“What did you think of the rest of the family?” asked Seliora.
“I like Duerl and Aesthya, and I really enjoyed meeting Staelia.”
“Your feelings are much like everyone else’s.”
“What does Clyenn do?”
“You know Staelia runs a small bistro. It’s only about two blocks from the Patrol headquarters. It’s east of there and a half block off Fedre on Pousaint. Clyenn isn’t too bad a cook, and he does exactly what Staelia tells him to. He’s only strayed once.”
“The scar?”
“The second one will be across his throat . . . not that anyone would find his body.” Seliora’s words were absolutely matter-of-fact.
“Pharsi treatment of infidelity?”
She shook her head. “Stealing of funds. You don’t steal from family, ever. Infidelity can happen. It’s frowned on, but people are people. Theft is deliberate. You have to think it out, and that’s betrayal.”
Put that way, I definitely understood. I also realized that I didn’t understand Seliora’s family quite so well as I’d thought I did. I smiled wryly.
“Why the smile?” Curiosity and worry lay behind her question.
“I was thinking of Rousel, and how it’s a good thing he’s operating a factorage for my family, rather than a spice brokerage for Remaya’s family.”
“They don’t hold the Pharsi traditions as strongly,” she said.
“I wouldn’t know.”
She smiled, slightly possessively, I thought. “I’m glad.”
I thought about saying something about how she was so much more than Remaya, but decided against it, because the words would have implied the comparison, and comparisons are always odious, especially to a beautiful woman who loved me.
“You should stop by Staelia’s. It’s called Chaelia.”
We talked a bit more, and I could see her yawning. “I should go.”
Abruptly she straightened. “There’s someone outside.”
“We should go down and look.”
Arm in arm, we did, and I looked through the small window to the left of the door casement. “I don’t see anyone, but there’s a hack there.”
“Mother paid him to wait for you.”
“I shouldn’t keep him waiting, then. I’ll be very careful.” I raised my shields even before Seliora opened the door.
The muffled crack of a weapon and the impact against my shields were almost simultaneous, and I couldn’t help but stagger back into Seliora.
“Namer-damned . . .” Who could have been shooting at me? Straight assassination wasn’t what High Holder Ryel would have done. At least, I didn’t think so.
In the distance, I could hear footsteps. Much as I was tempted to give chase, the shooter had too much of a head start, and it could also have been a trap.
“They’ve gone,” Seliora said.
The hacker was looking around.
“I’ll be right there!” I called.
I wasn’t right there, because Seliora and I did need a little time to say good night and good-bye, but the hacker did wait. Betara had obviously paid him well, for which I was glad.
On the drive back to the Bridge of Hopes, I couldn’t help but wonder if High Holder Ryel had changed his mind . . . or if I’d become someone else’s enemy. But whose? I hadn’t done anything to anyone at the Civic Patrol, and all the Ferrans had been taken care of . . . hadn’t they?
Yet whoever it had been had known exactly where I’d be. I frowned. It couldn’t be Ryel. He would have known I had shields. But who?
Tired as I was, I woke up on Solayi early enough to see both Artiema and Erion in a semidark sky before I trudged down to shower and shave. I took my time before heading off to the dining hall for breakfast. Even so, the only master there was Heisbyl, another senior and graying Maitre D’Aspect. Caliostrus had done a portrait of his daughter, and from what I recalled, the daughter did not look much like her father, except for the hazel eyes. Caliostrus had painted her eyes as warm, but Heisbyl’s were flat. Given the tendency of my late portraiturist master to flatter his subjects, I would have wagered that her eyes were like her father’s.
“Good morning, Rhenn.” He shook his head. “To be young again, like you, and able to greet gray mornings early and cheerfully.”
“Early,” I replied. “Not always cheerfully.”
“When you get to be my age, you’ll look back on them and think they were cheerful.”
That was a truly frightening thought, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I just smiled and passed the teapot to him. “You have the duty today.”
“Why else would I be here? And you?”
“I discovered I had a few things on my mind.”
“Most of you who report to Dichartyn seem to. It’s not something I’d wish to do. Running the armory workshops is far more to my taste.”
“To each his own.” I took a swallow of the tea before I started eating, but I couldn’t see why supervising the armory production was any less disturbing than covert operations, except that we occasionally had to kill people directly, and what he did resulted in killing far greater numbers of people—just far less directly.
After breakfast I went to the library once more. I had another set of ideas I wanted to try out. Rather than look directly for High Holder Ryel or for books on High Holders, I decided to see what there was on laws dealing with land transfers, or anything on land holdings, or material on the original compact.
All in all, I spent more than two glasses tracking down one piece of information and then another. I did discover that a High Holder had to pass a minimum of four-fifths of his holdings on to his heir—unless the total of the lands to be received were greater in size than the average of all High Holdings, in which case the inheritance merely had to exceed the average. I supposed that meant a truly massive High Holding could actually be split among two or three heirs. The heir was first the oldest son, then other sons in birth order—but could be a nephew or a grandson. The only way a woman could inherit was if there were no male descendants, and no blood nephews, and her husband had to take the family name. That did create some interesting speculation about Junaie D’Shendael. If the four-fifths requirement could not be met from the estate itself, unless the putative heir could purchase or otherwise provide evidence of lands and assets sufficient to add to the inherited holding to meet that requirement, the High Holding was registered as dissolved.
