Draffyd strolled in with a pleasant smile. “Good morning, Rhenn. This way, please.”
I followed him into a small chamber off the anteroom where I removed my waistcoat, scarf-cravat, shirt, and undershirt.
“Does anything hurt?”
“Not any longer,” I admitted.
“What was the last thing to stop hurting, and when did it stop?”
“My ribs . . . on the right side. Here.” I pointed. “Maybe a week ago.”
He poked, prodded, thumped, and pressed and asked more questions before he finally announced, “You look good, and everything feels to have healed. Clovyl and Master Dichartyn have been asking when you’d be ready to handle more hand-to-hand combat training. You can start on Lundi, but no full-body throws. Make sure that you tell Clovyl that. He can be too enthusiastic. Those will have to wait another few weeks.”
“I’ll tell him.” I didn’t want to spend any more time healing. Close to a third of the last year I’d been recovering from wounds and injuries of some sort.
That left me with time for a leisurely stroll back across the quadrangle to the dining hall, where I was the only master there. I ate quickly and went back to my chambers. There I spent some time reading and reviewing court procedures. They were so tedious that I ended up dozing in my chair, and I had to hurry to get ready to leave for Seliora’s. I took a hack on the east side of the Bridge of Hopes . . . and no one shot at me.
The hack dropped me off outside Seliora’s door at half past four, but that was by design, although I’d originally thought to be there somewhat earlier.
Once more, Odelia opened the door, rather than her younger brother Bhenyt. “You seem to be making a habit of this, Rhenn,” she observed warmly.
“Coming here, or arriving early?”
“Both.”
“Actually, I had hoped to speak with Grandmama Diestra for a few moments.”
“I can ask her.”
“With Seliora,” I added.
“I’ll ask them both.”
We walked up the steps to the main second-level foyer, where she left me, heading up to the third level, and I walked around looking to see if there were any new chairs or upholstery designs. There weren’t.
Bhenyt was the one who came bounding down the side stairs and skidding out into the foyer. “Grandmama says you’re to meet her in the small plaques room upstairs, Master Rhenn.”
“I haven’t been there. If you’d lead the way.”
He grinned and turned. I had to walk quickly to catch up with him, but we reached the top of the narrower side staircase almost together. The small sitting room was almost directly across the smaller upper hallway from the archway from the staircase foyer. The stained oak door was open, and I stepped inside. The curtains were drawn back from the single long and narrow window, and pale white light formed an oblong on the Coharan patterned carpet.
Grandmama Diestra sat in an upholstered straight-backed chair at a small table on which was laid out a complicated form of solitaire. The three other chairs around the table were vacant. She wore a black jacket over a black sweater. Her steel-gray hair-looking almost silver above the black garments-was cut neatly at midneck level. She turned over the plaque she had in her hand and smiled, ruefully, before setting it facedown on the dark blue felt. Her black eyes focused on me.
“Sometimes, you play the plaques, and sometimes they play you.”
I wasn’t quite certain how to respond to that and had barely inclined my head to Diestra when Seliora stepped through the doorway behind me, closing the door firmly. She smiled, but it wasn’t the happiest of smiles. The crimson and black of her wool jacket was becoming, but it also made her look stern when the smile vanished, and her black eyes met mine.
“I’m very sorry,” I said, turning to her. “I didn’t mean to hurry you, but I’ve run into one of Grandmama’s warnings, and I’m afraid I’m going to need some help. More than some help, I think. It happened late yesterday, so that I really didn’t have time to send a note, and what happened I wouldn’t have wanted to put on paper.”
“Why don’t you both sit down?” suggested Diestra, before looking to Seliora. “If you really want him to be part of the family, he has to have the right to ask to talk to me directly.”
Her words clearly brought Seliora up short. After a moment, she said, “Yes, Grandmama.”
Diestra looked to me. “Your turn will come, when you least expect it. Try to be equally gracious.”
I inclined my head. “Thank you for the warning. I will try.” Then I turned to Seliora. “I do apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Her second smile was warmer, and she nodded and let me pull out the chair to the right of Grandmama Diestra for her. I went to the other side of the plaques table and sat down across from Seliora.
“What is this problem?” asked Diestra.
I offered a sheepish look. “Actually, I have three. First, I have to start working with Lieutenant Mardoyt on Lundi. He handles all the trial preparation for the patrollers. Now that I’ve seen how offenders are charged, Commander Artois wants me to see how the trials work before I accompany any patrollers.” Since I didn’t see any great reaction, I went on. “Second, on Meredi, when we were leaving Saliana’s at lunch, someone took another shot at me, and the bullet was a heavy sniper type. Third, the riot in the South Middle taudis wasn’t something that just happened, and I’d hope that you’d be able to arrange a meeting with that young taudischef I met at Imagisle when he brought his cousin in. His name was Horazt.”
“You think all of these are linked together?” asked Seliora.
“The shots at me and the riot might be linked. I can’t believe Commander Artois or the subcommander would be involved in the riot, but I feel there’s a reason behind my being assigned to observe Mardoyt.”
