Imager's challenge

16

Samedi morning afforded no rest, not that Samedis ever did. I hurried through everything so that I could get to the studio early enough to set up and-hopefully-to talk to Grandisyn, but he wasn’t anywhere around. I’d have to see him on Lundi, then.

Maitre Rholyn appeared in the studio a few moments before eighth glass.

“The standing position?”

“If you would, sir.” I paused. “Before we begin, might I ask where it appears the Council stands on the question of war with Ferrum?”

“You can certainly ask, but the Council has declared it opposes war and is unlikely to discuss the matter unless the situation changes.”

In short, they’d wait until Ferrum acted.

“Have you thought about my comments of last week?” he asked as he put one foot on the crate.

For a moment I had to search mentally for what he’d said-he’d implied that the Collegium was more authoritarian than even the Council, although his words had been more carefully chosen than that. “Yes, sir. There were several implications behind your words. At least, I thought there were.”

“Such as?” He smiled faintly.

“The implication that while some fictions, such as not overtly conceding the obvious in identifying Council security force members as imagers, may be obvious, they are also necessary.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Manners are often a fiction, yet without them, all too many gatherings and conversations might well end in violence.” I picked up the palette and the fine-tipped brush.

That brought a nod. “Did you . . . ponder any others?”

“I could be mistaken, but I gathered the impression that you implied there was a trade-off between accountability and authority.”

Rholyn frowned, as I’d hoped he might. “How did you reach that conclusion?”

“You discussed how the Council must reach a consensus for a decision, but how the Collegium almost always accepts the decision of the chief maitre. The difference is that all know that the Maitre D’Collegium is fully accountable to the Collegium and can be replaced by a vote of all masters at any time, whereas councilors serve fixed terms, regardless of their actions. Also, seldom, if ever, is a single councilor made accountable for a Council action. Thus, it is clear that while the Maitre D’Collegium is accountable, such sole accountability is far from clear with the Council of Solidar, even when the Executive Council acts independently.”

Maitre Rholyn laughed. I thought the sound was a trace forced.

“In time, you might well represent the Collegium before the Council, Rhenn.”

“I think not, sir. I am not always the best at reserving my views for the time most appropriate for disclosure.”

“That may come with experience.” He turned his head. “This way?”

“A bit more toward me.”

After that, Rholyn did not mention anything of great import. Once he departed, a few moments before ninth glass, I cleaned up the studio, then looked once more for Grandisyn, who remained nowhere to be found, and hastened back to the quadrangle for my fitting.

Based on the way I felt matters would be going over the weekend, after my fitting with the tailor, I immediately took a hack from the west side of the Bridge of Desires to see Khethila and Father at the factorage. As soon as the hack stopped and I stepped out, I could see that something was wrong. There was a definite odor of smoke and burned wool, and Eilthyr was standing outside by the front doors, propped wide open, just below the tasteful sign proclaiming Alusine Wool, set on the yellow bricks of the wall comprising the long front of the one-story building. The loading docks were in back, more toward the south end, but still out of sight.

“Master Rhennthyl, we’re closed ’cause of the fire, but Mistress Khethila and Factor Chenkyr are inside.”

“A fire? Where?” A coldness flashed down my spine.

“In the back on the north end.”

I hurried up the steps to the open double oak doors and inside, where the heavy acrid odor of smoke assaulted me. I glanced beyond the open area before the racks that held the swathes of various wools. To the right was another set of racks with the lighter fabrics-muslin, cotton, linen. Behind that was the raised platform with desks and files from where Father-and now Khethila-could watch the entry.

Khethila hurried toward me. I didn’t see Father.

“Rhenn . . . how did you know?”

“I had a feeling I should come.” That was accurate enough. “What happened? How bad is it?”

“Someone pried open the boarded-up window in the small storeroom-the one Father converted-and threw something in-something like a glass jug of lamp oil. Everything there is ruined, but Sherol-the night watch-he stopped the flames. He was burned badly.”

“He’s dead?”

She shook her head. “Father doesn’t think he’ll live, but he’s still alive. He’s at the South Hospital of the Nameless.”

“Where’s Father?”

“He’s in back. The Civic Patrol and the fire brigade left a while ago. The Patrol wasn’t that helpful. Oh, they were nice enough, but how can you find someone that no one even saw? It’s not like they stole goods that might be traced, or even golds. Even before this, it wasn’t that good a week.”

“Something happened in Kherseilles?”

She nodded wearily. “One of the properties adjoining the factorage building was sold. The new owner required a survey. He claims the building wall and the courtyard wall were built on his land. He’s asking that they be removed-or for five hundred golds to convey the property that the walls were built on. The discrepancy is all of half a yard. Five hundred golds for a strip twenty yards long and half a yard wide.”

“Who’s the new owner?”

“Rousel doesn’t know. The Banque D’Rivages is handling it through the Banque D’Kherseilles.”

“How long since Father built the place?” I thought it had been ten years.

“Nine years.” She shook her head. “Ten, and it wouldn’t matter.”

“Can’t Father require compensation from the original surveyor?”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.” I had a very good idea who was behind what had happened, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the surveys and documents presented had even been forged or altered, but, again, with the surveyor dead, and the details almost ten years old, I doubted that there was any way to prove what I instinctively knew.

“Rhenn . . . do you know something?”

“No.” I didn’t know. “Seliora’s family might be able to find out who’s behind it. Or I might. Even if I can, though, it will be hard to find any proof.”

“That’s what Father said.”

“He might ask his friend Veblynt, though. He knows people.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I’m going back to see Father.”

“He’ll be glad to see you.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I made my way through the racks of woolens, most of which would require a good airing out, if not more. Some of them might not be salvageable.

