Treachery's Tools (48 page)

“They are now. Lystara accused Malyna of cheating by imaging. We had a lesson. I hope it took. They had a choice of reading in their rooms or playing nicely.”

“I'm sure the lesson took. You have a way of doing that.”

Alastar had his doubts about that. If his lessons took so well, he wouldn't have had to give them so often.
Except most young people need repetition … and more repetition.
“How is Linzya doing?”

“As well as you might expect. She doesn't understand why he left without a word to her, but she can't believe that he's part of the High Holder rebellion.”

“What else could it be? We've gone over the possibilities. Nothing else makes sense.”

“It doesn't seem to, but sometimes what makes sense is how things turn out, and sometimes, if far fewer times, what seems to make sense is totally wrong.”

“You're withholding judgment?”

“I suspect you're right, but I'm leaving open the possibility that Bettaur might not be as bad as we think.”

“I'd like to think so, but in even the best case, he's going off on his own, and that's not exactly encouraging.”

“You've often gone off on your own, dearest.”

“But not without telling you,” Alastar replied before quickly adding, “Not since we've been married.”

“You were older when we married, and so was I.”

Older, but not necessarily wiser.
“That's true, and there's little we can do. Bettaur could be anywhere.”

Before Alyna could reply, there was a knock on the door. “Mother … you promised you'd play plaques with us when you returned.”

Alyna looked to Alastar and murmured. “Four-hand?”

He nodded.

“Your father and I will both play.”

“Good!”

Alastar couldn't help smiling.

After a glass or so of playing plaques, followed by dinner, it was time for the evening services at the anomen.

As the four left the house, Lystara said, “I wish we didn't have to go to services on Solayi. They're so long.”

“They're very short here,” said Alastar. As he saw Malyna nod, he asked, “How long are they in Rivages?”

“Much, much longer. Chorister Aumyn never stops talking.”

Lystara looked at Malyna, almost unbelievingly, before saying, “Doesn't everyone fall asleep?”

“We couldn't,” replied Malyna. “Father would ask us about the homily when we got home.”

“Maybe we should do that here,” said Alastar, managing to keep the smile out of his words.

“Father…”

“That actually sounds like a very good idea,” added Alyna.

Lystara shot a glare at Malyna, then began to walk faster, as if to leave the older girl behind. Malyna continued at the same pace. After a hundred yards, Lystara stopped and waited for her parents and Malyna to catch up.

When they did, Alyna looked hard at Lystara and said one word. “Enough.”

Lystara seemed to shrink. “I'm sorry, Mother.”

“Your apology is accepted. I expect no more displays like that.”

“Yes, Mother … Father.”

Alastar kept the nod and amusement he felt to himself. He never wanted to receive one of those looks from Alyna.

The anomen service followed the usual pattern, and Alastar followed his usual practice of listening, joining the chorus of refrains and responses and barely singing … until Iskhar got into the evening's homily.

“Does the Nameless value a man or woman by how much land over which they hold sway? Or how many golds are laid up in their strong-room? By the other side of the coin, why should the Nameless value more the poor if that poor man is a beggar who could work and will not because what tasks he could receive pay for are beneath his sense of self-worth? As Rholan once said, ‘Worth is not measured by what one has or does not have, but by what one does with what one has.' That is why imagers have a greater obligation than many others. Imagers have an ability that others do not, and to waste that ability or to misuse it in the quest for power or wealth is one of the worst forms of Naming.…”

As Iskhar went on, Alastar wondered about what the chorister had propounded. Should a poor man or poor woman be forced into labor that destroyed body and spirit simply because they were poor? More than a few imagers had come to the Collegium relatively young and unable to read or write, or with few skills. Even those who were limited in their imaging skills and ended up doing other tasks ended up with a far better life than they would have had. How much worth, even if measured just by accomplishments and not wealth or power, was often the result of chance, of the parents to whom one was born and what they did … or could not do?

