Treachery's Tools (3 page)

“And by the long-standing tradition that the High Holder is the only decider of anything of worth on the holding,” added Alastar dryly.

“What do you think will happen?” asked Cyran.

Alastar had several ideas about what could happen, but because any or none might come to pass, he wasn't about to speculate, except in private and to Alyna. “All that is certain is that a great number of High Holders are likely to be in very difficult financial positions before long, owing large sums to banques and factors, without any way to repay what they owe.”
Except by selling large parcels of land at very low prices or surrendering them outright to clear the debts.

“Some may survive by starving their tenants.” Those words came from Khaelis, broad-shouldered and burly. “They have before.”

Alastar had the feeling Khaelis spoke from experience as a child, although Khaelis had consistently avoided speaking of his childhood, and the Collegium records only indicated that he came from a small town near Ruile. “Some may try that again. In any event, I wanted you all to be aware that it could be a difficult autumn and winter, and the Collegium as well will likely have to cut back on what we spend.”

“Even stipends?” asked Gaellen.

“I hope not, but it is possible.” Alastar paused. “Is there anything any of you feel the rest of us should know?”

Tiranya glanced at Alyna for just an instant, then said, “I have some concerns about Maitre Bettaur.”

“What concerns, exactly?” asked Alastar.

“He teaches the primes grammar and writing. He's very good at it. They all enjoy the work, but…” Tiranya shook her head. “I can't explain it.”

Alastar understood exactly why she couldn't, because he'd asked her, years ago, not to reveal her past experiences and misgivings about Bettaur to anyone, and only to consider acts or words after Bettaur had become a Maitre D'Aspect. “You feel that you're missing something? Or that he's hiding something?”

“It could just be me. That's why … I don't want to be unfair, but I don't want anything to happen, the way it did with Desyrk.”

Alastar nodded. “I don't want gossip about Bettaur. He works hard. At the same time, it would be better—
much better
—if we didn't have another incident like the one Desyrk caused. If anyone sees anything that seems strange, I'd appreciate it—very much—if you did not talk about it, but let me, Maitre Cyran, or Maitre Alyna know.” He paused. “Is there anything else?”

“It's not about imaging, Maitre,” began Gaellen, “but there has been an infestation of lice, and even some fleas, among the primes, especially among those who have not been as … well, they haven't been as scrupulous in cleaning themselves as they should be. I'm thinking that the only way to stop this might be to cut their hair very short. I'd prefer to announce that any I have to treat a second time will be required to have their hair cut to a digit in length.”

“That might be a good idea for all student imagers,” said Tiranya. “Some of them try to avoid bathing or showering.”

“Does anyone have a concern about what Gaellen proposes?” asked Alastar.

“Cold showers never hurt anyone,” said Obsolym. “Some of the ones from factoring families seem to want hot baths … even before they can image warm water.”

Alastar managed not to smile at Obsolym's curmudgeonly tone as he looked to Gaellen. “Go ahead. But that has to include the young women as well.” After a moment of silence, he asked once more, “Is there anything else?”

When no one spoke up, Alastar cleared his throat. “Thank you all.” With that, he stood, glad that the weekly meeting was over, a day earlier than usual.

Alyna followed him into his study after all the others had left the conference room.

“Was my reply to Tiranya acceptable?”

“You didn't have much of an alternative, dear Maitre. It won't stop the gossip, but it will likely mute it.”

“Which is what you had in mind when you arranged for Tiranya to ask that question.”

“Of course.”

“You don't think Bettaur's really changed at all, do you?”

She smiled sadly. “Do you? Did his father ever change?”

“No, but I could hope.” After a moment, he said, “How are the thirds coming on their advanced mathematics?”

“All are doing well at the calculations, but quite a few are having trouble with the geometric idea of having to prove something they already know.”

Alastar nodded. “That's true in other fields as well. They need to learn that you don't really understand something until you can prove it—or explain it clearly—to others.”

