Treachery's Tools (7 page)

On his return to the Collegium, Alastar rode directly to the stables, where he turned the gray over to one of the student imagers serving as an apprentice ostler. From there, he made his way along the stone walk from the stables past the brick walls of the refuse yard to the recently expanded “factorage.”

Rather than disrupt the activities, after looking around and seeing no one nearby, Alastar raised a concealment before he neared the door to the building that had already been expanded twice since its creation more than ten years earlier. He waited several moments to see if anyone opened the door and left … and was about to open the door himself when a young imager third hurried out, headed toward the stables.

Moving quickly, Alastar slipped inside.

“Davour! Close the door, if you would.”

Alastar recognized the speaker, Tertia Linzya, the recently wed wife of Maitre D'Aspect Bettaur. She stood at one end of the long table at which some eight older imager seconds sat. Before each was a small object, some circular, others square, and still others, Alastar knew, most likely hexagonal or octagonal. All the objects were buttons. At the end of the table were small bins, among them one filled with bone, another with various metal scraps, a third with shells, and a fourth with chunks of rock crystals of various shades.

Alastar eased around the table, watching and listening, until he stood slightly more than a yard from Linzya.

“Jaims … those aren't circles,” said Linza politely. “If you cannot image a circle, try a hexagonal pattern. Keep the edges crisp.”

Alastar smiled. The black-haired young woman who stood at the end of the table had come a long way from the illiterate boatman's daughter who'd had to scrimp and save every copper to send to her mother. He couldn't resist imaging a set of eight hexagonal buttons, each of black onyx, tightly rimmed in brass, laid out in two rows of four on the table just toward the middle from the two lines of small bins. As Linzya leaned forward, her mouth opening in surprise, he released the concealment.

While most of the seconds had been concentrating hard on imaging buttons, two of the eight looked up, eyes darting from Linzya to the Maitre. One—Howal—stifled a smile. The other was Yulla, who had been watching Howal.

Linzya turned, the surprise fading from her face. “Maitre … I … we didn't expect…”

“Of course not,” Alastar replied with a warm smile. “Every once in a while, I need to surprise people.” He looked directly at each second, pausing when he came to the fourth one. “Eskar … you really should have been concentrating on your imaging.”

The long-faced blond youth swallowed.

Belatedly, Alastar saw two figures standing beside a high work table slightly behind and several yards to the east of Linzya. One was Charlina, and the eyes of the not-quite-stocky redhead were on him. From the way she studied him, he had the feeling she'd known he was there before he had dropped the concealment. The other figure was Janya, and her eyes were on Charlina.

Alastar forced his attention back to the seconds. “As Tertia Linzya doubtless told you, your best efforts at imaging buttons serve three purposes. They improve your precision in developing your own imaging abilities. They help support the Collegium. And they provide part of the coppers and silvers that you receive from the Collegium.” He smiled. “They also provide a physical proof of your progress.”

Linzya pointed at the eight perfect onyx buttons on the table. “You should notice that Maitre Alastar was able to image those while holding a concealment without any of you even knowing he was here.”

Except for Charlina.
And that brought up the question, again, of why the redhead was not progressing more, given what Alastar suspected were her true abilities. “It does take practice,” he added in what he hoped was a humorous tone. “Since it does, I won't keep you all from continuing that practice.” He turned to Linzya and murmured. “You're doing well with them.” He frowned momentarily. “Aren't you doing something else … with some of the other thirds?”

“We're making fibulas. It was Maitre Thelia's idea.”

“Fibulas?”

“They're like curved wire pins with a catch that holds the ends together. The small ones are used to pin clothing together, but you don't get stuck. Women like them decorative. The larger ones, that is.” Linza blushed. “I didn't know that. Thelia had to tell me. Even Bettaur didn't know … or he pretended not to know so he wouldn't embarrass me. He's kind that way.”

“I'm glad. Have you sold any of the fibulas?”