He was still mulling over those thoughts as he and Alyna walked back toward the Maitre's house after the service, letting Malyna and Lystara lead the way.

“You were deep in thought in the latter part of Iskhar's homily,” observed Alyna.

“I was thinking about worth, about how sometimes, what one can accomplish is as much a matter of chance as choice.”

“You had little, and you've accomplished much.”

“I was loved and treated as well as my parents could manage, and because I could image and was willing to work hard, I have been able to do what I have done. It was mere chance that I am an imager. My father was a good man, and he was an intelligent man, but he came from little, and fortune deserted him. He worked his entire life until he could no longer work, and he died penniless. I have accomplished more than he did. Am I a better man than he was? I doubt it.”

“You are a good man who has risked his life for others. You have returned the Collegium to a position where young imagers can have a better future. I cannot compare you to others I never knew. Such comparisons are hateful. As far as I'm concerned, they're just another form of Naming.”

Alastar laughed softly. “
That
is a far better homily than what Iskhar offered … and much shorter.”

Alyna smiled and took his hand.

 

29

When Alastar woke on Lundi morning, the sky was so dark that he thought it was too early to be rising, but the thunder and the pounding of rain on the slate roof of the Maitre's house explained the darkness. A roll of thunder reverberated through the bedchamber, but did not rattle the sturdy window frames.

“How heavy is the rain?” asked Alyna, slowly sitting up in bed.

“Bad enough that we won't be running this morning, and if it continues for more than a glass or two, bad enough that there won't be any grain crops left to harvest anywhere around L'Excelsis.”

“Just as the local High Holders thought they might be able to salvage some of their crops,” she added. “I hope it's not this bad in Rivages.”

“Your brother doesn't rely as much on harvests, I thought.”

“He doesn't, but that doesn't mean he won't suffer from too much rain. He'll have to buy grain to feed the tenants and the livestock if it gets bad enough.”

“At least, Lystara will be happy she doesn't have to run this morning.”

“And unhappy that she'll have to wear oilskins to get to her instructionals,” said Alyna, swinging her feet onto the rug beside the bed.

Alastar peered out the window. “It does look like this is coming from the north. I'm going to go out and see if it's having any effect on the river … or rather if it rained north of here and that has already affected the river.”

“You wear your oilskins.”

“I know.” Alastar grinned. “Otherwise, a certain young lady will ask why she has to wear them if her father doesn't. I'll wash up and shave after I get back.” He pulled on his exercise clothes and boots, then headed downstairs, where he donned his oilskin and headed for the front door.

Once he stepped out onto the porch, he noticed one thing immediately—there wasn't that much wind. The rain was coming down heavily, but not in sheets, and it was falling close to straight down. Already, the walks and the stone-paved ways were miniature streams flowing toward the river, with enough depth that Alastar was walking through ankle-deep water. The fact that all of Imagisle had been graded in a way to assure that the water drained—and that the walls and drains still functioned well after four centuries—was just another indication of the skill and foresight of Quaeryt and the original imagers.

Alastar turned toward the eastern side of the isle, since it was marginally closer, and since he also wanted to see how the buildings on the east bank were faring. From the riverwall, he could just barely make out the east bank. The water level was a little less than half a yard higher than it had been the day before, if he remembered accurately, getting all too close to overtopping the riverwalls, and the water was definitely moving faster. That wasn't good. On the other hand, there wasn't likely to be another attempt at a raid using flatboats, not soon, anyway.

Alyna was dressed in her grays and at her desk in the study when he returned. “How is it?”

“The river's rising, but not too fast, and the water level is still half a yard below the lowest point on the riverwalls. If it rises much more, there will be flooding in parts of L'Excelsis.”

“On top of everything else.”

“The rain might slow the rebels down some.”

“Optimist.” The word was said affectionately. “Go get washed and dressed. I'm hungry. So is Lystara.”

