Assassin's Price

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  As Charyn made his way to the study, he tried to think of how Ryel’s next attempt might be made. It was unlikely to come through treachery at the chateau, not after all the changes that had been made and the death of everyone who had attempted such treachery, but, given Ryel, there would be some form of deception. As if knowing that helps very much.

  At just before eighth glass, Factor Roblen appeared, a youngish factor, by that meaning he looked merely some five years older than Charyn, with bright green eyes, broad shoulders, and thin brown hair. “Thank you so much for seeing me, Your Grace.”

  Charyn gestured to the chairs and seated himself, waiting until Roblen sat down before asking, “Why did you wish to see me? I assume it’s not about cloth or tailoring.”

  “No, sir. I thought I should, Your Grace.” The factor looked down nervously, then seemed to force himself to face Charyn. “You see … things have happened in my life, and I learned what I thought was not always the way I had thought. I keep reading in the newssheets … well … that factors are upset with you because you aren’t doing enough to stop the Jariolan raiders. The piracy hurts us. I lost my part of a cargo of woolens going to Ferrum last month…”

  “The piracy and privateering hurt us all,” Charyn replied.

  “Yes, Your Grace, it does. We do need more warships, it seems to me. But it also seems to me that we have to pay for them. I can’t say I’m pleased that it’s necessary. No factor in his right mind would be pleased with higher tariffs. The thing is … well … I mean … so long as the tariff increases are fair, and we all pay, and that includes High Holders … well … it seems right to me.” Roblen paused, then swallowed. “I mean … that’s really all I came to say.”

  “You’re a brave man, Factor, and more fair-minded than many. I can tell you, if you haven’t heard, that I have made arrangements to build more warships. There will be a small increase in tariffs for both High Holders and large factors, and a smaller increase for smaller factors.”

  “Might I ask?”

  “Ten additional golds for the High Holders and large factors. Five more golds for factors who pay less than fifty golds a year in tariffs, and a one-part-in-ten increase for those who owe less than twenty-five golds.”

  “That is more than many will like, but … I cannot say it is not fair.”

  “Both the High Council and the Factors’ Council of Solidar have agreed to those terms, and I have pledged not to further increase tariffs unless great straits face Solidar, and only then after meeting with the councils.”

  “You … have thought this through.”

  “I’ve tried.”

  “I can say no more, Your Grace … I … do appreciate your seeing me.”

  Charyn stood. “No more than I appreciate your seeing me and offering your honest thoughts. I thank you and wish you well … and hope the efforts Marshal Vaelln has undertaken will keep your future cargoes safe.”

  Roblen stood, then bowed deeply before leaving.

  At least there’s one. Charyn could only hope there were more like Roblen, even as he wondered what the event Roblen had alluded to had been, the one that suggested that what people thought was not always so.

  He walked to the window and looked out, still thinking.

  At two quints past ninth glass, an imager courier delivered two envelopes. After he left, Charyn looked at the two, each one addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting on the second—that of Aloryana—and immediately decided to open the first, since it was most likely from Maitre Alastar. Setting Aloryana’s letter aside on the desk, he used the miniature letter knife to slit open the envelope.

  As he had suspected, it was from the Maitre, a short missive thanking Charyn for the gift of the “excellent and well-tempered clavecin,” praising Palenya for her skill and diligence, and asking if she would be available for instructionals in the afternoons on every Lundi and Meredi.

  Charyn nodded. That seemed perfectly possible, but he would still ask Palenya if that arrangement would be agreeable to her. He replaced Alastar’s missive in its envelope and opened the second, which was, indeed, from Aloryana.

  Dear Charyn—

  Thank you so very, VERY much. The clavecin is wonderful. It sounds just as good as the one in the Chateau music room. Palenya let me be the first to play it after she finished. It felt so good to play again. I know it’s only been weeks, but it seemed like it was so long ago. Palenya worked so hard to rebuild it, and Maitre Alyna helped image the finish in the places where it was scarred. It looks like it was just new. Even Malyna was impressed with it. She says it’s better than the one at her father’s holding …

  Charyn was smiling for a good half quint after he finished reading Aloryana’s letter. In time, he turned to Howal. “How would you like to take a drive? I’d like to visit Factor Paersyt and see how he’s coming with his engine.”

  “Do I have a choice?” asked Howal with an amused smile.

  “If you really think I shouldn’t go, I won’t, but I haven’t gone anywhere in weeks, and I doubt anyone would anticipate my going to see Paersyt.”

  “You’re probably right about that, sir, but I would suggest that you make the visit short.”

  “In the event that someone is watching? So that they can’t gather a larger group of men or some destructive force like a cannon that can overwhelm your shields?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then we’ll make the visit short.”

  Two quints later, the two were in the plain coach, with a driver and a single guard, both wearing heavy but nondescript brown coats.

  Charyn watched from one side of the coach, and Howal from the other as the coach turned from the drive onto the ring road, and started south to the Avenue D’Commercia. From there, the driver followed it to the West River Road and continued southwest. Before long, Charyn could make out the brown stone building with its single pier projecting out over the ice of the river. A thin line of white smoke rose from the main factorage chimney.