The last point was that any High Holder had the right to override a purchase agreement for lands sold to a non–High Holder by registering such an override, but the High Holder undertaking the override had to pay fifteen percent above the original purchase price, and one-third of the fifteen percent went to whoever had contracted to buy the lands, and ten percent went to the seller, usually to the heirs who were no longer High Holders.
I did find out, through some obscure footnotes, the general location and extent of the holdings of the Ryel family—and the name passed with the lands to the heir, so that Dulyk would become High Holder Ryel with the death of his father. The Ryel familial lands lay some hundred odd milles almost due north of L’Excelsis and ran from the edge of Rivages to well beyond Cleville to the east. The holding had to be more than fifty milles east to west, but I couldn’t determine how far north and south it ran. Ryel’s colors were black and silver, and I knew I’d seen them somewhere, but couldn’t remember when or where. Certainly, Iryela hadn’t worn black, though I did recall silver.
As a result of my absorption in the library, I missed lunch, but that was not a burden, since I wasn’t that hungry. Close to the first glass of the afternoon, I crossed the Bridge of Desires and hired a hack to take me to see Seliora. I hadn’t said I was coming, but she was usually there on Solayi, and I wanted to see if she had any thoughts on who had shot at me on Samedi night.
Seliora was home. In fact, she was the one who answered the door. Once I was in the foyer, she did kiss me warmly before she escorted me up to the main entry hall. She wore simple
dark blue trousers, a wide leather belt, a severe tan shirt, and a soft leather jacket.
“I’m glad you came now, rather than later. I wouldn’t have been here.”
“You have to go somewhere? Now?”
“In a half glass or so.” She shook her head. “We don’t usually work on Solayi, but one of our longtime clients has decided that his salon needs to be redone before his daughter’s wedding at the end of Feuillyt. That’s only eight weeks from now, and we have to meet with him and his wife today because they’re leaving for Nacliano on Lundi.”
“I should have asked about coming today before I left last night, but I didn’t think about it after what happened. Do you have any idea—”
“It can’t be Ryel. High Holders don’t operate that way.”
“Unless he knows about my shields and is just having people shoot at me to wear me down and get me upset . . . or upset those close to me.” I really didn’t believe that, but I thought I should mention it.
Seliora frowned. “That could be, but I don’t think so. When I get a moment, I’ll talk to Grandmama Diestra about it. She might have some ideas.”
“I could use some.”
“Rhenn . . . if you walk anywhere with other patrollers, you might consider . . .”
“Extending my shields to cover them? I’ve thought about it. It won’t do me any good if every patroller around me gets shot.” That would tax me even more, but the alternatives were worse. From what I knew about how High Holders handled revenge, Ryal was unlikely to have been behind it . . . but who else would have been? “You will see if anyone knows about any others like the Ferran?”
She nodded.
That was all I could ask. I grinned. “Did I behave acceptably last night?”
“Oh, Rhenn . . . you’re always polite and charming . . . even when people don’t deserve it.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but it was nice to hear. “Do you think that we could go out to dinner next Samedi? Even at Terraza?”
“We could go to Azeyd’s . . . if you’d like to try authentic Pharsi fare.”
“I’d like that.” I paused. “Is it owned by relatives?”
“Friends of Mother’s. She’d be pleased.”
Another set of chaperones, in a way, but just to be able to talk to her alone would be good, and the thought of Pharsi cuisine appealed to me. “Done. Fifth glass?”
Her smile was answer enough.
After that, we got to spend a few moments talking about nothing of great import, but before too long she had to go.
I spent more coins taking a hack from NordEste Design to my parents’. Because it was Solayi, and Nellica had the day off, Khethila was the one who answered the door.
“Rhenn!” She gave me a warm sisterly hug. Then we went to the family parlor where Khethila dropped into Father’s chair. I took the one across from it.
“Rhenn, I finally got my copy of her book.”
“Whose book?” I did grin as I said it.
“Madame D’Shendael’s. You know that. I still can’t believe you danced with her. You’ve never said any more about what she said, you know?”
“I can’t, except that I did tell her that you had read all her books except for On Art and Society. She asked me twice if I made that up. I told her it was the truth.”
I still wondered exactly what Juniae D’Shendael’s connection had been with the late Ferran envoy, but I supposed I’d never know.
“She had to be polite, but what else was she like?”
“On guard. She’s been pressing for a Council that has some councilors directly elected by the people, the way they do in the Abierto Isles. I heard that Councilor Caartyl invites her to every Council ball just to keep her in view of the other councilors.”
“Would that vote include women? If it didn’t, I don’t see that it would make much difference in the way the Council worked.” Her tone was dismissive.
“As far as the High Holders go, it would.”
“Not that much.”
“You might be right.” I thought it would make a great difference, but I wasn’t about to argue about it.
“You’re being condescending, Rhenn.”
I shrugged, then lowered my voice. “How are matters in Kherseilles?”
