Treachery's Tools (12 page)

“I understand that. I also have cause to believe that, with few exceptions, you and your people are likely excellent judges of backgrounds.”

“Why do you say that?” An amused smile played across the younger Alamara's face.

“You are very successful.” Alastar waited. “That means you understand both mathematics and people.”

“Why did you come to me?”

“We've already talked to the Civic Patrol. There have been reports of … incidents … outside both Alamara's and Tydaael's. The patrol may not be as unbiased as you are.”

Alamara laughed. “That may be one of the greatest compliments I'll ever receive.”

“I suspect it's accurate. You judge people on their funds and behavior, not, as you said, on their background. That doesn't mean you don't know their background.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you'd be the first to see signs of hostility and anger between High Holders and factors. Your establishment is one of the few where the young men of means from both meet and interact.”

Alamara paused. “I'd prefer not to be named.”

Alastar was the one to laugh. “Accurate as I believe your judgments to be, there are others who would dispute my judgment. I have no interest whatsoever in naming you or Alamara's publicly. I do have great interest in knowing how the young men of wealth get on with each other.”

“Some do. Most do.” Again, the gaming factor paused. “We've had to separate more hotbloods in the past season or so than anyone can recall. It's usually always when a young factor or factor's son has more to wager than the son of a High Holder. There are table limits, but they're high at the most popular table.”

“That's the most profitable one, of course.”

“Of course. The girls do their best to keep things calm, and the guards are there just in case.” After a moment, Alamara went on. “Several times last week, it could have gotten nasty. One of the factors told a young High Holder's son that he just couldn't buy a pot anymore. That wouldn't have been so bad, if he hadn't said something to the effect that young fops like him would have to get used to it.”

Alastar let a wince show.

Alamara nodded.

“But part of the attraction is that those with factoring wealth want to use gaming to make points—and golds—from those they regard as the coddled offspring of High Holders?” Alastar raised his eyebrows.

“It might be. We don't ask. We're also very careful.” Alamara smiled. “We've never seen an imager here. I assume that's your doing.”

“A skilled imager would be unbeatable over time. He'd also be cheating in ways that aren't easily detectable. Gaming for gain is prohibited. Getting caught at it would mean that an imager would lose the ability to image.”

“You'd kill them for that?”

Alastar shook his head. “Blur their vision or blind them. Then exile them to Mont D'Glace. The Collegium can't afford things like using imaging to cheat or deceive people.”

“When was the last time you did that?” Alamara's tone was skeptical.

“Last month.” Alastar didn't like mentioning Lannyt's blinding, even in general, but not admitting it would have be worse. “If we're fortunate, it isn't necessary very often, but there are always a few who don't listen or don't think the rules apply to them.”
And then, there are those like Bettaur or Ashkyr, who are trouble waiting to happen.
But then, he worried that he was being unfair to Bettaur.

“It happens here, too, without imaging.” Alamara lowered his voice. “We have our sources. One of them passed on a name. I won't say who. He's a factor's son who's a very skilled gamer. He makes a point of fleecing naïve High Holders. One of the highborn sheep tried to use a belt knife on him at Tydaael's. When either plays here, we've been putting an extra guard near their plaques table.”

“What about outside, when they leave?”

“After ninth glass, there are two guards outside on the street. We can't patrol the city, but we don't want any incidents near the tavern.”

“You used to only need one, didn't you?” Alastar had no idea if that happened to be the case.

“Only one … and only on end-day nights.”

“When did you start adding the guards? Early summer?” That was another guess on Alastar's part.

“Toward the middle of Mayas.”

Alastar nodded. “One last question. Are you seeing more factors' or factors' sons with more golds?”

“The numbers have been growing over the several years, especially in the last year. Quite a bit.”

“Thank you. That's all I really needed to know.”

“You're welcome, Maitre. In turn, might I ask why you're interested?”

“Because it appears that the factors and the High Holders are disagreeing on just about everything about how Solidar should be governed, and I wanted to see just how deep the disagreements run.”

“And…?”

“When people fight over the gaming tables more than they ever did, the level of disagreement is not likely to be trivial.”

“It would seem that gaming might not be—”

“The best indicator? By itself, no. But it is an indicator, and there are others as well.”

“I see.” Alamara nodded.

Alastar could almost see the gaming factor calculating how to turn matters to his benefit. “I should go.” He stood.

“How do you propose to leave here?” Alamara rose as well.

“You will escort me to the outer door of the chamber ruled by the gray-haired lady, bid me good-bye, and no one will even know I've been here, except for you and her, and she only knows I'm likely an imager.”

“That simple?”

“Not simple. It just will appear that way.” Alastar added a blurring shield around himself as Alamara opened the door to his personal study, and held it until he stood alone in the corridor leading back to the public room, when he converted it into a total concealment and edged his way along the side of the hallway.

Once outside, he eased from a full concealment to a blurring shield until he was within a yard of Noergyn, when he dropped it entirely.

“Sir … you surprised me.”

“Good. Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?” Alastar mounted the gray.

“No, sir. Just well-dressed fellows who must have golds. And the two civic patrollers. One of them asked why I was here. He had trouble looking at me. I guess it was the blurring shield. I told them I was waiting for my master and wouldn't be long. He didn't come back.”

“Just as well. Let's head back to the Collegium.”

 

6

Samedi morning, Alastar and Alyna overslept and ended up being awakened enthusiastically by Lystara.

“Lystara,” protested Alyna sleepily.

“Don't be so gleeful,” mumbled Alastar.

“You always wake me up when I oversleep.”

“Your father had a late night,” explained Alyna, drawing a robe around her.