  As soon as the coach pulled up as close to the main door as practicable, Howal stepped out, looking around, followed by Charyn. Both moved to the solid and aged oak door.

  Charyn was about to lift the heavy brass knocker, when the door opened, and the graying and wiry Paersyt stood there in a heavy brown leather apron over a worn woolen shirt and trousers.

  “I thought it might be you, Your Grace. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would be here to see me in this weather.” He stepped back into the factorage.

  Howal led the way, and Charyn closed the door after he entered. Even though he had been there before, he was still surprised by how large the factorage appeared on the inside.

  “I thought I would see how you’re coming on your engine,” Charyn said blandly.

  “I do have a small working model almost completed.” The factor led the way to a workbench beside the forge set on the left side of the huge stone-floored hearth. The workbench was smoothly finished and spotless—as it had been before.

  “This one doesn’t look that different from the one you showed me before,” observed Charyn.

  “Not at first glance, but let me show you the differences. I told you about the problem with the seals on the second one. This is the third. I had to make a shorter and slightly wider cylinder in order to make it more effective at moving back and forth more quickly without losing power…”

  As Paersyt explained, Charyn began to understand more of what the factor had in mind.

  “… thought that the most useful application would be to power a boat. Once I showed how well it worked on a rivercraft, traders might be interested in a larger version for a seagoing vessel. The crankshaft here can be attached to a set of gears that turn this water screw.”

  “Water screw?”

  “People used to use a different kind of water screw to hand-pump water from a lower level to a higher one. The Naedarans used a version to dewater their lead mines, but they’re limited in how h
igh a single one can lift water…”

  Charyn tried not to frown. He’d never known that the ancient Naedarans even had had lead mines.

  “I thought that if I turned the screw in the other direction and removed the casing and just used three angled blades, my water screw would push the water away. I used wooden blades to begin with until I found the right shape and angles.”

  “Does it work?” asked Charyn quietly.

  “It does, but…” Paersyt sighed. “It’s still not as effective as I’d like. I mean, the engine works, and the gears turn the water screw fast enough, but I think I need a bigger screw that turns more slowly … There’s a trade-off between blade size and speed, but…” The factor shook his head.

  “Can you keep working on what I gave you?”

  “Yes, Your Grace … for another month or so.”

  “Let me know about your progress then. I’d like to see you get to where you can build an engine big enough to move a sizable boat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now … if you will pardon us.” Charyn stepped back.

  Paersyt only offered a pleasant expression short of a smile as the two left the factorage.

  Once Howal and Charyn were in the coach headed back to the chateau, Charyn turned to Howal. “What do you think?”

  “He’s not after your coin.”

  “But?”

  “It will cost golds for any factor to purchase one of those engines.”

  “I’ve thought of that, but they have to pay rowers, or sailors, or feed oxen. As I understand it, once the engine works, you only pay for wood or coal to heat the firebox. Animals and men get tired, and the wind doesn’t always blow.” Charyn shrugged. “If he can make this engine work, and make bigger ones, it just might give our traders and warships an advantage.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m already spending tens of thousands of golds on shipbuilding. Even if it costs a thousand to get a larger working engine … and it works, in time, it should be cheaper. Even if it’s not, to have something that can move a ship when there’s no wind would give our ships a great advantage.”

  “But factors want things cheaply.”

  “They don’t have to buy the engines…” If Paersyt can even make them. “They’d be more useful for warships, I think.” Charyn couldn’t help but smile wryly. He was planning as if he’d be rex for years when it still wasn’t certain he’d last weeks.

  They arrived back at the chateau slightly past the first glass of the afternoon, and slightly before second glass, Sturdyn announced that a Ferrand D’Delcoeur was in the foyer with an urgent need to see the rex.

  Charyn feared he knew why. “Have him come up.”

  Ferrand arrived in the study in what seemed moments, still red-faced and slightly disheveled. Charyn gestured him to the chairs, asking, “I take it matters aren’t going well.”

  “No, Charyn, they’re not. Father died late last night. Word hasn’t gotten around yet, but I can’t believe that it will be long. Over ten thousand golds owed. What am I going to do?”

  “Who holds the loans?”

  “Most of them are held by the Banque D’Aluse. I’d say over eight thousand. The rest are older. They’re owed to the Banque D’Excelsis.”

  “Because Factor Estafen wouldn’t lend any more, and Weezyr would?”

  “How…?”

  “I’ve met them both. Shall we say that one is somewhat more honorable.”

  “But what am I going to do?”

  “Deal with Estafen first … and immediately. Tell him the truth … and the fact that you will pay off the loans with a premium … if he gives you time. Then go to Weezyr and offer the same terms. Can you raise any golds?”

  “Given a week or two … a thousand at most.”

  “Tell Estafen you’ve met with me, and I suggested those terms. If he wants some token of good faith, offer him five hundred as soon as you can raise it. Then see if Weezyr will agree. He’ll want a larger amount.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Come back and see me once you arrange the best terms you can.”

  “You seem to think they’ll accept some terms.”

