“Yes, sir.”
Charyn settled behind the desk and picked up Vaelln’s two-page report. He read it through quickly to get the sense of it, then more slowly a second time, paying close attention to the numbers and the assumptions offered by Vaelln for those numbers. In the end, the Marshal thought he could find two thousand golds to shift into additional naval supplies … but those funds would have to be replaced within a year and a half or several supply ships would be laid up for lack of maintenance and all military reserve provisions would be exhausted.
Charyn shook his head, then drafted a reply agreeing to Vaelln’s proposal. After a number of corrections and scratching out and replacing, he handed the marked-up sheet to Wyllum for him to write what Charyn hoped would be a final draft.
Next came his revisions to the draft Aevidyr had left offering the position of regional governor of Telaryn to Rikkard D’Niasaen.
By the time he had finished with everything that had piled up, partly because he’d been involved with the ironworks and Paersyt on Vendrei, as well as with Alucar and the ledgers, it was almost the first glass of the afternoon when he dismissed Wyllum.
He walked to the open window, through which blew a light breeze, a touch cooler than those of previous weeks, not surprisingly, since autumn was only a week away. For a time, he just looked down on the rear courtyard, not really thinking before turning back to his desk.
Once he sat down, he took out Alyncya’s last letter and Verse for an Unquiet Time, a title that seemed strangely appropriate, even though the poet had written it some two hundred years earlier. Maybe, for rulers, all times are unquiet.
He’d meant to write Alyncya sooner, but, with everything, he hadn’t finished reading Verse for an Unquiet Time, nor choosing the poems to select, let alone copying them and a few others.
Slowly, he opened the small volume and continued reading. Some of the verses were slightly dated, and some could have been written the week before. After a good ten pages, his eyes stopped on one poem. After a moment, he read it through again.
TO THE NAMELESS
Those men who claim our fate is set in stars,
Are those who never felt a prison’s bars,
Who claim we’re played by gods that we must serve,
And state man’s justice is what we all deserve.
Ill-starred I am, and may I always be,
For those who serve the stars will never see
That men play god o’er those far less in fame
All self-extolling, with no sense of shame.
No god, no deity of sense and grace
Would stoop to take a human name or face.
A little cynical, there. Yet there was certainly accuracy behind the words.
Charyn kept reading, taking scraps of paper and inserting them in places where he thought the verse might be appropriate for a reply.
Further into the book, he came across four lines that struck him, although not the rest of the lengthy poem.
Of those obsessed with locks so fair and curled,
And coins stacked neat in chests they’ve bound in stone,
Of them, who storms through life with sails unfurled
Or bares his soul imperfectly in song?
By the time he’d read through the rest of the poems, it was time for him to ready himself for the evening ahead as well as for his lesson with Palenya and the possible conversation with Factor Eshmael.
When he walked downstairs to the music room sometime later, he wore simple formal greens without a sash or any insignia or personal jewelry. Then he sat down at the clavecin and began to play.
Palenya arrived at two quints before fifth glass, entering the music room as Charyn was working on the last section of “Variations.” She remained by the door and said nothing until he finished. Then she moved toward the clavecin. She wore black trousers and a black blouse and jacket, as would all the musicians playing for the dinner.
Too severe to show her at her best. “How was that?”
“Better than on Meredi, but you lost some of the feel in the part just before the ritard that precedes the ending.”
“Let me try that part again.” Charyn mentally moved to the notes before that section, then began to play.
“A sense of anger, there! You’re too precise.”
Charyn almost laughed, then lost his place and did laugh. He stopped playing totally and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I never thought you—or anyone—except maybe Bhayrn—would tell me I’m too precise.”
After several breaths, he went back and tried again.
“That was much better. I’d like to hear it from the beginning.”
“In a moment. I hope we’ll have a full glass to work, but I may have an angry factor arriving before the dinner.”
Palenya raised her eyebrows.
“Factor Councilor Eshmael. He wants to convince me to bring in the army to stop the fires.”
“You don’t agree?”
“Let’s say I have my doubts about doing so at the moment.”
“When will be the right moment?”
Charyn shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. But I feel that today or this week isn’t that moment.”
“Sometimes feelings are better than calculations.”
“Sometimes, they’re not, and it’s hard to tell which time is which.” He smiled. “Right now, I’d rather deal with music.” With that he began to play “Variations” from the beginning.
At two quints past fifth glass, Norstan appeared at the door to the music room. “Factor Eshmael is arriving, sir.”
“Thank you, Norstan. I’ll meet him in the receiving parlor.” Charyn rose from the clavecin, inclined his head to Palenya, and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Are you doing this for yourself … or her?”
“Both, I hope. I was enjoying playing before I heard her play. How did you know?”
“Because the piece you’re working on must have come from her, and she likely played it for you and then sent you a copy.”
