Treachery's Tools (54 page)

“I can use the side table.”

“Thank you.” Alastar paused. “This might have nothing to do with it, but you grew up around oils and essences. Are you aware of any poison that has an effect similar to the red flux?”

Thelia shook her head. “I don't know of one.” She frowned. “There is a tonic that they caution against using when you have the flux. It makes things worse. It's really good for consumption and the wheezes, though.”

Alastar nodded.
Suggestive, but far from proof.
He returned to his own search.

Slightly before seventh glass, still not having found anything amid Laevoryn's papers that might have confirmed his treachery in ink, Alastar left the study and walked around the ancient dwelling and down the lane to a wider stone-paved space where the troopers had erected a truly massive pyre. The bodies were evenly spaced out.

Weidyn was waiting.

“Where did you find all the timber?”

The captain smiled. “Here and there. We didn't destroy anything, except for two old run-down sheds that were empty. We did take as much oil as we could find and soaked some of the greener timber.”

“Did you find anything that would indicate who paid them or where they came from?”

The captain shook his head. “I recognized one. Served one term and left service a year ago. Good with a rifle and sharp. Didn't much care for the army. I never knew where he came from. The others? Personal things. A handful had letters, but there was nothing to indicate where they came from. A lot were older, probably former rankers. They didn't have much coin.”

“That suggests they were either from around L'Excelsis or that they were paid in advance where they were enlisted and left the coins with their families … or perhaps both.”

“That'd be my thought, too, Maitre.” Weidyn cleared his throat.

“I'm ready.” Alastar stepped forward. As Collegium maitre, he'd presided over a few pyres, if for individuals.

Four troopers stood around the pyre, to the north, south, east, and west. Each held a burning torch.

Alastar began. “Life is a gift from the Nameless, for from the glory of the Nameless do we come; through the glory of the Nameless do we live, and to that glory do we return. Each of these men lived his life as best he could, and all judgments now belong to the Nameless. May they be remembered for who they were and what they did, and may each remain in memory for his deeds and kindnesses, not merely as an empty name.”

He gestured to the troopers, and as they lowered the torches, he offered the final words. “As each of these men was born in warmth, so is it fitting that they leave their mortal form in fire and return to the life and glory of the Nameless.” With his last words, he imaged a fireball into the center of pyre.

He stood there for a time as the flames mounted. He knew he couldn't have afforded to handle the situation otherwise, especially since the brown-shirts he'd allowed to flee and survive the first large attack on Imagisle—the one using the angled iron shields doubtless manufactured by Vaschet—had merely gone on killing others and doubtless would have continued to do so. Yet he had a hard time understanding why such men would serve the ends of those who wanted to keep everyone subservient to their every whim.
Are times that bad for the able-bodied poor?

Alastar feared that they were, that the majority of either factors or High Holders could have cared less about the lives lost to support abusive personal power on the one hand and the often abusive pursuit of golds on the other.

When he was certain that the flames were sufficient for the task at hand, he turned and walked back to the hold house, the pyre providing enough light that his shadow stretched out before him.

As he entered the study once more, he noticed that the pale lavender hangings somehow not only failed to lighten the study, but almost seemed to absorb the light from the pair of wall lamps and the one on the side of the desk, giving the chamber a feel of insubstantiality that conveyed, in Alastar's opinion, a sense of evil.
But your feelings about the Laevoryn clan just might be affecting your feelings.

After perhaps another half quint of searching, Alastar found—wedged in the back of the bottom drawer of a side table—a single half-sheet of paper with but two lines upon it … and no signature or initial. There was also no date.

Here is the latest payroll. The captain will render an accounting as well.

Keep them busy. The Collegium needs to be kept occupied.

Alastar read the words again, then smiled, if ironically. The writer definitely had doubts about Laevoryn's probity with funds. Unfortunately, the precise scrip could have come from any wealthy individual's hand … or from a clerk.

At almost three quints past eighth glass, Thelia looked up from the side table. “I've done what I could, Maitre Alastar.”

“Did you discover anything?” Alastar noted a smudge of ink on her forehead and could see the tiredness in her eyes.

“I went through the ledgers as quickly as I could with some care. That's what you requested. There's no indication of any payments other than land rents and various banalities, and all those payments are meticulously noted. What is interesting is that the expenditures listed in the provisions and supplies ledger are far greater than those entered in the master ledger, as if some were not part of estate expenses.”

“That discrepancy is a good indication that he was being paid to quarter the brown-shirts.” Alastar frowned. “Is there something like a pay ledger?”

“There is, but it only deals with estate servants. Payments to factors and tradesmen are listed in the general expense ledger.”

“What about personal disbursements for Laevoryn or his family?”

“There are payments to tailors and seamstresses, carters, a coppersmith, a silversmith, and others. There's nothing stating that Laevoryn gave golds or silvers to himself or others, and there's nothing that shows a statement of assets or golds.”

“That may be another reason why he's been in financial difficulty … or that account ledger is somewhere else.” Alastar took a slow deep breath. “Calculate the difference between the actual outlays on provisions in that ledger and the amounts entered in the master ledger.”

“I've already done that, for the last three months. It's been running about a hundred golds a month.”

“That's about right for food for eighty to a hundred men. Gather up your papers with the calculations. We're going to head back to Imagisle. I need to brief Weidyn first, but that won't take long.”

“We're just going to leave?”

“What else should we do? There aren't any rebel fighters left. Laevoryn is dead. We've discovered what little we can. And some of us need to get ready for a trip south along the river.”
Among other things.
Alastar stood, all too conscious that he was sore in more than a few places … and would likely be even sorer by morning.