Alastar smiled as he hung up the oilskin and then started up the stairs.

Somewhat more than a glass later, after breakfast and wading through the water and continuing rain, Alastar and Alyna—and the girls—finally reached the administration building.

Maercyl was alone at the table desk in the anteroom. “I stopped by Dareyn's cottage. I suggested that it might be best if he didn't come in until the rain stopped. He was going to come, but Elmya and I persuaded him that the last thing he needed was to wade through water.”

“Thank you. I think that was for the best, and I do appreciate your looking out for him. I suspect Elmya did as well.”

“I got that feeling, sir.”

“Are there any messages?”

“Not yet, sir.”

Alastar nodded and then walked into his study. It was just as well there were no messages. If there had been, given the weather, they wouldn't have held good news. He hadn't been in his study more than two quints, most of which he had spent studying the maps of the roads and towns along the River Aluse south of L'Excelsis, when Maercyl rapped on the door.

“Factorius Estafen is here and would like to see you, sir.”

That can't be good.
“Have him come in.” Alastar rose as the comparatively young banking factor entered the study.

Estafen appeared slightly haggard, and there were circles under his eyes that Alastar did not recall from his previous visit less than two weeks earlier, although his black beard remained well trimmed. The lower parts of his trousers were wet, and the leather of his boots was dark with water.

“Good morning, Maitre.”

“You're looking a bit concerned.”

“You're being most polite. Let me say that I'm not at my best, and I'm likely to be even less so. That is why I am here. You did request that I keep you informed.” Estafen's tone was sardonic.

Alastar gestured to the chairs and reseated himself, waiting until Estafen was settled before speaking. “Tell me about it.”

“It's simple, Maitre. No High Holder will pay me what he owes me. Every High Holder who owes me has declared that he will not abide by the rex's denial of the petitions. Nor will any of them submit to the decrees of any justicer requiring repayment.”

“You can point out to other High Holders that you cannot lend to them if those who owe you will not pay … or are all the High Holders refusing to pay anyone anything at the moment?”

“It appears to be that way here in L'Excelsis. Elsewhere, I cannot say.”

Estafen's reply did not surprise Alastar, but did remind him about the need to follow up on Meinyt's idea for a Factors' Council that covered all of Solidar—when the time came. “How long can you hold out? It's likely that anything the rex and the Collegium can do may take several weeks to accomplish what is necessary.”

“If we don't make any more loans, and if too many factors don't want too many of their golds back … a month, maybe two.” Estafen shook his head. “Oh … and then there's Vaschet. He also has declared he will not pay when his note comes due because the Collegium and the rex have almost ruined him. He sent a message telling me to collect from you.”

“One way or another, he will pay,” Alastar said quietly.

“Ah … there is the question of when.”

“There is,” agreed Alastar. “You might have to run an ironworks or sell it to someone who can.”

Estafen swallowed.

“That is,” Alastar continued, “if Vaschet chooses not to pay his just debts.” He smiled pleasantly. “I do appreciate your letting me know about this decision of the High Holders. It's a matter I need to discuss with Rex Lorien. It's likely he'll be even less happy with them than you are. Is there anything else I should know?”

“No, sir.” Estafen paused. “I do hope you are successful in resolving this without it taking all harvest and fall.”

“I doubt it will take that long … but, unhappily, anything is possible.”
Until it is not.
Alastar stood. “Again, I want to thank you for the information.”

“I won't say it was my pleasure, sir, but I'm glad to have been helpful.”

After Estafen had left, Alastar told Maercyl to find him a third with strong shields or a junior maitre, whoever was immediately free, to act as an escort, and then pulled back on his oilskins and headed for the stables. Even after he had saddled the gray gelding, and had one of Petros's assistants saddle another mount, he had to wait almost half a quint before Dylert hurried up at almost a run, his boots splashing through the water, although the rain was not coming down so heavily as it had earlier.