Treachery's Tools (9 page)

“Anything more would have been in the records that burned when Desyrk's cannon put the old administration building to flames,” Alyna said. “Since our daughter can't be the imager who's prowling around under a concealment, who else do you think it might be?”

“In theory, any senior maitre and most of the junior ones. We can leave out Llendyr and Petros. Petros can't, and Llendyr can't hold anything but a blurring concealment for any length of time. Narryn isn't much better. As our daughter has shown, we also can't limit the possibilities to maitres. There are likely some thirds who might have figured it out on their own. They'd have to be strong or with good technique.” Alastar frowned. “I can think of a number with the strength, but Linzya and Charlina, possibly Kaylet, are the only thirds with that kind of finesse.”

“Kaylet's the main assistant to Petros, and the stable's close to the factorage.”

“That's possible, but he doesn't seem the type.”

“I'd agree, but … we just might be looking for someone who doesn't seem the type. The type who would seem the most obvious is—”

“Bettaur. But he knows we'd immediately think of him if he did something like that.”

“I agree on that as well.”

Alastar chuckled. “For now, we'll have to leave it at that. What are your thoughts on the succession at Westisle?”

“You know much more about that than I ever could. What do you think?”

“I'm afraid that either Voltyrn or Choran will continue Zhelan's practice of not challenging the younger imagers, and Westisle will end up the way Imagisle was before…” Alastar really didn't want to finish the sentence.

“Before you arrived and proceeded to upend everything for the better?”

“That's what I worry about.”

“What about asking Smarthyl?”

Alastar shook his head. “He's got to be close to eighty. Even if he would take it, he likely wouldn't live long enough before I'd have to find a successor for him.”

“Cyran won't do. He's a dear man and a good senior imager for you, and Meiryl has done so much so quietly, but…”

“He likes to be liked too much. He knows it, too. He'd do it if I asked, but he'd ask if it was a good idea.”

“What about Taryn? He's solid and doesn't have that many ties here.”

“He's a possibility. I worry that he's a bit like Cyran.”

“I can see that, although he'd be better than Cyran. Who else is there? Anyone else with the ability to possibly become a Maitre D'Esprit is awfully young.”

“You mean Arion or Shaelyt?”

“Arion would be a good choice. I'm not sure I'd want to lose Tiranya and Shaelyt.”

“Then there's the problem of Bettaur,” Alyna said blandly.

“He works hard, but only hard enough to get the job done.” Alastar didn't have to mention that always pressing, if carefully, the limits of imaging ability was the only way for imagers to improve and strengthen their abilities. “Taurek's more likely to become a Maitre D'Esprit than Bettaur. If he were ten years older, I'd consider him. He's stubborn enough not to be worn down by imagers like Voltyrn and Choran.”

“Oh … I forgot to tell you. Tiranya thinks that Linzya should be considered for Maitre D'Aspect in the next year.”

“After she has her child, you mean?”

“You are the one who pointed out the dangers of excessive imaging on women with child.”

“What do you think?” Alastar immediately asked. “About Linzya?”

“She's close to being ready, but she doesn't think she is.”

“Like someone else?”

“I wasn't in a position to insist. Not until you came along, and then I didn't have to … and you know that, great and powerful Maitre.”

Alastar winced. “Can you and Tiranya help there?”

“We're working on it.” With barely a pause, Alyna asked, “Have you talked to Thelia about the factors … and why they're upset.”

Meaning that you haven't and should … and that you don't want to talk more about Linzya right at the moment.
“Not yet. I'll make a point of it tomorrow. I've also asked for a meeting with High Holder Meinyt. He's likely to be the only councilor even close to being reasonable—not that they all don't profess how reasonable they are and how unreasonable the factors are.”

“Are the factors that much better?”

“Their range is greater,” replied Alastar, “from totally unreasonable to absolutely logical … if based on incorrect assumptions.”

“That sounds more like Lorien.”

“He's been able to learn … at least a little. Too many of the High Holders have forgotten nothing and learned nothing. The factors, on the other hand, conveniently learn only what suits them.”

“Is this going to be like it was with Rex Ryen?”

“What do you think?” countered Alastar.

“If it's about golds, and the factors and High Holders disagree, it could be worse, but in a different way.”

“More indirectly?”

“More personally, with fewer obvious ties.”

“Poisonings? Accidents?”

“And banque irregularities, perhaps failures, charges of manipulation of the exchanges, scandals, gossip … and in the end, High Holders trusting only High Holders, building up private armies, and withholding tariffs.”

“With the factors pressing Lorien to use the army against recalcitrant High Holders?”

“It seems far-fetched, but…”

“You think it's possible,” concluded Alastar.

“Possible, but not inevitable. You should talk to as many factors as you can before Zaeryl arrives. That way you will be able to present how the factors feel.”

“And not just how we think they feel … or how Hulet claims they feel.”

Alyna nodded. “You're tired. So am I.” She rose from the armchair.

Alastar did not argue, but immediately stood as well, glad that she had extended her hand to him … and then imaged out the lamp.

 

5

Vendrei dawned clear and still, with a silvery haze to the sky that suggested that the mid-harvest day would be hot. When Alastar and Alyna left the Maitre's dwelling shortly after Lystara, Alastar found himself squinting against the early-morning glare.

As they neared the line of cottages inhabited by married imager maitres, Alyna spoke. “I need to talk to Tiranya.”

“About Bettaur and Linzya?”

“What else?” She smiled. “That and a few other things.”

“And I suppose Linzya insists everything is fine.”

“Didn't she already tell you that? How could it not be?” replied Alyna sardonically. “She's married to the most handsome of maitres, the one that all the tertias swoon over and half the boys want to emulate. I'm certain he's as accomplished in the bedchamber as anywhere else.”