“She copied it herself.”
Palenya frowned. “That might not be for the best.”
Charyn smiled wryly. “She’s also written letters containing sections questioning some of my decisions as Rex, if diplomatically.”
“That sounds better.” After a moment, Palenya asked, “Are you trying to outdo her?”
Charyn laughed. “More like trying not to be horribly outclassed, and I’m certain her repertoire is far greater than mine.”
“That might be very good.” She smiled. “I shouldn’t be keeping you.”
“I added the lesson to your fee for the evening.”
She just shook her head.
Charyn hurried back to the entry hall and the parlor right off it.
Eshmael turned immediately from where he stood, looking at himself in the mirror over the side table. The factor wore a rich brown jacket and matching trousers over a cream silk shirt, with a cravat patterned in dark brown and gold. His brown boots glistened. “I’m here, as you suggested.” His words were cool.
“And your wife?”
“She’ll be arriving with Noerbyn and his wife.”
“I’m glad she’ll be here.”
“She wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”
The way Eshmael spoke suggested that the factor might well have wished not to be present.
“Would you like some refreshments?”
“Not at the moment, Rex Charyn.”
Charyn gestured to the pair of armchairs set at an angle to each other, but did not speak until both were seated. “Have you thought much about what I said on Meredi?”
“I’d be lying if I said I had.”
“Then you came to see if I had considered taking another course?”
“I doubt that you have. Your family has always been stubborn to the point of stupidity. But there’s always a chance.”
“It’s interesting. Elthyrd said the same thing about you.” Charyn offered an
amused smile. “So what would it take to get you to agree to a two-copper daily wage for a nine-glass day?”
“Why are you pressing for that?”
“Because, whether I bring in the army or not, the fires and damage will continue until the workers your manufactorages have thrown out of work are either all dead or the factors give them some hope of being able to support their families.”
“Aren’t you being cheerful.”
“No. Realistic, I fear.”
“Rather unrealistic, I’d say. Those ruffians have to know who’s boss.”
“Eshmael … they know the factors are in control of what gets made, and what will be made. So do I. Being in control doesn’t mean making them slaves. Even at two coppers a day, you’re going to make more coins than you ever did, and they’re making less.”
“You don’t seem to show that you know who’s in charge.”
“Then why have my father and I fought the High Holders and put them down? It would have cost us far less to side with them … and my father might well be alive today, as would my uncle.” Charyn didn’t see any point in granting that over the long run it would have been worse. Eshmael, like too many factors, was only concentrating on golds earned in the present year or so.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because, without the factors, my children would be under Jariola’s oligarchic thumb. But it would have been much easier for my father and me. The same thing is true of you. You can make more golds now if you keep wages at the starvation level, but that’s going to make more and more workers madder and madder.” Charyn shrugged. “I’m willing to suffer now, rather than suffer a whole lot more twenty years from now. The question is whether you are or not.”
“You can’t stay Rex if the fires continue.”
“You think not? How many High Holders who opposed my father survived? How many who have opposed me?”
“That’s a threat.”
Charyn shook his head. “I had nothing at all to do with any of that. Circumstances created those situations. If you study what happened, you’ll see that, no matter how wealthy or powerful anyone is, when they oppose great changes, they usually lose. At best, they only postpone the change … and then they lose. I’m not here to threaten or force you. I’m trying to give you an opportunity to avoid future trouble.”
“That’s insane. How can you believe that?”
“Think about it. If I enact a law requiring a two-copper-a-day wage, you can grumble and blame me. But all factors will be in the same boat, and who comes out ahead depends not on who can pay workers the least, but who can make his products the best and least expensive in other ways. You’ll be the ones paying the men, and in time, they’ll forget how they got that pay … and be grateful for it.” Or as grateful as people ever are.
“They’ll want more. They always do.”
“Of course they will. But if they say that’s not enough, that’s when I bring in the army. Then I can point out that you all have agreed, and that I’m supporting your agreement.”
“It won’t work, and we’ll be stuck paying more.”
“That’s always possible, but … why don’t you talk it over with the other factors? Talking among yourselves can’t possibly hurt.”
“If I mention what you said, they’ll all say what I just told you.”
“Why don’t you see?” Charyn smiled and stood. “We’ve talked enough. We should go and get some refreshments.” Charyn could see that Eshmael wasn’t about to change his views, and that meant other factors needed to … or that he had to come up with another way to stop the violence.
“Might as well.”
As the two neared the reception room, Charyn could hear Palenya and the strings playing.
When they entered, Chelia stepped forward. “Factor Eshmael, I’m so glad to meet you.”
Charyn knew exactly what those warm words really meant, and probably so did Eshmael.
“Lady Chelia, I presume?”
“Indeed. I take it that your wife will be joining us shortly.”
“She will.”
