I was certain that the Ferrans were behind all the major difficulties, but had I really considered what they wanted? My initial assumption had been that they had merely wanted to create so much disruption in Solidar that we would be hampered and unwilling or unable to support the Jariolans after Ferrum attacked. I’d also considered that they might be indirectly supporting various factors and their associations in their efforts to gain political supremacy over the High Holders on the Council. But chaos always leads to more chaos, and, as a result, all the problems Solidar and the Collegium faced wouldn’t be resolved even if the Ferrans had vanished from Terahnar. There was also a strong possibility that the Ferrans had decided to act against Jariola precisely because Solidar had so many obvious but unacknowledged problems. Logically, it made more sense to deal with the internal problems first, if only to strengthen Solidar and get them out of the way. I had the definite feeling that approach wouldn’t work. First, none of the factions in Solidar wanted to change, and they’d all protest that the time to change what had worked for generations wasn’t during a war. Second, with the deaths of Maitre Poincaryt and Maitre Dichartyn, and the incapacity of Councilor Suyrien, the Collegium didn’t have the established “presence” or the working relations to engineer political and economic changes. Third, even if we could get past the lack of political power, which was certainly possible, even if I had to resort to tactics I’d prefer not to use, there was still the much larger difficulty of getting such changes accepted, particularly by the factors and freeholders.
My thinking was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door eased open, and Rholyn stepped inside, closing it behind him. “Rhenn…”
I was surprised at the hesitation in the salutation, but, given the situation, I realized the awkwardness of it all, even as I stood to greet him. Rholyn was a good twenty years older than I and had been a Maitre D’Structure longer than I’d been an imager. He didn’t want to acknowledge the change in relative rank, and yet he didn’t want to offend me, either.
“What is it? You look like the bearer of tidings of dubious cheer.”
In fact, he looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was blotchy. His right eye twitched.
“Maitre Dyana asked me to let you know that Councilor Suyrien died last night. The services will be on Jeudi at the Council Anomen. At the second glass of the afternoon.”
“Thank you. I hadn’t heard anything. When I didn’t, I’d hoped that he might recover.”
“It’s probably a mercy he didn’t. He was shot in the head and in the chest. Draffyd imaged out bone fragments and stopped the worst of the bleeding, but there never was much hope. It was astounding that he lived as long as he did.”
That didn’t surprise me. I’d seen the determination behind Suyrien’s cultivated good cheer and ease of manner. “Will the family be seeing anyone…Or do you know?”
“I haven’t heard. Neither has Maitre Dyana.”
I nodded, then said, “We haven’t had much of a chance to talk. If you have a few moments, I’d like to hear your thoughts on some of the problems facing the Council.” I gestured toward the chairs, then seated myself behind the desk.
“I have the rest of the morning.” He shook his head as he sat. “It might take that long.”
“How will Suyrien’s death change the Council?” I prompted.
“Not for the better. Ramsael is personally open to some degree of change. He recognizes that change is inevitable and necessary, but he’s an even stronger believer in change through consensus. Most of the High Holders don’t want change. That’s their consensus.”
“What might change their minds?”
Rholyn laughed, softly. “Only very convincing proof that they’d absolutely be worse off without change.”
“As you pointed out,” I replied, “change is inevitable. Managed change is usually less violent and less costly than unmanaged change. In terms of government, unmanaged change equates to revolution.”
“They don’t believe that the Collegium will allow revolution to occur, because we’d be swept away by it as well.”
“That’s an open invitation for Maitre Dyana to ally the Collegium with Glendyl or Caartyl.”
“We don’t want that. Caartyl’s more of a reactionary than the High Holders, and Glendyl, given half a chance, would remake Solidar in the pattern of Ferrum.”
Rholyn’s brief comments were tending to reinforce my thoughts that we might be better off dealing with the Ferran problems first. But then, that was what he doubtless intended.
“Why did Caartyl try to become acting head of the Executive Council? Was he trying to do something in particular?”
“He was,” replied Rholyn. “He was trying to make certain that Glendyl didn’t issue some statement that might have been conciliatory toward Ferrum. He also didn’t want Glendyl to stop the orders transferring ships from the southern fleet to the northern fleet.”
“That sounds as though he already knew what had happened in the sea battle that was reported yesterday.”
“Anyone who’d followed Naval matters could have guessed that any battle would be bloody. We’ve lost much of our edge over the past five years.”
That, unfortunately, made sense. “What’s Caartyl’s greatest weakness?”
“His belief that he knows best, and that what ever is best for the artisans and guilds is best for Solidar.”
“And his greatest strength is their belief in him?”
At that, Rholyn pursed his lips, clearly thinking. After several moments, he replied. “That’s one of his strengths. Another is that he has no doubts. Everything is black and white to him. He understands the need for compromise, and he will, as needed. But compromise for tactical advantage or partial attainment of his goals doesn’t change his views or his objectives.”
“What about Glendyl?”
