Madness in Solidar (15 page)

“He's head of the factors' council. He's supposedly a silent partner in the new banque.”

“The Banque of L'Excelsis?”

“I think that's what it's called, or maybe Banque D'Excelsis. Maitre Fhaen tried not to meet with him. He found such meetings wearing and wearying, and he could get along with almost anyone.”

“I met with Factor Elthyrd yesterday, and I understand fully what Maitre Fhaen meant.”

Obsolym nodded and smiled knowingly.

“He expressed some concern that we repaired that section of the sewer without consulting the factors' council. Do you know why the factors would be that concerned?”

“No, sir … except maybe they'd hoped to pry more golds out of the rex for making the repairs. That's my best judgment. Maitre Fhaen never said anything about it.”

“I suspect you may be right about that.” Alastar shook his head. “Is there anyone that the rex isn't involved in some sort of struggle with?”

“Maitre Fhaen said he was … difficult, even as a child.”

“What about his children? I've met his sons, but only for a moment…”

“Lorien's the heir. He's reserved. Pleasant enough, Maitre Fhaen said. Ryentar is the younger. He takes after his sire. At least, that is what one hears.”

Alastar nodded, although from his brief meeting with the two it had seemed the other way around. “What about Lady Asarya? I've never heard a word about her.”

“Most don't, sir. She and the rex have separate quarters, so it is said, and … well … some of the maids are said to be attractive.”

That didn't totally surprise Alastar. It was clear Ryen would be difficult to live with. “With what does the lady busy herself?”

“I'd not be the one to say, sir.”

The way in which Obsolym offered the statement suggested that someone did. “Who might know more?”

“The only one who might know would be Maitre Desyrk. I understand his brother often attended meetings that Marshal Ghalyn had with the rex.”

Although Alastar nodded, he had to wonder just what sort of connections Desyrk had.
You need to look into that.
“I also understand that Chorister Lytaarl of the Anomen L'Excelsis is the brother of Factor Elthyrd. Do you know anything about him?”

“He's said to give a good homily. He's well thought of…”

“But?”

“I don't know this for a fact, you understand, but I've heard that he agrees with anyone who can advance his anomen.”

“Or his collections in it on behalf of the Nameless?”

“Some have said that.”

“What have you heard about the High Holders on the High Council?”

“Almost nothing. Maitre Fhaen indicated … it was suggested that he keep a distance from the High Council.”

“I appreciate your insights, Obsolym. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

As he walked away, Alastar thought that Obsolym's voice had held a trace of enjoyment … and amusement.
So be it.

Because Nacryon's L'Excelsis residence was well to the east of the city, Alastar and his two imager escorts left the Collegium just before seventh glass, first riding up the East River Road and then east on the Boulevard D'Este all the way out to a small circle that was supposedly called the Plaza D'Nord, where they took the old pike due east for close to a mille, until he saw a brick dwelling on a hillside, rising out of several terraced gardens, and surrounded by a brick wall. The gateposts were also brick, and the gates were open.

Alastar rode up a stone-paved drive that could barely accommodate a large wagon or coach to a flat area with a turnout and a paved area wide enough to allow coaches or wagons to turn and follow the drive up to the paved receiving area. A small roofed terrace, supported by brick columns, flanked the entry to the two-story mansion.

A footman greeted Alastar as he dismounted, and in moments, he was inside the mansion and walking down a short hall to a sitting room, where a man of medium height, likely a few digits shorter than Alastar, and attired in a rich brown jacket over a cream and tan doublet, with hose and shoes that matched his jacket, stepped forward. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

Nacryon—blond and green-eyed—offered a warm smile that extended to his eyes. “I'm most pleased you were willing to come here, Maitre Alastar. I must confess I've never met … well, I've never even seen a master imager before. But then, we don't see that much of anything in Mantes, and I've only been here in L'Excelsis a few times since I became a councilor.”

“You have a well-established dwelling here, though.”

