How Firm a Foundation (19 page)

“I’ve
brought the list of transactions with me,” she said now, reaching into her purse and extracting several sheets of paper. She extended them across the table to him, then sat back sipping her chocolate while he unfolded them and ran his eyes down the lines of clean, flowing script.

Those eyes widened, despite his best efforts to conceal his surprise, as he read. He turned the first page and examined
the second just as carefully, and his surprise segued into something else. Something tinged with alarm.

He read the third and final sheet, then folded them back together, laid them on the tabletop, and looked at her intently.

“Those are … an extraordinary list of transactions, Madam Pahrsahn,” he observed, and she startled him with a silvery little chuckle.

“I believe you’ll rise high in your
house’s service, Master Qwentyn,” she told him. “What you’re really wondering is whether or not I’m out of my mind, although you’re far too much the gentleman to ever actually say so.”

“Nonsense,” he replied. “Or, at least, I’d never go that far. I do wonder how carefully you’ve considered some of this, though.” He leaned forward to tap the folded instructions. “I’ve studied the records of all
your investment moves since our House has represented you, Madam. If you’ll forgive my saying so, these instructions represent a significant change in your established approach. At the very least, they expose you to a much greater degree of financial risk.”

“They also offer the potential for a very healthy return,” she pointed out.

“Assuming they prosper,” he pointed out in response.

“I believe
they will,” she said confidently.

He started to say something else, then paused, regarding her thoughtfully. Was it possible she knew something even he didn’t?

“At the moment,” he said after a minute or two, “the shipping arrangements you’re proposing to invest in are being allowed by both the Republic and Mother Church. That’s subject to change from either side with little or no notice, you
realize. And if that happens you’ll probably—no, almost certainly—lose your entire investment.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said calmly. “The profit margin’s great enough to recoup my entire initial investment in no more than five months or so, however. Everything after that will be pure profit, even if the ‘arrangements’ should ultimately be disallowed. And my own read of the … decision-making
process within the Temple, let us say, suggests no one’s going to be putting any pressure on the Republic to interfere with them. Not for quite some time, at any rate.”

She’d very carefully not said anything about “the Group of Four,” Owain noticed. Given the fact that she clearly came from the Temple Lands herself, however, there was no doubt in his mind about what she was implying.

“Do you
have any idea how long ‘quite some time’ might be?” he asked.

“Obviously, that’s bound to be something of a guessing game,” she replied in that same calm tone. “Consider this, however. At the moment, only the Republic and the Silkiahans are actually succeeding in paying their full tithes to Mother Church. If these ‘arrangements’ were to be terminated, that would no longer be the case.” She shrugged.
“Given the obvious financial strain of the Holy War, especially in light of that unfortunate business in the Markovian Sea, it seems most unlikely Vicar Rhobair and Vicar Zahmsyn are going to endanger their strongest revenue streams.”

He frowned thoughtfully. Her analysis made a great deal of sense, although the financial and economic stupidity which could have decreed something like the embargo
on Charisian trade in the first place didn’t argue for the Group of Four’s ability to recognize logic when it saw it. On the other hand, it fitted quite well with some of the things his grandfather Tymahn had said. Although.…

“I think you’re probably right about that, Madam,” he said. “However, I’m a bit more leery about some of these other investments.”

“Don’t be, Master Qwentyn,” she said
firmly. “Foundries are always good investments in … times of uncertainty. And according to my sources, all three of these are experimenting with the new cannon-casting techniques. I realize they wouldn’t dream of putting the new guns into
production
without Mother Church’s approval, but I feel there’s an excellent chance that approval will be forthcoming, especially now that the Navy of God needs
to replace so many ships.”

Owain’s eyes narrowed. If there was one thing in the entire world of which he was totally certain it was that the Church of God Awaiting would never permit the Republic of Siddarmark to begin casting the new model artillery. Not when the Council of Vicars in its role as the Knights of the Temple Lands had been so anxious for so long over the potential threat the Republic
posed to the Temple Lands’ eastern border. Only a fool, which no member of the House of Qwentyn was likely to be, could have missed the fact that Siddarmark’s foundries were the only ones in either Haven or Howard which had received
no
orders from the Navy of God’s ordnance officers. Foodstuffs and ship timbers, coal and coke and iron ore for other people’s foundries, even ironwork to build warships
in other realms, yes; artillery, no.

