Treachery's Tools (26 page)

“Not tonight,” replied Alyna. “It's already late. Some other night.”

“Promise?”

“We promise.”

Alastar was still thinking about both promising to let them see the glowbugs and whatever it was Lystara had in mind from swinging the wooden billet when Alyna escorted the girls inside and upstairs to wash up and get ready for bed.

He remained on the porch as twilight faded into night, standing and moving to the railing, watching as Artiema continued to rise. He continued to worry over the shooting. Who had anything to gain from trying to kill imagers, especially given what an angry imager could do?
Unless they honestly believed that they could destroy or severely cripple the Collegium.
Did Cransyr and the High Holders believe that? Or whoever had ordered rifles from Vaschet … who was someone that Alastar definitely needed to talk to even more after what had just happened with Harl. Or were the disappearance of Frydrek and the shots at the three of them, especially just as Alastar was returning from the Chateau D'Rex, a warning of sorts, to show what could happen if the Collegium became involved in the conflict between the High Holders and the factors? All that suggested that High Holders were behind the attacks, because they were the ones trying to regain old privileges.

Alastar heard steps and turned, admiring Alyna as she walked from the front door to join him. “How are they?”

“Tired. Lystara's excited about trying to learn shields. It took a bit to settle her down. I think Malyna's worried. I talked to her for a bit.”

“Worried about shields … or everything?” Alastar suspected the latter, given their niece's seeming similarity to Alyna.

“Everything, of course. She worries she won't be a good imager. She's afraid her father doesn't understand the dangers ahead.”

“Does he?”

“I'm afraid he doesn't want to, but he does understand the danger Ryel represents, thank the Nameless.”

“And he's one of the more enlightened High Holders…” Alastar kept his voice low, knowing that the upstairs windows were open. He shook his head, then said. “You had me worried this afternoon.”

“I wasn't that—”

“You were,” Alastar said firmly.

Alyna smiled. “Perhaps … but it was good to see how much you care.”

“I've always cared.”

“I know. It's one of the things I love about you.” Her smile faded. “You had a very serious expression.”

“After what happened thirteen years ago and what's happened since, I would have thought that the High Holders would have come to understand—”

“They have,” interjected Alyna quietly, but firmly. “They now understand that Solidar is changing and that they will come to have even less power, and they don't like it. Even Zaeryl didn't care for the coal lands going to a factor. Didn't you catch that?”

“I thought he just didn't like paying higher prices.”

“That, too.”

“Neither Lorien nor Cransyr has bothered to let me know what they are doing, and it's been a week since the High Council met. Everyone is waiting for someone else to make a move.”

“As are you,” Alyna pointed out. “If you haven't heard anything by Lundi, perhaps you should pay Cransyr a visit.”

“Unannounced, you think?”

“With some, that might reveal more. With Cransyr, I doubt he will reveal much that he does not wish to share.”

With that, Alastar agreed. “What about Lorien?”

“Once you visit Cransyr…”

“I can use that as a reason to visit Lorien—this time at seventh glass. He couldn't even find his saddle that early.”

“The guards may have orders not to let you in.”

“I hope he's not that foolish.” Alastar sighed.

“So do I, dear, but that side of the family hasn't retained the intelligence of the first rex regis.”

At times, Alastar still found it amazing that he was married not only to a descendant of the sister of Bhayar, the first rex regis, but to a descendant of the first maitre of the Collegium. “That's become apparent. I can only hope that Charyn is more perceptive than his sire.”

Alyna nodded, leaving unsaid the possibility that Charyn becoming the next rex might well not occur until Alastar was no longer alive, given that he was almost fifteen years older than Lorien.

“I'd also thought of visiting Factoria Kathila tomorrow to see what she might know about poisons, and who might produce them in quantity.”

“Quantity?”

“I have my doubts that just five bullets were poisoned.” He paused. “But I did promise some boot or shoe buckles…”

“You need a geometric design?”

“If you would … and I thought you should come with me … so I don't overcommit.”

“Wise of you.” Alyna's voice was humorously dry.

“I try.”

“I'll make you a design after breakfast tomorrow.”

“The other matter is that the Factors' Council was supposed to have met today. I've had no word about that, but then, Elthyrd wouldn't necessarily feel bound to let me know anything.”

“He didn't send you any messages, did he?”

“No.”

“Then they didn't decide anything, or he decided he wasn't about to let you know what they decided.”

“I think I'd prefer the first,” Alastar said dryly. “I can send him a message, letting him know about what happened to Harl, and asking if he or the council might have any information about why someone would shoot at imagers returning to the Collegium.”

“That might be better than going to see him again so soon, and you wouldn't have to leave Imagisle by yourself immediately, since he wouldn't take to my accompanying you there.”

“You're right.” He offered a grin. “And you're worried, too.” He put his arms around her, and hers went around him.

 

14

Once he was in his Collegium study on Samedi morning, after checking with Akoryt to make sure that all student imagers understood that they were restricted to Imagisle until further notice, Alastar immediately wrote a short letter to Elthyrd explaining about the shooting on the previous day and the use of poisoned bullets, and noting that he thought the factors should be aware that such weapons were now in use. He closed by expressing the concerns he shared with the factors about the unhappy circumstances that had led to Hulet's death.

After having Maercyl dispatch the letter, with instructions to assign a third with strong shields, Alastar made his way to Thelia's small study.

“What is it, Maitre?”

“As you have doubtless heard, Tertius Harl was killed by a poisoned bullet yesterday when someone fired a rifle at three of us. According to Maitre Gaellen, the poison was possibly a combination of bleufleur and something else that causes convulsions. While poisons have always been a part of Solidaran life, this is the first time I know of that a bullet has been poisoned.”

“And you're asking me?”

