Madness in Solidar (23 page)

“You're right. I did tell him that he had to do it under the law. That way, you'll get some compensation.”

“It's not enough,” said the brown-bearded man.

“It's not fair.”

Alastar just waited.

After a time of silence, the older man asked, “When will you start tearing things down and building?”

“We'll have to finish measuring and surveying. That will take at least a day or two. It could take a little longer. It's hard to tell. We'd rather not remove anything we don't have to.”

“What about right here?” demanded the bald man.

“To get an entry to the avenue … we'll have to remove the two corner shops for certain. How much beyond that, that's what we're trying to find out.”

The bald man clenched his fists.

“Don't even think about it, Amarr,” declared the older man. “There are three imagers besides the master here, all looking at you.”

“You aren't losing everything,” said Amarr bitterly, glaring at Alastar.

“No … every one of us lost everything we had when people found we were imagers. Some imagers are the children of High Holders and wealthy factors.”

“It's not the same…” Amarr did not say what he might have as he saw something in Alastar's eyes. Abruptly, he turned and walked away.

For some of us, it isn't.
But the apothecary didn't need to know that.

As Alyna continued, Alastar walked over to the still-mounted Petros, who raised his eyebrows as if to ask why he was necessary.

“You're here to look at all these buildings and to think about what we'll need to do once we image away all or parts of them … and what immediate imaging might be necessary to keep things from falling down around us and anyone else.”

“We're really going to do this, sir?”

“We don't have much choice. Our only choice is how well we do it.”

Petros nodded, almost sadly.

Alastar kept watching everything that he could, well aware that more than a few pairs of hidden eyes were on him and the other imagers.

After more than a quint, Alyna approached. “Would you hold the chain for a moment while I do some figures?”

He nodded. The chain, fine as the links were, was heavier than he realized, and that meant Alyna was stronger than she looked, because she'd showed no strain at all. Alyna took out the leather case from one of her saddlebags, and used it as a writing—or calculating—board. In less than a tenth of a glass, she returned.

“What do your calculations show?” he asked.

“If you want an easier entry to the avenue, angling it, say, at a little more than thirty-five degrees, you'll have to start the cut back from the ring road something like forty yards from where the entryway will meet the new avenue. Where your curb intersects the curb of the new avenue will be about thirty yards back from the ring road. That means taking out almost three shops on each side, because you'll also need room for the sidewalk.”

Alastar had known that making the entry onto the new avenue easy would take space. He just hadn't calculated just how much. “We'd better measure that and see what it looks like.”

“I can do that. I've got marking chalk. Do you want me to use that?”

“Please. Make the marks clear but not huge.”

She nodded.

When Alyna finished, and marked the positions with a chalk stick on the wall of the shop on the north side of the lane, Alastar nodded sadly.
Three shops will have to go, definitely. All the more reason to make this very deliberate.

After that, Alyna used the surveyor's cross and measuring staff, brass-tipped at the bottom, and with a brass graded notch or slot at the top, as well as the chain, with which Shaelyt helped her, to survey and measure the lane. Then, in places, she used a water level—essentially a miniature brass trough little more than a finger's width, but a hand high and a third of a yard long with measuring grooves cut along the inside.

From the lane, the slow process continued eastward.

As noon approached, Alastar rode over to Cyran. “I'm going to turn this over to you. I've got to go meet with High Holder Guerdyn. Just let Alyna survey the route. Quit around third glass, at a place that's convenient for her to stop taking measurements.”

“Third glass?”

“We don't need to be in a hurry to start tearing down shops and dwellings.”
For more than a few reasons.

Cyran offered an inquiring look.

“Don't ask,” said Alastar dryly. “Make sure no one gets hurt.” Then he rode over to Alyna, who looked up as he reined the gelding to a halt. “I need to leave to deal with another item of interest to Rex Ryen. Maitre Cyran will be in charge. You can ask him or Petros, or anyone else for whatever assistance you need. If I don't see you late this afternoon, you can tell me what I need to know in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he rode back to the Collegium, accompanied just by Shaelyt, Alastar thought over how the surveying had gone. It seemed to him that he could leave much of the road building to Petros and Alyna—and their protection to Cyran. Despite his best efforts, because he had to take side streets, it was almost two quints past noon when he reined up at the stables and turned to the Maitre D'Aspect.

“Shaelyt, for now, you can keep up with your instructional sessions, at least until Maitre Alyna finishes surveying the route. That's likely to be several days.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar dismounted, handed the gelding over to the duty ostler, and then walked back to the administration building. As soon as he entered the anteroom, Dareyn immediately announced, “High Holder Guerdyn will see you at half past third glass. He only has a half glass.”

“Thank you. That should be more than enough. Do I have any student imagers coming?”

“Secondus Gherard will be here at first glass, and then Seconda Linzya after him. Also, Arhgen asked if he could have a few moments.”

“Send for Arhgen right now. I doubt I'll have time later.”

“Yes, Maitre.” Dareyn hurried off.

Alastar barely had the master ledger out when the Collegium bookkeeper appeared.

“Maitre.” Arhgen looked distinctly distraught.

“Did I overlook something, or has something come up?”

“Minister Salucar's steward sent this.” The bookkeeper extended a single sheet of paper.

It took Alastar only a moment to read the words.

Please inform Maitre Alastar that Rex Regis, His Grace Ryen, has informed the Minister Salucar that the Collegium's monthly stipend will be half that of the usual until the matter of future tariffs is resolved.

“I can see that the minister did not wish to inform me of that,” said Alastar, adding sardonically, “I can't imagine why.”

“Yes, sir.”

“According to the ledger, we have enough to get through the end of Ianus. That's if we don't cut spending more. Is that about right?”