Father was standing in the doorway of the small storeroom. Two men I didn’t know were using large sponges to collect water and squeeze it into buckets that they emptied out through the window that had been boarded shut and pried open by the arsonists.

Father turned. “Khethila thought you might be here.” He gestured around the small room. Most of the racks were charred. “A good three to four hundred golds’ worth of ruined wool, and a good man who saved us from total ruin who will like as not die.”

He turned from the room and shut the door before looking at me. “Do you know who might have done this?”

“It’s not someone who knows the business,” I said. “They would have forced one of the doors next to the loading docks, and they would have used more oil.”

“That means it’s someone who just wants to hurt factors-like those Tiempran religious fools or Jariolan sympathizers. Or it’s personal.”

I nodded. “Has anyone gotten mad at you lately? Or have you had to collect?”

Father shook his head. “Oaletyr’s been a season late in paying all year, and there are a couple of tailors I’ll never get paid by, but they wouldn’t do this. Have you upset anyone?”

“A dead Ferran envoy, and a few dead assassins, but people don’t usually attack imagers’ families because we can’t inherit anything.”

“You can’t?” His tone of voice told me that he hadn’t known that.

“No. And it can’t go from you to any children. Now . . . if I married Seliora, her property and golds could go to them, but nothing from my family.”

“Then . . . why . . . who?”

“You might ask your friend Veblynt, and I’ll see what I can find out.” I wasn’t about to tell Father what I suspected, because, first, there was no proof, and second, if I happened to be right, no one in my family should know anything at all. I didn’t even like telling Seliora, but her family at least had experience in dealing with what I suspected I and mine were facing.

We walked slowly back to rejoin Khethila.

“I’ve been checking the bolts out here,” she said. “Most of them will be all right.”

While there wasn’t that much that I could do, it was two glasses later before I felt that I could leave, and it took nearly half a glass to get a hack headed back north.

Seliora and I had not made any specific plans for the evening, just that I would arrive around half past four, but the hack dropped me off outside the private entrance closer to a quint past third glass. I held shields and glanced around carefully as I made my way to the steps, despite Seliora’s statement a week earlier about Grandmama Diestra calling in some favors. Still . . . no one shot at me.

Bhenyt was the one to open the door and greet me. “You’re early.”

“Something happened. If you’d tell Seliora, I’ll wait in the main foyer, if that’s all right.”

With a nod, Bhenyt was gone, and another quint passed while I sat on the chair that had been designed for the ruined High Holder Tierchyl, thinking about exactly what I could do and how. I certainly couldn’t go running off to wherever Ryel’s main holding house was. First, I didn’t know where it was. Second, I didn’t know where he was. Third, I had no idea exactly how to best do what needed to be done-or what exactly that might be, given the way High Holders clearly held grudges. Fourth, I needed to make sure that whatever I did would not run afoul of the rules of the Collegium, although Maitre Dyana’s words suggested I could do almost anything so long as it never became public or linked to me. And, fifth, while I suspected, even knew, that Ryel was behind the arson, if I acted before his acts became known, I’d end up destroying myself, if not my entire family.

When I heard Seliora’s steps, I immediately stood and walked toward the archway at the bottom of the staircase. She was wearing deep green trousers, a paler green blouse, and a jacket to match the trousers. Her earrings were silver studs with green stones, and she wore a silver chain with a pendant that looked to be jadeite, matching the earrings.

She gave me a hug and a warm kiss, then wrinkled her nose. “You smell . . . like smoke.”

“I’m certain I do. I think I’m going to need even more help. I’ve just come from the factorage. Last night, someone set a fire there. . . .” I explained as quickly as I could what had happened there-and in Kherseilles.

“It has to be Ryel,” she said. “Who else would have the golds-or care that much?”

“I know that, but there’s not a shred of proof. Even the card with the silver ribbon couldn’t be traced.” I stopped. “There’s one other thing. On Meredi night after I talked to Horazt . . . Oh, I need to tell you about that as well . . . but, first . . . I was walking back down South Middle, and I felt this flash in my head. That’s what it felt like, and I saw flames leaping from a hole in a brick wall-”

“You had a farsight flash?”

“Is that what you call it? I feel so stupid. I didn’t even recognize what I was seeing, I mean, where it was. But it’s been a good ten years, if not longer since I’ve really looked at the back of the factorage, on the north end away from the loading docks. There’s nothing there, just plain old grimy bricks.”

She shook her head. “Rhenn . . . you may be an imager master, but you need help. What do you plan on doing?”

“Nothing . . . not until I learn enough to know what I can do and how. For the moment, I need at least a rough map to High Holder Ryel’s estate-the one here, north of L’Excelsis, and a way to get there. According to what Maitre Dyana has said, Ryel won’t do anything for a while now. He’ll drag it out so that he can be sure that I’ll suffer and yet not be able to do anything. That’s the way they work. Also, if something happens too soon . . .” I shook my head. “I’m just guessing. If I act too soon, I’ll end up in trouble I can’t escape, and if I wait too long, I’ll run out of time.”

She nodded. “He’ll be expecting you.”

“I’m certain he will be, but he can’t very well stop everyone passing by his grounds and gates, and I may find a better approach, but I need to look.”

“We can take you there in one of the wagons. We’ve often delivered things on Solayi.”

“Not to Ryel?”

“No, but no one cares what tradespeople do, especially if we look to be working.” She looked at me more intently. “You’re pale. Have you eaten?”

“No,” I admitted. “Not since breakfast.”

“We can go over to Terraza. They’re open all afternoon on Samedi. It will be quiet. Then we can come back here and discuss what you need and how we can help.”

That was fine with me.