“Glendyl thinks, as you must know, that artisans and guilds and the High Holders themselves are all anachronistic relics of a past that should be dispensed with as rapidly as possible. The Council should be controlled by factors and some few freeholders, since they’re the ones who produce most of the machinery and goods for Solidar. Those High Holders like Suyrien-or his heir-who are effectively manufacturers should acknowledge the fact and join with the factors. Those who are landholders should be forced to operate under the same laws as the free holders. All High Holder privileges and rights should be abolished.”
“What about the guilds?”
“They shouldn’t be allowed to restrict commerce and trade. Otherwise, he doesn’t care.”
“Will his value-added-tax proposal bring in enough revenue?”
“I asked Jhulian and one of the Collegium’s bookkeepers-a third named Reynol-to look into the plan. According to them, the one percent add-on won’t be sufficient. Two percent would provide a surplus.”
“And what would be Caartyl’s reaction?”
“He thinks the High Holders and the factors and freeholders all want to abolish or restrict the guilds and artisans. He’d probably accept some of what Glendyl wants, if only to restrict the power of the High Holders, but he’ll stand firm on retaining the restrictions on entry to the various guilds, and he wants what amounts to a laborers’ guild for those in the manufactories so that workers have some recourse and don’t have to work for what he terms ‘starvation wages.’”
“Some of the manufactories already allow guilds,” I pointed out.
“But those are the ones located in places like L’Excelsis where the guilds are strong. Glendyl’s proposal would result in factors building facilities in small towns along the ironway where they could get cheaper labor and where people would flee the High Holders’ estates.”
“So it’s likely that Glendyl won’t get much support for what he proposes?”
“Most likely.”
“What if the Collegium proposed some sort of tax reform?”
“Anything that woul
d improve the present system would be voted down…”
We talked for another glass, but I didn’t find what he said terribly helpful.
As soon as Rholyn left, I took out pen and ink and began to write a letter of condolence. It took me several drafts before I had something suitable. I read it a last time.
Dear Iryela and Kandryl,
I just received word of Suyrien’s death, and Seliora and I offer our deepest sympathy for both of you. Although all of us have had loved ones die, death, especially unexpected death, is never easy and falls hardest on those who care the most.
Suyrien was always open and fair and tried to work out solutions that would benefit all those involved. He was warm and gracious to both Seliora and me on the occasion of your wedding, and his cheer and warmth went a long way….
I finally sealed it and set it on the corner of the desk. Then, since my shields still weren’t strong enough for me to leave Imagisle, I decided I might as well begin to get better acquainted with the imagers for whom I’d become preceptor. Over the next glass I wrote notes to each, setting a time for them to meet with me in the mornings over the next few days.
A quint before noon, I set out for the dining hall building, where I slipped the letters into the post boxes for the imagers, and posted the letter to Iryela and Kandryl. There were a number of juniors around, but I didn’t see any of those for whom I’d become preceptor. So I stepped into the dining hall proper.
Maitre Dyana was at the masters’ table, but she had Jhulian on one side and Rholyn on the other. So I sat with Khalasa, Ferlyn, and Quaelyn, the older pattern-master, who was Ferlyn’s mentor.
“It’s good to see you more often,” said Kahlasa.
“It’s good to see you…and to have edible food,” I replied.
“So…we’re not much better than the food?” Ferlyn grinned as he passed a pot of steaming tea.
“That’s an equation of the unequateable.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Kahlasa.
“Better. Enough so that I’ll probably have to deal with Artois and Cydarth before long.”
“You’ll manage,” said Ferlyn dryly.
“I may well manage the wrong way. There’s more going on than I’d like.”
“In what way?” asked Kahlasa.
I served myself rice and chicken before I replied. “Artois tends to want to keep order and ignore the taudis except when they create trouble. He’s gone along with the changes I’ve made in Third District because the results have reduced offenses there without requiring more patrollers. Cydarth seems to quietly oppose Artois, but he hasn’t cared for my changes.”
“That sounds like he’s a partisan of the factors,” said Ferlyn. “You’ve been improving the taudis and getting more of the young men trained in various crafts and skills. If others followed your example, there’d be fewer young men available for cheap labor.”
Quaelyn nodded sagely, but did not speak.
I shook my head. “That won’t happen. After five years, things are pretty much the same everywhere else in L’Excelsis.”
“Does that matter?” asked Ferlyn. “What matters is what people worry about, not what actually is or might happen.”
I nodded. He was right about that, but did it really shed any light on what Cydarth had in mind and might have been doing? For a time, I just concentrated on the rice and chicken. I was hungrier than I’d realized.
As I finished, I turned to Ferlyn again. “You’re dealing with patterns, analyzing them, and the like. What do your patterns say about Ferrum?” I looked to Quaelyn, sitting to Ferlyn’s right. “Or yours, Maitre Quaelyn?”
Ferlyn smiled. “You must be very concerned to ask. But I will defer to my mentor.”
“I’m worried.” I didn’t mind admitting that. “I have the feeling we’re missing something important. I’m hoping you two might have an insight I can use.”
“He’s very concerned,” Ferlyn said to Kahlasa.
I forced a grin. “I think you’ve made that point, and I’ve admitted it.”
Ferlyn didn’t say anything, but nodded to Quaelyn. “You’ve studied Ferrum. You’ve even been there.”
