Madness in Solidar (39 page)

“Maitre Fhaen worried when Demykalon became marshal.”

“What did he say?” Alastar was curious because he didn't recall Fhaen saying much of anything, except not to trust Demykalon.

“He said that Demykalon thought he was the rex, not Rex Ryen.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not exactly, sir.” Dareyn glanced around the anteroom, clearly uncomfortable. Finally, he added, “He said his cousin wouldn't have taken his stipend quite so early, except … But he didn't finish his sentence, and he never said what the reason was, even when I asked. He said it was better I didn't know.”

Better Dareyn didn't know? Better for whom?
“Do you think Maitre Fhaen knew he was not well before he told anyone?”

“Yes, sir. He didn't walk as fast, and he was out of breath if he walked more than a handful of steps. Maitre Obsolym had to know, too. He watched Maitre Fhaen like a sun eagle.”

Alastar nodded. It all made sense.
Too much sense.
“Is there anything else?”

Dareyn worried his lips, tilted his head slightly, then said, “No, sir. Maitre Fhaen wasn't one for talking much. Not around me or anyone who wasn't a Maitre D'Structure.”

“I appreciate what you do know, Dareyn. Thank you.” Alastar paused. “Would you send word to have my horse ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar returned to his study. As he sat down behind the desk, he thought about reading more in the last volume of Gauswn's journals, but recalled that the journals were all in the study at the Maitre's residence. Less than a quint later, Alastar rode across the east bridge, accompanied by two of the older seconds—Maercyl and Dhonaet—since Akoryt was using the more talented thirds who had finished their formal instruction. Elthyrd's factorage was less than a mille south on the East River Road, and actually on the river itself.

As he rode up to a small structure flanked by large two-story warehouses, Alastar saw just why the factorage was on the water, with the low barges tied to wharves, and men unloading and loading lengths of timber and planks, carrying them to and from the warehouses.

He dismounted and handed the gelding's reins to Maercyl. “I won't be too long.” Then he walked into the small building, where he was met by Elthyrd himself.

“You're punctual. I'll say that, Maitre. Unlike some.”

“This is quite a factorage. Do you handle all woods?” Seeing the amount of wood, Alastar could see why Elthyrd had dismissed the canvas side of his factoring as smaller.

“Everything. I have factorages in both Solis and Kephria. That's where the fine southern woods are landed. We get the best goldenwood of all…” Elthyrd smiled. “You didn't come to talk about woods.” He gestured toward a doorway behind the long counter and to the right.

Alastar followed him into a spare study that held little more than a table desk, a small bookcase filled with what looked to be ledgers of some sort, and chairs—three in front of the desk and one behind it. Elthyrd did close the door before moving toward the desk, then turning and stopping.

“You're right. I didn't come to talk about woods, but the breadth of what you carry looks to be quite impressive. I came to talk about the imminent problems facing Solidar.” Alastar extended the missive he had written earlier. “I put them in writing for you and so that, as you see fit, you can show my words to others.”

“Best I sit down.” Elthyrd dropped as much as sat into the chair behind the desk, making a vague gesture toward the chairs in front of it.

As Alastar seated himself, the factor broke the seal, took out the letter, and began to read. He frowned when he came to the end, but then seemed to reread parts of what Alastar had written. Finally, he looked up. “What do you want from me, or should I ask, from the council?”

“At the moment, nothing more than to be aware of what the situation is.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone will try to recast the way things actually are after whatever is about to happen occurs. I'd like you and the other factors to see what the Collegium faces before that.”

“Your words suggest more of a threat than a compromise.”

Alastar shook his head. “We have absolutely no intention of acting if others reach a compromise, or even if they do not, so long as everyone strives to be reasonable.”

“What's reasonable to me might not be to you.”

“That's true, but if you decide to burn down L'Excelsis if you don't get your way, not that you would suggest such, I think most people would find that less than reasonable.”

“That's a ridiculous example, but I see your point.”

Alastar offered a sad smile. “Is it really ridiculous? Marshal Demykalon is testing new cannon. He made certain I witnessed those tests.”

“You don't really think he'd actually fire them on anyone, do you?”

More likely than not.
“I won't speculate on what the marshal will or will not do. I would say that firing cannon on anyone who disagrees with the rex would be less than reasonable … unless, of course, they used force first … but that would also be unreasonable.”

“I'd say you don't have a favorable impression of either the High Holders or the rex. Or the marshal, for that matter.”

“Would you, if you were in my boots?”

“Probably not.” Elthyrd offered a gruff chuckle. “I'm glad I'm not. When might you be doing more of those repairs?”

“When we can, as we can.”

“Not much of a promise there.”

“The only promise I can give is that we will do them.”

“That's not perfect, but you've done two. That's better than your predecessor or the rex. What else?”

“I've told you what I came to tell you.”

“I figured as much. For an imager, you're plainspoken.” Elthyrd stood. “It will be interesting to see what happens.”

Just hope it's interesting … and not worse.
Alastar rose. “It will be.” He inclined his head. “I appreciate your seeing me.”

“We'll have to see how things turn out.” The factor moved to the door and opened it.

Meaning that you think I've been an alarmist.
That didn't bother Alastar. “We will, indeed.”

In mere moments, Alastar was outside the factorage and mounting the gelding.

As the three imagers turned their mounts north on the East River Road, Dhonaet cleared his throat. “Maitre, sir, you weren't there long.”

“We each said what we had to say. There wasn't any point to staying longer. Factor Elthyrd is very direct and appreciates brevity—unlike some, for whom brevity is mortal insult.” Alastar couldn't help but see Maercyl's effort to hide a smile.

The return to Imagisle was quick and uneventful.

