Madness in Solidar (17 page)

He frowned. There was something else he'd meant to do … someone else he needed to talk to, but he couldn't remember who.
Too much going on … and you still don't know enough.

When official studies began on Vendrei morning, Alastar was in the corner of the chamber used by Akoryt, who was conducting a new course of study on the role of law in Solidar. He had raised a concealment, although he had informed Akoryt that he would be observing—or rather largely hearing, since he could not make out facial expressions from where he was positioned, only hear words and sense large gestures. The student imagers with whom Akoryt was working were all older seconds, and the short course of study was designed to refresh whatever they had been taught when they were younger and—equally important—to make them more aware of certain aspects of law. Alastar was well aware of the unevenness of how law applied in practice, and the imagers of the Collegium needed to understand that, as well as the fact that imagers could not afford the slightest impression that they were above the law … or that it did not apply to them. He also worried about whether Akoryt was the best senior imager to instruct the older seconds.
But there are so few senior maitres.

“You are here because it has come to the attention of the Collegium,” Akoryt began, “that your earlier instruction on the laws of Solidar was limited to the letter of those laws, how they apply, and the higher standards required of imagers.” He paused. “What else do you think you need to know beyond that?”

As with the case of the younger students, there was a long silence.

Finally, one of the seconds answered, in a tone close to a smirk, Alastar thought, “If we knew what we needed beyond that, sir, why would we need to be here?”

“The question was what you thought you might need,” replied Akoryt “That suggests the need for thought. Obviously, your response suggests one answer. What might that be?”

After another long silence, Akoryt said, “Borlan, what does Noergyn's response reveal?”

“That he can't think, sir?”

“Not exactly, but it's close. Let's go back to a simple question. Why are there laws?”

“To keep people from doing what they shouldn't?”

“Don't you all know there are things you shouldn't do? That you shouldn't steal something from someone else, for example?”

“Some people don't know that.”

“They don't know it … or they think that they can do what they wish, because they're stronger or quicker?”

“They think they can get away with it,” offered another voice.

“What do laws provide besides rules?”

“What happens if you break them…?”

“Exactly. Consequences…”

After several more questions and responses, Akoryt asked, “Are laws the only rules we have to obey?”

“No, sir.”

“That's right. Every group has rules. Some, like the guilds, the High Holders, the factors, or the Collegium, have both formal rules—and these can be spoken or written or both—and unspoken rules. The formal rules are things like laws or regial proclamations, or the written requirements to be a factor or a Holder. But there are also unspoken rules. Those rules must be observed and deduced by each member of the group, and in large part, acceptance and success depend on recognition of and mastery of those unspoken rules. Young people usually understand that such rules exist within their own groups, but many have a harder time accepting that other groups have such rules and that at least some of those rules may differ greatly from the rules they have already learned. Often they get most angry when the rules of those older and more powerful do not follow their preconceptions.” Akoryt paused. “Why am I making this point? I don't want a spoken answer. I want you each to write down an answer without talking to each other or looking at someone else's paper. Now…”

Alastar eased from the chair and out of the chamber as the seconds bent over their sheets of paper. Like Shaelyt, Akoryt was making a good start.

Once outside the chamber, Alastar dropped the concealment and walked swiftly back toward the administration building. As he neared his study, he could see Dareyn looking toward him.
These days, that's not a good sign.

“Maitre … one of the students brought the volumes you requested from Chorister Iskhar. You also have a message from Marshal Demykalon.” Dareyn stood and handed the envelope to Alastar.

Alastar used his belt knife to slit the envelope, leaving the green wax seal intact, then extracted the single sheet and read the short missive.

Maitre—

At the behest of Rex Regis, His Esteemed Grace, Lord Ryen, I would like to request the pleasure of your company tomorrow, Samedi, the thirteenth of Feuillyt, at headquarters in order to discuss matters of mutual interest. I trust that ninth glass will be amenable.

The signature was that of Demykalon, set down in bold square strokes.

“Sir?” inquired Dareyn.

“I'm to meet with the marshal at his headquarters tomorrow morning. It should be interesting.”
If that doesn't turn out to be an understatement, you're going to be very surprised.
“We'll need to leave the Collegium just before eighth glass. Have we heard back from Factor Elthyrd?”

“No, sir. Not yet, sir.”

“Thank you.” Alastar turned and entered the study. The three volumes that Iskhar had sent were stacked neatly on his desk. Each one was more than a handspan thick.

With a rueful smile, he took the top volume, and opened it. The dark brown leather was smooth, as if the book had hardly been read. The first page was blank. The second page held only five words—“NOTES OF A COLLEGIUM CHORISTER”—but those words were written in a precise hand. Alastar turned the page and began to read.

These writings represent my notes over the time I have been chorister at the Anomen D'Collegium Imago. They do not represent all my notes, for reasons I will keep to myself, but everything within these volumes is as accurate as I know it to be. I do not believe what I have omitted creates a misleading impression for anyone who will later read them. For all I know, no one will, besides my successor, for whom I am compiling these volumes …

Alastar continued to read.

… while I sought the Nameless through my younger years, I only found what I sought when the Princeps of Tilbor secured my early release from my position as undercaptain in the First Tilboran Regiment. How was I to know what would follow or that he would create the Collegium and honor me as its first chorister …

Quaeryt had been a princeps, an assistant governor?
Alastar kept skimming the pages.

… have preached a few homilies with which I was pleased, but doubt any reached the standard of those offered by the Maitre to his officers and men during the Tilboran Revolt or the Wars of Consolidation …

Alastar's eyes again widened. The legendary Quaeryt had been an officer in the Telaryn armies even before the conquest of Bovaria and the unification of Solidar? And he had preached numerous homilies … and had possibly been a chorister of the Nameless?