Khethila frowned, as if debating whether to pursue what she thought had been my condescension, then shook her head. “Someone bought the notes Rousel took out and demanded immediate payment. We arranged it, but it cost another twenty golds . . . and Father had to post a bond of another hundred with the Banque D’Kherseilles to keep the line of credit.”
“So he lost nearly three hundred golds this season?” That amount of loss was hard for me to understand. Through bad judgment Rousel had lost in two months more than I’d make in six years, and the factorage in Kherseilles wasn’t that large.
“Four hundred, if you count the bond,” Khethila said quietly. “His receipts are down, too. I think someone has put out the word not to buy from him. We’ve even gotten orders here lately, asking us to ship to places like Mantes, and they used to take delivery from Rousel in Kherseilles.”
“Do you know who bought the notes?”
“The Banque D’Rivages, but they wouldn’t have done it except as an agent. Why would a banque nearly thirteen hundred milles from Kherseilles buy notes secured by the stock of a small factorage in Kherseilles?”
I had an idea, but at the moment I certainly had no way to prove it. Even if I did, what had been done was strictly legal. Ryel would have made certain that everything remained within the law, or at least within the appearance of the law.
“Someone’s here . . .”
That was my mother’s voice, coming from the hall.
“Rhenn! You didn’t say you were coming.” Accusation mixed with warmth in Mother’s voice.
“I didn’t know I was coming.”
“That’s probably because he’d planned to see Seliora, and she had other plans,” suggested Khethila sweetly, a statement clearly offered as retaliation for what she thought had been condescension.
“I did see her, already, but it had to be brief because she had to work.”
“On Solayi?” asked Mother.
“A large and urgent commission.”
“Good for her,” Father said bluffly. “She and her family know what’s important. That’s why they’ve been so successful.”
The briefest of frowns crossed Khethila’s brow.
“So long as they don’t do it every Solayi,” added Mother. “Didn’t you have dinner with her family and some of their relatives last night? How was it?”
“They were all very nice. One of her aunts runs a bistro not all that far from Patrol headquarters. It’s called Chaelia, I think.”
“I haven’t heard of it,” Father replied.
“Is it in a good area?” asked Mother.
I laughed. “I don’t know. I haven’t been there, but it can’t be too bad because it’s only a few blocks from Civic Patrol headquarters, and that’s only a half block off East River Road.”
“If you eat there, dear, I do hope it’s in a good area.”
After that, we talked about, or rather I listened to Mother rhapsodize about Remaya and Rousel’s son Rheityr.
I barely made it back to Imagisle in time to eat and then go to services. I stood where I could watch Shault. Lieryns was next to him, I thought, but I wasn’t totally sure in the dim light, and I didn’t want to get close enough that my observations would have been noted.
As often was the case, one part of Chorister Isola’s homily resonated with me.
“. . . Naming is as much about control as about labeling or identity. We tend to think that when we name something or someone we have gained control. The superior always uses a diminutive to an inferior. That, too, is part of the sin of naming. The man or woman who can act as though there were no names is far greater than one who insists on a hierarchy of names. . . . Is it any accident that those who most relish naming are those who
are most loath to give up power, position, or control? . . .”
I had to admit that I really hadn’t thought about the way names were used as a symptom of power and of how people used them in that fashion, but it certainly made a great deal of sense, and I made a mental reminder to try to watch for that in the days ahead.
Lundi was a very busy day at the Patrol charging desk. So was Mardi. Meredi morning didn’t look to be that much better because, when I got to headquarters, there were offenders waiting everywhere even before Gulyart and I started to register the charges. By tenth glass, when we had three-quarters of a glass off to eat lunch, we both were more than ready to leave the confines of the Patrol building. The rain had subsided to a comparative drizzle, not too uncomfortable for mid-fall, as we stepped outside.
“This week has been like most of them,” Gulyart said. “There’s no charging done past Samedi at noon, and none on Solayi. So the holding cells are full by Lundi, and sometimes more than that, and it takes days before we get caught up. Last week was lighter than usual.”
“I liked last week better,” I said with a laugh. “You’d think some of them would learn.”
Gulyart shook his head. “They only get one chance to learn, two at most, before they end up on penal work duties for life. Most who get caught aren’t bright enough to see that.”
That was obvious—once he’d pointed it out, but I hadn’t thought of it that way. Some people just took longer to learn, but I could see the Civic Patrol’s view. Why should law-abiding citizens have to pay because lawbreakers had a hard time learning?
We walked to the second closest bistro—Saliana’s—because Gulyart said that he could only take so much of the heavy potato noodles at Fiendyl’s, the bistro almost directly across Fedre from headquarters. Heavy noodles didn’t bother me, just so long as they weren’t greasy. Saliana was supposedly from Tilbora in the far northeast of Solidar, and her place offered more than a few goat dishes. I had a red-spice goat curry over rice, and I used every bit of the rice, flatbread, and lager to try to keep the food from burning my mouth.
“Hot, isn’t it?” Gulyart grinned. “Brown-spice is as hot as I can take it. Captain Lheng won’t go farther than yellow-brown.”
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