“I haven’t minded the break, either,” replied Alyna, with the half-mischievous smile that Alastar so enjoyed. “She imaged a set of jet buttons. Each had an embedded brass shank.”
“You were there, I hope?”
“I was. She was worried that she might not be able to do them. The other junior seconds have been doing buttons at the factorage for over a month. Hers were perfect.” Alyna paused, then added, “The second time around. She shouldn’t have any trouble keeping up with the others when they do their afternoon duties.”
“You had better fortune than I did. Her essay for rhetoric was grammatically good, but her penmanship…” Alastar shook his head. “She’s even more in a hurry than I was at her age.”
“Dearest, I doubt you were ever in a hurry. I fear that trait comes from me. I hated penmanship. Father had to switch me once.”
“You?” That did surprise Alastar, given how deliberate his wife had always been, since he’d known her, anyway.
“Me.” Alyna offered a rueful grin. “Deliberation has never come naturally. I’ve told you that before. It was so hard to be deliberate with you. Some nights I came back to the cottage and almost sobbed. I knew it was for the best, but…”
“Almost sobbed, except you didn’t want to let Tiranya know?” Alastar had heard it before, but still liked to hear it again.
“I just couldn’t.” In a voice that was more subdued, she added, “Call it pride.”
“You weren’t the only one who didn’t want to be deliberate … but you’ve known that all along.”
“I did get that idea, but you were so polite about it.”
“I’d never been really in love before. I do believe I did mention that.”
“Once or twice … perhaps more than that.”
They were both smiling as they walked the few remaining yards to the administration building.
Once there, Alastar said, “I hope today goes better with your mathematics session.” He opened the door for her, then followed her into the entry hall.
“It will.”
Alastar smiled and watched as she headed to the hallway on the right toward the chamber where, shortly, primes and seconds would appear and realize, again, that they had no choice but to learn.
Alastar’s first task, once he reached his study, was to review the Collegium’s finances, but the white-haired Dareyn was standing and waiting.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, sir.” The old second paused, then added, “Factorius Hulet has requested a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. He’ll come to Imagisle.”
The fact that the chief of the Factors’ Council not only wanted to see Alastar, but was willing to come to Imagisle, was a definite concern. Since becoming chief of the council, Hulet had not followed the practices of Elthyrd, his predecessor, and had avoided meeting with the Maitre whenever possible. “Did he say when he’d like to meet?”
“Today, if possible. His messenger is waiting in the reception hall to take back word.”
“First glass of the afternoon, then.”
“I’ll tell the messenger.”
“Thank you.” Alastar turned and entered the study, leaving the door ajar. Sitting on the corner of his desk was his copy of the master ledger. Beside it was a single-sheet, badly printed broadsheet, with the one word in bold script across the top—Veritum. Alastar picked up the newsheet carefully, by the edges of the flimsy paper. He’d learned that the ink came off on his fingers all too easily. The newssheet—or scandal-sheet, as Dareyn called it—had begun appearing in late Juyn or early Agostos twice a week, usually on Mardi and Vendrei, and cost half a copper. Alastar had no idea who published it, but had found it was occasionally useful in providing information that might not have come to his attention until later.
The first story was about the flood damage caused to the livestock pens behind the old piers on the south side of the River Aluse downstream of the Sud Bridge … and how Factorius Duurmyn claimed he’d end up paying for all the repairs because, while High Holders had the rights to use the pens, they weren’t obligated to pay for repairs, and had already informed him that they would not pay higher usage rates. There was also a story about “The Impersonator”—a risqué comic drama at The Yellow Rose about the daughter of a High Holder who posed as a wealthy factor’s son in order to make her fortune before being married off to a dissolute widowed High Holder.
Given the subject matter, it must be very comic and even more risqué.
And there was something new—a black-lined box around some text that was definitely not gossip or news, headed by larger type—“The Finest in Men’s Tailoring.” The remainder of the text extolled the fine fabrics and fit provided by one Raabyrt, located at the corner of the Boulevard D’Este and Tailors’ Lane.
Alastar nodded. Presumably Raabyrt was paying the publisher, and before long, at least if Raabyrt’s business improved, there would be others.
After setting aside the newssheet, Alastar picked up the ledger and began to go through the receipts column, a column that thirteen years earlier had shown nothing but a monthly allowance from the rex. He was again reminded of the differences as he noted the receipts from the sales of fine papers, and especially of buttons. The buttons had come as an indirect result of the reason for Thelia’s discovery as an imager. Thelia had mentioned that she had tried to image buttons for her mother, the Factoria Kathila, because Kathila had been complaining about how difficult it was to find suitable and durable buttons to supply to the fashionable women of L’Excelsis. The result had been the small factorage near the stables, where seconds and thirds imaged small items of value for a glass a day as part of their training. Factoria Kathila had been skeptical at first when approached by Alastar and her daughter, but after being presented with a matched set of jade-like buttons set in pewter, she had agreed to purchase and resell the buttons.
