Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (41 page)

On Mardi, I took the duty coach with Seliora and Diestrya and dropped them off at NordEste Design, then had the driver take me to the Banque D’Excelsis on the Midroad just south of Plaza D’Este, the branch that had been bombed.

As I got out of the coach, I turned to Desalyt. “If you’d wait?”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard outside the banque doors glanced at me—or my grays—but decided against saying anything as I entered. I hadn’t been able to remember the name of the director of the banque, but I had written it down right after the explosion and locked it into the hidden safebox in my home study, along with the note I’d received and, later, the card I’d gotten from Madame D’Shendael at the Autumn Ball. So I’d taken a moment earlier that morning to open the safebox and copy the director’s name—so I wouldn’t forget again.

The second guard—the one inside the banque—must have been there on the day of the explosion, because he clearly recalled me. He stepped forward. “Master Captain?”

“I’m here to see Director Tolsynn.”

The guard turned toward one of the clerks behind a bronze framed cage. “The Maitre and captain is here for the director.”

I only waited a few moments before Tolsynn appeared. I might not have remembered his name, but I couldn’t have forgotten the waxed black mustaches and bulging green eyes—or the air of self-importance that made him seem to bulge out of his black pinstriped jacket.

“Maitre Captain.” His acknowledgment was a polite statement of the fact that he didn’t want to see me.

“There are a few items we need to discuss, Director. Your study would be most convenient.”

Tolsynn didn’t quite sigh. “I trust this will not be too long.”

“Only long enough to go over what we need to.”

I followed him to the small study with the narrow uncluttered desk and took the chair farthest from the door. He looked at me, the door, and finally seated himself, waiting.

“You may have noticed that there have been more than a few explosions in L’Excelsis over the past month. In the course of our investigations, the Collegium has come across a variety of indications that the Banque D’Ouestan has been used to convey funds from Ferrum to L’Excelsis, and to other banques, as well as to individuals who may be connected to those explosions.” I smiled at Tolsynn, projecting both forthrightness and a certainty that he certainly wouldn’t wish to hide anything from me.

He didn’t say anything.

I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head slightly, signifying that I was waiting for a response.

“For most of our clients, we seldom deal with the Banque D’Ouestan. Out of all our clients, there are less than a hundred factors and other commercial enterprises who regularly receive funds from that institution. They have done so for years.”

“So you haven’t noticed anyone receiving large sums from there in just the past year? Someone who didn’t before.”

“I couldn’t say if someone received one or two fund transfers, but I can assure you that no significant funds were transferred to any client over the past year who had not already been transacting business for some time before that.”

“Has the Banque D’Ouestan ever sent representatives here for any reason?”

Tolsynn frowned, then he nodded. “They do have a local representative. At least, he represented himself as such. I have his card here.” He turned in the chair and lifted an ebony card box, opening it, then riffling through it. “Here…” He handed me an engraved card.

The name read:

V
YKTOR
D’B
ANQUE
D’O
UESTAN

880 A
VENUE
D’T
HEATRE

L’E
XCELSIS

“What did he want from you?” I studied it for a moment, then handed the card back.

“He didn’t seem to want anything. He gave me his card and said that if I had any troubles or questions regarding transactions or transfers that I should let him know immediately. We never have had those problems.”

“When did he give you the card?”

“Sometime in Harvest, late Agostos, as I recall.”

I asked more questions about the Banque D’Ouestan, but Tolsynn didn’t know any more. So I changed the subject. “I’d like to know if you observed anything else about Kearyk. I’ve seen a miniature of him, and he seemed extraordinarily handsome.”

“More like…” Tolsynn paused, then said, “almost pretty. He was always well-dressed. I once asked him if he spent all his earnings on clothes. He laughed. He said he didn’t have to.”

“What did you think of that?”

“I wondered for a time, and I watched. But several times he was picked up by someone in a stylish carriage. More than several times.”

“Did you notice anything about the carriage?”

“No. Just that it was black with brass trim. Very conservative. With two matched grays.”

“Did you see who was inside?”

Tolsynn shook his head.