“The obvious reason is that Mardoyt is getting to be a problem, and that the commander wants you to discover something so that the blame falls on you,” said Diestra.
“That was my feeling. I thought that Horazt might know something about Mardoyt, and he certainly should be able to tell me about the riot.”
“Arranging such a meeting would not be impossible,” mused Diestra, “but would it be wise? Why would he agree?”
“He needs to show he has control, even contacts. I can tell him about his young cousin. He might even care.”
“Already, you are cynical.” Diestra’s words were dry.
“I’d also like advice from both of you on dealing with Mardoyt and all the things I need to watch out for.”
“The easiest thing,” began the gray-haired Pharsi woman, “is to arrange the meeting with Horazt. Between your position and our interest, he would rather have us owing him than the other way around. How is the boy-his young cousin-doing?”
“He seems to be all right. I’ve been watching from the background, and talking to him once or twice a week. Some of the other primes are watching out for him as well.”
“That is good. Betara and I can also make a few inquiries about the riot. That will seem natural, and we can also see if Staelia has overheard anything. The shootings of an imager are not something we should ask about. Such questions from us will do you more harm than good.”
“I can see that.”
“Mardoyt is another question. Whatever he asks of you, only do what the procedures demand. Nothing else. Be most polite. If he feels slighted, you will become his enemy. You must learn with whom he works. I would suggest that you play the role you can play so well, young Rhenn. That is of the eager young imager who wants to learn and not to offend. Just keep thanking him for every insight and bit of information. But do not ever trust him, even on the slightest of matters. He is doubtless well aware of the weaknesses of imagers.” A crooked smile crossed her lips. “It is unlikely that he will do anything wrong or improper while you are around, but that does not mean he will not do such.”
That meant I’d have to find evidence of some sort, and Mardoyt didn’t so
und like someone who left many tracks.
“If that is all, you two can go and leave an old woman in peace.” The words were said with a smile.
“Thank you.” I stood and bowed to her.
Seliora did not say anything until we were out in the upper hallway, with no one close by. “You didn’t tell Grandmama Diestra everything, did you?”
I shook my head. “We-the imagers-have another problem. Someone is shooting junior imagers. Whether it’s a group of assassins, or whether someone has offered a bounty for every dead imager, no one knows, but it’s happening.”
“Most people feel the same way about imagers and Pharsis.”
“That may be, but over the past year, they’ve killed over twenty young imagers-that’s about half the number the Collegium finds every year. If someone shot half the Pharsis born in a given year, Solidar would be in shambles.”
For a moment, Seliora just stood there in the foyer. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“I didn’t either, until Ferlyn pointed it out this morning at breakfast. There’s another problem-”
“Announcing it will just make matters worse.”
I nodded.
“You’re going to ask Horazt, aren’t you?”
“I’d thought to. I could bring up the fact that I’d like to resolve the problem before Shault is free to leave Imagisle.”
“That might work.” She paused. “If you don’t find anything, Mama and Grandmama could ask if anyone’s been promising payoffs for shootings, without mentioning imagers. They might find something. If they don’t . . . doesn’t that suggest it’s someone like the Ferran who was after you?”
“It wouldn’t be absolute, but it would seem more likely.”
“Good! I’ll talk to them.” She looked directly at me. “We’ve both had long weeks. Can we not talk about them and enjoy dinner?”
“Absolutely. That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard.” With that, I offered her my arm, and we walked down the staircases.
Bhenyt had hailed a hack, and it was waiting. I slipped him a copper. More, and the family wouldn’t have approved. He grinned at me as I offered Seliora a hand getting into the hack.
“Azeyd’s,” I told the hacker.
“Azeyd’s it is, sir.”
Once inside the coach, I turned sideways to face Seliora. “I am sorry . . .”
“Are you sorry you did it? Or sorry you upset me?”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I accept. You did need to talk to her, but there was time to tell me that was what you needed.”
I understood all too well. Offering an apology for a necessary act was hypocrisy, but not apologizing for a rude approach to the necessary was unforgivable. Since I had apologized . . . all was well. I hoped.
Azeyd’s was located on a side street without a name off Nordroad, some three blocks to the west of Guild Square. The outside was unprepossessing, just a dark red set of double doors in a yellow brick facade, bound in brass under a short awning and flanked on each side by a set of two narrow windows filled with leaded glass panes that were anything but recent in style or construction.
After helping Seliora from the hack and opening the door, I followed her into the restaurant. The woman standing at the far side of the small foyer tiled in large red and black squares looked to Seliora. “Ah . . . Mistress D’Shelim.” Then she looked to me, her eyes clearly measuring me and the imager grays that I wore. “Sir.”
“This is Imager Master Rhennthyl. He’s a friend of the family.” Seliora smiled demurely. “He’s an even better friend of mine.”
“Then he is certainly welcome here.” Her smile to me was warm, yet wary, before she turned and led us to the right into a narrow and long room that held two rows of tables-four on one side and five on the other, each row set against a pale tan plastered wall.
