Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (16 page)

For all of the worrying and discussion that had taken place on Jeudi afternoon in Maitre Poincaryt’s study, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary occurred in Third District on Vendrei, although I had cautioned all the patrollers to be alert for anything unusual and to let me or Alsoran know. Not that there weren’t lawbreakers, because there were, including three out-of-work casual laborers who decided to grab at every wallet in sight around the Plaza D’Este. They hadn’t been exactly sober, but it took three patrollers and several bystanders to subdue them before they were carted off. Another elver was found dead, and Caesaro had to bring in a tart for blatantly soliciting on the sidewalk on the Midroad, and then for trying to cut him up with a dagger.

After my exercises and run on Samedi, Seliora left me with our daughter and took a hack to NordEste Design so that she could catch up on everything she hadn’t been able to do when Diestrya was ill earlier in the week. I couldn’t really complain. I’d worked every other Samedi for the past five years.

Even so, by half-past ninth glass, Diestrya was looking and acting restless. So, despite the chill, I stuffed her into leggings and her coat and cap, and we set out on a walk. The wind was light but chill, but the sunlight was bright, although I could see clouds to the northeast, moving toward L’Excelsis, it seemed.

We didn’t get all that far—just to the gate to Maitre Dyana’s dwelling—where she was trimming the thorn-roses.

“Good morning, Diestrya,” she offered.

“Good morning,” Diestrya replied. “What are you doing?”

“Trimming the thorn-roses.” She set the iron shears on the top of the wall. “How are you doing, Rhenn?”

“I’m fine, but I have to say that I’m worried. I feel like everything is about to explode, and yet there’s nothing obvious.”

She laughed, wryly, reaching down and easing the shears away from Diestrya’s inquiring grasp. “Usually, those are the worst catastrophes. This one looks worse than the Stakanaran-Tiempran disaster.”

I’d read about it, when the Stakanarans had tried to invade the south of Tiempre and seize the diamond and gold mines, but I didn’t recall it. That wasn’t surprising, since it had taken place when I’d been about the age Diestrya was. I’d always wondered what Maitre Dyana did, but her statement suggested something I should have seen earlier. “Was that when you had the position that Schorzat does now?” That was a guess, based on a few observations.

She smiled. “You’re doing better every year, Rhenn. As a matter of fact, I’d just taken over from Maitre Poincaryt.”

“Dichartyn took over from you, later then, as head of security?”

She nodded.

“But you still get all the reports and advise the Maitre of the Collegium?” I grinned. “Are you the, shall we say, unannounced deputy to Maitre Poincaryt? The heir in waiting?”

“Not the heir in waiting.” She shook her head. “Not with this Council, or probably any Council in the near future.” She smiled. “Just think about Madame D’Shendael…or about how much it took for your sister to be acknowledged as a factoria—after she’d totally turned around the Kherseilles branch of Alusine Wool and increased revenues every year for five years, so much so that she handles most of the wool trade there?”

I managed to nod, as I eased Diestrya away from the pile of thorny cuttings beside the stone wall. I’d never told anyone those facts. Neither had Father; but what Maitre Dyana had said in just a few moments confirmed her position and her access to the covert network that Dichartyn controlled—and that was mentioned nowhere. “Doesn’t it get to you, though? Not being recognized or appreciated for what you do?”

“It bothered me greatly when I was younger. It bothered my husband more…”

I never realized she’d been married.

“…but when I look at Poincaryt, Dichartyn, or you, all having to carry full shields all the time, and you worrying about your family every moment of every day…I’ve come to realize that there are worse things than being unknown—or underknown, as you once suggested to Dichartyn.”

“Why did you pick the three of us as examples? You didn’t mention Rholyn or Jhulian.”

“You three are the most visible, much as Dichartyn tries to keep a low profile. You’re the designated targets, if you will.”

“Were we picked because we have the strongest shields?”

She laughed again. “All of you picked yourselves, you more than the others. I don’t think you could keep a low profile in pitch darkness in an abandoned gold mine. That’s not without benefit for the rest of the Collegium, because people tend not to look past the others, especially you.”

I had to pick Diestrya up and set her down away from the pile of thorny branches. “What do you think will happen next?”

