Madness in Solidar (34 page)

“It's too soon for winter here.”

“But it's already snowed in Rivages?”

“It has, according to Zaeryl.”

When they reached the door to the cottage, Alyna turned. “Thank you again. I did enjoy the morning.”

“So did I.”

Alyna smiled warmly, then turned and entered the dwelling.

Alastar looked at the closed door for several moments, then continued northward toward the residence. The air seemed even colder.

He spent the afternoon checking his notes and maps, and, after that, even trying to figure out what he might say to Ryen—assuming he talked to the rex any time soon—and began to develop a series of plans for what he and the imagers could do.

Finally, it was time for the evening services. As was his custom, he took a position near the front but against the wall, standing, as all did, except for the truly infirm, for whom there were benches. From there, he could observe what maitres attended. Student imagers were expected to attend, unless ill.

Iskhar's homily was one of his less inspiring, dealing with the giving of gifts and how doing so could be a form of Naming. Alastar saw the validity of the point, but the presentation left something to be desired. After the service, Alastar waited until the anomen was almost empty before approaching Iskhar.

“You have that look, Maitre,” said the chorister humorously.

“I do indeed. If you are so inclined, I would like you to think about giving a particular homily. You may have even given one like it in the past, since I understand that Maitre Fhaen and I shared a certain concern. This past week it became obvious—again—that too many students are more interested in attaining a higher rank, being a tertius or a junior maitre than in obtaining the skills that merit the appellation. Maitre Akoryt rightly called the arrogation of position over accomplishment another form of Naming.”

Iskhar raised his eyebrows. “Is this because of the matter with Gherard?”

“It is. I met with him before he attempted his ill-fated imaging, and he was far more concerned about why he wasn't a third than he was about improving his skills as an imager.”

The chorister nodded. “That has often been a problem. I have mentioned that in the past, but not recently.”

“If you could address it once more, before long, I would appreciate it.”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

When Alastar returned to his residence, through air cold enough that his breath was visible, the rooms felt emptier than usual. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, not immediately. So he went into the study and took out the second volume of Chorister Gauswn's journals and began to read.

After almost another hundred pages, when his eyes were blurring, and he was about to close the volume and head up to his bedchamber, he came across another few lines.

On Jeudi evening Moriana and I had dinner at the Maitre's house, and she sat across from Lady Vaelora. During the main course, a superb fowl dish with alternating slices of dark meat and cheese with an orange glaze, a dish from Khel, Moriana mentioned that there were times when she wished she had the vaunted Pharsi talent of farsight. Lady Vaelora raised her eyebrows, but did not reply immediately. Moriana said it would be useful in avoiding danger. To that, Vaelora said quietly that the gift never allowed that; it only allowed one to prepare, if one could even determine what that danger might be, or if it happened even to be a danger. With those words, she smiled. So did the Maitre, knowingly, but neither would say more …

Alastar frowned. He remembered reading something about Vaelora being more than just the sister of Rex Regis, but, for a moment, he didn't recall where. Then he realized that it had been an earlier entry in Gauswn's journals, where the chorister had called her an Eleni or something like that and said she was more than an imager.

More than an imager?
He shook his head.
You've read enough.
After marking his place and closing the volume, he imaged out the lamp and made his way to the stairs, thinking about what Alyna had said earlier about Vaelora … that there were no tales about her, either, even from her daughters.

But why?
He wondered if he would ever find out. Then he yawned as he started up the stairs.

 

21

By Lundi morning Alastar had decided to accompany the imagers to begin actual imaging of Ryen's new avenue. Also, rather than make an immediate decision about new or different duties for Desyrk, he included the Maitre D'Structure in the work group to see what happened and how Desyrk reacted. He then canceled the instructionals for those imagers he'd picked for the road work—Cyran, Desyrk, Alyna, Shaelyt, Petros, Khaelis, and Narryn. That didn't include the thirds accompanying Cyran. Alastar didn't like being away from the Collegium with so much undecided, but he left word with Dareyn to send a messenger if anything happened and to send all messages to him immediately. He still worried as he rode across the Bridge of Desires beside Cyran.