“Oh, yes. Factoria Kathila will take all we can supply, and each one brings in more than three matched sets of buttons.”

“That's excellent.” Alastar didn't have to feign the warmth in his words. That kind of initiative and result was what he'd been working to instill for years.

“Oh, thank you, Maitre.”

“No … the thanks are mine.” With a smile, Alastar eased past Linzya and walked toward the table where Charlina stood. “Good afternoon, Charlina … Janya.”

“Good afternoon, Maitre,” replied the imager third.

Janya nodded and said timidly, barely above a whisper, “Maitre, sir.”

“How did you know I was there?” Alastar asked Charlina. “Under a concealment.”

For a moment, Charlina did not reply.

Alastar waited, a pleasant expression on his face.

Finally, Charlina said, “I didn't know it was you, sir. I could just feel that someone was there, and I watched to see who it might be. It happens here in the factorage now and again. I began to notice when it happens in the last few months, especially the last week or two, but before, you never dropped the concealment.”

Alastar managed not to show any surprise. He'd observed study sessions under concealment before, but hadn't visited the factorage using a concealment in months, not since spring, as he recalled. “Sometimes, it's necessary. Can you always sense a concealment?”

“No, sir. I don't think so. Just when someone's close, I mean.”

“That might be a useful skill, Charlina. Most imagers can't sense that. Please keep working at it.”

An expression of surprise crossed the third's face. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“But don't neglect developing your other imaging skills,” Alastar added. “You have the potential to do much better than you've shown.”

Charlina's eyes dropped. “Yes, Maitre.”

“Having great potential is a terrible burden, young woman,” Alastar went on dryly, “but you'll survive it. All the maitres have.” With a parting smile, Alastar turned and slipped from the factorage. He had already decided not to make his way to the other end of the factorage where a handful of student thirds were working on imaging fine papers and stationery. At least one or more would have seen him, and he would have learned little that he did not know.

The fact that someone else was using a concealment to visit the factorage concerned him, unless it happened to be Akoryt, since overseeing student discipline and learning was his concern, but Akoryt hadn't mentioned doing so, and doing so without mentioning it would have been out of character. Still …

Once he was back in his study, Alastar wrote out a note to High Holder Meinyt, requesting a few moments of his time in the next few days, and then had Dareyn dispatch it with one of the older junior imagers used as couriers and messengers. The next task was considering with which other members of the Factors' Council he should meet. He was pondering whether to approach Factor Kathila or Factor Elthyrd first, when the study door opened slightly.

“Maitre…” Dareyn stood in the study doorway, holding an envelope. “This just arrived.”

Even from his desk, Alastar could see the black and gray seal that signified that it had to have come from either the branch of the Collegium in Westisle or from Mont D'Glace, the remote imager facility set in the foothills of the Montaignes D'Glace far to the north where failed imagers, either blind or partly so, were exiled. “Mont D'Glace or Westisle?”

“Westisle, sir.”

That could mean anything, but Alastar had a good idea what it might mean.
Either another appeal by Voltyrn to name a successor to Zhelan or a letter announcing Zhelan's death
. Alastar stood and took the envelope from Dareyn, then slit it open and began to read.

Maitre Alastar—

With great regret, I must inform you that Maitre Zhelan died in his sleep last night. His steps had slowed some in the past year, but his mind remained sharp, and while we knew his days were numbered, the suddenness of his death came as a shock, beloved as he has been.

Alastar wasn't that surprised. Maitre D'Esprit Zhelan had been in his early sixties when Alastar had left Westisle thirteen years ago. And, of course, Voltyrn's letter of a month earlier asking Alastar to appoint a successor foreshadowed the inevitable, but Alastar hadn't been about to do that while Zhelan was alive. Although Alastar and Zhelan had not been friends in any sense of the word, for just that reason, naming a successor while Zhelan was alive would have been cruel … and seen as such by those who did like him.