“I do. Not through inheritance. It dates back to Bovarian times. The previous owner claimed it once hosted the first Maitre of the Collegium.” Nacryon smiled indulgently. “You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

“I fear not. Maitre Quaeryt left few records about his personal life or acquaintances. Nor did anyone else, it appears.”

“Another mystery in the early history of Solidar.” Nacryon gestured to the table set at one end of the sitting room, and an attractive serving girl in a cream tunic and brown trousers. “I've taken the liberty of arranging refreshments, since you would not be back at the Collegium until after noon, even if you left this moment.”

“You're very kind.”

“Not at all.” Nacryon smiled again as he seated himself. “It's in my interest to learn more about you and the Collegium. I can offer you pale or dark lager, ale, red or white wine.”

“Dark lager, please.”

The High Holder nodded to the server, who slipped away, then continued. “As a young man, I had dreamed of being an imager. I always wondered about why the Collegium so often deferred to the rex when it was so clear that the Maitre and the master imagers were so much more powerful than the rex, or even whole companies of armsmen.”

“Did you find an answer to your questions?” asked Alastar lightly.

“Not until I came to L'Excelsis and saw Imagisle. I'm certain you know what I'm about to say. If I'm wrong, though, I'd appreciate it if you'd point out any flaws in my observations.”

“I'd be surprised if there are any,” replied Alastar.

Nacryon frowned. “Why do you say that? We've scarcely met.”

“Because you've thought the matter over, and because it's highly unlikely that the other four members of the High Council would appoint a dullard.”

Nacryon chuckled. “Neither did the senior imagers, either.”

“Go ahead,” suggested Alastar.

“One moment.” The High Holder waited until the server set a fluted goblet of a sparkling white wine before him and a tall crystal beaker of dark lager before Alastar. He lifted the goblet, “To a better future.”

“A better future.”

They drank.

“As I was saying,” Nacryon smiled again, “the Collegium must contain several hundred people, perhaps more. There are five senior master imagers, possibly twice that many junior masters, and around a hundred students. I would judge that only three or four of the masters are truly powerful…” He shrugged. “So you see…”

“Your facts are close to what is,” agreed Alastar. “I'd be interested in your conclusions.”

“There are many.” Nacryon sipped his sparkling wine. “Some might be more applicable than others.”

Alastar nodded and waited, taking another sip of the lager, of roughly the same quality as that offered by Vaun.

“The young students might have difficulty protecting themselves. The older imagers have wives and children. Except in Solidar, imagers are still mistrusted. In some lands they are either enslaved in iron chains or killed outright. A prudent Maitre of the Collegium must obviously keep that in mind. To my inexperienced eye, it would appear that past Maitres have done just that. Past rulers have been careful not to press too hard on the Collegium as well, and to be reasonable in their expectations of the Collegium, the High Holders, and the factors.”

“That is also an observation,” replied Alastar, “if a most astute one. I still fail to see exactly where you might be headed.”

Nacryon laughed again, gently. “I doubt that. The Collegium is not so … well-positioned as it has been or might be. The rex is, shall we say, less temperate than he might be. So there will be change. The only question is what sort of change and how it will come about.”

“You are very astute, I must say. Oh, and the lager is excellent, also. I notice that you have not mentioned the marshal and the army. They are under the authority of the rex.”

“That is true, but those skilled in arms and in command are also practical men.”

“And I cannot believe that at least some of the senior officers do not come from a High Holder background.”

Nacryon smiled. “There is that.”

“You have an idea about what kind of … change … might occur and how?”

“As the most junior councilor? Hardly. As you yourself said, I have only made observations.”

“But most astute ones, and ones worth considering from all points of view, I would say.”

“What else would you say?”

“Change is not always what it is thought to be. Nor does change necessarily benefit those who seek it most earnestly.”

“The voice of caution, I see.”

Alastar shook his head. “Caution is too often cited by those who seek to stop the world in its traces. One cannot hold back a surging current, only channel and direct it. Both those who seek to block it and those who would turn it to narrow purposes usually drown.”