 

32

On Meredi morning, Alastar had to force himself through his morning run, and, as he'd known would eventually happen, both Alyna and Malyna finished ahead of him, despite the fact that a brisk cool wind out of the northwest kept him from feeling too overheated.

As they walked back toward the Maitre's house, Alyna said, “You didn't want to talk about yesterday much last night.”

“I was tired.” After a moment, he added, “I still can't get over the sense of entitlement that Laevoryn had, and that his family still has. They're worse than Ryen was, and people called him Rex Dafou.”

“I couldn't believe all the notes in that folder. But why did he keep it?”

“So he could remember who owed him what. All the notes or cards that were signed or initialed were suggestive but hold no real details. Like the card I suspect was from Murranyt. For anyone to use them as proof they'd have to have discovered things far more incriminating. There's just enough there so that Laevoryn could remember. The ones with details had the signature or name thoroughly blotted out. I'll need to brief Lorien on all that after the senior imagers' meeting.”

“He won't be happy.”

“He'll be less happy if I don't.”

Alyna nodded.

“Later, I'll meet with Elthyrd … when I can. I think I'll take that card with me.”

“You might image a copy.”

“That's not a bad idea. Do you have any other suggestions?”

“You might let Factoria Kathila know. If you merely tell her, and don't ask or suggest anything, she'll be in your debt … and not the other way around.”

“That's a very good idea.”

“I do have some.”

“More than that. How are the special bullets coming?”

“Slowly. Remember, imaging and checking against a template is anything but swift.”

That didn't surprise Alastar. He looked ahead to where Malyna and Lystara were hurrying up the steps to the Maitre's house. “They look happy.”

“I'm glad they enjoy one another so much.”

Alastar nodded, his thoughts on the day ahead, which he knew would be even longer than he planned—something was bound to come up.

Even so, by the time he'd washed up and shaved, eaten a hearty breakfast, and he and Alyna had left the house for the administration building, he was feeling more cheerful, at least until he looked to the southeast, where it seemed to him that more clouds were gathering.

“I hope we don't get more rain. Those clouds…” He shook his head.

“They do look like they might bring showers.”

“You're being optimistic.”

“It doesn't hurt.”

Alastar agreed—mostly.

Before long they were entering the administration building.

Dareyn looked up from the table desk as Alastar and Alyna approached. “There's a dispatch from Marshal Wilkorn.” He held up the envelope.

“Thank you.” Alastar took it. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Not that I know of, sir.”

Alastar and Alyna entered the study, Alyna closing the door behind them, while Alastar slit the envelope with his belt knife, extracted the dispatch and began to read.

Maitre Alastar—

On Lundi evening, the rebel forces mustered in Nordeau appeared to be readying to depart. Earlier on Lundi, they sent scouts north on the road to Caluse. At this point, the total force approximates close to two and a half regiments, and a number of cannon. They have ample supply wagons …

After he finished reading the dispatch, Alastar handed it to Alyna, then waited until she handed the dispatch back.

“I worry about the cannon,” she said.

“We'll have to see if we can do what we did before.”

“What if they space them out? They'll have far more than we faced when Chesyrk attacked.”

“We have more strong imagers.”

“They may have some of their own—Bettaur and Ashkyr possibly.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Alastar asked. “I'm open to any suggestions.”

“Outside of finding a way to make them concentrate their forces near a river … no, not at the moment.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Ah … sir, I believe all the other senior maitres are in the conference room.”

“Thank you.” Alastar moved to the door that led to the conference room directly, opened it, and followed Alyna in before taking his place at the head of the long table.

“I want to keep this meeting short. Most of you know what happened at Laevoryn's estate, but for those of you who don't, we took down the gates and discovered that he'd been quartering and feeding an entire company of brown-shirts. They fired on us, and the imagers shielded the two army squads. When it was all over, there were more than sixty dead brown-shirts, and Laevoryn still tried to kill Captain Weidyn. The troopers killed Laevoryn. We found evidence that someone else was funding Laevoryn so that he could pay, quarter, and feed the brown-shirts. We couldn't determine who that was, other than it was likely another High Holder. I'll be reporting all this to Rex Lorien immediately after we finish. Also, Commander Murranyt of the Civic Patrol has proved to be rather reluctant to deal with Laevoryn despite the likelihood that he had suspicions.

“Marshal Wilkorn's latest dispatch indicates that the rebels were preparing to leave Nordeau, but had not left by Lundi evening. They have more than two regiments of troopers, possibly three, more than half mounted, and a substantial number of cannon. It is likely that our force will have to depart on Vendrei or Samedi, unless we hear otherwise from the marshal. Other than that, not much has happened,” Alastar finished sardonically.

“Do we know where any other High Holders stand?” asked Cyran.

Alastar smiled wryly. “Right now, the only other High Holders I have knowledge of are High Holders Zaerlyn and Meinyt, neither of whom is supportive of an armed rebellion.” He turned to Arion. “Have you heard anything?”

“I have received some correspondence from my family,” replied Arion, “and my sire is strongly opposed to any armed opposition to the rex or the Collegium. Indications are that the majority of High Holders along the River Aluse are opposed to taking up arms against the rex, and so far none have sent armsmen.”

“Thank you. That's good to know.” Alastar glanced down the table, his eyes stopping on Gaellen. “How is Glaesyn faring?”

“It will be several weeks before the wound fully heals. It may be months before he can use the arm and shoulder as well as he could before. It might be longer…”

“And it might be never?” suggested Alastar.

Gaellen nodded, almost grudgingly, before adding, “He would have died otherwise.”

That still didn't make Alastar feel much better.

“Should we still keep the students on Imagisle?” asked Akoryt.