Only moments after Alastar returned to his study in the administration building, Dareyn rapped on the doorframe, since Alastar had left the door ajar, then stepped just inside the study. “There's a master stonemason here to see you, sir. He says his name is Gairock.”

Master stonemason?
Alastar frowned.
It has to be about the sewer repairs.
“Have him come in.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Alastar could definitely hear the disapproval in Dareyn's voice, but he just nodded.

Gairock was not a big man, more than a head shorter than Alastar, with a wiry build. His beard was mostly gray with a few remnants of brown, and he wore a scuffed brown leather jacket over a faded brown wool shirt. His heavy twill trousers were gray above battered brown boots.

Definitely a working stonemason.
Alastar rose and gestured to the chairs. “Please sit down. What might I do for you?”

“Maitre … I'd not be one to go against the power of an imager…”

Alastar waited.

“… I've heard tales that imagers made repairs to the sewers. I've gone to those places. I've seen the repairs.”

“We have made repairs in two places. We made one repair because the stench was so great that it covered most of Imagisle. We made the second to placate the factors' council.”

“Sir?”

“Not all imagers are powerful. Some cannot image even a small brick. Those who are powerful have wives and children who are not. Solidar is the only land where imagers are not hunted or slaves. We do our best not to upset those in power, as do the guilds, I would imagine.”

“That is true…” Gairock's voice held a certain doubt.

“You are concerned that our repairs have taken work from the stonemasons?”

“There has been talk of that, Maitre.”

“We may have to do another repair or two. Beyond that, we have no intention of taking work from the stonemasons. We do reserve the right to work on our own dwellings and buildings here on Imagisle, just as any who have the skill may work on their own property.”

“Times are hard, Maitre.”

“Times are hard for the Collegium, too, master stonemason. The High Holders and the rex want the Collegium to do their bidding. Each has threatened us if we fail to support them.”

“You let them threaten you?”

“They have only threatened,” said Alastar. “If they act on those threats, then so will we. As Maitre of the Collegium, I never want it said that imagers threatened or acted against others in Solidar, except in their own defense.” He smiled politely. “We will do what we can not to do more stonework beyond what I have described. I regret having to do those repairs, but they have been necessary because the rex would not pay the factors' council to make the repairs, and the High Holders are opposing the tariffs necessary to pay for such repairs and other needs. The guilds and the Collegium are caught between the High Holders and the rex.”

“And you will do nothing?” Gairock appeared incredulous.

“We will not act first, master stonemason. That does not mean we will not act. If matters are not clear by the end of Feuillyt, come and see me again.” Alastar stood, then added in as kindly a tone as he could manage, “The Collegium and I do understand, and we will do our best.” That was as great a commitment as he was willing to make.

The stonemason rose and nodded courteously. “Thank you for seeing me, Maitre.”

Once Gairock was well away, Alastar shook his head. It seemed as though, no matter what he tried to do, someone was unhappy. And for the moment … all he could do was wait.

Waiting was the hardest part, not only because he preferred to be the first to act, but because, while acting first would reduce the immediate damage, perhaps obviate it all, it would destroy the Collegium more certainly than would Ryen's wrath or Demykalon's cannon, assuming matters went that far.
Which they almost certainly will.

Finally, he could stand it no more. He walked to the door. “Send word to have my horse ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar found himself pacing until Dareyn finally said, “Your horse is ready, sir. Will you need an escort?”

“No. I need to make a quick survey with regard to Imagisle. I hope to return in little more than a glass. I don't think Maitre Akoryt will be back here before then, but if he is, tell him where I've gone and that I'll let him know as soon as I can.”

Alastar hurried from the administration building out to where a fresh-faced second held the reins to the gelding. He had to struggle to remember the student's name. “Thank you, Lannyt. I should be back in a glass or so.”

The young imager inclined his head as he handed the reins over.

Alastar mounted quickly and urged the gelding onto the lane north along the center green. Once he was well away from the stable and past the cottages, he turned on a side lane that would lead to the Bridge of Desires, if indirectly, and raised first, a blurring concealment, and then a full one. He stayed close to the stone railing on the north side of the bridge, although he didn't sense anyone. Nor could he make out anyone on the point toward which he was headed. He had to be careful as he rode north on the West River Road, because there were coaches and carriages, and none of them could see him. That didn't mean that they couldn't run into him—or his shields—and that was the last thing he needed.

Just south of the Nord Bridge on the east side of the river was a rocky spur of land that jutted into the water, extending less than a hundred yards. As he neared it, Alastar caught a sense of an indistinct figure in a side lane across the West River Road. He smiled.
One of Akoryt's watchers.

The army was making no secret of its presence, not with five mounted troopers, each with a rifle in a saddle sheath, posted to block the footpath that led from the road out to the point. The undergrowth on each side of the path had been cut back, and wagon tracks straddled the bare ground. The trees and bushes were high enough and thick enough on each side of even the widened path to conceal whatever was more than ten or fifteen yards from the road. With guards posted so close together, Alastar didn't see any way to determine what lay beyond the guards. If he took the cleared path, he'd run into one of the troopers. If he went through the bushes and brush—assuming he even could—the sound and the movement of branches and leaves would alert the troopers. All that suggested that Demykalon was up to little good. Alastar reined up some twenty yards short of the nearest trooper. While his concealment meant he wouldn't be seen, it didn't block sounds or smells.

Farther north an old man walked south, leading a mule that pulled a small cart filled with baskets of root vegetables. Closer to Alastar, a coach had stopped opposite the center trooper, and a man was addressing the trooper from the coach. The man was likely a factor from his voice.

“… army troopers doing here?”

“… spicers landing elveweed and curamyn here where they couldn't be seen. The rex ordered the marshal to look into it.”

“They'd be stupid spicers to do that.”