Treachery's Tools (2 page)

“Don't forget to wear your waterproof,” said Alyna evenly. “And don't make that face again. I know the oilskin coat smells of fish oil. That's what keeps the rain from soaking through.”

“And don't forget your oiled boots, either,” added Alastar, “the way you did so conveniently yesterday.”

“You don't—” Lystara broke off her words abruptly, her black eyes going from her father to her mother and back again.

“Don't understand?” Alastar's voice was dry. He wasn't about to mention that he and Alyna already wore the less than stylish and rather odoriferous oiled boots.

“The other seconds…” Lystara began, then stopped.

“The other seconds don't have to walk half a mille in ankle-deep water. They might get damp running from the dining hall to the administration building. You'll be soaked all the way through, and if you keep imaging the water out of your grays the way you did yesterday, you'll destroy the cloth, and all your coppers won't be enough to pay for new grays.” Alastar managed to keep his voice level, a far harder chore with his own daughter than with the imagers over whom he served as the Collegium Maitre.

“Getting soaked and chilled won't help your health or your studies,” added Alyna.

Lystara tried not to frown. “It's just water.”

“As your father has pointed out more than once, Lystara dear, there is water in everything. You're not skilled enough as an imager to take out just enough water.”

“Mother…” Lystara's voice turned pleading. “Everyone will think I'm a baby. I'm already the youngest by two years anyway.”

“You didn't want to be held back with the primes,” Alyna pointed out.

“I'm as good an imager as some of the thirds.” At the look on Alastar's face, Lystara quickly added, “I know I shouldn't be a third yet, but I just
couldn't
stay with the primes. I wasn't learning anything … or not much. It was too painful.”

Alastar understood all too well what she meant. “We gave you the choice of whether you wanted to stay a prime.” The fact that their daughter was barely ten had concerned both Alyna and him, although she was already as tall as many of the seconds, and taller than a few, but Lystara had pushed.

“If you can't do what's right and what's right for your health now when it's just a matter of what you wear…” began Alastar.

“Lystara dear, would you like your father to walk you to the administration building?”

The dark-haired ten-year-old stiffened. “No, thank you. I can stand up for myself.” She turned and walked to the front foyer, seated herself on the bench, and pulled on the oiled calf-high boots. Then she stood and took the hooded oilskin cloak off the peg and slipped it on. Finally, she turned to her parents. “There are two other oilskin cloaks in the back closet.” She grinned, then turned and hurried out the front door.

“Shall we go?” asked Alastar, turning to Alyna.

“Of course. After you fetch the oilskins.”

They both laughed.

In moments, Alastar returned with the oilskins, fishy as they smelled, and the two stepped out onto the covered porch. Although Alastar and Alyna had to be at the administration building at seventh glass, as did Lystara, for the past year their daughter had insisted on walking alone. In turn, Alastar had insisted that, if Lystara wished to go by herself, she needed to leave before her parents.

As Alastar stepped out into the sheeting rain, he said, “She takes after both of us.” Before Alyna could reply, he went on, “Your looks and quick wit, my stubbornness, and both of our imaging abilities.”

“She does have a certain firmness of will, but her similarity to me, dearest, is limited largely to her hair and eyes.”

“She has your mouth and lips, too.”

“And your chin and bones. She's already tall, even taller than some of the other seconds. That makes fitting in harder for her.”

“Besides being our daughter,” Alastar added, “and knowing too much too soon and being too much in a hurry to grow up.”

“We've pushed her a bit.”

“As I recall, my dearest, we agreed on that.”

Alyna did not quite sigh. “I don't think we had that much choice.”

Left unspoken were the other problems Lystara would face.

“What are you going to bring up at the senior imagers' meeting?” asked Alyna after several moments.

“Lorien will likely request that we repair some of the damage caused by the rains, especially in L'Excelsis.”

“He'll ask for us to repair all of it, and you'll have to decline doing everything, if only on principle.”