  “They will accept some terms. The only question is whether the terms are affordable. No matter what Weezyr has said, I doubt he wants to take on waiting on the sale of lands … or having to sell them himself.”

  “You said you’d help me.”

  “I am. The last thing either one of us wants or needs is for Weezyr to know I’ll support you, even in the slightest. You want to give the impression that you can raise the amount owed, in time, as well as pay more than interest. If he wants to know … tell him you have some sources, but that you won’t have their support if you tell who they are.”

  Charyn had to go over the strategy in different words three times or more before Ferrand finally left the study. Once the study door closed, he took a long and deep breath.

  “He’s in great trouble,” observed Howal.

  “His father left him in that position. It sometimes happens. Sometimes, it’s avoidable. Sometimes, it’s not.” With the last words, he was thinking of his own father. Although Charyn wasn’t certain, he thought that Lorien had been faced with a situation not entirely of his own making. Charyn couldn’t help but wonder just how long Ryel had been working to undermine the regial family.

  “Your Grace,” called out Sturdyn, “there’s a dispatch pouch from Solis. Would you like me to bring it in?”

  “If you would.” Another announcement of less than good news. Since whatever it was had come by dispatch pouch, it had to have been sent by either navy marshal Tynan or by Governor Voralch. Tynan most likely would have sent anything to Vaelln first; so the message had to have come from Voralch.

  Howal took the dispatch pouch.

  “Go ahead and open the pouch. Whatever’s inside will be sealed as well.”

  The imager broke the seal on the pouch and extracted a small oblong wrapped in oilskin. After unwrapping the oilskin, he handed the oblong, with a piece of thin leather around it, to Charyn, who peeled the leather off the envelope and noted the green seal of the regional governor. Without a word, he broke the seal and took out the letter. He began to read.

  Your Grace—

  I have received the most recent dispatch, the one signed jointly by yourself and Minister Aevidyr. While I understand the financial position facing the rex, especially with regard to the unrest created by factors displeased by the attacks on their merchant vessels, I must stress that my physical position is simply untenable at this point. Without a permanent residence suitable for the conduct of my position as Regional Governor, I will not be able to long function in the fashion required. Because I would not wish you to be surprised, I thought you should be informed of my situation immediately.

  From the inquiries that I have made, there is no structure suitable for both the personal and functional demands of the position as regional governor for less than 2,000 golds …

  “Another form of blackmail,” murmured Charyn, largely to himself. Before even finishing the letter, he looked up. “Howal, would you have someone summon Minister Aevidyr?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charyn had long since finished the letter by the time Aevidyr entered the study and was considering his options. He gestured for the minister to sit down and then handed him Voralch’s missive. “Read it.”

  Aevidyr nodded, took the sheet, and read. When he finished he looked up. “I cannot say that this is unexpected.”

  “Why not? Did he send you any other correspondence before this?”

  “No, sir. It is just that … well … Governor Voralch has always felt that, since Solis is the ancestral home of the regial family—”

  “That’s bulldung. It was the center of government for only a few generations. The regial family has been here far longer, and the true ancestral home is buried under lava in Extela.”

  “The governor, nonetheless, has expressed that sentiment, an
d apparently believes it to be so.”

  “Perhaps you should take a trip to Solis and see what you can find for a residence.”

  “You are jesting, are you not, Your Grace?” Aevidyr could not quite hide his appalled expression.

  “Am I?” Charyn waited a moment before adding, “Perhaps I am. But I think that the regional governor needs to be summoned here to explain a number of matters.”

  “Sir?”

  “Draft a message for me to sign requiring his immediate departure from Solis and return to L’Excelsis posthaste. I will be very disappointed if he discovers my requirement before he receives that letter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charyn could tell that Aevidyr was anything but pleased, but he just gestured for the minister to leave.

  After a time, he turned to Howal. “Draft a letter to Marshal Vaelln telling him that I have required Regional Governor Voralch to return to L’Excelsis to explain certain matters, and that I would like him to take the necessary steps so that Sea Marshal Tynan can assure that Voralch does indeed return to L’Excelsis without any delay.”

  Howal nodded. “I’ll have it in less than a quint.”

  “Thank you.”

  Charyn glanced toward the window, then shook his head. There was little point in looking out at the snow and gray stones. He just wondered what else might go wrong before the day ended. He didn’t want to think, for the moment, about the rest of the week, although he knew he would.

  59

  Mardi came and went without much change, including the weather, which remained cold and dry, and the snow piled around L’Excelsis remained, although it became sootier and dirtier with each passing day. When Charyn read the latest edition of Veritum on Meredi morning, he noted, in particular, the lengthy article about the continued losses of merchant shipping, with a few comments about how the rex seemed unable to do much about the problem.

  He set down the newssheet and shook his head before addressing two more petitions sent to him by Sanafryt. The first dealt with the denial of a small holder’s request that the Minister of Administration failed to repair a post-road bridge outside of Laaryn because the path underneath had been destroyed by a flood and the small holder had been fined for using a post road to move his sheep from one pasture to another. The petition also asked for redress of the ill created by the fine.