Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio

by Modesitt, L. E. , Jr.

  “Thank you. I’ll be long enough, and they could stand to get out of the wind.” I turned to Lebryn. “They’ll direct you to the carriage house.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  I had to admit that I was surprised to find Iryela, attired in deep blue trousers and tunic, standing in the foyer to greet me. “It’s good to see you, Rhenn. Kandryl was pleased that you came to his father’s memorial service.”

  “Suyrien was an honorable man, and he was Kandryl’s father.” I paused. “And it has been a trying time for you as well.”

  “It has…and for you.” After a moment, she added, “The private drawing room is most comfortable in the morning, with the sun and the stove.”

  “What ever you think best. I do appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.”

  “How could I not?” Her tone was light, with seriousness beneath, as she turned to head toward the left-hand corridor. “Besides, it’s very quiet here in the mornings, even with the children, since they’re at their lessons, and Kandryl is spending the day at the main estate—Frydryk’s, that is. They’re going over the finer points of their father’s bequests and settlement.”

  I moved up beside her. “That’s fairly set, isn’t it.”

  “Oh, the bulk of everything will go to Frydryk, but there are apparently a number of smaller bequests.” She smiled. “There’s even a small one for Seliora, although it’s really for both of you.”

  That there was such a bequest surprised me as well, but not the fact that it was to Seliora, because, as an imager, I could inherit nothing from anyone, and Suyrien had to have known that. “She will be pleased, if sad that she will receive it so much earlier than she should have.”

  “You and Seliora impressed Suyrien. He was always pleased that Kandryl and I were married.”

  “And you?” I asked gently.

  She smiled. “It couldn’t have worked out better.”

  I’d always thought that, but I still liked her to say it. “For both of us.”

  “Indeed, and you make a better friend.”

  As she entered the drawing room, she gestured to the small table. “Tea will be here shortly I thought you wouldn’t mind that on such a chill morning.”

  I waited to say anything more until we were seated at the table. “I have some unusual questions…”

  “That means they’re most serious, Maitre Rhennthyl.”

  “Most serious, Madame Iryela D’Ryel.” I matched her tone before letting my voice turn serious. “I’ve been trying to find any traces of Johanyr. You haven’t heard from him?”

  “No. I have warned all the guards that he’s not to be admitted, either here or at the main estates in Rivages. How could he have just…disappeared?”

  “He wasn’t under guard, and he’d lost his ability to image.”

  “He’s almost blind, isn’t he? How could he get around?”

  I didn’t want to answer that directly. “With great difficulty, I suspect. But there are blind people in every town and city.”

  “He isn’t the kind to beg or be helpless. You know that.”

  I did indeed. “That’s very true. Has he ever written you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Was there anyone he was particularly close to?”

  “No. He wasn’t even that close to me or to Dulyk or Alynat, and he wouldn’t speak or write to them after he…after he went to Mont D’Glace. He never wrote me, either.” The door opened, and an older woman appeared with a tray.

  The tea was cardomom-flavored and welcome, since I wasn’t totally warmed after the coach ride, even with the gentle heat flowing from the drawing room stove. So were the simple morning cakes.

  “I had tea sent down to your driver. I’m sorry you had to come out in such weather.”

  “The sooner the better. Matters are not that good…oh…I forgot to tell you. An assassin shot Councilor Glendyl yesterday. He almost died, and he’s at the Imagisle infirmary, but Maitre Draffyd thinks it’s likely he’ll recover.”

  “Was it the same person as shot Suyrien? Did he get away?”

  “Ah…no. He’s dead. I don’t know as there’s any way to tell.”

  “Couldn’t they capture him…” Her words died away as she looked at me. “Did you…?”

  “I went to talk to Glendyl. He didn’t want to talk in his study and insisted on taking a walk…” I gave her a quick description of what happened.