Alastar inclined his head. “Thank you for spelling out my position.” He smiled broadly before reaching out and taking her hand for a moment.

“Who else would dare?” She returned his smile with one of her own that held a hint of impish mischief.

“Arion would, if politely. Tiranya or Shaelyt might.”

“
Might
is a very accurate way of putting it.”

Alastar laughed. So did Alyna.

When the two reached the administration building, Alastar watched for a moment as Alyna headed toward the stairs to the upper level and her study. He still never tired of watching her. Then he made his way from the entry hall down the corridor and into the antechamber to the Maitre's study.

Dareyn, the white-haired secondus who had served as Alastar's only clerk and assistant from the time he had become Maitre, smiled warmly. “I'm glad to see you wore oilskins, sir. It's like walking through a cataract out there.”

“My daughter and my wife didn't leave me much choice with the oilskins.”

“Neither did Elmya,” replied Dareyn.

“Any messages from anyone?”

“Nothing so far, sir.”

“The rain may have slowed them.”

Dareyn frowned.

“I can't imagine any good coming from a week of solid heavy rain, but I could be mistaken.” Alastar took off the oilskin cloak and walked to the heavy wooden rack at one side of the anteroom where he hung it next to Dareyn's. “I'm sorry for the smell.”

“Two's no worse than one.”

Alastar smiled at his assistant's words. “I'm going to check one thing in the study. Then I'll be in the conference room. Just have the seniors come in as they arrive.”

Dareyn nodded.

Alastar stepped into the study, gloomy because of the weather and the fact that none of the lamps was lit. He didn't bother imaging one into light. That would just have wasted lamp oil. He opened the second desk drawer and slipped out the folder with his notes for the meeting, then walked to the side door of the study that led into the conference room, opened it, and then closed it behind him. He walked to the head of the long table. Rather than sit, he stood beside his chair, thinking.

Less than a fraction of a quint later, the door from the hall opened, and the first of the senior imagers entered—the ancient Obsolym, white-haired, his face gaunt, but with watery blue eyes that missed nothing. “Good morning, Maitre.”

“Good morning, you ancient troublemaker.”

“The same to you, most venerable font of destruction.”

Alastar couldn't help grinning at Obsolym's gruff words, although both of them knew that neither would have exchanged quite the same set of pleasantries had anyone else been present.

“I'll be seeing your daughter at eighth glass.”

“Don't let her argue or charm you out of learning her history.”

“So far that hasn't been a problem. She seems to want to know more about everything.”

Alastar frowned. “She's not being a know-it-all, is she?”

Obsolym shook his head. “She's quiet, but not too quiet. She's been reading history on the side … or one of you has been tutoring her.”

“No. Whenever she asks a question, I tell her where she might look to find the answer.” Alastar would have said more, but Cyran, the senior imager of the Collegium, stepped into the conference room, followed by Akoryt and Alyna. In moments, the other senior imagers, those ranked as Maitre D'Structure or higher, had entered and seated themselves at the long table, with Cyran on Alastar's right and Alyna on his left, not because she was his wife, but because she and Cyran were the only Maitres D'Esprit at the Collegium—and that was more than had been at the Collegium in more than a generation … or perhaps since the time of the first Maitre.

Alastar looked down the table, taking in the ten other imagers. Even thirteen years after he'd taken over as Maitre, there were too few senior imagers.
But there are many new junior maitres and a goodly number of solid thirds.
Those thoughts reminded him of just how hard—and time-consuming—it was to rebuild something.
And how quickly things can deteriorate under poor leadership and adverse conditions.
He cleared his throat. “The good news is that no new difficulties have been brought to the attention of the Collegium. The bad news is that there will be.” He offered a wry smile. “The rains have brought the River Aluse to the highest flood stage in hundreds of years. Recent dispatches from the west indicate that both the Phraan River and the River Laar are flooding as well. For the most part, the land on both sides of the Laar south from Laaryn is flat. Much of it is fertile bottomland, but when the river rises…”

“The bottomland floods,” finished Obsolym. “Happens every ten years or so. Just long enough that no one remembers how bad it was.”