Yet Madam Pahrsahn seemed so serenely confident.…

“Very well, Madam.” He bent his head in a courteous, seated bow. “If these are your desires, it will be my honor to carry them out for you.”

“Thank you, Master Qwentyn,” she said with another of those charming smiles. Then she set her cup and saucer back on the table and rose. “In that case, I’ll bid you
good afternoon and get out of your way.”

He stood with a smile of his own and escorted her back to the office door. A footman appeared with her heavy winter coat, and he saw an older woman, as plain as Madam Pahrsahn was lovely, waiting for her.

Owain personally assisted her with her coat, then raised one of her slender hands—gloved, now—and kissed its back once more.

“As always, a pleasure,
Madam,” he murmured.

“And for me, as well,” she assured him, and then she was gone.

*   *   *

“So what do you make of Madam Pahrsahn, Henrai?” Greyghor Stohnar asked as he stood with his back to a roaring fireplace, toasting his posterior.

“Madam Pahrsahn, My Lord?” Lord Henrai Maidyn, the Republic of Siddarmark’s Chancellor of the Exchequer, sat in a window seat, nursing a tulip-shaped brandy
glass as he leaned back against the paneled wall of the council chamber. Now he raised his eyebrows interrogatively, his expression innocent.

“Yes, you know, the mysterious Madam Pahrsahn.” The elected ruler of the Republic smiled thinly at him. “The one who appeared so suddenly and with so little warning? The one who floats gaily through the highest reaches of Society … and hobnobs with Reformist
clergymen? Whose accounts are personally handled by Owain Qwentyn? Whose door is always open to poets, musicians, milliners, dressmakers … and a man who looks remarkably like the apostate heretic and blasphemer Zhasyn Cahnyr? That Madam Pahrsahn.”

“Oh,
that
Madam Pahrsahn!”

Maidyn smiled back at the Lord Protector. Here in the Republic of Siddarmark, the Chancellor of the Exchequer was also
in charge of little matters like espionage.

“Yes, that one,” Stohnar said, his tone more serious, and Maidyn shrugged.

“I’m afraid the jury’s still out, My Lord. Some of it’s obvious, but the rest is still sufficiently obscure to make her
very
interesting. She’s clearly from the Temple Lands, and I think it’s equally clear her sudden appearance here has something to do with Clyntahn’s decision
to purge the vicarate. The question, of course, is precisely
what
it has to do with that decision.”

“You think she’s a wife or daughter who managed to get out?”

“Possibly. Or even a mistress.” Maidyn shrugged again. “The amount of cash and all those deep investments she had tucked away here in Siddar were certainly big enough to represent someone important’s escape fund. It could have been one
of the vicars who saw the ax coming, I suppose, although whoever it was must have been clairvoyant to see
this
coming.” He grimaced distastefully. “If someone did see a major shipwreck ahead, though, whoever it was might have put it under a woman’s name in an effort to keep Clyntahn from sniffing it out.”

“But you don’t think that’s what it is,” Stohnar observed.

“No, I don’t.” Maidyn passed
the brandy glass under his nose, inhaling its bouquet, then looked back at the Lord Protector. “She’s too decisive. She’s moving too swiftly now that she’s here.” He shook his head. “No, she’s got a well-defined agenda in mind, and whoever she is, and wherever she came from originally, she’s acting on her own now—for herself, not as anyone’s public front.”

“But what in God’s name is she
doing
?” Stohnar shook his head. “I agree her sudden arrival’s directly related to Clyntahn’s purge, but if that’s the case, I’d expect her to keep a low profile like the others.”

The two men looked at one another. They’d been very careful to insure that neither of them learned—officially—about the refugees from the Temple Lands who’d arrived so quietly in the Republic. Most of them had continued onward,
taking passage on Siddarmarkian-registry merchant vessels which somehow had Charisian crews … and homeports. By now they must have reached or nearly reached the Charisian Empire and safety, and personally, Stohnar wished them well. He wished
anyone
that unmitigated bastard Clyntahn wanted dead well.