“Your mother deals with oils, scents, and other substances. What I'd like to know from you is whether she would have any knowledge of the various poisons and their sources in more than minute quantities … or whether asking her about that would be tantamount to a deadly insult.”

“As far as I know, she has never dealt in poisons as such. Some substances which her factorages use can be quite dangerous, but I've never heard of any of them being employed as poisons. They smell too odoriferous to be useful that way. She often does know what is being traded or offered. I doubt that she would be offended by a request for information. She is most practical.”

“Thank you. That will be useful.”

With that, Alastar returned to his study and picked up the square of paper with the precise geometric design that Alyna had so carefully inscribed just after breakfast that morning, and made his way to the Collegium factorage, largely deserted in the morning, except for Tertius Akkard, the smith who was principal assistant to Maitre Arthos.

“Good morning, Akkard. I need a bit of silver for some imaging. Scraps or even ore will do.”

“We got some ore on Mardi, sir. I don't know how good it is.”

“I'll find out for you.”

“Maitre Arthos would be obliged, sir.”

“Lead the way.” Alastar followed Akkard from the workroom and to the far south end of the building where the forge and the anvils were located.

Akkard pointed. “In that barrel, sir. Well … and the others behind it as well.”

Alastar surveyed the rocks in the first barrel, some of which had dark squarish metallic-looking lumps surrounded by white crystals, and some of which just looked like ordinary rock. He decided to concentrate on imaging out a lump of silver, roughly a fifth the size of his palm.

Moments later, an oval silver shape sat on the anvil. Alastar had only felt a momentary flash of light-headedness, but he shouldn't have felt that. He turned to Akkard. “I'd be careful with that ore. It doesn't seem to have that much silver in it.”

“It never does, sir. That lump is a lot more than Maitre Arthos would ever try.”

“I'm afraid that shows how little I know about ore.”

“What are you going to do with it, Maitre … if I might ask?”

“Image something out of it to repay a favor.” Alastar smiled. “Come along.” He walked from the forge area back to the empty workroom, picking the end of the table where the light shone through the window onto the polished wood.

There he set down the lump of silver and then laid the paper with Alyna's geometric image on it beside the lump. Once more, he concentrated, focusing on replicating the design exactly. In an instant, beside the slightly diminished lump was a single shimmering boot buckle. In another moment, a second lay beside the first.

Sensing the heat from the pair, Alastar left them on the table and looked to Akkard.

“They're … beautiful.” It was almost as if the third didn't want to use the word … or that he wasn't sure what to make of the design.

“Thank you. They should serve the purpose. Now … how are you doing with Maitre Arthos?”

“Very well, sir.”

“I take it you prefer the forge to escort duty?” Alastar concealed a smile, but only for a moment, then added, “I'm glad you do.” He took a small box from his jacket pocket, opened it, and eased the buckles into the box, and then returned the box to his pocket. He put the silver lump and the design in his other pocket. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

By the time Alastar returned to his study, Alyna was waiting.

“I had Maercyl ready the horses. I told him we wouldn't need escorts.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your coming with me.” He took out the box and handed it to her. While she opened the box, he set the lump of silver and the design on the table desk.

“Very stylish,” Alyna affirmed, replacing the top on the plain wooden box and returning it to Alastar. “They're worth more than what you received.”

“Probably, but I expect more today.”

Her eyes went to the silver lump, questioningly.

“I imaged raw silver from some of the ore Arthos had. I overestimated what I needed, but since I'd done it, I thought we might find a use for it.”

“No more silver adornments for the factoria.”

“No, dearest.” Alastar smiled innocently. He had other ideas.

At the rap on the study door, both looked up.

“Your mounts are ready.” Dareyn paused, then asked, “No escorts, Maitre?”

“Not for short rides right now. There would be more danger to them than to us.”
And the last thing we need is more imagers being killed.
Alastar adjusted his visor cap.

The two walked out to where Kaylet, the lead ostler under Petros, held their mounts.

“Good morning, Maitre Alastar … Maitre Alyna.”

“Good morning, Kaylet. Thank you.”

Again, as he watched Alyna mount, Alastar enjoyed seeing the grace with which she did, then hurried into the saddle himself, before they turned westward.

As they neared the west side of Imagisle and the South Bridge, Alastar studied the sentry box that Alyna had imaged, a solid stone structure with a window facing the bridge, and a heavy wooden, but iron-bound door at the back. Alastar blotted his forehead with the back of his hand and looked again at the stone monitoring station. There were even angled ventilation ducts.

The third manning the box watched them from behind the transparent window.

“That's an imposing sentry box, especially with all the vents.”

“I believe that was the idea.”

“It might even stand up to a cannon shell.”

“It might, but I wouldn't want to be inside when it did.”

A quint later, the two reined up outside the low brick-walled structure just off the West River Road west and well south of Imagisle. Alastar couldn't help but note that the factorage windows were clean and actually shone in the morning light.

The same young girl in gray waited on the front step of the factorage. As before, she opened the door for Alyna and Alastar.

The white-haired woman who sat behind the table desk in the small anteroom looked startled, but only for a moment. “Maitres … let me tell the factoria you're here.”

Alastar merely nodded and slipped his visor cap under his arm.

The older woman reappeared immediately, walked down the hall, returned with a chair which she placed in the factoria's study, and then gestured to the door.

After looking to Alyna to indicate she should go first, Alastar followed her into the study, closing the door behind them.

Factoria Kathila was already standing behind the jet-black table desk.

“I apologize for our calling uninvited,” said Alastar, “but I don't believe you've met my wife, Alyna.”

“I have not, but I've heard much of her prowess. I had not realized you were also so attractive.” Kathila smiled, an expression seemingly without guile or undercurrents, at least to Alastar, as she motioned for them to seat themselves.