At that moment, Dareyn knocked and then opened the door slightly. “There's a chateau guard here with something that he says he has to deliver to you personally.”

For an instant, Alastar wondered what was that important—before he realized that it must be the map and documents necessary for the rex's new avenue. He marked his place with a leather bookmark, then rose from the desk and walked out to the anteroom.

A chateau guard that Alastar did not recognize stepped forward and handed Alastar a dispatch case and a large tubular object that had to be a rolled map. “Maitre, sir, these are from the rex. He said you were expecting them.”

“Thank you.”

“Ah … sir?”

“You'd like a note saying I received them?”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar handed the map to Dareyn and opened the case. There were several documents, all with impressive seals. The first was a proclamation. So was the second. He decided against trying to read them all. Instead, he set the case on Dareyn's desk. Dareyn gave him a sheet of paper, then eased the inkwell toward him, and handed him a pen.

Shortly, Alastar finished the note, let it dry, blotted it gently, folded it, sealed it, and handed it to the guard.

“Thank you, sir.”

Once the chateau guard was out of the anteroom, Dareyn looked to Alastar.

“The details for the new Avenue D'Rex, I imagine. I need to see what all this involves.”

Dareyn raised his eyebrows, but did not speak.

Alastar gathered the maps and the dispatch case and returned to his study. There, he untied the cords around the map and unrolled it, then studied the purplish lines that Ryen, or someone, had drawn.
It could be worse …

Then he read the various proclamations, wincing at a section in the second one.

… whereas, it is the right of the rex to do what is needful for proper roads and ways, there is no appeal to the decision on the right-of-way. Compensation will be set by the rex and reviewed by the High Justicer of Solidar …

And he thinks the factors are unhappy now?
Alastar frowned, then looked more closely at the map. From what he could tell, Ryen had actually picked a route that cut through shops and crafters' places, but not touched a single factorage.

He looked at the third document, but realized that it consisted of two sheets, the first being an official notice to a property or shop owner that some or all of his property might be taken for the purpose of a new avenue and that compensation would be paid after the construction was complete, said compensation to be set by the rex and reviewed by the High Justicer, to whom appeals could be made if the property owner disputed the compensation. The notice also declared that there would be imagers of the Collegium working on the construction and that they were agents of the rex and empowered to take all steps necessary to facilitate construction. The second sheet held a listing in very small script of all those provided a notice. Alastar estimated there were more than a hundred names and addresses, vague as some addresses were, such as “corner of cobbler and tent,” whatever that meant.

The fourth sheet was a description of the avenue—a stone-paved thoroughfare an even twenty yards wide with a stone sidewalk two yards wide on each side.

Twenty-four yards wide? The last thing we need is to be involved with this right now.

He shook his head, knowing that he'd need to draft instructions and send a note to each of the imagers he'd need to begin the avenue project on Lundi—not all that he'd need, but those for the first day. He also needed to study the map more when he really wished he could resume his reading and search for more information about Quaeryt, but that, like many things, would have to wait. He was still thinking about which imagers he'd need on Lundi when the study door opened.

“Factor Elthyrd will make time for you at second glass, sir, if you will come to the factors' council building.”

“Would you send a messenger confirming that?”

“Yes, sir.” Dareyn paused. “Tertius Konan is here for his meeting with you, Maitre.”

“Thank you.” Alastar replaced the documents in the leather-bound dispatch case, rolled and tied the map, and managed a pleasant smile as the broad-shouldered but still somewhat gangly imager third walked into the study.

“Please sit down, Konan. I understand you're from Montagne.”

“Near Montagne, sir. A small town called Fharos.”

“That's a long way. How did you get here?”

“On horseback, sir. I learned to ride with one of the rex's couriers.” Konan's eyes strayed to the founder's sabre, as if he did not relish looking directly at Alastar.

“How have you found the Collegium so far?”

Over the course of the next quint, Alastar found Konan to be reasonably intelligent and remarkably pleasant. He almost hated to end the conversation, knowing he would soon be heading out to a far less pleasant meeting. He would even have rather read the old journals.
Even? They look intriguing.
With a shake of his head, he rose and headed to the stables.

A fifth before second glass, Alastar reined up outside the headquarters of the factors' council, an ancient and modest building located four blocks north of the east bridge on the corner of the East River Road, just a block south of the “new” Hotel L'Excelsis, an imposing three-story structure that, Alastar understood from inquiries, had replaced a much older hotel some fifty years earlier. At that moment, as he dismounted, he recalled what he had forgotten to do—to talk to Desyrk about what the Maitre D'Structure might know about Ryen and his family.
You should have time after you get back to the Collegium.

“I won't be much longer than half a glass.” Alastar handed the gelding's reins to Chervyt, who was accompanied by Coermyd.

“Yes, sir.”

The ancient door creaked as Alastar opened it and stepped inside. It also creaked when he closed it. Two small table desks seemed to fill the small and low-ceilinged entry hall. One was piled high with stacks of papers. The other was occupied by a graying clerk, whose initial annoyed glance was immediately replaced by a smile, one clearly forced, even as he stood.

“Maitre Alastar. Let me tell Factor Elthyrd you are here.” He hurried around the desk and toward the door behind him and to his left, which he opened. After a moment, he left the door ajar. “He'll see you now, Maitre.”

“Thank you.” Alastar walked around the table desk, opened the door wider, entered, and closed it, slipping off his visor cap and tucking it under his arm.

“Good afternoon, Maitre.” Elthyrd's thin lips barely moved.

“Good afternoon, Factorius.” Alastar seated himself, moving the cap to place it on his thigh, rather than on the factor's desk. “I appreciate your making the time to see me.”