Before long, the golds brought in by the button-making, as well as other items suggested by Kathila, had quickly outstripped the amount brought in by the sale of high-quality paper, better than anything the papermakers, at least in Solidar, could provide, and far cheaper than parchment. In addition, the careful application of imaging to meeting the needs of the Collegium, in such matters as candles, lamp oil, furnishings, and repairs, had reduced the amount of outside purchases.
Even so, the Collegium still depended on the monthly payment from the rex for more than half of its expenses. A far sight better than when you arrived. The problem remained that, despite having been forced to show the power of the Collegium after the death of Rex Ryen, who was still referred to in many quarters as Rex Dafou, and as much as because of that power, Alastar was cautious about what he had the imagers do or make to raise funds, because all too many goods or services would have infringed on the Guilds, the factors, or the High Holders, and the Collegium’s survival had already hung once on little more than a thread and the ability of a few imagers.
You still need to make the Collegium less dependent on the rex. He smiled ironically at the thought, since it was one he had often.
“Maitre Alastar…” Dareyn stood at the door, an apologetic expression on his face.
“Yes, Dareyn?”
“Maitre Bettaur hopes he might have a few moments of your time.”
Why now? Especially so soon after the senior maitres expressed concern about him? “Have him come in.”
Dareyn moved aside.
In moments, Bettaur slipped into the study, quietly closing the door behind himself. As Bettaur had grown older, Alastar reflected, not for the first time, the Maitre D’Aspect had grown even more handsome than he had been when Alastar had first encountered him as a third. Bettaur was broad-shouldered, yet trimly muscular. His strong and square chin had a slight dimple. A straight and modest nose was set off by striking brilliant blue eyes, a fair complexion with the slightest shade of honey, and fine blond hair. He was always impeccably groomed as well.
“Have a seat, Bettaur.”
> “Thank you, sir.” The younger maitre’s speaking voice was a pleasant baritone, and he looked directly and openly at Alastar as he settled into the chair directly across the desk. He also waited for an invitation to speak.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Alastar.
“Ever since that trouble when you first came here, sir, I’ve done my very best to live up to the requirements and precepts you set forth. I’m not looking for praise, but I’d like to ask if what I’ve done meets with your standards and approval.”
“I’d have to say that your conduct and devotion to the Collegium have been exemplary.” Even if you don’t trust the motivations behind his actions. “Might I ask why you have brought this up?”
“Yes, sir, you might. I know I made a terrible mistake, and you and Maitre Alyna were more than fair in giving me a chance to redeem myself. I’ve worked hard to justify your faith in me.” Bettaur paused. “But, sir, I have this feeling that everyone keeps looking at me, that no one will ever forget what happened.”
“We often can’t escape fully the effects of our early mistakes in life.” As you well know, Alastar. “But you’ve done well.”
“Sir … I was thinking, if you would consider allowing us—Linzya and me—to leave L’Excelsis and become a part of the Collegium in Westisle. We’d still be imagers there, with all the obligations and requirements, but people wouldn’t always be looking at me and wondering about the past. It would be good for Linzya, too. You’d never know.…” Bettaur did not finish that sentence.
Alastar knew at what Bettaur was hinting. Linzya had come a long way from the illiterate girl barely better than the street urchin that she had been. Still … He nodded and paused for several moments before replying. “I wouldn’t have thought of it like that, but I can certainly see how that would make sense on several levels. And you have been most diligent. At the same time, useful and attractive as the idea is, I’d like to think it over. I won’t tell anyone else, except Maitre Alyna, and she won’t tell anyone else, either. That way, whatever I decide, there won’t be any other reasons for anyone to look at you and wonder about something else.”
Bettaur nodded and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Maitre. I do appreciate the consideration.”
“You’re more than welcome.” Alastar slowly rose and watched as the Maitre D’Aspect left the study, again carefully closing the door behind himself.
Now what was all that about? Alastar could understand the feeling of others always watching. Certainly, he often felt that way, with the High Holders and factors scrutinizing everything he did, not to mention Lorien. He still felt that there was more here. But is that because of what happened … or because you distrust his bloodlines? And is that fair? But then, that was one reason why he’d wanted to think over Bettaur’s request.
After a time, he sat down and returned to the master ledger.
Slightly less than a glass later, he set it aside again. While he had not had any difficulty with Rex Lorien, that was because of Alastar himself, as well as Alyna, even if few beyond Imagisle knew that, not because of the strength of the Collegium, and Alastar wanted to leave the Collegium far stronger than he had found it. That would require more income than the Collegium currently created.
You have some time. He pushed that thought away. Maitre Fhaen had likely thought the same thing, and he’d died at about the age Alastar was now.
Before he knew it, the anomen bells were sounding the ten chimes that signified noon, and he realized, belatedly, that he’d meant to find Akoryt and have lunch with him. The last bell was ringing when he hurried up the stairs to the upper level of the administration building, hoping to find Akoryt.
The red-haired Maitre D’Structure was just leaving his study when Alastar appeared.
“I’d hoped we could talk over the midday meal,” offered Alastar.
“That’s the best offer I’ve had,” quipped Akoryt. “It’s also the only one.”
The two headed for the main staircase.