“How do you want to handle people if they try to stop the imaging?” asked Cyran.

“Use shields. Anchor them to your saddle, and then move forward slowly. That should push them away.”

“What if they use weapons?”

“Still use shields and truncheons, if they have to. Sabres as a last resort. If someone gets really unruly, then confine them in shields until they can be tied up—that's what the rope I had you bring is for—”

“I thought that might be the reason.”

“… and then we'll need to turn them over to the patrollers.” Alastar belatedly recalled that he had not seen a single patroller when he'd been working with the imagers on the streets, except for the first sewer repair. “Have you seen any when Alyna was surveying?”

“Not a single one. It could be that they think there won't be trouble around us.”

Alastar wasn't so sure. From what he'd seen, city patrollers were not all that they could be and had a tendency to avoid areas where there was a likelihood of great violence while maintaining the peace in areas where the effort was less. That wasn't surprising, since they were essentially paid by the factors' council, and the factors liked order around their homes and factorages, not that such areas were prone to either excessive crime or violence.

When Alastar did not reply, Cyran laughed. “No offense to you, but I hope I'm right.”

“So do I.”

Later, as Alastar and the imager work party turned off the West River Road and rode away from the river along the Boulevard D'Ouest, he could see that the streets were still damp from the intermittent rains. The air held a damp and bitter edge, but that would have been worse if there had been any wind. They reached the lane of the apothecaries just after seventh glass.

Once there, Alastar gathered the imagers. “We'll begin by removing the first three shops on each side of the lane starting from the corner and working east. Next we'll place the curbs. After that, we'll image the sewer ditches and covers in place, followed by the drains just inside the curbs … then the paving stones, with the sidewalks for the last. Just doing the entry to the new avenue will likely take all day … if not longer. We won't do anything until Maitre Alyna has marked out the new curb and entry lanes.” Alastar turned to Cyran. “You and the thirds need to make certain the shops are empty. If they're not, tell them they have a glass to carry out everything. After that, they'll lose anything that's left there.”

“I'd wager most of them haven't moved anything.”

“That's their problem. They've been given weeks of warning.” Alastar had to admit that he was getting tired of everyone's problems. Ryen had problems. The army had problems. The High Holders had problems. The factors had problems. The apothecaries had problems … and where they lived and worked was a stenchpit. Most likely the guilds had problems. And, of course, the Collegium had problems.
You're not being fair.
He knew he wasn't, but no matter what he tried to do to improve matters, no one was happy. In fact, most of those involved just got angry and angrier.

Alastar remained mounted, with Neiryn mounted beside him, and watched as Cyran, Akkard, and Glaesyn dismounted, leaving their mounts in the hands of Shaelyt and Petros. Then he turned to Alyna. “How do you plan to proceed?”

“We'll measure with the chain, and then mark out the curb with a chalk line,” said Alyna. “When that's done, we'll measure and chalk out where the sewer ditches will go. Then the lines from the drains to the sewers.”

Alastar smiled. “You'd better get started. Neiryn can hold your mount.”

After dismounting, Alyna handed the gelding's reins to Neiryn, then unstrapped the surveyor's staff and other equipment. Once she had everything assembled, she checked several sheets of paper, folded them, and slipped them into her heavy gray jacket. She walked toward the narrow lane, where she set up the staff.

Alastar glanced across the lane to where stood the same three men who had approached him during the initial surveying—an old and short man, the brown-bearded man younger than Alastar, and a burly bald man with a gray mustache and square beard. Before long several others joined the group, then a few more.

Alyna chalked a line down the middle of the lane, extending it from a point even with the curbs of the ring road eastward into the lane some thirty yards into the lane. Then she began to measure the distance from the chalk line to the north, and, without looking at Alastar, continued laying down the measuring chain and chalking its course on the stone.

