Treachery's Tools (5 page)

Alastar glanced at the mug, definitely one of the better efforts of the imager seconds, then filled it with dark lager, offering the pitcher to Akoryt in a gesture of politeness, although he knew that the Maitre D'Structure preferred the amber lager.

“You always offer, Maitre…” Akoryt laughed softly.

“I know. But I feel discourteous just ignoring you.” Alastar waited until Tiranya handed the pitcher holding the lighter lager to Akoryt and he filled his mug. “How's that new prima doing…” For a moment, Alastar struggled to remember the girl's name. “Janya.”

“She's doing better. Charlina has taken her in. She's even had her to dinner at her mother's cottage. On end-days, of course. Matriana Carmina's more than happy to feed Charlina's friends.”

Alastar nodded. “That's good. How is Charlina doing with her own studies and imaging?”

“She's doing better since she took an interest in Janya. Janya adores her.” Akoryt brushed back a wisp of fine red hair, hair that was beginning to show signs of gray, just as his face was showing lines from his eyes.

And it doesn't seem that long ago when he was the youngest of the senior maitres
, reflected Alastar. “So long as it's good for both of them.”

“I'll keep a close watch. Seliora and Tiranya are also keeping an eye on Charlina.”

That wasn't totally surprising, given that Charlina's father had been well liked and respected and had died years before defending the Collegium. “Do you think that will help…?” Alastar took a healthy swallow of the dark lager.

“Charlina has the talent to be a maitre, but … she's never really pushed herself. That has to come from inside.”

Alastar nodded. That, he knew all too well. He waited as the server set platters in front of him and then Akoryt, containing what looked to be a sauced ragout over noodles. As usual, Dhelia was doing her best to use everything. He took a mouthful, discovering that the rather messy-looking dish was comparatively tasty.
At least it isn't refried squash and parsnips.

The two ate for a time before Alastar spoke again. “On another subject, have you thought over the matter of training thirds to live inconspicuously off Imagisle?”

“You're talking about training those with solid normal skills but limited imaging abilities to act as spies, aren't you?”

“No. Not as spies. Much more as observers who can report from other large cities. I worry that all we really know is what is happening in L'Excelsis. I don't trust what I hear from the rex, or from the marshal, or from the factors. Nacliano and Ouestan might as well be in Jariola, Ferrum, or Otelyrn, for all we know.”

“How soon would you want this to happen?”

“Not that soon. I think it will take years to do it right.” Alastar could see the tenseness leave Akoryt.

“Why…?”

“Why now? Because I'd like to get the Collegium used to anticipating problems, rather than reacting at the last moment.”

“So I have some time to think this over?”

“Take as much time as you need.” Alastar wouldn't have used those words with everyone, but Akoryt was not the type to stall or procrastinate.

“I'd like that. What you have in mind will require … consideration.”

“That's why I asked you.”

“I appreciate the confidence.” Akoryt took a swallow from his mug. “Is there anything else?”

“No … not unless you want me to come up with additional duties for you.”

“I'll pass on that, thank you.”

At that moment, Alyna rose and slipped up behind Alastar, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently before leaning down and saying quietly, “Tiranya's asked me to spend some time observing the tertias during their work period at the factorage. Will you be in your study until fifth glass?”

“I will.”

“Then I'll see you there when I finish.”

By slightly more than a quint later, Alastar was back in his study, this time wondering exactly what he might expect from the outspoken and rough-hewn grain factor, a far less well-spoken man than Elthyrd was.

At a tenth before the first glass of the afternoon, Dareyn knocked gently on Alastar's study door. “Factorius Hulet is here, Maitre.”

“Have him come in.” Out of courtesy, Alastar stood, but did not move from behind his desk as Hulet stepped into the study.

The grain factor was lean, a good head taller than Alastar, who was anything but small or short, and his hair was the color of ripened wheat corn. Hulet's eyes were granite gray, and he immediately fixed them on the Maitre as he strode to the seats before the desk.