“I'd want to check again, sir…”

“It's close enough. Hold off on purchasing anything except food and produce until you check with me. And urgent fodder, if Petros says he needs it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'd also like your suggestions about what we can do without for the next few months. By tomorrow sometime, if you can.”

“Yes, sir.” Arhgen bobbed his head.

As soon as the bookkeeper left, Alastar leafed through the ledger and jotted down several notes to himself, setting them aside when Dareyn announced the first student imager.

Secondus Gherard entered immediately, a chubby boy who clearly hadn't come into his growth yet. He had bright green eyes set in a round face and a mouth more suited to pouting than smiling.

“Good afternoon, Gherard. Please take a seat.”

“Good afternoon, Maitre. Yes, Maitre.” The second looked at Alastar, but did not quite meet his eyes as he took the chair farthest from Alastar.

“You've been here over two years, haven't you? And you come from a factoring family.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How have you found the Collegium?”

“It's the Collegium, sir.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

Gherard squirmed slightly in the chair. “Where else would an imager go?”

“Where would they go elsewhere on Terahnar? What happens to them in other lands?”

“Ah … some places they get killed, they say. In Jariola, they belong to the Oligarchs … I think.”

“If they're fortunate. You never answered the question about how you found the Collegium.”

“It's … it's the Collegium.”

Alastar was definitely getting the impression that young Gherard wasn't thrilled to be at the Collegium and that he didn't want to say so, but didn't want to lie, either, not out of any moral sense, but simply out of fear. “What does your father factor?”

“Sir?”

“I asked what your father factors. Your father is Factorius Wylum, is he not?”

“Yes, sir. He's a woolen and cloth factor. He has a spinning mill north of here. He sends the cloth down to his warehouse on his wagons.”

“You lived in a large house, perhaps on a hill to the north of L'Excelsis?”

Gherard frowned. “It was a nice house. It's east of here.”

“Do you go there when you can?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your father send a coach for you?”

“No, sir.”

“Your mother, perhaps?”

Gherard swallowed.

Alastar waited.

“Ah … yes, sir.”

“What kind of imager would you like to be?”

“I don't know, sir. I'm just learning.” Gherard paused, then asked, “When will I be advanced to being a tertius?”

“When your imaging skills meet the standards for becoming a third.”

“But I'm a better imager than some of the older thirds…”

“Some of the thirds obtained that position because of their skills and value in other areas. They will likely never become maitres. You have shown no other talents, and your imaging skills alone are not yet sufficient for you to become a tertius.”

“That doesn't seem fair, sir. I'm a better imager than some thirds, and I'm only a second.”

“Those thirds served the Collegium for years with both imaging and other skills. You're still a student, and your imaging skills are not as good as those of other students who are thirds.”

“I can image more. I know I can. The maitres…”

“They won't let you do more? That's because trying to image too much before you are ready is dangerous. It could kill you. Before there was a Collegium, most imagers died young.”

Gherard appeared ready to argue, but did not, his lips forming into an expression just short of a pout.

“When your skills improve, you will become a tertius. According to Maitre Shaelyt and Maitre Alyna, you need to practice more—within the rules.” Alastar paused, then asked, “How are you doing in your other studies?”

“I'm doing best in language…”

After another painful tenth of a glass, Alastar released young Gherard, withholding a sigh of relief after the second departed. He offered a pleasant smile to Seconda Linzya as she entered and took the chair directly across from Alastar. Like Gherard, she did not quite meet Alastar's eyes at first. Unlike him, after a moment she did, and he noted that her eyes were pale gray, almost overshadowed by her thick jet-black hair, short-cut as it was.

“How are you finding the Collegium, Linzya?”

“I like it, sir. The food is good, and Maitre Tiranya is nice. She's strict, but she explains things. So does Maitre Alyna, but she works mostly with the thirds. I've learned all my letters. I can even give a copper or two to my ma.”

“She lives in L'Excelsis?

“In Caelln, sir.”

Alastar had not heard of the town. “Is that far?”

“It's south of here, sir, mayhap five milles, on the river. My da's a boatman.”

After a quint with Linzya, once she left, Alastar was feeling slightly better. Gherard had definitely left a bad taste in his mouth, yet he worried about that hint of defiance he had seen. He checked the student roster. Obsolym was Gherard's preceptor.
That attitude? Coincidence?
Alastar shook his head, thinking about the difference between Alyna and Gherard.
Then again, you didn't know Alyna when she was Gherard's age.
He still didn't believe she'd been like that.
But you don't know.

Over the next two quints, he considered what he might say to Guerdyn, but in the end, decided that he would have to see what the High Holder said and how he acted. Then it was time to leave, and he hurried out to the area in front of the administration building, where his escorts, this time Belsior and Akkard, were waiting with the gray gelding. Once they were riding toward the Bridge of Desires, Alastar motioned for them to move up beside him.

“How did you two find the Collegium when you came?” Alastar looked first to Akkard.

“I hated it. I missed my family. My mother. I never saw much of my father. He's a farrier, and he spends most of the week traveling to where there are horses needing shoes.”

“And now?”

“I like it. I'm working with Arthos in the forge, and I'm learning about imaging metals, or shaping them. I can't create metal from nothing, the way he can, but I can image a piece into something. I even made a decent pair of candlesticks last week. It wore me out for two days.”

“What about you, Belsior?”

“I didn't even have a name. Belsior was what Maitre Fhaen named me. I was just ‘boy.'”

Alastar waited.

“My ma—my mother—she served at the inn. That was up in Talyon. She never said who my father was. Maybe she didn't know. When the innkeeper found out I could image—I tried to make a copper for her—he blindfolded me, tied me up, and carted me down here for the gold he got from the Collegium. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Belsior grinned. “Even if it turned out I'll never be a great imager.”