“I take it Kearyk had a fine hand, his writing, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Did he draw?”

“How would I…” He broke off. “Come to think of it, I did see a few…well…doodles…on a scrap of paper once. Very graceful…very fine.”

“Graceful enough that he could have forged the entire ledger sheet with the off-entry in it?”

“I suppose. I hadn’t thought of it. He seemed so gentle and kind. Why would he have done that for such a small sum…comparatively, that is?”

I didn’t have an answer for that question, although I was beginning to get a glimmer of one. “I have no idea.” I laughed softly. “That’s why I had to come back to talk to you. This branch doesn’t handle the Civic Patrol accounts, I take it?”

“No…those are all at Council Square.”

“Did you know Captain Bolyet? He was a friend of mine…a good officer.”

Tolsynn nodded. “I met him a few times…and, of course, his widow. It was an accident, I heard.”

“One of those freak things that you never think can happen. Any patroller thinks he might be shot at, or attacked, or even have trouble with a runaway hauler’s team…but to get hit by a loose crane? Even Subcommander Cydarth found that hard to believe.”

“He said something like that.”

“He’s been a client for a long time, I imagine.”

“Longer than I’ve been director here.”

“I wonder if he’d know this Vyktor D’Banque D’Ouestan. I’d heard he or his wife had relatives there.” I shook my head. “Probably not. When you hear that someone’s from someplace or has relatives there, you always think that they’ll know people you do, and usually they don’t.”

Tolsynn nodded. “He’s never said anything about that, but we’ve not passed more than a few words ever.” He paused and looked at the door. “Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment. Thank you.” I stood.

After I left the banque, I instructed Desalyt to take me to the Plaza D’Nord. Despite the fact that chalkers worked in places where there were pedestrians, it took nearly a glass for us to find Lacques. He was a block down from the Plaza, on the corner of Milner Lane and Saenhelyn Road, and he looked to have just started a small wall painting on a narrow stretch of stone between a café that looked to be closed and a millinery shop.

I had the coach stop a few yards back and then got out and walked toward the chalker.

He turned and said, “It’s not finished…sir.” For a street artist, he was well-turned out, with dark trousers and polished boots, and even a red cravat.

“Lacques, you might remember that we talked about Kearyk several weeks ago.”

“I told you everything I knew…sir.”

“No. You told me the truth about everything I asked. I’ve been thinking. That chalk you did, the one of the half-man, half-woman. That was Kearyk, in a way, wasn’t it?”

The chalker didn’t answer for a moment. Then he smiled crookedly. “Yes. Kearyk had that handsome angelic look, but sometimes he could be a manipulative bitch. He could be so sweet and dear…and then…other times…” Lacques shook his head.

“You don’t happen to have a black coach with brass trim, do you?”

“A chalker? With a coach?”

There was an edge to his voice, and I pressed. “But you know who it was, don’t you?”

“I don’t know his name. Kearyk never said. He told me I didn’t own him. I only saw him once, from a distance. He had to be a wealthy swell, but not what you’d expect. Clothes like a High Holder, but dark, and his hair was cut short—like yours.”

“Did you see what color his hair was?”

“A mixture of red and silver gray, I thought. He was years older than me. But he had golds, and Kearyk loved golds and clothes.”

“Kearyk received clothes from this…friend?”

“I don’t know where else he would have gotten them.” Lacques’s voice turned bitter. “I’m the one who taught him how to dress and present himself. He was turned down for several clerkships until I showed him what to wear.”

“Why didn’t you become a guild artist?”

“It’s not a matter of talent. You have to have golds to get a master to take you…or have them take a special interest in you, and…I didn’t have the golds, and I was never handsome enough.” He shrugged. “I manage to get by, what with the art and being a server a few places.”

“Did Kearyk ever say anything about his friend?”

“No. I asked, but he said he was just a friend. He was lying, and he knew that I knew that, but if I’d pressed it, he would have left.”

“He didn’t say anything at all about him?”

“Just that he knew all the people in the salons, like Madame D’Shendael and Madame D’Almeida. Kearyk liked to think he could have conversed with them. He’d go to the bookshops and read her books a chapter at a time.”