“Good day, Chief Factor.” Alastar motioned to the chairs, then seated himself.

Hulet took the chair directly facing Alastar. “I understand you prefer directness, Maitre. So do I. I'll come right to the point. I understand that a number of High Holders have petitioned the rex to have their tariffs reduced because of the poor harvests in many parts of Solidar. Have I been misinformed?”

“You have not.” Rather than explain his discussion with Lorien, Alastar merely said, “Apparently, many High Holders in this part of Solidar have lost most of their harvests, as have many smaller holders, I understand.”

“They have thousands of golds laid up, all of them, and at the first sign that they might have to use them, they come to the rex asking for favors.” Hulet's tone was scornful.

“What are your concerns?”

“We've all suffered as well. We've suffered more than the High Holders have, and we've been rebuffed on our tariffs being lowered.”

While Lorien hadn't mentioned that, Alastar couldn't say that he was surprised. Although less secretive than his late sire, at times Lorien didn't inform Alastar of matters he considered not of import to the Collegium. “That's not all, is it?”

“What do you know that you're not saying, Maitre?”

“Nothing. I only know you wouldn't be here if you didn't think I should know something else about the tariff situation. Or am I mistaken?”

“The whole way tariffs are determined has been … shaky. It's gotten shakier, rotten even … and now the High Holders are sticking us even worse.”

“How so?” asked Alastar evenly.

“I won't be telling you what you don't know … or should know. There's two parts to tariffs. First part is the annual levy on the worth of the land, buildings, and property. That's fixed for each High Holder. Doesn't change. For factors, it's two coppers on a gold's worth of land or buildings. Second part is the levy on how much you make. That's a silver and a copper on a gold, for us and for them.”

Alastar waited.

“There's a passel of problems there, Maitre. First thing is that the High Holders have built factorages of their own on their lands.”

“All of them?”

“Enough. We build something new or add something, and the Finance Minister's collectors make sure we get tariffed on it. Never happens, or almost never happens, when the High Holders do it. They can keep anyone they want off their lands. That's part of that so-called low justice privilege they got. If that isn't bad enough, they've come up with a way of not reporting all of what they make.”

“How is that?” asked Alastar, intrigued by Hulet's revelations, and having the feeling he wasn't going to like what was coming.

“When they sell stuff to other High Holders, lots of times, they don't pay hard metal. They use bills of exchange, and they trade them among themselves, like the paper was golds. The Codex says tariffs get collected on the amount of golds, silvers, and coppers you make.”

“And there's no mention of bills of exchange?”

“Not a word.”

“What does Minister Sanafryt say?”

“He says he has to go by the Codex Legis.” Hulet snorted loudly. “That's not all, either.”

“Oh?”

“He claims that, even if the rex changes the Codex, the changes don't take effect until next year's tariffs are due.”

“He's right about that,” said Alastar. “Otherwise the rex could change tariffs the day before they're due, and then charge penalties for underpayment.”
Among other things.

“Suppose that makes sense. Don't have to like it, though.”

“What do you propose?” Alastar didn't feel like fencing.

“Either reduce our tariffs or change the base tariff for High Holders. The way things are, they pay a lot less in tariffs than we do for the same buildings, lands, and profits.”

“I can only advise the rex.”

“He listens to you. May not like it, but he does.”

“I doubt that he'll reduce tariffs for anyone,” Alastar said evenly.

“Then he'd best increase them for those blood-sucking High Holders, otherwise…”

“Otherwise?”

“There's a lot more factors than High Holders. A lot more.”

“I can only convey your thoughts and concerns, and I will.”

“All I can ask. Right now.”

Alastar was all too certain that the chief factor would be back … especially when it became clear how matters would likely develop. But then, Hulet doubtless already knew that and was laying the groundwork for later. “Is there anything else?”

“Not for now. I've said my piece.” Hulet looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the door.

“You've made the situation very clear, and I do appreciate that.” Alastar stood. “I wish you a good day, Chief Factor.”