  She shook her head. “If only you’d been with Suyrien…”

  “I don’t know it would have helped. They didn’t shoot Glendyl in the head.” I took another sip of tea and a bite of the morning cake. “Have you heard anything about why anyone would want to shoot Glendyl?”

  “Me? A mere wife to High Holder Ryel?”

  Behind the self-mocking tone was a certain sadness, I thought. “You’ve always seen and understood more than anyone else knew.”

  “Except you.” She took refuge in sipping her tea.

  I just waited, taking another swallow of tea.

  Finally, she said, “There’s been talk for years about how he wants to do away with all the High Holders and break up the big landholdings by applying his so-called value-added tax to lands that don’t produce revenue. That’s foolish when you consider that you can only harvest timberlands once a generation, if that, but he’d tax the land every year when there’s only revenue from it once every thirty to a hundred years. I haven’t heard anyone who thought seriously about actually shooting him, but there’s not a High Holder out there who liked the idea of his being in charge of the Executive Council, even for a month. Even Caartyl would have been better, but I doubt any High Holder would commission an assassination that would hand the Executive Council over to a guildmaster.”

  “I can see that. But even if Glendyl did head the Executive Council for the next month, he couldn’t pass tax or revenue matters. That takes two-thirds of the entire Council.” And right now, the High Holder Councilors and the single Collegium Councilor constitute one vote more than a third of the full Council. I also had the feeling that Suyrien hadn’t seen Ferlyn’s figures on the numbers of High Holders.

  “What is it, Rhenn?”

  I laughed ruefully. “Trouble, of a different kind. I just realized something. I’m sure Maitre Dichartyn knew it, but some of this is very new to me.”

  “Why?”

  At that point, I realized that I’d never told her what had happened, not in terms of my change of position. I’d assumed she’d known, but I’d never mentioned it, and my presence at the memorial service would have been considered normal, even if I hadn’t taken over Dichartyn’s duties. “Things have changed at the Collegium. Maitre Poincaryt and Maitre Dichartyn were killed in the bombardment. I’m no longer a Civic Patrol captain. The Collegium has recalled me, and I’m now a Maitre D’Esprit.”

  “Oh…” For one of the few times since I’d met her years before, Iryela looked disconcerted. “You’re…one of the high imagers, then?”

  I knew that was so, but I hadn’t let myself dwell on it. “By default. Maitre Dyana is now the Maitre of the Collegium.”

  Iryela laughed. “No wonder Frydryk has been grumbling. A woman heading the Collegium. How did that happen?”

  “She was the only Maitre D’Esprit left.”

  “That means…you’re the second-ranking imager in all of Solidar. And you’re here having tea with me?”

  “I said it was important,” I pointed out, trying to keep my tone light.

  “What does Johanyr have to do with all of this?”

  “I don’t know. It might be nothing. It’s just that he vanished just before all the attacks on L’Excelsis took place.”

  She shook her head. “You think he’s involved, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I worry that he is. Do you know if any of his acquaintances have heard from him?”

  “Not that I know of. I used to ask, but he never wrote anyone. I’d think they would tell me if he did now, or if
they’d seen him.”

  “Do you know if he was friendly with Geuffryt, one of the Naval Command Assistant Sea-Marshals?”

  “Geuffryt?” She frowned. “Geuffryt…” Then she nodded. “Geuffryt D’Laevoryn-Alte. He was the youngest son. He was…I suppose he still is…some sort of relative of Juniae D’Shendael. He was friendly enough to Johanyr when Johanyr was still a boy, but he was a good ten years older. He was like a distant uncle. Then his father…he made some bad decisions, and he went sailing one day and never came back. I suppose that was why Geuffryt stayed with the Navy.” She paused. “Why did you want to know?”

  “I just wondered. I met Geuffryt several weeks ago and found out that he was a cousin of Madame D’Shendael. He seemed to know about your family.” That was more than a slight exaggeration. “So I thought I’d ask. I’m trying to think of anyone Johanyr might contact.”

