hand was definitely Alyncya’s. Reluctantly, he set the letter and package aside and opened the dispatch.

  Vaelln’s report was not entirely unexpected. While Jariolan privateers were still operating in the seas off Otelyrn, the lack of support from Jariolan warships had reduced their effect, and the Marshal had only heard of one merchanter being lost in the last few weeks, but doubted that the weeks ahead would show so few losses. Harvest storms had reduced the encounters between Solidaran and Jariolan warships, but several had occurred off the Jariolan coast, with one Solidaran frigate lost, but two Jariolan third-raters being sunk. More disturbing was Vaelln’s concern that to maintain the present levels of fighting in order to keep the Jariolans from rebuilding their fleets would require an additional five thousand golds, or a comparative reduction in expenses elsewhere, and that he would shortly send Charyn a detailed study on the options available.

  Charyn nodded glumly, then added the report to those already in the chest that held all reports from High Command.

  With a smile, he took the smaller desk knife that Howal had imaged for him months ago, slit the envelope from Alyncya, replaced the knife, extracted the letter, and began to read, not even sitting down.

  My dear Rex—

  I must admit that your charming response to the teasing final paragraph of my last letter caught me by surprise. For that reason alone, although I have others, I determined to reply more quickly than has been my wont …

  Charming response? You weren’t trying to be charming … just honest, because that’s what she asked for.

  … I had surmised that you jus
t might be a man more at home with sunrises than with candles dying under burnt wicks, although that was but a surmise until you confirmed it. Nor was I surprised to learn that your reading tastes run to histories, rather than poetry or philosophy. Yet there is beauty and cadence in verse that can inspire and clarify both thought and feeling. For this reason, I have enclosed with this letter a small book of my own that has accomplished that for me …

  A book of my own? Charyn couldn’t help smiling once more.

  … I would hope it would do the same for you, although what well-chosen words may bring forth in another is always a guess, often even a mystery.

  Your words state that you are an “indifferent” player at whist. I cannot imagine you are indifferent at anything to which you put your mind and energies, especially given that you have recalled my exact words for months, only to repeat them back to me. Nor will I accept your contention that your love of music far outstrips your “poor abilities” with the clavecin. I have watched and heard you play. I would wager that you began the effort to master “Variations on a Khellan Melody” shortly after receiving my less than professional transcription of the music and that I will not hear you perform it until you are satisfied that you play it without error and as well as you possibly can.

  Charyn shook his head, even as his smile turned wry.

  You requested that I reply in kind to my own questions. That is a fair inquiry, and I will endeavor to respond honestly. I say endeavor because I am well aware of my tendencies not to reveal vulnerabilities or behaviors that are less than admirable.

  My inclination is to prefer day to either extremely early rising or to burning candles into charred wicks. I abhor useless piles of papers and documents, or anything else, that have been written only for the purposes of self-justification. While I enjoy reading the occasional history and the very occasional philosopher, poetry and music are my favorites, as well as gently witty conversation. I find plaques and whist only so enjoyable as those with whom I play, and that is doubtless a weakness on my part, but to be confined to a table and to be required to be charming and civil to someone whose company one does not at least appreciate, if not enjoy, is a form of social torture.