Imager’s Intrigue

35

For the first two glasses on Jeudi morning, from seventh glass to ninth glass, I met with three of the four remaining junior imagers for whom I had become preceptor-Haugyl, Marteon, and Shault. I didn’t have to spend quite so much time with Shault, because I’d been more involved with him from the time Horazt had brought him to Imagisle.

Before he left, though, he did ask, “Will you still watch out for Third District, sir?”

“As I can, but Captain Alsoran also knows the district, and he will do well.”

“Yes, sir.”

I could tell that didn’t totally convince him, and I understood his concern, since Horazt was his “uncle” and his mother still lived in Third District and likely always would, at least until and if Shault attained the rank of Maitre. That was likely years away, since I’d been one of the youngest Maitres when I’d become a Maitre D’Aspect at twenty-six.

Once I’d ushered Shault out, I went looking for Ferlyn, but he wasn’t in his study. Asomyd, the duty second in the administration building, couldn’t say where he might be, other than he’d left with Quaelyn, the not-quite-ancient pattern-master of the Collegium and Ferlyn’s mentor.

After that, I checked with Kahlasa and Schorzat, but neither had any new information, either about events in Cloisera or about leased, sold, or missing barges. As I thought about the afternoon, and the memorial service, where Iryela was certain to be, I realized that I’d never followed up on what might have happened to her brother. He hadn’t been mentioned in any of the recent reports from the Collegium at Mont D’Glace, only in the older report that Dichartyn had received. So I drafted a quick inquiry and sent Beleart to post it.

By then it was noon. Since I knew Baratyn would be at the Council Chateau, after a quiet mid-day meal at the dining hall, I took one of the duty coaches and, again, had the driver-Desalyt, this time-wait so that I’d have a ride down to the Council Anomen for Suyrien’s public memorial service at second glass.

I did enter the Chateau through the narrow gate at the rear, the one reserved for the security force. Although I hadn’t been to the Council Chateau recently, the obdurate guards had clearly been briefed, because the duty sentry outside greeted me by name.

The Council wasn’t in session, and the corridors were quiet, but Baratyn was in his study, seated at his desk and looking down at several sheets of paper. The chamber was without decoration except for the two wall hangings. The large hanging on the wall to the right depicted the four-pointed star of the Collegium Imago. The one on the left depicted the Council emblem, a sheaf of grain crossed by a hammer and a sword. The hangings also concealed, I knew from my time in Council security, listening tubes connected to a number of public places in the Council Chateau, although I doubted anyone but Baratyn could have overheard that much from some of the tubes.

“Good afternoon,” I offered.

“Maitre Rhennthyl…you surprised me. No one visits when the Council is out.”

“That’s why I’m here.” I slipped closed the study door and took one of the chairs opposite him, gesturing for him to sit down. “I need your information and insight.’

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Among a few other things,” I replied dryly.

“There are a few.”

“You do follow the Council deliberations and debates, don’t you?” I was fairly certain he did, but Dichartyn had never actually gone into that with me.

“As I can. I listen more to what is said outside the Council chambers.”

That wasn’t surprising, given all the listening tubes that fed into his study, and the fact that Baratyn doubtless used personal concealment shields. “Which is more valuable, I suspect.”

“Often.” Baratyn smiled faintly.

“I have the impression that Caartyl, for all that he may say publicly, tends to ally himself far more with the High Holders than with the factors. Is this so, or am I missing something?”

Baratyn tilted his head slightly, then frowned before he spoke. “I don’t know that it’s that simple. He’s opposed to anything that might give the factors more power. I even overheard him arguing with Alucion several months ago. He told the old stonecutter that having Glendyl in charge of the Executive Council would be even worse than having Haestyr succeed Suyrien. He also said that, for now, Suyrien was the best to head the Council.” He laughed softly. “Not that there’s much choice now.”

“But?” I paused before adding, “You said it wasn’t that simple.”

“Caartyl’s also fought for better working conditions for those on High Holder lands, and he’s sided with Glendyl on measures to reduce the scope of punishments allowed under High Holder low justice.”

“Did those measures succeed?”

“They finally passed at the end of Erntyn, but they won’t take effect until the beginning of the new year. All the factor Councilors and all the guild Councilors voted for them. In the end, Suyrien brought the measure up for a vote and supported them, against the other High Holders, but I think that was to get some concessions.”

“What concessions?”