  “There really isn’t. You know he was always above everyone…until…”

  “I was afraid that might be the case.” I smiled wryly. “I’ve also been watching on the other matter. So far nothing has turned up, but we have run across rumors of a few other odd funds transactions, and I can always hope that we can find out what happened.”

  “I do appreciate it.”

  “I do have one other odd question.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you know if there is a complete listing of all the High Holders in Solidar anywhere?”

  “The Collegium doesn’t have one?”

  “If it does, no one knows about it.”

  “I don’t think there is a current list. I remember my father talking about the last complete census of High Holders being done at the turn of the last century. There is a list in the library, and he did annotate it.”

  “Might I borrow it? Discreetly?”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “I will ask that you return it personally.”

  “I can do that.”

  “If you will excuse me…” Iryela rose.

  I stood and watched her leave, but she returned immediately, handing a small bound volume over to me. “It’s just a listing of names and the locations of the main lands of each High Holder.” After a moment, she asked, “Do you have any other unusual questions?”

  “No. I wish I did, because it would mean I knew more.”

  She did laugh, if softly.

  “I should leave. I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”

  “You will let me know…if anything…happens?”

  “I will.” I inclined my head. “And you will do the same? About Johanyr or Glendyl or anything else you think useful?”

  “I will.” She stood. “Congratulations. I always knew you’d do well. I’m sorry for you that it happened the way it did.”

  “So am I. I’m not as prepared for it as I should be.”

  “No. We never are. That’s life. I’ll walk out with you.”

  As we walked down the corridor, she added, “I told Kandryl times were changing, and we’ve been more careful than ever. He chided me for worrying…until all this happened. Now, he doesn’t say anything.”

  “Except ‘Yes, dearest,’” I suggested.

  “He understands.”

  I was certain Kandryl did.

  At the entry foyer, she turned to me. “Do be careful, and give our best to Seliora.”

  “I will indeed.”

  I had to wait half a quint before the duty coach reached the front entry, but that was fine with me. It was half past one by the time I got back to the Collegium, where I immediately sought out Schorzat. He and Kahlasa were in his study, with a stack of papers between them.

  They both looked up. Schorzat opened his mouth, as if he were about to ask where I’d been, but then closed it for a moment before saying, “We’re glad you’re back.”

  I handed the bound list to Schorzat. “We need this copied, along with the marginal notes.”

  He glanced over it. “These are rather tightly held.”

  “I know. I couldn’t find one here in the Collegium.”

  “It’s in the locked collection in the library.”

  “Then get it, and copy the annotations and give me the new annotated copy.” I paused only briefly. “What have you found out?”

  “We’ve been working on the large banques. They won’t give details, but they’ve all assured us that none of them have issued fund transfers from unusual sources.”

  “Is there a local branch of the Banque D’Rivages?”

  “No, but Kahlasa sent a query yesterday by ironway, and we got back a reply less than a glass ago. They were kind enough to note that they had no activity of that nature whatsoever, except from their usual sources.”

  “Was it phrased that way?”

  “Why, yes. Why?” Schorzat lifted a single sheet of heavy paper. “You can read it.”

  I took it and read the words. He was right.

  Considering that I was one of the highest-paid imagers, and five thousand golds represented ten years’ pay, there couldn’t be that many people in Solidar with those kinds of assets—no more than fifteen hundred to two thousand, and probably half of those used banques in L’Excelsis. The fact that the draft had been on the Banque D’Rivages confirmed my suspicions, and so did the banque’s reply, not that what we’d discovered was the kind of proof one could put before the Justiciary.

  Now…the next questions were why Geuffryt had done it, and what I could do about it…if anything.

  After Schorzat and Kahlasa left, I just sat down and tried to think matters through. That, I was finding, was far harder than doing things. Then I realized that Maitre Dyana needed to know what I suspected about Johanyr and Geuffryt. So I headed upstairs to tell her, even if I couldn’t prove a thing, in the legal sense.