Alastar managed not to smile, since Alyna had also had a late night.

“You'll be late for breakfast,” prophesied the ten-year-old.

“We won't. We won't run this morning,” declared Alastar.

“You said it was best if we ran every morning.”

Alastar sighed, and Alyna smiled.

Somehow, Alastar wasn't quite certain how, they all managed to get washed up, dressed, and eat breakfast in time to set out almost within a fraction of a quint of their usual time, with Alastar and Alyna only fifty yards behind Lystara, closer than their daughter would have preferred.

“She really enjoyed waking us up this morning,” said Alastar.

“I'm glad you let her enjoy it.”

“How could I not … at least after the first few moments?”

Alyna smiled. “The student imagers wouldn't believe you said something like that.”

“That's probably a good thing. Right now, all Akoryt has to do is ask any who misbehave whether they'd like to explain things to me.” Alastar's lips curled slightly. “Some actually shudder, he says.”

“Everyone remembers that you're the one who turned an entire regiment and the whole River Aluse to solid ice.”

“It wasn't the entire river—”

“Let them think it was.”

“I might as well. Once I'm gone, or old and tottering, no one will even remember.”
And that's likely to be sooner than you think.

“You still think about Quaeryt and Vaelora, don't you?”

“How could I not? He killed over a hundred thousand men and imaged structures that will likely last aeons, not to mention single-handedly establishing Solidar … and almost no one knows his name. I killed a rebellious imager and army commander and one regiment, nothing compared to him.” Alastar didn't want to dwell on that and immediately asked, “I take it that there's nothing new as far as Bettaur is concerned?”

“You wouldn't expect there to be, would you?”

He shook his head. “Even as a tertius, he left few traces. Now … I doubt if there will be any at all. That's what worries me. He could be every bit as devious as both of his parents put together; he's learned patience; and he's an imager.”

“You know that there's no proof that he's Asarya's son?”

“Proof is confirmation of facts. That some facts cannot be confirmed doesn't mean they're not true. Asarya had a third child who supposedly died at birth, but no one ever actually witnessed the child's death, and Bettaur is the right age.”

“It is suspicious that both Bettaur's guardians died suspiciously almost immediately after he came to Imagisle, but that could be coincidence.”

“Do you think so?” asked Alastar.

“No, but what if we're wrong? Both about him and his birth?”

“Do you think we are?”

“No. That doesn't mean we're right, dear Maitre.”

“I'd wager on your feelings.”

“We can't discipline Bettaur on feelings,” she pointed out.

“But we can look into things and prepare in case they turn out to be accurate.”

“As you always have,” she replied with a smile. “Are there any discipline hearings scheduled for next Jeudi?”

“Not at present. We've been fortunate this month. But after the mess with Lannyt…” Alastar shook his head. He still hated having had to mention it to Alamara.

“He should have known better … and then to…”

“There wasn't much else we could do, besides blur his vision and send him to Mont D'Image.”

“Have you considered who could replace Smarthyl?”

“That's another problem. We don't have to face that yet, thankfully.”

“Have you decided what to do about Westisle?”

“Nothing for the moment. Taryn would do well … but…”

Alyna nodded, understandingly.

“Besides, I have the feeling that this is one of those times to dither.”

“Deliberate waiting is not dithering.”

“That's what Voltyrn will call it. Choran will likely call it deliberative, since he'll take it as a sign that I have my doubts about Voltyrn, which I do.”

“A day or two, even a week, won't matter. The same is true about Bettaur's request. Besides, you don't want to decide on that before deciding on the Maitre.”

“And after that?” Alastar shook his head, then asked cheerfully, even though he well knew the answer to his query, “Geometry instructionals this morning?”

“And more on the basics of surveying, all of which you know, because I've muttered about the willful obstinacy of several. Most of them will silently groan and will try to ignore the fact—and the explanation—that knowing geometry can actually make you a better imager.”

“If you learn it well enough and just don't go through the motions. And speaking of geometry and where you learned it, when do you think we can expect your brother?”

“He travels fast and light. Possibly even by Lundi night, no later than Meredi. That's if the weather holds.”

“Is there anything about Malyna you haven't told me?”

“I don't think so. Remember, all I have to go on is Zaeryl's infrequent letters. She was born after we wed, and since Zaeryl hasn't been in L'Excelsis since he brought me here as a ten-year-old…”

“I don't think you ever mentioned that.”

She laughed softly. “You didn't ask.”

Alastar shook his head, mock-dramatically.

When they reached the administration building, Alyna headed for her study and Alastar for his.

“There's a message on your desk, sir,” offered Maercyl, the older second seated behind Dareyn's table desk. “Dareyn was feeling unwell and asked if I would fill in.”

“I hope it's not serious.”

“He didn't say, sir.”

“Let me know if you hear more … and thank you.” Alastar nodded, worried about Dareyn. He didn't worry about Maercyl, since he had certainly taken over Dareyn's duties before without difficulty or incident.

The envelope on his desk was sealed with a lavender wax, a wax scented to match the seal. Alastar had no doubts who had written, and he opened the missive immediately and began to read.

Dear Maitre Alastar—

I would be more than pleased to receive you at the upper factorage at any glass on either Lundi or Mardi morning.

The signature was simply “Kathila, Factoria.”

Alastar nodded and sat down to write a reply, one which, when he had finished, stated that, unless he heard otherwise, he would call upon Factoria Kathila at ninth glass on Lundi morning.

He was about to take the sealed reply out to Maercyl when the second appeared in the study doorway. “Maitre Akoryt would like a moment.”

“Have him come in.”

Akoryt closed the door as he entered, not the best of indications, then seated himself in front of the table desk.