“I can probably reach most of them.”
“Good … and thank you.”
After Akoryt left, Alastar sat back in his chair. Who had an interest in watching junior imagers? Was someone going to try assassinating less talented imagers? Or to discover if they used imaging in ways that could be used as a lever against the Collegium? Or merely to see if they could discover more about imaging?
The last seemed far-fetched, but he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. Not yet.
7
The remainder of Samedi went uneventfully, or at least with as little drama as was possible when a ten-year-old girl was involved, as did Solayi, even to the evening services at the anomen. Since, as Maitre of the Collegium, Alastar felt obligated to attend those services, he was grateful that Chorister Iskhar’s homilies were largely focused on values, rather than upon the Nameless. That was as it should have been, given that the tenets of the Nameless opposed the glorification of the individual and centered on positive accomplishments, not that there hadn’t been choristers in the history of Solidar who had focused on the ritual and not the meaning.
On Lundi morning, Alastar was still thinking about a variation on that theme when he entered the administration building and headed toward his study—perhaps because Iskhar had made the point in his Solayi homily that all too often ritual became a comfort that precluded action, as did day-to-day habits. Have you become too settled in your ways to be as effective a Maitre as you could be … as you should be?
That thought vanished as he saw Maercyl standing beside the desk outside his study. “Dareyn? How is he doing?”
“He’s better, sir. Maitre Gaellen says it was the green flux, but he should be back to work in another few days. It might be longer, though.”
The green flux? Alastar didn’t like that at all. It wasn’t nearly as deadly as the red variety, but it wasn’t pleasant, in addition to being especially hard on infants and older people. And Dareyn was well beyond middle years … and then some. “Does anyone else have it?”
“Some of the primes have it. They’re in the infirmary.”
“Is there anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll be back in a few moments.” Alastar turned and headed down the north corridor.
When he entered the archivist’s study, Alastar didn’t see anyone around. Nor did he hear anyone. He walked to the open door at the top of the steps down to the lower level and called, “Obsolym?”
“Coming! Coming…”
Before long, Obsolym trudged up the steps. He glared at Alastar. “If it’s more history you want to know, you could have come down and saved an old maitre another climb up and down.” For all the gruffness in his voice, the white-haired Maitre D’Structure smiled.
“It isn’t that. I wanted you to know that several primes are down with the green flux—”
“I know. Gaellen came and told me. You two … you’d think I was ancient.”
“You’re the closest to an ancient we have, and I don’t want you catching something like the green flux. I’d appreciate it if you kept some distance when you’re doing your history instructionals for the primes.”
“That’s all you came to say, most masterful Maitre?”
“That’s absolutely all, you intransigent intellectual,” replied Alastar with a laugh.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good … and keep thinking about it.”
“You’re not so young anymore, either,” Obsolym said.
“But I’ve had the green flux, and most people who’ve had it don’t get it again.”
“Good thing for you.”
“With a young daughter, yes, it is. Oh … that seal of High Holder Meinyt … he has no idea what it means or how it came to be.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Now that I’ve disrupted the beginning of your day, I’ll leave you in peace.”
Obsolym shook his head mournfully. “That’s what they all say.”
Alastar couldn’t help grinning as he turned and left.
Once back in his study, after instructing Maercyl to inform all the senior imagers that the next senior imagers’ meeting would be on Jeudi morning, he went over the morning attendance report, although he was certain that Akoryt would have let him know immediately if any imagers were missing. Then he took out his copy of the Codex Legis and began to read.…
He’d been studying the Codex and had not found what he sought for less than a quint when a messenger from the Chateau D’Rex arrived with a request that Alastar meet with Lorien at the third glass of the afternoon. That would mean a long afternoon, since most meetings with Lorien were anything but short, and it took between two and three quints to ride back to Imagisle, even using the Boulevard D’Rex Ryen. Whatever Lorien wanted meant more work for Alastar, one way or the other, but since the rex seldom indicated what the difficulty might be, Alastar would just have to wait until after third glass.
He went back to searching the Codex.
At less than half a quint before ninth glass, Alastar dismounted before the “upper factorage” mentioned by the factoria—a low brick-walled structure just off the West River Road west and south of where the Sud Bridge spanned the River Aluse. He handed the gelding’s reins to Aelbryt and walked toward the entry.
A young girl dressed in gray trousers and shirt stood on the single low front step of the factorage. Drab as her clothes were, they were clean and without holes or patches, and she wore sandals that had seen better days. Without a word, she opened the door for Alastar, but did not follow him inside.
“She’s in her study, Maitre,” said a white-haired woman who rose from the table desk in the small anteroom. “It’s the first open door there.”
“Thank you.” Alastar tucked his visor cap under his arm as he made his way to the door and entered the study, closing the door after himself.