The wall was decorated with a form of art I’d never seen before-thin strips of colored leather braided and worked into designs, ranging in size from a diamond shape less than ten digits on an edge to a leather mosaic mural almost two yards wide and two-thirds of a yard high. The mural showed Pharsi riders charging a line of musket-bearing foot soldiers.
“The battle of Khelgror,” Seliora murmured. “The last stand of the Khelan Pharsi against the Bovarians.”
“Here you are,” offered the hostess, gesturing to an oval table against the inside wall.
“Thank you.” Seliora and I spoke almost simultaneously.
A single bronze lamp hung from a bronze chain, positioned about a yard above the center of the table. The linens were red, and a single slate sat on a polished black wooden stand set near the plaster wall and facing outward.
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
“Have you ever had Enazai? It’s a traditional ice wine, powerful, but served before a meal.” She paused. “Father claims that’s because, after drinking it, no one cared what the food tasted like.”
“I should try it.”
“Two.” Seliora nodded to the hostess, who slipped away.
I looked over the menu chalked on the slate. “How is the Bertetia? What is it?”
“Cow stomach marinated for months, sliced and fermented, and then broiled and served with blue potatoes. Grandmama likes it. None of the rest of us have tried it more than once.”
“The forest quail sounds better.”
“It’s one of my favorites, along with venison ragout, but that’s very spicy.”
The hostess returned with two half-sized goblets of a pale red, almost pinkish, wine. “What will you have?”
“We’ll share the priata platter, and I’ll have the ragout,” Seliora said, “and a red Grisio.”
“The quail with a white Cambrisio,” I added.
After the hostess left the table, I lifted the small goblet. “To you.”
“To us,” Seliora replied.
I sipped the Enazai . . . and was glad that I’d only sipped. It didn’t burn on the way down, but even that small swallow had a definite impact. Within moments, I could feel the warmth it imparted all over. “I like it, but your father has a point.”
“He usually does.”
“Like you,” I teased.
“And you don’t?” she countered.
Since I was supposed to have a point, I had to come up with one. “I heard something at breakfast this morning. One of the older masters was talking about how life and people really operate in patterns and how some of the problems we face are a result of intersecting patterns-old patterns of doing things that clash with new patterns created by the way things change.”
“Go on,” Seliora prompted.
“Things are changing in Solidar. The number of High Holders is decreasing, and those who are left are more powerful-”
“And more arrogant.”
“The larger factors are also getting wealthier and more powerful, and I have the feeling that we’re getting more people in the taudis, and they’re poorer than before.” That was more feeling than anything, but I trusted it.
“There are boys who are smoking elveweed now. Not just men.”
“Khethila has seen more men smoking it as well.”
“They can’t get jobs. We hire from there when we can, for the hauling and rough positions, but we only need a few men. It’s hard to find ones who will work and aren’t weeded out. Grandmama said it would have been hard for her if she’d arrived in L’Excelsis now.”
“Why?”
“Everyone wants to make golds the easy way, and that’s trafficking in elveweed. She wouldn’t do anything like that.”
At that moment the priata platter arrived. On it were small pastry crescents with a dark sauce oozing from the edge where the two sides of the flaky crust joined, large green olives stuffed with some sort of cheese, melon circles wrapped in thin ham, and marinated grape leaves wrapped around some sort of filling.
Seliora lifted one of the crescents, and I followed her example, dis
covering the sweet/sharp sauce imparted a tang to the chopped onion and ripe olive mixture within the crust.
“You said you had a point,” Seliora prompted.
Not only did I see the mischievous glint in her eyes, but I could hear a certain interest in her voice. “Besides a good dinner? Oh . . . I was thinking that better steam engines mean we need fewer strong backs and mules and horses, and more people who can do things with powered looms, the way you design fabric patterns, or the way Father can order a fabric more to a clothing factor’s requirements.”
“Those engines that power the looms and the ironway engines cost more in golds, but they produce more, and so the large High Holders get larger, and the larger factors get wealthier, and there are more smaller businesses like NordEste, and fewer individual crafters-”
“You’re not exactly small,” I pointed out.
“Compared to the wealth of a High Holder like Ryel? We’re nothing.”
“But there are hundreds of businesses like yours. Thousands all over Solidar, and that will change things. The Council is based on the way things were a century ago.”
“Rhenn . . . listen to your own words. The structure of the Council hasn’t changed. People still think of Pharsis with distaste, and shopkeepers and trades-people as unworthy of having any real rights. Do you think that the High Holders or the guilds want to give up power? Together, they outvote the factors. Why would they change?”
“Not all the guild members think that way.” I was thinking of Caartyl. “You’re right, though. Maybe they won’t change, but it’s still a pattern of conflict.”
By then we had finished off everything on the priata platter, and the hostess appeared and whisked it away, only to reappear with our dinner and wine.
From there on in, we talked about families, the world, food, wine, and each other. Before all that long, or so it seemed to me, I was helping Seliora out of the hack outside of NordEste Design and escorting her to the door-holding my shields so as to protect us both.
“Can I stop by tomorrow?” I asked just before she was about to close the door.
“Why don’t you come for lunch-except that it’s really a combination of breakfast and lunch? It’s at half before noon.”
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