  Gherard was sorting papers of some sort at his desk, but he immediately straightened. “Yes, Maitre Rhennthyl?”

  “Is she in?”

  “No, sir. I believe she’s at the Council Chateau, meeting with Councilor Caartyl and Maitre Rholyn, sir.”

  “Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?”

  “No, sir. She did say that she might not be back here today and that I shouldn’t wait past fifth glass for her.”

  “Thank you.”

  When I got back to my study, I realized I was angry…at more than a few things. I’d had to ask Iryela for something the Collegium already had, something that should have been in Maitre Dichartyn’s files, not locked away in the Collegium library. That wasn’t a total loss, because I suspected no one in the library had updated the listing. How complete Ryel’s updates were was another question. Then, every time I tried to find out something, such as where large sums of funds were coming from, I kept finding that there wasn’t any way or system to find out, or not accurately. The Council was squabbling over how to fund ships Solidar needed, and no one really even knew what sort of taxation on whom would raise how much funding, and I suspected that, if I talked to Reynol, he’d tell me that his figures were estimates at best. That didn’t mean I didn’t need to talk to him.

  None of the Civic Patrol Commanders’ reports were the same. Some were little more than half-page summaries. Others went into mind-numbing detail, much of which looked irrelevant. And neither Commander of either Westisle or Estisle had ever really addressed the stronger elveweed issue, except in generalities. The newsheets had reported ships being burned over the past two months, but nowhere in any reports were there any figures, either about totals of vessels lost, destroyed cargoes, and their values.

  And who had compiled the High Holder listing? When I’d leafed through it and read some of it on the way back to the Collegium, there was no indication who had compiled or printed the small volume, although a single sentence on the second page had indicated that it was the official roster of High Holders as of the year 700 A.L.—more than sixty years earlier. Why wasn’t there a more up-to-date listing? Was that because the High Holders didn’t want one? Or because they honestly believed more frequent updates were un
necessary?

  I’d thought about compiling a rough estimate of the damages created all across Solidar by the Ferrans and their agents, as a tool to persuade the Council to approve building more warships, but I dismissed the idea immediately. First, there was no way to determine the costs of all the incidents. Second, I didn’t see any way to separate out incidents arising from the conflicts between free holders and High Holders from those created by Ferran agents. And third, most of the Council could not have cared less.

  Finally, at half past four, I’d had enough, and I left my study and began the walk home through a wind even more bitter than the one that morning. I did see, as I neared our house, that work continued on rebuilding the large dwelling for the Maitre of the Collegium.

  Seliora greeted me in the front foyer when I stepped inside and out of the wind. She had a rueful smile on her lips as she held up two envelopes.

  “I take it that those are invitations.”

  “How did you guess?”

  “Because you’re holding them up.” I smiled. “What else could they be? I have no idea why anyone would be inviting us anywhere.” I did manage to keep my voice serious, and half-concerned as I took off my cloak and hung it up.

  “Rhenn! We will be getting these invitations. You are effectively the second-highest ranking imager in Solidar…” She broke off and began laughing. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

  “I was told that we should expect them, because we’re far too young to be where we are and you’re far too beautiful.”

  “No one said that.”

  “Oh, yes, they did. Maitre Schorzat did.” I didn’t mention Schorzat’s speculation about Madame D’Glendyl and hoped one wasn’t from her, sent before the shooting.

  “He’s kind.”

  “He was also telling the truth. Now…where are we invited?”

  “To a small reception at the salon of Juniae D’Shendael on the sixth of Ianus at her town house, and to a winter ball at D’Almeida Place, hosted by Almeida D’Alte and Madame Ruisa D’Almeida. That’s on the fourteenth of Ianus.”

  I didn’t know anything about High Holder Almeida, except that Master Dichartyn had once mentioned him in passing, and nothing about Madame D’Almeida. “You might wait a day or so before accepting. There might be more.”