Madness in Solidar (52 page)

“I just came to express my sorrow at your loss.'

Carmina said nothing, just looked, almost blankly, at Alastar. She did not invite him inside.

Since Alastar was not about to press, he went on, “I did not know your husband well, because I have been here such a short time, but he was hardworking and even-tempered, and as good a man and imager as any Maitre could wish. It was a tragedy that he died too young.”

“A tragedy … a polite term … for such…” Her words came slowly.

“I'm sorry,” Alastar said. “I wish my words could offer more comfort.”

Abruptly, Carmina's eyes cleared and focused on Alastar. “What will we do? I know no one…”

“That is one trouble you will not have. You will receive his stipend and retain the use of the cottage for now, and for as long as necessary.”

“Necessary? Who determines that?”

“I should have said so long as you do not remarry, even if you live to a great age. If anything should befall you before your daughters are of age, they will be taken care of and educated here.” Alastar paused. “Even if they do not turn out to be imagers.”

Carmina looked at Alastar unbelievingly.

“It has always been that way,” he replied. “It's just that so few maitres or imagers with both a wife and children have died recently that people forget.”

Her eyes brightened. She shook her head. “That … well … it's some comfort, especially for Mhora and Charlina, Mhora not showing any sign of being an imager.”

“And Charlina being too young?”

“She's but six.”

“You'll all be taken care of,” Alastar said, wanting to emphasize that. “There will be a memorial service on Solayi.” He paused. “At the first glass of the afternoon.”

Carmina nodded, but did not speak.

Finally, Alastar said, “I won't trouble you more. I wanted you to know I understand your sorrow.”

“How would you?” Her words were bitter.

Alastar resisted the urge to explain. “I am more sorrowed than I can say.”
And you have every right to be angry at me.
He nodded and stepped back.

Suddenly, her face softened, if slightly. “I'm sorry, Maitre. You're trying to help. I'm just angry.”

“I understand that, too,” Alastar said, knowing his words were even more true than what he had expressed.

“I'll be there. At the services.” She stepped back and closed the door.

Alastar turned and walked slowly back to the Maitre's house, knowing that he also needed to visit the two injured imagers as well.
But that can wait until tomorrow.

He still needed to go over the ledger that Arhgen had left him to see how much in golds the Collegium had and to figure out what was necessary, because sooner or later, he was going to have to ask Lorien for more. He took a deep breath and kept walking.

Despite having had a long day, with a suspicion that he had not come anywhere close to doing all that he needed to do, eighth glass arrived, finding Alastar in his study, tired but scarcely sleepy. Because he wanted to clear his mind of the events of the day, especially of the brief visit with Carmina D'Mhorys, if but for a time, he reached for the last volume of Chorister Gauswn's journals and began to read.

Pages later, he came across another revealing passage, so different from the almost mundane accounts of the chorister that it was almost as if winter had descended upon the study.

I once asked Maitre Quaeryt how he had accomplished the imaging that defeated the Bovarians. He demurred. I asked him several more times, over the first years at the Collegium. Finally, many years later, when it was clear to us both that he and Vaelora did not have too many years left, he said that how he accomplished what he did was better forgotten, that three times in the history of Solidar was quite enough …

Three times?
Alastar had no idea what the first time had been. After several moments, he continued reading.

… I asked if he feared that someone else would discover how he had done what he had. He laughed. It was a bitter laugh. He said the cost of that knowledge had been so high that it was unlikely that anyone could ever muster the price again, even if they knew how he had done what he did. He told me never to ask again. The darkness in his eyes and the iron in his voice convinced me. I never did.

Hints … why just a few hints over all these years and pages of journals?

Alastar slowly closed the volume, then rose, and imaged out the single lamp in the study before heading for his bedchamber.

 

29

After a brief meeting with the senior maitres on Samedi morning, during which they discussed details of the rebuilding and other adjustments necessary to keep the Collegium functioning, Alastar set out for the infirmary to check on the imagers who had been injured during the cannon attack.