With a narrower face than her daughter, but with striking silver-gray hair, light gray eyes, and a slender but feminine figure, Factoria Kathila was an attractive woman. She rose gracefully from behind a jet-black table desk with wide rounded corners. The only objects on the desk were ten buttons, a broach, and what Alastar thought was a hair clasp, laid out on a dark green velvet cloth. All were silver.
“You closed the door, Maitre Alastar. Am I to assume either secrets or my daughter to be the subject?” She frowned momentarily, then smiled. “Secrets, most likely, since your actions suggest you’re pleased with Thelia.” She gestured to the single chair before the desk and reseated herself.
Alastar sat down and replied, “I’m more than pleased with her. You should be as well.”
“You have a daughter. Are you pleased with her?”
“So far,” replied Alastar with a smile. “There are times that I’m less pleased, but I suspect that’s true of all parents.”
“What if she were not an imager?”
“If she worked hard and did well at something else, I’d like to think I’d also be pleased.” Before Kathila could say more, he went on. “Is it because she is so well suited to carry on what you have done and is precluded from doing so because she is an imager … and you’re letting me know that?” While not mentioning that your son is not half the person your daughter is.
“You can build something that will outlast you.”
“No, Factoria, I can build something that has the potential to outlast me … and it can be destroyed by poor decisions in years. It’s almost happened several times.” That might have been an exaggeration since Alastar only personally knew of one time. “I will grant that I have some greater say in grooming those who may succeed me, somewhat more than in the case for great factors and factorias, or High Holders.”
Kathila gestured to the objects on the green velvet cloth. “They’re solid silver, all of them, except for the broach. The stone is peridot. What do you think they’re worth?”
“Whatever someone will pay for them. That much silver, unworked, is likely wo
rth half a gold. I don’t know gemstones.”
“You’re as cautious as my daughter claims. Strange for a man who risked his life to save a nearly worthless rex and a failing Collegium.”
“Compare all that to unworked silver, Factoria.”
Kathila’s laugh was soft, but somehow slightly off-key. After a silence of several moments, she said, “I didn’t have to say what I did, Maitre, and it’s not that I’m not proud of Thelia.”
“But she will never be Maitre of the Collegium, and she might have become a truly powerful and wealthy factoria.”
Kathila nodded. “Now that I’ve explained that, what do you want from me?”
“Information and insight that will likely benefit us both.”
“Such as?”
“Besides feeling that tariffs are too high … what do you feel should be done about them and why?”
“You won’t support a reduction in them. Why should I say anything?”
“It’s not possible to reduce them. It would make everyone’s life easier if Rex Lorien could.”
“You can always spend less. I know.”
“One can always spend less by doing less. Do you wish fewer patrols in the Southern Gulf … and more piracy? Fewer warships, and Jariolan and Ferran privateers boarding more merchant ships? Less spent on roads and longer times in transporting goods? Less spent on the Civic Patrol and more brigandage? I’ve studied the matter for years. Rex Lorien has reduced spending wherever he can. The finances of Solidar are not perfect, but there are no great savings to be made without requiring far higher tariffs within a year or two.”
“Then why ask?”
“As a starting point. I met with Chief Factor Hulet last week, and then with Chief High Councilor Cransyr.”
“Were you not the fortunate one?” murmured Kathila.
“Each felt that his people were overtariffed and that the other’s people were undertariffed. Both feel most strongly, more strongly than I’ve seen at any time since the last time tariffs were an issue.”
“That surprises you?”
“No. But the degree of vitriol does concern me. That is why I wish your thoughts and observations.”
The factoria nodded, but said nothing for several long moments. “Hulet is plainspoken. He is rough, but he has tried to keep tempers down in council. The last meeting … he was furious.” She paused. “That was before he met with you. We have not met since.”
“Did he say why he was so angry?”
“No. Elthyrd asked him. Hulet only said that it was past time that the High Holders could threaten and demand and expect factors to back down.”
“I wonder who threatened him,” mused Alastar.
“I thought the same, but I could not say.”
“Did anyone ask him if he’d been faced with a demand or a threat?”
“Goeryn did. Hulet said that anytime anyone thought they could coerce him with threats was when the Nameless took up naming.”
“Do you know of anyone else who’s faced threats … or veiled hints?”
Kathila smiled sweetly. “I know less than anyone, except that which comes before the council and that which I’ve discovered from wives and daughters, and that is comparatively little.”
“If that is so…?”
“Why am I even on the council?” Her smile turned cold. “It might have something to do with my creation of various products in high demand, both for factorages … and other purposes, and I know who has used them and for what.”
“It also might have to do with the facts that you are one of the wealthiest of factors and that you maintain ties with your daughter, who is an imager maitre.”
“You already knew much of that.”
“What else do you know about … shall we say stresses between various factors and High Holders?”
“Hulet holds significant notes from several High Holders. So do Estafen and Weezyr—even if his Banque D’Aluse is only five years old.”