“That, too, is an interesting observation, Maitre. Do you have others?”

“Not at the moment.”

“What do you think of the lager?”

“Excellent. It has a heft without excessive bitterness…”

Although Alastar and Nacryon talked for another half glass, the words exchanged were about wines, lagers, and other pleasantries. The two parted with more warm and polite phrases.

On the long ride back toward the Collegium, Alastar considered what Nacryon had revealed … or observed … not to mention the veiled threat behind those observations, and the fact that Haebyn or Guerdyn, if not both, had most likely tutored Nacryon in what to “observe.”

He also had to deal with Elthyrd. He needed to meet again with the factor and propose that the Collegium, not having any golds, might make other sewer repairs, as well as find out more about where the factors' council stood on tariffs.
You know they'll likely oppose them … but still want more warships to cut down on piracy.
That might be, but he still needed to know how firmly the factors felt and whether they'd back the High Holders all the way.

As soon as Alastar rode across the narrow east bridge and onto Imagisle, a junior imager ran toward him, calling, “Maitre! Sir!”

Alastar reined up and took the folded and sealed paper that the youth extended, breaking the seal. The words were simple.

Rex Ryen wants you at the Chateau D'Rex
immediately
upon your return. His messenger did not say why.

The signature was Dareyn's, and the word “immediately” was underlined twice.

Alastar turned to his escorts. “I'm wanted at the Chateau D'Rex immediately.”

Since it was quicker and shorter, he guided the gelding across Imagisle and over the Bridge of Desires and then up the West River Road to the Boulevard D'Ouest. Once he reached the chateau, he dismounted and hurried up the steps to the entry. From there a chateau guard escorted him to Ryen's private study.

“It's about time.” Ryen's voice was chill, and he did not look up from where he sat beside the desk.

“I was meeting with High Holder Nacryon.”

“You finally got around to that. Marvelous.”

Alastar stood before the desk, waiting.

“I don't know why my father or his father ever put up with the Collegium. You … you have made things worse. Everything you do makes things worse.”

“Might I ask what has troubled you?”

“You don't even know? What stupidity! What inanity! I'm trying to persuade the High Council and the factors to go along with an increase in tariffs, and you do this. Yes, you. I'm talking about your repairing the sewers. I wasn't about to provide the council with any more stipends for roads and sewers, not until they agreed to support an increase in tariffs. Half of what I've given them goes to their own wallets, anyway. They're greedy bastard children of the Namer, every last one of them. You, the head of the Collegium … you had to go and undo all the pressure I was putting on them through their own incompetence.” Ryen's glare was withering.

Alastar ignored it. “You might have told the Collegium the reason for the stench that made breathing on Imagisle a disgusting and tedious matter.”

“I'll tell you what you need to know.”

“The less you tell me, the more likely I'll end up doing something else that you won't like. The more you tell me, the more I'll be able to help … or at least not get in the way.”

“You've already done enough, Maitre. You fixed their frigging Namer-fired sewers … and you tell me you can't start on my projects for another week.”

“Just three days after we have your proclamation, your map, and your assurance that we can remove buildings along the route.”

“Just go. Don't do anything if you can't do it without causing me more trouble.”

Alastar did not move.

“You heard me! Go!” Ryen's voice rose almost to a screech.

Alastar didn't trust himself to reply. Besides, in Ryen's mood, saying anything would only have made matters worse. He inclined his head, if only slightly, turned, and left, making certain his shields were strong as his back was to the rex.

From the Chateau D'Rex, Alastar and his escorts rode west nearly two milles and then slightly north into an area of rolling hills in order to reach Councilor Moeryn's L'Excelsis residence, the grounds of which resembled a hunting park. Although perhaps thirty yards across the front, the single-level structure was smaller than any other councilor's residence that Alastar had so far visited. From what Alastar could tell, it was just before third glass when he dismounted on the brick-paved square in front of the roofed entry porch, a space that could only have held a handful of people at most.