“You still don't care much for him.”

“Do you?”

“No,” admitted Alastar, “but he's been absolutely faultless in his public conduct. He works hard, and he's willing to take on any task assigned to him. He's even suggested and accomplished some good projects that took a fair amount of work.”
Not an exceptional amount, but solid effort.

“So why did he marry Linzya?”

“You, dearest, would know that better than I. My masculine suspicion is that he had to. You told me that she's expecting. He likely felt that, if he didn't, we'd think much less of him.”

“Shades of his father,” Alyna said softly. “Even if he has no idea who his father was.”

“That's definitely for the best.”
For all concerned.
Alastar doubted that anyone living since Lady Asarya's “accidental” riding death, except himself and Alyna, knew that Bettaur and Lady Chelia were actually half-siblings. He didn't say more as he saw Alyna to the doorstep of Tiranya and Shaelyt's cottage, then continued on to the administration building—one designed and largely imaged into being by Alyna after the army's attack on Imagisle years before.

Dareyn was waiting with an envelope in hand. “It's from High Holder Meinyt, sir.”

Alastar studied the seal and frowned. He'd never seen one like it, not that the design was complex. It wasn't. The wax was a grayish-green. The design didn't show a crest or some form of heraldry, just a single-span stone bridge under the two moons of Terahnar.
Trying to bridge between two shores … two views … two … somethings?

He took his belt knife and slit the envelope. He definitely wanted to preserve that seal, at least for a while. After reading through the short note, he then turned to Dareyn. “High Holder Meinyt will see me at two quints past second glass. We don't have to send a messenger. He'll be expecting me unless I inform him otherwise. He's very practical.” Alastar paused. “Is there anything else?”

“Maitre Cyran wanted a moment.”

“That's fine. I'll see him immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

In little more than moments, even before Alastar had a chance to look at the studies and discipline report left by Akoryt, Cyran was stepping into the study and closing the door behind himself.

“You're slowing down, Maitre. Some of the student thirds almost managed to keep up with you on your run this morning.”

“They should be doing better than that. Compared to them, I'm ancient.”

“I did mention that they should be able to keep up with a man twice their age.”

More like three times the age of some.
“What's on your mind?”

“You know I meet weekly with the commander of the Civic Patrol…”

Alastar nodded and waited.

“There have been a few … episodes … between young men in the last few weeks.”

“Young men often have episodes, over either claims of physical prowess or women. Or over cheating at plaques. You're suggesting these are different.”

Cyran offered a twisted smile. “These have been between the sons of wealthy factors and the sons of High Holders.”

It took Alastar a moment before he said, “It has to be about plaques or bones and at the gaming houses. That's the only place … well, except at the Yellow Rose, but…”

“There was one episode at The Yellow Rose, but the others were at Alamara's and at Tydaael's.”

“Alamara's? I thought they claimed to be factors of artworks.”

“Smugglers of art and other items of dubious provenance, you mean?” asked Cyran. “That's the father. The son is Alamara the younger, and he has a tavern of some elegance, with several gaming rooms.”

“I'm missing something, Cyran. Usually those establishments forbid weapons at the tables and enforce that with guards.”

“They do. The incidents occurred later … outside.”

“Has anyone been seriously hurt?”

“Commander Murranyt doesn't know. He thinks no one has been killed.”

“Thinks? Commander Strosyl would have known.”

“That's because Strosyl was once a street patroller.”

“And Murranyt … I'd heard he only spent a few years on patrol before he went to headquarters. I can see him becoming commander, since he was the subcommander, but how did he get to be subcommander?”

“Favors and fortune, I'd guess. I asked after Strosyl's death. Things seemed to happen to people who crossed him.”

“And he got promoted?”

“He never took a copper from anyone, anytime. Everyone knows that. He also was the one who cleaned up those patrollers who were shaking down the grain teamsters.”

“A ruthless, honest patroller?” That combination of traits wasn't exactly to Alastar's liking, but honest and ruthless was better than dishonest and ruthless, and too many Civic Patrol commanders before Strosyl had been both. “It was too bad about Strosyl.”

“The red flux isn't particular. Murranyt's worried someone's going to get killed if matters get more heated between the youngblood High Holders and the sons of wealthy factors. He didn't quite say it, but that's how I'd image it.” The tall Maitre D'Esprit paused, then said, “There are over a hundred High Holders who maintain houses or chateaux in or close to L'Excelsis. There might be even more.”

“That many?” While Alastar knew some High Holders who were not councilors had residences near the capital, that over a hundred did definitely surprised him. “And the incidents are increasing?”

“That's what Patrol Captain Heisyt told me.”

“Do you think Alamara the younger would talk to me?”

Cyran chuckled. “There's no one in L'Excelsis in his right mind who wouldn't
talk
to you. Whether he'd tell you anything is something else.”

“I might visit him.”

“If anyone sees you…”

“I know. He'll likely say even less. I'll have to approach him in a fashion that few know who I am.”

“That might be difficult.”

Alastar shook his head. “There are more than a few gray-haired men in L'Excelsis. If no one sees the imager grays, who among those in the city would even look again?”

“I suppose that's true.”

“If I carry full shields, the worse that can happen is that I'll be discovered.”

Cyran frowned. “You think it's necessary?”

“I'm not certain, but it's better to look into matters that might not need looking into than to dismiss matters as unnecessary that prove otherwise. Is there anything else?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good. Let's hope it remains that way.” Alastar doubted that it would.

After Cyran departed, Alastar walked out of the study. “Dareyn … I'm going to see Maitre Thelia. I shouldn't be that long.”

Thelia had a small study off the main corridor, just south of and beside the senior imagers' conference room. She was seated behind a narrow table desk and looked up from what appeared to be a stack of invoices. “Maitre … what do you need?”