“There were some changes before the final vote by the Council. How many were trade-offs or concessions and how many were technical improvements might be a matter of opinion. One change dealt with justiciary review. Under the original proposal, any complaint of abuse of low justice required witnesses and proof before it could be reviewed by a regional justicer. The change added one more requirement. If a complaint is brought by anyone in the immediate family of the High Holder, it must also be co-signed by an individual who is neither employed by the High Holder nor a member of his immediate family.”

“How did they define immediate family?”

“Mother, wife, children, grandchildren, or sibling.”

“I can understand why the High Holders might want that. Did anyone speak against the provision?”

“How could they? No one but the Council even knew about the change. I doubt if any factors or guild Councilors really care about what happens in a High Holder’s family.”

“Would any other change have made a bigger effect than was obvious?”

“There was one…” mused Baratyn. “Under the final law, any low justice sentence that results in permanent injury to the malefactor may be appealed to the Solidaran regional justicer for damages. Suyrien insisted that, when appeals were denied, the malefactor be held responsible for a minimum of one third of the costs of the appeal.”

“Those living on High Holder lands couldn’t afford anything like even a tenth of those costs,” I pointed out. “That would greatly reduce the number of appeals, especially for those with families. It might even effectively stop them altogether. And no one in the Council said anything?”

“Councilor Hemwyt objected, and Suyrien pointed out that without some cost-sharing, every case where a malefactor could prove any sort of injury of the most minor sort would end up being appealed. In the end, Suyrien agreed to reduce the cost-share to one fifth, and the measure was passed that way.”

“Were there any other ‘minor’ changes?”

“Some were technical corrections, changes in terms, but there was one other. It required, for purposes of evaluations and levies, that all property be assessed in value at market value on the thirty-fifth of Finitas each year. There was some considerable debate on that, but the factors and the guilds all agreed with Suyrien. Once they saw the language they immediately wanted it adopted.”

“The last day of the year has always been the traditional date for assessments and valuations for everyone else,” I pointed out. “I imagine that’s why they liked the idea.”

“Some of the High Holders-as I recall, Haestyr and Regial-protested that it didn’t take into account that agricultural goods are valued at harvest prices, and that lands are valued off of crop yields.”

There was definitely something there, but I’d have to look into that. Ferlyn might be able to help me. “Who would have been affected by that? Besides Haestyr and Regial?”

“In practice, it would have hurt all the High Holders who only have lands and herds, such as those north of Cloisonyt or in the prairies and woods of the northwest. It might affect those around Asseroiles, like Haestyr.”

Certainly every High Holder would have favored the first two changes, but would the third one have angered another High Holder enough to have him break the traditional practice of never using direct violence against another High Holder? Or would one of the wealthier factors or one of the guild representatives have wanted Suyrien dead because he was effective in subtly undermining reforms of the worst abuses by High Holders?

“Do you know why Suyrien wanted the valuation change?”

“He only said that he felt a uniform system of valuation was necessary, one that treated factors, crafters, shop keepers, and High Holders in the same fashion, and one that didn’t include speculation in valuation.”

That sounded like Suyrien. “Do you have any ideas about what he really had in mind?”

Baratyn shook his head. “He must have had something in mind, but what ever it was, I never knew.”

I could believe that. “I have a duty coach. Would you like to ride with me to the anomen for Suyrien’s memorial service?”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

I stood, and we walked out through the security doors and gate to the coach.

Baratyn said nothing, even after we were moving away from the Chateau.

“Do you have any idea who might have arranged for Suyrien’s shooting?” I finally asked.

He shook his head. “It took place at his L’Excelsis estate, not here. I was told that he was walking down to the boat house on the river.”

That made sense, because getting close to a High Holder on his own estate would have been difficult, while the river was open to anyone with a boat. Still…someone had to have reconnoitered the estate in order to know from where on the river what part of the estate could be vulnerable to a sniper.

Although we arrived almost a quint before the service was to begin, over a hundred people were already standing in the anomen, and murmurs filled the hall. I eased over to the left, almost against the wall some three yards back from the first line of those who were already there. I didn’t see Maitre Dyana, but I hadn’t expected her. Maitre Rholyn was in the second rough row back, but on the far side of the anomen from us. I didn’t see anyone else from the Collegium, although I did see Glendyl and Caartyl, on opposite sides of the hall. There was no one in military uniform, either.

As the bells struck the glass, the family walked in from the left side and stood in a line facing the front of the anomen.

I didn’t know the chorister who stepped up to the pulpit. That wasn’t surprising, since I’d never attended services at the Council Anomen. He was tall and thin, with silvering hair. “We are gathered here together this afternoon in the spirit of the Nameless, in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do, and in celebration of the life of Suyrien D’Alte, High Holder and Councilor of Solidar, a man distinguished in all that he did.”