“This time looks worse than ever,” added Alastar. “What's more of a problem is that last year was so dry there isn't much grain laid up.”

“They had a bumper crop in Piedryn last year, and the harvest there is good this year,” said Shaelyt.

“That's part of the problem,” replied Alastar. “Some of the large grain factors here in L'Excelsis and in Ferravyl bought everything they could last year and have again this year, even taking contracts on grain that hasn't been harvested. And that was before the rains came, when it looked like the price would stay low.”

“Sir…” began Khaelis, one of the more junior Maitres D'Structure. “I can see that this will make life very hard on the poor, and on some members of the Guilds…”

“You're wondering what it has to do with the Collegium, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar would have been happy to explain at length, but a shorter answer was better for the moment. “The droughts of the past few years have left little grain here in the west of Solidar. The High Holders here in old Bovaria sold most of their surplus stocks earlier this year, and made a handsome profit on that grain. The larger grain factors held their stocks, Chief Factor Hulet, especially. They wagered on another bad harvest, and they bought up much of the harvest from Piedryn and the lands around Ferravyl. Now, a number of those High Holders will have to buy grain, and possibly other produce, on the terms set by the factors. Some will have difficulty in raising the golds. They may have to borrow.…” Alastar nodded to Alyna for her to continue.

“Many of the High Holders have remained landowners and little more. The High Council decided almost ten years ago not to allow factors to become High Holders unless they also held significant lands. Many factors decided against becoming landholders and put their golds into trade and manufacturing enterprises. Trade, especially the spice trade with various countries in Otelyrn, has allowed several factors to become wealthier than the majority of High Holders, and many to have more golds for immediate use than many High Holders. Those golds have been used at times to the distinct disadvantage of the High Holders.”

This time, Alastar observed, more than a few present seemed puzzled, although Arion, the most recent imager to become a Maitre D'Structure, nodded knowingly, not surprising given that he, like Alyna, had come from a High Holder's family.

Before Alastar could say anything, Alyna went on. “Trade and commerce require both banques and exchanges. The banques and exchanges are controlled largely by factors. Traders can spread and lessen their risk on a given voyage, say to Otelyrn, by selling shares of the entire cargo. They can also speculate, by agreeing to sell or buy goods at predetermined prices at a given future date.”

“But can't High Holders do the same?” asked Taryn.

“Some do,” agreed Alyna cheerfully, “but using the exchanges means buying a seat on the exchange or buying or selling through someone who does have a seat. In both cases, that requires golds, knowledge, or trust in someone who does have knowledge. It also requires a presence in L'Excelsis, Solis, Nacliano, Liantiago, Eshtora, or Tilbora. That is where the larger exchanges in Solidar are located.”

One of those who did trade through the exchanges, most successfully, Alastar knew, was his wife's brother.

“You're implying that most High Holders are at a disadvantage because their lands are distant from those cities,” suggested Shaelyt.

“Prices on the exchanges can shift quickly,” Alastar said. “Most High Holders have handled their lands as if they were barely part of Solidar. The original Codex established by the first Rex Regis let them retain the right of low justice. The terms of remaining a High Holder effectively require a certain amount of land, and the High Council has refused to lower that. Very few High Holders trust others with their resources. If a High Holder comes to L'Excelsis to deal in trade and the exchanges, he loses touch with his heritage and he must trust others to manage the lands. If he stays on his lands, then he must trust his agent in L'Excelsis or elsewhere … and any trade or exchange business that would be significant in improving his assets would be large enough to cost him dearly.”

“So the High Holders are trapped, in a way, by their very holdings?” asked Tiranya, the only other woman who was a senior maitre.

“That's a very good way of putting it,” agreed Alyna.