Alastar noticed that the ring road curbs appeared as though they had been but recently laid, although they supposedly dated to the time of Rex Regis.

Before long, the group on the south corner of the lane and the ring road had grown to almost a score of men, and Alastar still didn't see Cyran and the two thirds.
You'd better stop this before it gets ugly … or uglier.
He turned in the saddle. “Neiryn, stay here and watch Maitre Alyna. She's too busy to be aware of anything unforeseen.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar turned the gray and rode across the end of the lane, reining up just short of the group standing there.

The burly bald man with a gray mustache and square beard, Amarr, as Alastar recalled, stepped forward. “Master imager, this is wrong. You're coming in here and taking everything we have.”

“Rex Ryen has offered compensation,” said Alastar.

“Rex Dafou … mad as spooked coney,” called someone from the rear of the group.

“… about as much sense…” muttered someone else.

“I know it's not as much as you'd like,” Alastar said loudly, “but the rex didn't have to offer anything. Not to build a new road.”

“He didn't have to take our shops,” declared the oldest and shortest of the original three.

“You're going to tear down our shops … just like that?”

“You'll have to move now,” Alastar said firmly, knowing that he couldn't let the anger turn into action against him or the other imagers.

“You can kill us,” stated the young brown-bearded man. “That's what it'll take to move me.” He looked around. “Don't know about the rest of you. Might as well take a stand, rather than lose everything we've got.”

Alastar extended shields a yard before his mount and two yards on a side, linked to his saddle, then eased the gelding more to the left before moving forward. The shields pressed against the men, forcing them to move back and south along the sidewalk and the edge of the ring road.

“… imager bastards…”

At that instant, the brown-bearded man turned and ran back and then around the unseen shields, well into the ring road, narrowly escaping being hit by a wagon stacked with barrels, then sprinted in an arc back toward Alyna. As he ran, he drew a long knife or short sword.

She stood there, watching as if calculating, then nodded. Abruptly, her attacker pitched forward, slamming facedown on the paving stones, the blade skittering from his hand across the road. Surprisingly, at least to Alastar, the man staggered to his feet and drew another blade, shorter, clearly a knife, but only took one step before Neiryn's truncheon cracked into his skull. He pitched forward and did not move.

“Amarr!” Alastar called, reining the gelding in. “You—just you—can go drag your friend away. The rest of you back off.”

The burly Amarr looked at Alastar, then circled around him and the gelding and made his way to the fallen apothecary. “Come on, Jaimyt…” Suddenly, Amarr looked up from the inert form. “He's dead! You imagers killed him.”

“No,” replied Alastar. “He ignored the commands of the rex, and he attacked an imager carrying out those orders. He tried twice. No one gets a second chance at attacking an imager. Now drag him away.”

Instead, the burly man lifted the corpse over his shoulder and walked south on the ring road, toward the next alley. The rest followed, many looking back over their shoulders.

Neiryn eased his mount up beside Alastar. “I'm sorry, sir. I know you said to be careful. I didn't think I hit him that hard.”

“You might not have. Hitting his head hard on the pavement twice might have done the same thing. You did what you were told to do, and that was to protect Maitre Alyna while she was working.” Alastar offered what he hoped was an understanding expression. “Just keep doing your duty.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Neiryn rode back closer to Alyna, Alastar kept looking to see if any of the earlier group returned. The lane remained empty, and he could see no one but imagers at the entry to the lane. Alyna had returned to marking where the curbs would run, although Alastar knew she could only chalk until she reached the wall of the first shop that needed to be removed.

Alyna had clearly used shields set well away from her to trip the attacker. That showed far more ability than a Maitre D'Aspect. The way she'd defended herself had also been designed to make it seem as though her attacker had merely tripped. Alastar wondered about that, especially given her abilities.