“War. The question is when. Ferrum won’t give up, because Jariola gets weaker every year. You can’t maintain strong commerce and industry under a hereditary oligarchy. Stakanar is still eyeing the mines in southern Tiempre, and the Abierto Isles want to annex Meritas. The Council really doesn’t want to continue building up armaments, although they keep talking about modernizing the fleet. That won’t happen anytime soon, and the Ferrans know it.”

I picked up Diestrya, because that was easier than continually moving her away from danger. “So who’s behind the stronger elveweed?”

“The seeds or cuttings were doubtless supplied by Stakanar, and the funds to grow it—you were right about it having to be in the south—from Ferrum.”

“Do you know where?”

“Know? Yes. Be able to prove it, no.” She picked up her shears. “I need to get back to trimming these before we get a truly hard freeze. Enjoy your dinner with Iryela and Kandryl.”

“I hope to.” I’d never mentioned that dinner to anyone at all, except Seliora, not even Maitre Poincaryt.

Diestrya and I continued our walk, all the way up to the park area, and the hedge maze that she was still too young to appreciate, and then all the way back home. The whole way I wondered what I needed to find out from Iryela…or Kandryl.

I also wondered why I hadn’t picked up on what Maitre Dyana really was before, other than that she’d come from a High Holder family. But when I’d studied with her, she’d revealed nothing and always kept me on the defensive. Ever since then, I’d been with the Civic Patrol and hadn’t seen her all that much. When I had, she’d always avoided talking anything but pleasantries. Her recent words hadn’t been casual, and that raised yet another set of questions, all of which suggested that even more was at stake than I’d already thought.

At the same time, when it came right down to it, I was only one Civic Patrol captain among a number, and one of a handful of talented imagers, and all of the others with such abilities were far more experienced. Besides, even if war broke out, few events of major impact could occur in L’Excelsis that we hadn’t already seen—conscription riots, spies and assassinations, and explosions, to name but a few. Certainly, the Place D’Opera explosion, though startling, was nothing to compare to the explosion that the Tiemprans had set off years before in the Temple of Puryon.

Still, I couldn’t help but worry as I fed Diestrya and put her down for her nap. With all the exercise, she slept well.

Seliora walked into the house just after fifth glass, as Diestrya and I were struggling with the usual three-year-old’s post-nap crankiness. Somehow we got through the next glass and were ready to depart when the Dichartyn girls arrived to watch Diestrya, since Klysia had Samedis off. I would have been very surprised if Aelys didn’t look in once or twice as well. I’d also made arrangements earlier to borrow my parent’s coach—and Charlsyn—since Iryela’s L’Excelsis estate was a good half-glass north of the Plaza D’Nord, and I didn’t feel right about using a duty coach. There wasn’t any way to catch a hack back to L’Excelsis, and I didn’t want to impose on Iryela, although she certainly could have afforded the imposition.

Seliora wore a red ankle-length dress with a black jacket and a black sash belt, with a black opera cloak, not that we’d been to the opera in years. As always, I was in grays, and we met Charlsyn on the west side of Imagisle, where we usually took the duty coach, at sixth glass. I’d thought that on a Samedi evening, the Boulevard D’Ouest would be thronged, but it wasn’t, and less than a quarter-glass later, we were riding through the Plaza D’Nord.

“It’s good to be going somewhere by ourselves,” said Seliora, “and not with family.”

I agreed. “We’ll probably get a note from Mother…”

“It came yesterday. I forgot to tell you. She’s asked us for next Samedi, or the following one, if that’s not convenient.”

“Which would you prefer?”

“This coming Samedi, the thirty-fifth. Mother was thinking about a dinner for Shomyr’s birthday on the seventh.”

“Are you up to two nights in a row?” I paused. “We could leave early, saying we were tired because of the Autumn Ball the night before.”

“Rhenn…they are your family,” she said gently.

“I know, but I’ll have to work on Samedi.”

She just looked at me, and I laughed. “Next Samedi it is.”

“They’ll be happy.” She raised her eyebrows. “After all, would you want to eat dinner with Culthyn every night?”

She had a point there.

Iryela’s chateau—technically it was now Kandryl’s, even though she’d inherited it and had to marry him to keep it, if only after a fashion—was set on the east side of the main road, a structure a good three hundred yards from end to end laid out in a “Y” shape. The southern section ended at what looked to be a cliff, but which was really a wall down from the terrace. At the end of the terrace there had once been a square stone tower, but Iryela had not had it rebuilt after I’d destroyed it. A gray stone wall a little more than two yards high extended around the grounds, and a single set of iron-grilled gates, without even a crest on them, afforded access to the paved drive beyond that led to the chateau.