A handful of the refugees, however, had remained in Siddarmark, seeking asylum with relatives
or friends. At least two of them had found shelter with priests Stohnar was reasonably certain nourished Reformist tendencies of their own. All of them, though, had done their very best to disappear as tracelessly as possible, doing absolutely nothing which might have attracted attention to them.

And then there was Aivah Pahrsahn.

“I doubt she’d spend so much time gadding about to the opera
and the theater if it wasn’t part of her cover,” Maidyn said after a moment. “And it makes a sort of risky sense, if she
is
up to something certain people wouldn’t care for. High visibility is often the best way to avoid the attention of people looking for surreptitious spies lurking in the shadows.

“As to what she might be up to that the Group of Four wouldn’t like, there are all sorts of possibilities.
For one thing, she’s investing heavily in the Charisian trade, and according to Tymahn, her analysis of why Clyntahn’s letting us get away with it pretty much matches my own. Of course, we could both be wrong about that. What I find more interesting, though, are her decision to buy into Hahraimahn’s new coking ovens and her investments in foundries. Specifically in the foundries Daryus
has been so interested in.”

Lord Daryus Parkair was Seneschal of Siddarmark, which made him both the government minister directly responsible for the Army and also that Army’s commanding general. If there was anyone in the entire Republic who Zhaspahr Clyntahn trusted even less (and hated even more) than Greyghor Stohnar, it had to be Daryus Parkair.

Parkair was well aware of that and fully
reciprocated Clyntahn’s hatred. He was also as well aware as Stohnar or Maidyn of all the reasons the Republic had been excluded from any of the Church’s military buildup. Which was why he had very quietly and discreetly encouraged certain foundry owners to experiment—purely speculatively, of course—with how one might go about producing the new style artillery or the new rifled muskets. And as Parkair
had pointed out to Maidyn just the other day, charcoal was becoming increasingly difficult to come by, which meant foundries could never have too much coke if they suddenly found themselves having to increase their output.

“I don’t think even that would bother me,” Stohnar replied. “Not if she wasn’t sending so much money back
into
the Temple Lands. I’d be willing to put all of it down to shrewd
speculation on her part, if not for that.”

“It
is
an interesting puzzle, My Lord,” Maidyn acknowledged. “She’s obviously up to something, and my guess is that whatever it is, Clyntahn wouldn’t like it. The question is whether or not he
knows
about it? I’m inclined to think not, or else the Inquisition would already have insisted we bring her in for a little chat. So then the question becomes
whether or not the Inquisition is going to
become
aware of her? And, of course, whether or not we—as dutiful sons of Mother Church, desirous of proving our reliability to the Grand Inquisitor—should bring her to the Inquisition’s notice ourselves?”

“I doubt very much that anything could convince Zhaspahr Clyntahn you and I are ‘dutiful sons of Mother Church,’ at least as
he
understands the term,”
Stohnar said frostily.

“True, only too true, I’m afraid.” Maidyn’s tone seemed remarkably free of regret. Then his expression sobered. “Still, it’s a move we need to consider, My Lord. If the Inquisition becomes aware of her and learns we
didn’t
bring her to its attention, it’s only going to be one more log on the fire where Clyntahn’s attitude is concerned.”

“Granted.” Stohnar nodded, waving
one hand in a brushing-away gesture. “Granted. But if I’d needed anything to convince me the Group of Four is about as far removed from God’s will as it’s possible to get, Clyntahn’s damned atrocities would’ve done it.” He bared his teeth. “I’ve never pretended to be a saintly sort, Henrai, but if Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s going to Heaven, I want to know where to buy my ticket to Hell now.”

Maidyn’s
features smoothed into non-expression. Stohnar’s statement wasn’t a surprise, but the Lord Protector was a cautious man who seldom expressed himself that openly even among the handful of people he fully trusted.

“If Pahrsahn
is
conspiring against Clyntahn and his hangers-on, Henrai,” Stohnar went on, “then more power to her. Keep an eye on her. Do your best to make sure she’s not doing something
we’d
disapprove of, but I want it all very tightly held. Use only men you fully trust, and be sure there’s no trail of breadcrumbs from her to us. If the Inquisition does find out about her, I don’t want them finding any indication we knew about her all along and simply failed to mention her to them. Is that clear?”