That was something I didn’t know, and it meant that the now-frail and white-haired Maitre had once been a covert foreign agent.
“That was a few years ago,” Quaelyn said softly, “but the patterns of a society don’t change, not without great economic shifts or a loss in war or social upheaval or something of equal magnitude, and Ferrum has not seen any of those in generations. The last, shall we say, conflict with Jariola and our fleet was essentially a stand-off, with all the destruction confined to Jariola and perhaps half a Ferran fleet.”
I wasn’t certain that the short war hadn’t had more of an impact, but then…he was probably right. From experience, I’d noted he usually was.
“One matter that has been greatly overlooked,” the elderly Maitre went on, “is the impact of the Ferran economic and political structure. In Solidar, because we have a far older social structure, we tend not to change quickly and not to make rash business decisions. A factor, for example, can seldom afford to expand quickly, even if he has a better idea or product. That is partly because his customers are set in their ways, and partly because few have enough golds to make major investments out of their revenues. Those who do not have such reserves find it difficult to obtain large amounts of capital to fund expansion of facilities or manufactories. In Ferrum, price is the ruler. People flock to the cheapest goods of equal quality, and many factors compete for customers. Many factors fail every year, and there is a constant turnover in commerce. Obviously, this is not as pronounced in manufactories dealing with iron or heavy machinery, but even a generation ago, Ferrum had four or five manufactories producing locomotives and engines, and ten shipworks. None, of course, rivaled Suyrien’s in scope, but they could build more ships.”
“Not better ones, though,” I suggested.
“Not then, but they compete against each other, and with each passing year, their vessels are better, and so are their other goods. While I have not seen the actual land-cruisers, the newsheet reports note that the ones used in invading Jariola are far, far better than those they had but five years ago. We have nothing like them, because we see no need for such.” Quaelyn paused to take a sip of tea.
“What else?” I prompted.
“A second area that is seldom discussed is the comparative physical fragility of Ferran cities and industrial areas. Because their society is based on the greater creation of revenues and profits in the near-term, and because they are always changing things, they tend to build and rebuild all the time. They don’t build manufactories to last, out of stone and brick with walls that may last generations. They also do the same thing for housing for their workers. That means, over time, that they tend to waste golds because they have to rebuild more often. Part of that is that there are more fires, and they cause more damage. Their equipment tends to wear out quickly, but often that doesn’t matter, because the goods the equipment produces are changed quickly also.” Quaelyn took another sip of tea, then nodded, as if to say that he had said enough.
I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of almost-temporary housing that burned quickly, but that was their choice. I took a swallow of tea, hot and bitter, then turned to Ferlyn. “How else do you see the patterns of Ferrum as differing from ours? Are there other differences?”
“One Quaelyn didn’t mention directly is the legal structure. The Ferran assembly has changed and modified its laws so that the current economic and political patterns are generally consistent at all levels of society.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Kahlasa. “Can you give an example?”
Ferlyn shrugged. “They don’t have local laws that are different from place to place.”
“We don’t either,” said Kahlasa.
“But we do,” I pointed out. “The laws are the same in any city, but the High Holders retain the power of low justice on their
lands, and that means it’s pretty much what each High Holder determines, so long as the punishments don’t exceed the maximum stipulated by the Council charter. That’s a thousand different systems.”
“Precisely…” said Ferlyn, drawing out the word. “The same thing is true in dealing with manufacturing. In Ferrum, everything is subject to the same levies, or the same scale of levies, where here, we have different taxation structures. There’s one for goods produced by guilds and artisans, another for factors, and another for anything produced by High Holders. This is designed to perpetuate the current division, but it’s not terribly fair or efficient.”
I wasn’t so certain about fairness. Because of the restrictions created in each group, taxing them the same might be less fair. “Should efficiency be the overriding goal?”
“That’s a political question. You asked about the differences. The Ferrans work toward maximizing efficiency and production…and making large profits quickly. Before long, if we don’t change, they’ll be able to manufacture ironway locomotives in Ferrum, ship them here, and still sell them for less. That’s why they’ll eventually conquer Jariola, even if they fail this time. They learn and improve. Even in terms of war and destruction, they’re trying to be efficient, to create the most destruction with the least use of resources.”
“The most destruction with the least use of resources…” I mused, half-aloud. “In a way, that’s a terrible way of putting it.”
“But that’s what war is about…in terms of patterns. The winner is the one who creates the most destruction for the other while minimizing the destruction he suffers.”
Even after I’d returned to my study, Ferlyn’s phrase about destruction kept running through my thoughts. There was something about it…
34
On Meredi, after a normal early morning, with somewhat more exercise and greater participation in getting Diestrya ready to leave with her mother, as soon as I got to my study, I met with Eamyn, only for about half a glass, just so that I could go over where he was in his studies. Then I read the latest reports from Patrol Commanders and from the various imager regionals. One thing stood out. There hadn’t been any attacks or explosions in any large manufactories or shipworks. At least, none of the reports mentioned any attacks on such facilities. That gave me yet another reason to visit Commander Artois.
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