He had only taken a few steps inside the infirmary when Gaellen hurried up. “Good morning, Maitre. You're here to see about the three young imagers?”

“And whoever else is here and injured.”

“The wounds of the Collegium workers were either fatal or minor, and the minor ones are all in their cottages or quarters.”

“How is Nyell? Akoryt said he took stone splinters.”

“I think he might be all right, if his wounds don't fester. I imaged the splinters I could see out of him. That's dangerous, but less so than cutting into him. They weren't as deep as I thought.”

“And you imaged clear spirits into the deeper wounds?”

“As soon as I could. We'll see in another day or two.”

“What about the two who were injured by doing what they shouldn't have been?”

“Kaylet and Shannyr? They should be fine.”

“After I finish talking with you, I thought I'd pay my respects to the three of them, although I suspect Kaylet and Shannyr might not be exceptionally pleased to see me.”

Gaellen grinned. “Some young men will be young men, even when cannon shells are falling around them.”

Except Shannyr hadn't been doing that, and Alastar wanted to know what he had been doing and why, but not until he'd seen the other two. “If you'd lead the way.”

Gaellen walked down the hallway to the second door and opened it slowly. Nyell was lying on his side, propped into that position with folded blankets, seemingly dozing, except he was moaning softly.

Alastar looked to Gaellen.

“Most of the splinters hit on one side of his back and buttocks. Lying on his back is more painful.” Gaellen spoke softly.

Deciding not to wake the injured imager, Alastar eased back from the doorway.

Gaellen eased the door almost all the way closed. “I'll tell him you came to see him.”

“Thank you. Which door is Kaylet's?”

“The next one on the left. Shannyr's at the end. Do you need me?”

Alastar shook his head, then made his way to the next chamber. As soon as he stepped inside the room and saw Kaylet, he had a hard time not offering a knowing smile as he saw the thin-faced young secondus with too-long floppy brown hair. Both wrists were in heavy braces, and Kaylet wore a woeful expression that changed into concern as he saw the Maitre.

“Sir?”

“I heard you broke your wrists,” said Alastar. “Both of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did it happen? That's rather difficult to do, I would think, both of them at once, that is.”

“Didn't Maitre Akoryt—” Kaylet broke off with a momentary look of hope in his eyes, that faded almost as soon as it appeared, followed by the same mournful expression that Alastar had seen initially.

“He did. I'd like to hear what you have to say.”

“Yes, sir.” Kaylet paused, as if considering how much to say.

“All of it, if you please,” said Alastar.

“Yes, sir,” said Kaylet, his voice despairing. “Maitre Claeynd—he was in charge of the thirds—took us to the north park. That was after Maitre Akoryt sent word for all of us to leave the Collegium buildings. Nothing happened. We just stood there and looked at each other. Maitre Claeynd's wife was with us. She's a third herself, you know?…”

That was something Alastar knew, but hadn't recalled until Kaylet mentioned it.

“… she had their children with her. One of them was crying. She was sick, I guess. Orlana—she's always trying to be so good—she was playing with their little boy, but he … well he was getting bored…” Kaylet paused. “Sir…?”

“Go on.”

“Like I said, the boy was getting bored. So I made some faces. He got bored of that after a little while. So I did a handstand and made faces upside down.”

Alastar had a feeling he knew where the story would end, but he just nodded.

“Well … then I jumped up on the river wall and did another handstand.” At Alastar's glance, he added quickly, “The wall's more than a yard wide on top, sir. I used to do handstands on the wire.”

“You came from a carnival family?”

Kaylet swallowed “Ah … yes, sir.”

“That's not in your records.”

“No, sir. People think less of carnival people than they do of Pharsi. My father also thought Maitre Fhaen might not give him the two golds if he knew that.”

Even Fhaen wouldn't have stooped that low.
“So how did you fall?”