The gates opened at our approach. Charlsyn then guided the coach through the walls and up the spotlessly clean stones of the driveway and under the portico. There, a footman in black and silver stepped forward to open the coach door and to extend a hand to Seliora. As I stepped out after her, I saw another coach stationed on the far side of the circle, beyond the fountain and circular garden. The crimson and silver body work, far grander than the brown and brass of our coach, confirmed that Frydryk D’Suyrien and Alynkya D’Ramsael had already arrived.

We hadn’t even reached the outer doorway when an older man, in a black velvet jacket with silver piping over a silver shirt and black trousers, stepped forward, inclining his head deeply. “Master Rhennthyl, Madame, welcome.”

“Thank you, Fahyl,” I replied. “You are looking well, as always.”

“Thank you, sir. Madame awaits you in the family salon.”

We followed Fahyl inside and down the right-hand hallway off the main foyer. The family salon, although twice the size of our dining room, was the smallest and most intimate gathering chamber in the chateau.

Iryela immediately rose from the settee where she’d been seated. “Seliora! Rhenn!” While she’d filled out slightly after the birth of her twins the year before, she was still slender and very white-blonde.

Kandryl also rose, immediately, as did Alynkya. Frydryk was slower, languid in standing, as if he were the Chief Councilor instead of his father, although I’d observed that Councilor Suyrien always exhibited great courtesy on the occasions when I’d seen him.

“Do sit down,” Iryela went on. “Our white Grisio for you, Seliora?”

“Please.”

“Your red,” I said.

I took the chair beside Iryela, since she had gestured toward it, while Seliora eased onto the other settee beside Alynkya.

“You travel enough that you ought to have your own carriage,” said Frydryk.

“For work, I can use the duty coaches, and otherwise,” I said with a shrug, “we make do. Besides, where would we keep the coach and coachman?” I turned to Iryela. “How are the twins?”

“Sleeping, thankfully,” replied Kandryl dryly from beside her.

“I imagine you’re happy they’re past the colicky stage,” said Seliora.

“Exceedingly,” said Iryela.

Frydryk didn’t quite sneer, as if to intimate that talking about children and colic was scarcely suitable High Holder conversation.

So I smiled and asked him, “How is your father these days? I’ve heard that he’s rather occupied.”

“Ah, yes…with all the troubles caused by the freeholders.” Frydryk nodded sagely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were being counseled and paid by Ferran agents.”

“Anything is possible in these times,” I said, taking a goblet of the Ryel red—a varietal Grisio, really—from a serving girl, and looking to Iryela. “This is one of my favorite wines, and not just because it’s from your vineyards.”

“We’re glad you enjoy it.”

Seliora accepted her goblet and took a sip.

“I can tell Seliora and I think the same of the white,” said Kandryl. “As does Father.”

That offered the opportunity I wanted. “I don’t think I’ve seen your father more than a handful of times since the wedding…although he did invite us to the Council’s Autumn Ball next Vendrei.”

“None of us see him very often,” said Frydryk with a laugh. “If he’s not dealing with Council business, he’s dealing with other High Holders. At the moment, he’s in Ruile…something to do with Ruelyr. He’s got all the lands between Ruile and the Sud Swamp. Ruelyr and Father have been friends for years, but…”

“But?” asked Alynkya.

“Ruelyr…let’s just say that he’d have been more successful as a High Holder several centuries back. Father has had to caution him more than once about the distinction between low justice and Council justice.” Frydryk glanced to me. “Or Civic Patrol justice.”

Neither Iryela nor Kandryl spoke, and I could sense the tension. Why would Frydryk offer such a pointed remark? To test me? Or to needle Iryela by reminding her that she was subject to Kandryl’s enforcement of low justice?

“The Civic Patrol is an arm of the Council,” I said with a smile, “and I’m charged with enforcing the laws of the Council. Most High Holders are like your father, very honorable men, who understand quite clearly that distinction. There are always those men, who can be anything from High Holders to taudis-toughs, who think the law is something for others to obey. They’re few, but they cause most of the problems in any land, even in Solidar.”