Alastar and Akoryt were later than Alastar would have liked in getting to the dining hall. He saw that Alyna was already seated at the maitres’ table, with Tiranya at her left, and Seliora at her right. To Seliora’s right was Celiena, who had just become a Maitre D’Aspect, and who looked a little awed, it seemed to Alastar, to be seated so close to the Maitre D’Esprit who was also the Maitre’s wife.
Alyna looked up to see Alastar and smiled, the expression that had intrigued and warmed him almost from the moment he had seen her smile … and still did. He couldn’t help but smile back before he sat down next to Akoryt near the end of the table. Immediately a second hurried over and placed a pitcher and a mug before him.
Alastar glanced at the mug, definitely one of the better efforts of the imager seconds, then filled it with dark lager, offering the pitcher to Akoryt in a gesture of politeness, although he knew that the Maitre D’Structure preferred the amber lager.
“You always offer, Maitre…” Akoryt laughed softly.
“I know. But I feel discourteous just ignoring you.” Alastar waited until Tiranya handed the pitcher holding the lighter lager to Akoryt and he filled his mug. “How’s that new prima doing…” For a moment, Alastar struggled to remember the girl’s name. “Janya.”
“She’s doing better. Charlina has taken her in. She’s even had her to dinner at her mother’s cottage. On end-days, of course. Matriana Carmina’s more than happy to feed Charlina’s friends.”
Alastar nodded. “That’s good. How is Charlina doing with her own studies and imaging?”
“She’s doing better since she took an interest in Janya. Janya adores her.” Akoryt brushed back a wisp of fine red hair, hair that was beginning to show signs of gray, just as his face was showing lines from his eyes.
And it doesn’t seem that long ago when he was the youngest of the senior maitres, reflected Alastar. “So long as it’s good for both of them.”
“I’ll keep a close watch. Seliora and Tiranya are also keeping an eye on Charlina.”
That wasn’t totally surprising, given that Charlina’s father had been well liked and respected and had died years before defending the Collegium. “Do you think that will help…?” Alastar took a healthy swallow of the dark lager.
“Charlina has the talent to be a maitre, but … she’s never really pushed herself. That has to come from inside.”
Alastar nodded. That, he knew all too well. He waited as the server set platters in front of him and then Akoryt, containing what looked to be a sauced ragout over noodles. As usual, Dhelia was doing her best to use everything. He took a mouthful, discovering that the rather messy-looking dish was comparatively tasty. At least it isn’t refried squash and parsnips.
The two ate for a time before Alastar spoke again. “On another subject, have you thought over the matter of training thirds to live inconspicuously off Imagisle?”
“You’re talking about training those with solid normal skills but limited imaging abilities to act as spies, aren’t you?”
“No. Not as spies. Much more as observers who can report from other large cities. I worry that all we really know is what is happening in L’Excelsis. I don’t trust what I hear from the rex, or from the marshal, or from the factors. Nacliano and Ouestan might as well be in Jariola, Ferrum, or Otelyrn, for all we know.”
“How soon would you want this to happen?”
“Not that soon. I think it will take years to do it right.” Alastar could see the tenseness leave Akoryt.
“Why…?”
“Why now? Because I’d like to get the Collegium used to anticipating problems, rather than reacting at the last moment.”
“So I have some time to think this over?”
“Take as much time as you need.” Alastar wouldn’t have used those words with everyone, but Akoryt was not the type to stall or procrastinate.
“I’d like that. What you have in mind will require … consideration.”
“That’s why I asked you.”
“No … not unless you want me to come up with additional duties for you.”
“I’ll pass on that, thank you.”
At that moment, Alyna rose and slipped up behind Alastar, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently before leaning down and saying quietly, “Tiranya’s asked me to spend some time observing the tertias during their work period at the factorage. Will you be in your study until fifth glass?”
“I will.”
“Then I’ll see you there when I finish.”
By slightly more than a quint later, Alastar was back in his study, this time wondering exactly what he might expect from the outspoken and rough-hewn grain factor, a far less well-spoken man than Elthyrd was.
At a tenth before the first glass of the afternoon, Dareyn knocked gently on Alastar’s study door. “Factorius Hulet is here, Maitre.”
“Have him come in.” Out of courtesy, Alastar stood, but did not move from behind his desk as Hulet stepped into the study.
The grain factor was lean, a good head taller than Alastar, who was anything but small or short, and his hair was the color of ripened wheat corn. Hulet’s eyes were granite gray, and he immediately fixed them on the Maitre as he strode to the seats before the desk.
“Good day, Chief Factor.” Alastar motioned to the chairs, then seated himself.
Hulet took the chair directly facing Alastar. “I understand you prefer directness, Maitre. So do I. I’ll come right to the point. I understand that a number of High Holders have petitioned the rex to have their tariffs reduced because of the poor harvests in many parts of Solidar. Have I been misinformed?”
“You have not.” Rather than explain his discussion with Lorien, Alastar merely said, “Apparently, many High Holders in this part of Solidar have lost most of their harvests, as have many smaller holders, I understand.”
“They have thousands of golds laid up, all of them, and at the first sign that they might have to use them, they come to the rex asking for favors.” Hulet’s tone was scornful.
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