Weezyr? Estafen? After an instant, Alastar recalled the second name. “That’s Elthyrd’s son, the one who has the Banque D’Excelsis? Is it true that he’s already far wealthier than many High Holders?” Again, that was a guess on Alastar’s part.
“Many? Who would know. Certainly, he’s better off than Paellyt, Laevoryn, Delcoeur, or Aishford.”
The quick listing of High Holders revealed just how many Alastar still didn’t know, since the only names he recognized were those of Delcoeur and Aishford. “Delcoeur? I haven’t heard that name in years.”
“The late Lady Asarya’s brother keeps a very low profile. Wouldn’t you, in his position?”
“Do his financial straits come from the dowry her father…?”
“That is doubtless part of the problem. The major difficulty is that most bulls have more intelligence. Lady Delcoeur—Elacia—manages the lands well, but not well enough to support all Delcoeur’s habits.”
“He games excessively?”
“Two nights out of seven he’ll be at Tydaal’s or Alamara’s. The other nights … few are spent with Elacia.”
“Are Tydaal and Alamara considered factors?”
“So long as they pay their dues to the council.”
Almost a glass later, Alastar stood. “I must thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”
“How could I not, Maitre, if I want both my children’s futures to be bright?” Kathila rose gracefully in a manner vaguely familiar, yet not exactly. It took Alastar a moment to recognize from where he’d recalled that almost sinuous grace—Thealia. Somehow the past was never always past.
“Maitre … did I offend you?”
Alastar laughed. “No … not in the slightest. Sometimes … let us just say that some matters that should remain ashes don’t always.”
“Too many, at times.” She smiled. “I may have kept you too long.”
“Not at all.”
“You will think about what else I suggested?”
“At some point, before year-turn, you will receive what I promised.” Alastar wasn’t quite certain why he’d agreed to image a pair of formal boot or shoe buckles, except that he was obligated for the wealth of information, and rather than play favorites among factors, providing a good was a better alternative—although he had no doubts that Kathila would sell the buckles discreetly … and for far more than they were worth.
There was also the fact that he’d always been slightly susceptible to manipulation by women, which was one reason he found Alyna so attractive. Not that she couldn’t manipulate, Alastar suspected, but she found it distasteful in dealing with those she respected or loved and lowering herself in dealing with those whom she found unworthy of respect.
As he departed, Alastar did note the faint but amused smile on Kathila’s face. He had no doubts that she felt she had the better end of the bargain … and, if he had been a factor, she certainly would have, but so much of what was mere gossip about what was commonly known among factors did not often reach Alastar, or anyone on Imagisle. Something else that needs remedying. He’d known that for years, but he’d felt that until the Collegium had more mature imagers and depended less on Lorien’s financial support, developing what amounted to an intelligence network would have been unwise, especially if discovered, and not worth the risk. In addition, selecting and training such imagers would also take years.
He was still thinking about the lack of information when he reached his study and found Cyran waiting for him in the anteroom. “You can come into the study and tell me what else went wrong while I was gone.”
“You know me too well,” said the senior imager as he closed the door behind himself. He did not sit down but stood beside the desk and said, “A merchanter’s son is missing.”
“Don’t tell me. He won at the tables from some High Holder’s spoiled offspring, left either Alamara’s or Tydaal’s, and vanished.”
“Alamara’s. Early on Solayi morning, just after midnight. A beggar claimed to have seen a coach stop by a man and that two others
jumped out and grabbed him and threw him inside. The coach drove off. The patrollers don’t doubt the beggar, but it was dim and at a distance, and it could have been men grabbing a friend … or grabbing the young man. There was nothing special about the coach.”
“What about the horses or the driver?”
“The beggar couldn’t tell, and no one else saw it … or wants to say anything about it. The street couldn’t have been empty, but so far no one else seems to have seen what happened.”
That didn’t surprise Alastar. “A merchanter’s son … not a factor’s son?”
“The young man’s grandfather was a factor. The son fell on hard times, but he has a shop that sells and tailors garments. Not all that far from the theatre district.”
“That suggests that the young man was either very good at plaques or very skilled at cheating at plaques.”
“Both, according to Patrol Captain Heisyt. But it wasn’t plaques. It was bones. Tydaal’s men have been watching him, but they can’t figure out how he does it.”
A low-level imager who hid his talent? “I doubt it matters anymore. His body might turn up downstream if they didn’t weight it enough.”
“You know that?”
“It’s just a guess, but that’s how most people disappear in L’Excelsis, just like most of those who disappear in Westisle end up as fish food.”
“Why a merchanter’s son?” asked Cyran.
“As a warning, I’d guess. Both to others who are too good for their luck and talent, and to factors’ offspring who win too much. It’s bad enough for a High Holder’s offspring to lose to a factor’s son, but to a mere merchanter’s brat.…” Alastar shook his head. “The gaming houses will let anyone in who is moderately well dressed and has golds or silvers and is willing to hazard them. Very few who are not well-off have either the talent or the golds to last long in gaming.”
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