The opening hymn was “The Glory of the Nameless.” I sang, but as quietly as possible. Beside me, Baratyn sang even more softly, if that were indeed possible.

Then came the confession.

“We do not name You, for naming is a presumption, and we would not presume upon the creator of all that was, is, and will be….” As the words of the confession echoed through the anomen, I glanced around, my eyes coming to rest on Suyrien’s family at the front, a silver-haired woman flanked by Frydryk and Alynkya on one side and by Kandryl and Iryela on the other, with a younger woman, who was probably a sister, beside Iryela.

“In peace and harmony,” came the response.

After that came the charge from the chorister. “Life is a gift from the Nameless, for from the glory of the Nameless do we come; through the glory of the Nameless do we live, and to that glory do we return. Our lives can only reflect and enhance that glory, as did that of Suyrien, whom we honor, whom we remember, and who will live forever in our hearts and in the glory of the Nameless.”

Another hymn followed-“Honor Has No Name.”

“No honor bears a name, for in acts alone lies virtue,

Nameless is the goodness that prompts the best in all they do…”

I agreed with the sentiments and words of the hymn, but both the music and the words were strained, as often was the case when philosophy or religion mixed with music.

Then the chorister said, “Now we will hear from Frydryk D’Suyrien, speaking for the family.”

The memorial service would be the last time Frydryk would be called that publicly. After the service, he would be Suyrien D’Alte, probably called “Young Suyrien” for a time. As was the custom, Frydryk did not take the pulpit, but the topmost step of the sacristy dais. He faced the more than two hundred people who had come to pay their respects to the family, or more accurately, I suspected, to sign the registry to ensure that their presences were known to the family.

Frydryk had to clear his throat several times before he finally began. “My father, above all, was an honorable man. He believed in honor in word and deed above all else. From the time we were children, he stressed the importance of honor. He believed that even true love was not possible if a man and woman did not enter into it with honor…”

I listened carefully as Frydryk catalogued in more than moderate length all the ways in which his sire had been honorable and managed not to sigh in relief when he had finished. I was sure he believed all he had said, and I was equally sure that Suyrien had believed it and that he was more honorable than the vast majority of High Holders. Unhappily, given the way most of them construed “honor” and the fashion in which all too many of them ignored it in practice, Frydryk wasn’t saying as much as he thought he had said.

Once Frydryk rejoined his family, the chorister moved to the pulpit again. “At this time, we wear gray and green, gray for the uncertainties of life, and green for its triumph, manifested every year in the coming of spring. So is it that, like nature, we come from the grayness of winter and uncertainty into life which unfolds in uncertainty, alternating between gray and green, and in the end return to the life and glory of the Nameless. In that spirit, let us offer thanks for the spirit and the life of Suyrien D’Alte. Let us remember him as a child, a youth, a man, a husband, and a father, as not just a Councilor, but as a man devoted to Solidar and to the spirit of serving to the best of his considerable abilities, not merely a name, but as a living breathing person whose spirit touched many. Let us set aside the gloom of mourning, and from this day forth, recall the glory of Suyrien D’Alte’s life and the warmth and joy he has left with us…”

With those words, all the women let the mourning scarves slip from their hair.

Then came the traditional closing hymn-“For the Glory.”

“For the glory, for the life,

for the beauty and the strife,

for all that is and ever shall be,

all together, through forever,

in eternal Nameless glory…”

After a long and respectful silence, people began to slip away, particularly those at the back, who had doubtless signed the register already. More than fifty others remained, because many of them either wanted to offer condolences to Frydryk and Alynkya or Kandryl and Iryela or to Kandryl’s sister, whose name I didn’t even know.

I needed to speak to several of them, for differing reasons, but I waited for a couple I didn’t know to offer their words before approaching Iryela and Kandryl. Kandryl wasn’t quite red-eyed, and Iryela looked perfectly composed. I inclined my head to them. “I’m very sorry. While I didn’t know your father that well, he was always cheerful and good to me.”

“Thank you, Rhenn,” offered Kandryl.

Iryela nodded.

“I have sent inquiries, about Johanyr,” I added in a much lower voice to her, “but I have heard nothing yet.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Then I waited behind Councilor Alucion and his wife to speak to Frydryk.

When I stepped forward, Frydryk actually spoke first. “I thought you would be here, Rhenn.”