“Before she does, you must join me for refreshments, and perhaps you can tell me more about yourself.”
Charyn eased away, suspecting his mother could do more with Eshmael than Charyn himself possibly could.
Not surprisingly, the first two couples to arrive were Estafen and Zairleya and Estafen’s brother Thyrand and his wife, whom Charyn had only seen from a distance at Elthyrd’s memorial service.
“Your Grace,” replied Estafen, “you’ve met Zairleya before, but not Thyrand and Chelani.”
“I’m glad to see all of you,” offered Charyn. “Welcome to the Chateau, and my most comfortable semi-confinement.”
Chelani and Thyrand both looked surprised.
“I have to be most careful when I leave the Chateau. So far, there have been a number of attempts on my life. If the archives are correct, no Rex has been attacked so many times ever.” Charyn smiled guilelessly. At least, he hoped so. “And I haven’t started any wars, haven’t massacred any holders, crafters, factors, or even High Holders. But this evening is for lighter talk … refreshments and an excellent dinner.” He gestured toward the sideboards.
Thyrand and Chelani immediately took up Charyn’s invitation and moved toward the sideboard with the wine and a ready server.
Zairleya looked to Charyn. “Estafen has mentioned you often, but he never has said much about you.”
“Since I’ve only been Rex for eight months, that’s likely because there’s little to say. I have no wife, and enough difficulties were left me that my duties consume a great portion of each day.”
“Surely, you must have other interests…”
“I do exercise, and I enjoy playing the clavecin to divert myself. When I can, I visit my sister Aloryana. As you may have read, she’s an imager and lives with Maitre Alastar and his family on Imagisle. I’ve been known to read histories and play plaques and whist, if only tolerably.”
“I’ve always admired people who could play any instrument. It’s a talent I don’t have,” replied Zairleya.
“But you are remarkable in how well you sketch and draw,” declared Estafen fondly.
“My drawing can be described, dear, as the Rex has put it, as tolerable.”
“Far better than that.” Estafen looked to Charyn. “She is far too modest.”
At that moment, another couple appeared—Factor Councilor Hisario and his wife Marthyla—and Charyn excused himself to greet them … and then the youngish Factor Roblen and his wife and after that Factor Saratyn … and those who followed, including the copper factor Cuipryn and Factor Walltyl, who had made one of the chaises that had been a favorite of Charyn’s in his less disciplined days.
The last of the factors to arrive was Factoria Kathila, alone, not that Charyn had expected her to be escorted. Although he judged she was roughly the age of his mother, he hadn’t expected her to be as attractive as she was—with striking silver-gray hair, light gray eyes, and a slender but feminine figure. She also wore a black jacket and trousers, trimmed with silver-gray that matched her blouse.
Charyn inclined his head. “Factoria Kathila.”
“Your Grace.”
“Welcome to the Chateau.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the invitation. Few factors are ever invited here.”
“And you are the first factoria invited in her own right, so far as I can tell.”
“Might I ask why?”
“You are on the local factors’ council, and you’re successful. Need there be any other reason?”
“Usually, there ulterior motives as well.”
“I do have a general ulterior motive, and that is to come to know more factors than just those on the Factors’ Council of Solidar.”
“That suggests that you are either less than satisfied or that you wish to have a broader acquaintance with the views of factors not on the Council.”
“I had thought that might be helpful. Eithe
r I would learn that they are representative or that they are not … or that the feelings of most factors might be somewhere in the middle.”
“As one of the few women factors, would I really be representative?” said Kathila in an amused tone.
“Most likely not, but you’re also more likely to have a more objective view of the others.”
She laughed softly. “You’re not at all what I supposed. You must take much more after your mother.”
“I couldn’t speak to that, but I do greatly value her advice.”
“Then you take after her. Was High Holder Ryel…?”
Charyn did not answer immediately, then said, “The way things turned out were my doing.”
“Would she agree?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Then the next few months will be very interesting.”
“I fear so. They don’t have to be, but they will.”
“No, Your Grace. They will have to be interesting, or you will lose control of Solidar. That would be a pity.”
“It’s too soon for force.”
“Even after force was used on poor Elthyrd?”
“There’s a question of who was behind that force. Do you have any ideas?”
“Suspicions of several who might wish a change. Proof or even indications … no.” She offered an enigmatic smile.
“I see it the same way. Another reason I’m reluctant to use force now.”
“That’s true. But a month from now, it will be too late. That’s only my opinion, however.”
“I appreciate your opinion. Would you care for some wine?” Charyn motioned toward the sideboard, slowly moving that way, and Kathila moved with him. “The Tacqueville white is my favorite, but my brother prefers the Tuuryl red.”
“For that alone, I’ll take the white.”
At that moment, Chelia appeared. “Factoria Kathila, I’m so glad you came.”
Endgames Page 39