Then, too, while Zhelan had never overindulged in anything, he had been dubious about the value of exercise, especially for senior imagers, claiming that “imaging is more than enough exercise.” That difference of opinion between Alastar and Zhelan had been one of a number that had led to Zhelan's suggestion that Alastar be considered to replace the dying Maitre Fhaen in L'Excelsis.

As you know, the most senior of the imagers here are Maitre Choran and myself …

Alastar glanced to the bottom of the sheet and took in the signature just to make sure—that of Voltyrn, with the titles of Senior Imager, and acting co-Maitre of Westisle. He continued reading.

 … and we are currently splitting the duties of the Westisle Maitre until the succession is determined.

In short, which one of us are you going to pick?
Because none of the other imagers presently at the Collegium in L'Excelsis had any knowledge of those at Westisle, the decision was up to Alastar, without the benefit of others' experiences, and the bulk of his knowledge rested on his growing up and spending his early years as an imager there … and on a visit made five years previously.

The sharing of duties by Choran and Voltyrn made it clear that Voltyrn, at least, believed that they were the only two viable candidates. Zhelan's infrequent reports had mentioned both Maitres D'Structure as capable, and since there was no one with the ability of a Maitre D'Esprit at Westisle, and the other Maitres D'Structure were much younger, Alastar had no doubts that he would have to pick between the two … unless he decided to send a Maitre D'Structure from Imagisle—and that would pose other problems. Then again, selecting a maitre from those in Westisle could well make matters worse.

So far as he knew, the Westisle Collegium was not overtly suffering, except perhaps from a lack of rigorous training that could produce a Maitre D'Esprit or even a Maitre D'Image, since it had become clear that Zhelan had slowly let lapse the training Alastar had initiated before he had left. Before Alastar's improvements, Zhelan had been having the imagers image what were effectively crossbow quarrels as a means of training and strengthening … and Antiagon Fire, which Alastar thought was self-defeating in the larger sense, because it spread and burned anything around it. While the quarrels were good for strengthening, they were totally useless for imagers who weren't essentially at least junior maitres. Of course, Alastar's change to iron darts hadn't set well with Zhelan, even if it had improved the training.

Alastar frowned. Voltyrn had been one of those close to Zhelan, and if he picked Voltyrn that also might make improving the training at Westisle a problem, since it appeared that the apparently less taxing training at Westisle might prove yet another problem, as it had been in L'Excelsis before Alastar had become Maitre. And then, there was the odd coincidence, if it were indeed coincidence, of Bettaur asking to go to Westisle.
He couldn't have been angling to be maitre there. He knows he's far too junior.
Coincidences did occur, but Alastar was dubious, even if he didn't know why.

Deciding to wait before making any decision, especially until after he discussed the matter with Alyna, he set the letter on the desk … realizing that Dareyn remained standing in the study. “Oh … the letter was to inform us that Maitre Zhelan had died.”

“He was Maitre there for a long time.”

“For over twenty years.” Alastar decided against saying Zhelan would be missed. He certainly wouldn't miss a maitre who had resisted making changes at Westisle. “Thank you.” He paused. “Don't send for him, but if Maitre Akoryt comes by, I'd like to see him for a moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Dareyn left, Alastar reread the brief letter again, then set it aside.

More than a glass later, the study door opened and Akoryt entered. “Dareyn said…”

“Thank you.” Alastar gestured for him to close the door and then to sit down in one of the chairs across the desk from him. “This will only take a few moments.” He waited until Akoryt settled himself. “I know that in the course of observing instructionals you have upon occasion used a concealment … as have I. What I need to know is whether you have done so recently in visiting the imager factorage.”

Akoryt frowned, concentrating, before finally replying. “I've visited the factorage often, but only once under a concealment in the last month. It was on Meredi, the fourth, and I wanted to see how Belsior was presenting the materials instructional to the primes. He'd only been working with them a few weeks.”

“How did he do?”

“Very well, I thought. He'll do better, but that comes with practice.”