“That was all?”

“You think this swell had something to do with his death?”

“I don’t know.” I thought that he did, but I didn’t
know
.

“But…why? I can’t believe that Kearyk was anything but…a plaything to a swell like that. I even told him so.”

“What did he say?”

“He just said that it wasn’t like that at all, and he enjoyed the culture. He said if I asked more, he’d leave. I didn’t.”

I spent another quint with Lacques. I didn’t learn much more, but I’d learned more than enough to end up even more puzzled about why matters were turning out as they seemed to be.

By the time I returned to Imagisle, I had enough time to check with Schorzat and Kahlasa, and to write down the name and address of Vyktor D’Banque D’Ouestan. Neither Schorzat nor Kahlasa had anything new to report, and Maitre Dyana wasn’t looking for me. So I went over to the dining hall, which contained noticeably fewer junior imagers, unsurprisingly. I sat between Chassendri and Isola.

I’d barely taken a sip of tea before Ferlyn immediately asked, “Most honored Maitre Rhennthyl, might you be able to explain where so many of the juniors have gone?”

“I could. They’ve been sent on a journey. They’re currently somewhere on the ironway.”

“Would it be too much to ask where they are going and why?”

I smiled. “In fact, for the moment, it would be.”

“Could you give Ferlyn some idea?” asked Chassendri.

She was really suggesting that he’d continue to press unless I gave a better answer, because, after her work with Dartazn, she certainly had some ideas about what we had planned for them to do, if not where and how.

“I think it’s fair to say that we’re trying to come up with a way to stop all the Ferran attacks and explosions here in Solidar.” I immediately took a mouthful of the fowl and rice casserole, because I was hungry and because I wanted to slow down the questioning.

“That’s singularly uninformative,” interjected Heisbyl, who was sitting farther down the table with Ghaend and Quaelyn, all of whom seldom ate at the dining hall, suggesting that they were there as much to see what I might say as for the culinary excellence of the fare.

Kahlasa, between Ferlyn and Ghaend, smiled faintly.

“True enough,” I admitted after another sip of tea. “That’s because we’re dealing with singular times and events.”

“I’ve said this before,” Ferlyn said, his voice not quite edged, “but those of you in the covert branch seem to suspect everyone. You try to hide everything, even from other masters.”

“Do you suggest that we send out newsheets to all Terahnar announcing what we plan?”

I could feel Isola wince at my words.

“Surely, surely, you could convey something more to the Maitres of the Collegium,” suggested Heisbyl in a reasonable tone.

“There are already rumors afoot that the Collegium is diverting Navy ships for an absurd project of some sort,” added Ferlyn.

“That’s interesting,” I replied. “Might I ask the source of these rumors?” Neither Schorzat nor Kahlasa knew the details of the plan, and Maitre Dyana wasn’t about to tell anyone. Of those left in L’Excelsis, that left Sea-Marshal Valeun and whomever he’d told. I suspected that Valeun had let that rumor loose, trying to distance himself from the plan, in case it failed, in which circumstances he could claim that he’d been against it from the start—with witnesses who could back up his assertion.

“You could,” replied Ferlyn, slightly archly.

Ferlyn was bright enough, but he could also be infuriating, because he confused his ability to analyze patterns with the understanding of what they meant. That gave him an inflated sense of importance. But then, I doubtless had an even more inflated sense of self-importance.

“Since I have, why don’t you tell us? Or was this a rumor that began with your reporting it here?”

“I’m led to believe that it came from the Naval Command, or perhaps the Naval Bureau. You know that to me the Navy types and bureaus are really all the same.”

“Now why would anyone there start a rumor that suggests that the Navy is agreeing to an absurd plan by the Collegium?” I asked. “Unless there is such a plan and that someone believes it will fail and he will profit by letting the world know that he was right from the beginning. Of course, anyone who would release that information for purely personal gain probably isn’t anyone that should remain in the Navy.”

“Unless it really is an absurd plan,” countered Heisbyl, “and one that more…experienced master imagers should have reviewed.”