“Same to you, Maitre.”

Alastar had hardly seated himself after Hulet had departed when Dareyn reentered the study with another envelope in hand.

“This came by private messenger, sir. The messenger presented this and left. He said he wasn't at liberty to disclose the sender.”

Not at liberty to disclose the sender?
Why would he say that when reading the missive would reveal that … unless it was anonymous. Alastar took the sealed envelope. Written in an elegant hand on the outside were the words

ALASTAR D'IMAGISLE

MAITRE D'IMAGE

Alastar didn't recognize the seal boldly stamped into the red wax. Finally, he opened it, careful to preserve the seal, and began to read.

Maitre—

The High Council has already informed His Grace Lorien, Rex Regis, of certain matters that may well affect the Collegium as well.

If you are interested in these and other developments that may relate, I would be pleased to receive you tomorrow at first glass at the Chateau D'Council for an informal discussion, or, if that time is inconvenient, at any other time that is mutually agreeable.

I look forward to your response.

The signature was that of High Holder Cransyr, and the seal was that of the High Council. Alastar couldn't help but wonder at the timing of the missive, arriving almost immediately after Chief Factor Hulet had departed.
Suggesting that Cransyr knows exactly what the factors are doing.

But then, it might not be that at all, although Alastar wasn't about to wager anything on that thought.
Not at all.

 

3

By just after noon on Jeudi, all signs of the clouds that had cloaked L'Excelsis for more than a week had vanished, and Alastar rode northward on the West River Road, accompanied by two imager thirds, Oestyl and Harl. Several blocks north of the Bridge of Desires, they rode past a lane flanked by a bistro and a bakery, both of which Alastar remembered all too well. The day was warm, as was usual during mid-harvest, and he was more than glad he had worn his lightest set of imager grays, especially since, on hot days especially, the effort of maintaining his shields tended to make him feel hotter. Perhaps because of the rains of the past week, the shops on the west side of the road, particularly the bakery and bistro, seemed more crowded than was often the case.

Two quints later, the three imagers crossed the Boulevard D'Ouest. Alastar glanced at the Nord Bridge, repaired several years earlier by imagers, and nodded. Then his eyes focused on the Chateau D'Council, set on a low rise more than a half mille ahead on the left. Since the events immediately after the death of Rex Ryen, Alastar had been to the chateau only a handful of times in the succeeding thirteen years.

As always had been the case, however, two guards in maroon livery opened the large, wrought-iron double gates hung on gray stone pillars more than three yards high. Both nodded politely to the Maitre, then closed them once the imagers had ridden past on the stone-paved lane that separated two separate formal gardens. Alastar reined up under the covered portico that could easily hold two carriages side by side. Above the portico the dwelling itself rose another two stories. Imposing as it was, with a frontage twice that of the Maitre's dwelling at the Collegium, it was still too small to be considered a true chateau.

A footman walked in deliberate fashion from before the bronzed double doors at the entry to the chateau and down three of the four wide stone steps before inclining his head. “Maitre Alastar, welcome.”

“Thank you.” After handing the gray gelding's reins to Harl, Alastar followed the footman up the steps and into the circular entry hall beyond the double doors. Out of habit, he tucked his visor cap under his arm as he crossed the spacious hall, with its domed ceiling as high as the hall was across. The footman stopped outside the open third door on the right and gestured.

Alastar stepped into the receiving study. Almost nothing had changed there over the years. Two sets of armchairs were spaced in a circle around a low table on which refreshments might be placed. There were also higher tables set between the two chairs on each side. Those were newer, as evidenced by the lighter shade of the goldenwood.

High Holder Cransyr smiled politely, but not warmly from where he stood beside one of the side tables. His hair was as much silver as blond, and a straight nose accentuated the narrow set of his overlarge blue eyes. “Welcome, Maitre Alastar.” He gestured toward the low table. “I understand you have a fondness for dark lager.”