As soon as Alyna had left the study, Dareyn knocked on the frame of the half-open door and, holding an envelope, said, almost apologetically, “Maitre, during the meeting, a chateau guard brought this message from the rex.”

“How long ago?”

“Less than a quint.”

“Anything this early from Lorien is a problem of some sort.” The rex was anything but a dawn-riser, unlike his ill-fated sire, and a message from him arriving before midmorning was definitely unusual, and most likely a harbinger of trouble. Alastar walked from where he stood beside the desk to the doorway and took the envelope, looked at the seal, then broke it and extracted the single sheet. His lips twisted slightly. “Rex Lorien would appreciate my presence at my earliest convenience. If you'd arrange for two escorts and my mount.”

“Yes, sir.” Dareyn did not move, a quizzical expression on his face.

“He didn't say why, Dareyn.”
And he doesn't regard rain as an inconvenience to others, all too like his father in that regard.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me know when the escorts are ready for me.” Alastar wasn't exactly thrilled about a ride to the Chateau D'Rex in the rain that continued to rush down.

By the time the two imager thirds arrived outside the main entrance to the administration building with Alastar's mount, the rain had subsided slightly—from sheets of water to a mere steady downpour. Alastar donned his hooded oilskin and hurried toward the gray gelding—the second one he'd had since becoming Maitre, and another symbol of sorts.

“Good morning, Maitre!” called out Konan, the slightly younger of the two thirds, his voice strong but respectful. The other escort, who nodded politely but did not speak, was Beltran, sober, dedicated, and actually a year or so older than Konan.

“Good morning to you both,” returned Alastar, who had always appreciated Konan's quiet solidity. He mounted quickly, and the three rode directly to the Bridge of Desires.

As they crossed the River Aluse, Alastar not only checked to make sure that he was carrying full imaging shields, but also looked down at the water level, slightly higher than the day before, but still almost two yards below the top of the stone riverwall, a yard above the highest level recorded since the founding of the Collegium. The height of the riverwall and its solid structure were just additional reminders of the power and foresight of the first Maitre, whose name and exploits were already forgotten outside of Imagisle and remembered only hazily even by too many imagers.

Once across the river, the three rode along the Boulevard D'Rex Ryen, although Alastar was more than happy that most people—with the strong exception of Rex Lorien—just called it the Boulevard D'Rex. The boulevard ended at the ring road that encircled the Chateau D'Rex, and less than half a quint later, Alastar reined up at the foot of the long white stone steps leading up to the main entrance of the chateau.

“Wait in the chateau stables,” Alastar said as he dismounted. “I'll meet you there.”

“Yes, sir.” Konan actually grinned.

Alastar made his way up the steps swiftly but carefully, mindful that he was no longer quite so young as he thought he was, a fact about which Alyna gently, but frequently, reminded him. While the hooded oilskin had kept his upper body and clothes largely dry, his trousers below the knees were soaked. He didn't image them totally clear of water when he stepped into the entry hall of the chateau, but left them slightly damp.

The two chateau guards looked surprised at his oilskin clad–figure, then nodded as they recognized Alastar.

“Rex Lorien is in his study, Maitre. Ah … we could take your oilskin.…” offered the shorter guard.

“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

Moments later, Alastar was climbing the grand staircase and then making his way eastward along the north corridor toward the rex's private study, outside of which was stationed another guard.

At Alastar's appearance, the guard immediately rapped on the door. “The Maitre is here, sire.” Then he opened the door for Alastar, who entered the study.

Lorien sat behind the modest goldenwood table desk, the same desk he had used almost every day since he had become rex. Set near the west end of the chamber was a circular conference table with four chairs, all also of goldenwood. The study was gloomy, illuminated by only a single brass lamp set in a wall sconce to the left of the rex. The matching lamp to the right was unlit. The rex motioned for Alastar to join him.