“I’m very sorry. He was a good and honorable man and Councilor.”

Frydryk studied my face. “You were attacked also, I heard. I can see bruises everywhere.”

“There are many more,” I replied wryly, “but one can heal from bruises.”

He nodded. “I appreciate your coming.”

“I don’t wish to intrude, but…might I call on you tomorrow?”

Frydryk frowned.

“I wish it were otherwise, but it may bear on your father’s death.”

“Half past ninth glass at the town estate,” he finally said.

“Thank you. If matters were not so urgent, I would not have pressed on you.”

Alynkya looked to me, then reached out, took Frydryk’s hand, leaned toward him, and murmured something.

Frydryk nodded, if almost imperceptibly. “I’m reminded that you have always been thoughtful in times like these, and for you to insist declares that urgency.” He offered a faint smile. “Tomorrow.”

I inclined my head in reply and stepped away to allow those behind me a chance to offer their condolences. Baratyn had slipped away, and I finally located the duty coach that had brought me amid the forty or so lined up around the anomen and along the Boulevard D’Council.

Ferlyn was in his study when I finally returned to the Collegium. Every digit of wall space in the tiny room was filled with bookcases, and every shelf was overflowing with either books or papers. There were even books stacked on the single windowsill.

“I heard you were looking for me, sir.”

“I was. I have a few questions where I thought the skill of a pattern-master might help.”

“I think we often raise more questions than resolve any.”

“That’s possible with anyone, but I’d still appreciate your thoughts.” I picked up the books piled on the single chair and stacked them on top of more books on the desk before sitting down. “You know the requirement for a High Holder to be the head of the Executive Council?”

“How could I not? I assume you’re asking how many High Holders already do not meet the requirements set forth in the Council compact.”

“Do you know?”

Ferlyn shook his head. “No one knows for certain, because there’s always been a discrepancy in valuations between those High Holders like Suyrien and Ryel, who have manufactories and industrial facilities, and those like Haestyr and Haebyn, whose wealth lies in land and forests and other agricultural assets. Haestyr has been pressing for a strict interpretation of the original language, in which craft-related assets were valued at half those of land-related assets.”

“Then, there’s something you should know.” I went on to explain about the change in valuations slipped through by Suyrien.

When I finished, for the first time since I’d taken Dichartyn’s position, Ferlyn looked truly surprised. After a silence, he said, “It’s not surprising that he was shot. It might be surprising that he wasn’t shot earlier.”

“Because the change in valuation will mean some High Holders won’t be able to retain their position and rights?”

“There might be as many as fifty, and Quaelyn has calculated that there are presently 1,034 High Holders. Master Poincaryt knew about those calculations, but whether he told Maitre Dyana or Maitre Dichartyn, I don’t know. We did not tell anyone else-except you, now.”

I had wondered about the issue of the number of High Holders for some time, but particularly after learning of Suyrien’s changes to the “reform” proposals. “Do you happen to know how many High Holders there were when the Council was formed?”

“No one knows for certain. They probably didn’t then, either. From the documents we’ve searched, it appears that there were close to two thousand.”

That explained, in some ways, why the High Holders had accepted the thousand holder threshold for the reduction of High Holder power. It had probably been a concession granted because none of them could have envisioned such a reduction in their numbers, even over the hundreds of years since then.

“Does our Naval Command reflect the patterns of the past, or has it changed more toward the Ferran set of patterns?”

Ferlyn blinked, obviously startled by the change in the subject matter of my questions.

I waited.

“We’ve talked in the past about the goals of warfare, and the patterns involved,” he began. “There are two key questions. The first is the overall mission of the Navy, and the second is what force and support structure will best accomplish that mission. Historically, the mission has been a dual one-to assure open and unrestricted trade, and to dominate the oceans in such a fashion that no other land can threaten our merchant and Naval vessels. The problem inherent in such a split mission is that it requires a larger navy than either part of that mission will alone…the Ferran mission is limited to restricting the influence and power of our fleets and ships. That means they attempt to develop vessels and weapons systems designed specifically for use against our warships, while we must also have capabilities they do not. For example, we have Naval marines for boarding, as well as high speed launches and gunboats…”

I continued to wait, knowing that Ferlyn would eventually get to the point.

“…do not have the range of information that you or Dichartyn possess, but from what I have seen, the recent requests from the Naval Command suggest a re-focusing on ships more capable of engaging the Ferran dreadnoughts…”

When I finally left Ferlyn, more than a few thoughts, many of them conflicting, were swirling through my mind.