“I was going to do a backflip into a handstand … except my feet slipped when I started, and I tried to get my hands down to keep from hitting my head … I don't know what happened.”

Alastar was afraid he did. “Who was in the group watching you? The other imagers?”

“Konan was there. Orlana—I told you about her—and Borlan, Marraet … there were others. And Seliora, she was there. She was trying to get away from Bettaur. He thinks every girl…” Kaylet stopped. “I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have … Anyway, Kierstia—the maitre's wife, she bound my wrists until Maitre Gaellen could do something because the cannon shells started hitting the Collegium right after I slipped and fell.”

“Was the stone slippery?”

“I looked before I started. It didn't seem to be.”

“I see.” Alastar managed a serious expression. “You know, Kaylet, even with your experience, walking on the river wall isn't the safest thing to do, and doing flips is less so.” After a pause, he added, “Even if you were trying to impress Seliora.”

Kaylet flushed … and swallowed. “Sir … I wasn't hurting anyone…”

“No … except yourself. I hope it was worth it. Did Seliora come to see you?”

“Yes, sir.” Kaylet grinned.

Alastar couldn't help but like the young man. “By the way, did you tell anyone here you came from a carnival family?”

“Not until now, sir.”

“Best you keep it that way, at least until you become a maitre.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, try and take better care of yourself, young man.” With a smile, one he didn't totally feel, Alastar turned and left the chamber, making his way to the next door.

Shannyr's right arm was in a sling, one bound to his body. He glanced up as Alastar entered the sickroom, and if Kaylet's expression had been mournful, then Shannyr's was more like terror-struck as he beheld the Collegium Maitre.

“We need to talk, Shannyr.”

“Yes, sir.” The two words seemed to tremble.

“Tell me why you, Johanyr, and Klovyl were trying to get into the administration building in the middle of the cannon attack.”

“Sir, I don't know—”

“Spare me the lie, Shannyr.” Alastar's voice was cold.

“It was Bettaur, sir.”

That scarcely surprised Alastar. “Bettaur? He wasn't even with you.”

Shannyr did not comment.

“Go on and explain,” added Alastar.

“No, sir. He couldn't be, not with Maitre Akoryt and Tertia Kierstia watching him like sun eagles. But he said that it would show you and the other maitres that we meant well if we rescued the founder's sabre from the administration building.”

Why would Bettaur say that?
The only reason Alastar could come up with was that Bettaur wanted the three dead … or injured and out of the way.
But why?

“Did Bettaur tell you this? Personally?”

“No, sir. He told Johanyr. Johanyr said we'd have to hurry.”

“Did Johanyr say anything else?”

“No, sir. Just that Bettaur wouldn't like it if we didn't save the founder's sabre.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, sir.”

“How did you get out when Johanyr and Klovyl didn't?”

“Johanyr said I wasn't tall enough and that I needed to stay outside in case anyone came along.”

Was Johanyr even after the founder's sabre? Was going into the administration building Johanyr's idea, or Bettaur's?
“Didn't you all know that it was dangerous?”

“Johanyr said that no one could hit the administration building from across the river, even if they tried.”

Alastar managed not to shake his head. “I'm not sure I understand. If the army cannon couldn't hit the building, then why did anyone need to go and rescue the sabre?”

“That's what Johanyr said.”

“Has Bettaur come to see you?”

“No, sir. I don't imagine he could.”

“Do you want him to come?”

Shannyr looked down.

“Bettaur can be rather nasty when things don't go his way, I take it?”

Alastar waited.

“Couldn't you just send me to Westisle, sir?”

“You're not going anywhere until you're better,” replied Alastar.

“Yes, sir.” Both Shannyr's words and posture reflected complete dejection.

“We'll talk later.” That was a fact, not a promise, because one way or another, Alastar would be talking to the injured third again, and likely much more than once.

After leaving Shannyr's sickroom, Alastar headed back toward the entry, looking for Gaellen, but the Maitre D'Aspect was already standing outside his study, as if waiting.