As Alastar seated himself across from Lorien in one of the two straight-backed goldenwood chairs before the table desk, he noted, for the first time, scattered silver-gray hairs interspersed with the lank black hair that the rex had always had, at least for the thirteen years that Alastar had known him. “You requested my presence.”

“You're always most deferential and punctual, Maitre. I suppose it's better that way, for both of us.”

“I've always felt that the Collegium should remain as much in the background as possible,” replied Alastar, with words similar to those used on more than a few occasions over the past thirteen years. “How are Charyn, Bhayrn, and Aloryana?”

“Charyn reminds me of an old man, and he's barely sixteen. Bhayrn's Bhayrn, always looking for something to put together or take apart.” Lorien smiled. “You know how I feel about Aloryana, young as she is.”

That youth might just be why you feel that way
. But Alastar had to admit that the six-year-old was both mannered and charming, or had been on the very few occasions he had seen her … and Lorien's reactions. “She lights up every chamber she enters.”
Apparently just the way her grandfather did.

“I can often use a little light, especially with all the trials that come with being rex.” Lorien coughed several times, then cleared his throat before continuing. “Marshal Wilkorn is making noises about it being time for him to receive his stipend … if not more.”

“He's served you loyally and well, at times when neither was easy.”

“That's true enough. It's not that.…”

“You don't have a spare chateau or the like?”

“More than enough chateaux. Not enough lands to support them, and what's the point of giving him something that will beggar him?”

“There is that. But he wouldn't expect the kind of revenues most High Holders get. You might give him a holding that would support itself and a bit more.”

“I'll think about it. I worry about Vice Marshal Vaelln. He's from a factoring background.…”

“You'd worry just as much about Commander Marryt. Isn't he the second son of a High Holder?”

“Caervyn. Lots of lands southeast of Montagne.” Lorien shook his head. “Besides that worry, and more pressing, I've received petitions from more than a score of High Holders, asking for a temporary reduction in their annual tariffs. You'd think I was bleeding them dry, when it's more the other way around.”

“Do they give a reason?”

“The High Council sent a missive requesting that I not grant individual relief, but suggesting strongly that, if any relief from tariffs is merited, it must be applied to all High Holders.”

“The High Council didn't mention factors, I take it?”

“Ha! Cransyr's behind this.” Lorien grimaced, then massaged his forehead with his left hand. “He'd use any excuse to get me to reduce tariffs … and then…” He shook his head.

Alastar knew exactly what Lorien meant and dared not say—the same situation that had led to the death of Lorien's father. “No matter what they say, those who have managed their lands and their golds well can afford to pay their tariffs. Reducing tariffs for all to help those who managed poorly will hurt Solidar and only postpone the results of poor management.”

“What about the factors?” asked Lorien.

“The same is true of them.”

The rex looked slightly surprised.

“Many of the High Holders made substantial profits when they sold their surplus earlier this year. Now, facing a poor or ruined harvest, they want you to make up their losses,” offered Alastar. “Some factors likely face the same difficulty.”

“That's not the problem. The problem is that the more wealthy factors have bought up all the grain they can. The poor will go hungry. Even guilders may suffer.”

“You didn't sell your stocks, did you?”

“You advised me not to. I didn't.”

“Then, you can sell some of it to the guilds. At a profit, but not enough that they can't afford it. If matters get dangerous by midwinter, have the regial kitchens bake a lot of bread and distribute it to the poor a few times.”

“What good will that do?”

“It will buy you goodwill. You can also then suggest that the wealthier factors might follow your lead. Most High Holders can't or won't do so.”

“I still don't see…” Lorien shook his head.

“The factors are growing stronger. They're not strong enough, and you don't want to use the army to stop the High Holders from uniting against the factors.”
Especially since it's not large enough to deal with all the High Holders at once … and not with senior officers who are the sons of High Holders scattered through the army, possibly even as regimental commanders.