Madness in Solidar (35 page)

Cyran and the two thirds emerged from the third shop on the south side of the lane and walked slowly toward Alastar and the other imagers.

“Four of the shops are empty—both of those on the corner. The second one on the north side seems almost abandoned. It didn't look to be a working apothecary. The last of the three on the south side hasn't been emptied, but there's no one inside.”

Alastar nodded. “We'll take them down one at a time.” He gestured for the imager work party, except for Alyna, to ride closer to him, then began to explain. “We'll start by removing the ground for the approach, then the first shops on each side. I'll begin the building removal with the first shop on the south side so that you can see how I'd like you to proceed…” As he explained, he studied the faces of the imagers. Desyrk avoided looking at him directly, but seemed to be paying attention.

Less than a quint later, Alyna chalked the curb lines to the point where they stopped at the walls of the first shops. Then she carried her equipment back to her mount and looked to Alastar, as if to suggest that until the shops were removed, she could do no more.

Alastar wasn't certain exactly how much he could do, or what might have been left in the shop. For that reason, among others, he had all the imagers move well north on the ring road before he began to concentrate on the shop on the south side of the lane, concentrating on removing it, and adding the stone curbing along the line chalked out by Alyna, with a paved sidewalk behind the curb, even though he'd thought that would come later.

Dust rose, then vanished, leaving a cleared and open space, with the curb in place and open ground where the angled approach to the avenue would be. The first thing that Alastar noticed was that the rear of the building on the other side of the alley to the south was decrepit and ugly. Almost without thinking, he imaged a neat stone facade … and his head felt like he'd been hit with a club.

For several moments, Alastar just sat in the saddle, his head throbbing as he saw little besides flashes of light before his eyes.

“Maitre?”

For an instant, the word didn't mean anything. Then he looked through the flashes to make out Alyna reaching up from where she stood beside the gelding and extending a water bottle. He wondered how she had gotten so close.

“It's dark lager. It should help.”

He didn't argue. He took the water bottle, uncorked it carefully, and drank slowly. Within moments, the worst of the light flashes had subsided, although his head still ached. He looked down at Alyna. “Thank you.”

“Keep it. I brought two.”

“That merits double thanks.” After another swallow of the lager—more than welcome—Alastar gestured to Desyrk. “Remove what you can of the building on the north corner.”

Desyrk nodded, but did not speak. He eased his mount closer to the building, closer than Alastar would have wished.

Because he needs to see more clearly?

More dust and grit rose from the north corner. When it cleared, Alastar saw that Desyrk had managed to remove the west and south walls and perhaps a third of the roof and the space behind them. As he continued to watch, more of the roof collapsed, as well as part of the floor and the interior supports, leaving rubble partly on the cleared area and behind it.

“See what you can add, Khaelis,” Alastar said.

In less than half a quint, between Khaelis, Shaelyt, and Petros, the ground where the first shop on the north side had been was clear.

“Maitre Alyna … if you would chalk in where the sewer ditches should be…” Alastar paused. “Chalk a square a yard on a side where they begin. That way, if necessary they can be linked to another set of drains.”

When Alastar finished speaking, Cyran gestured to the west. A chateau guard rode along the ring road, then headed toward the imagers, as if he had not expected to see them. Tertius Coermyd moved to intercept him. Alastar watched as the guard halted and said something, and then as Coermyd turned his mount and rode toward him, reining up a few yards away.

“Maitre, sir … the guard says that Rex Ryen wants you at the Chateau D'Rex immediately.”

“Tell him you and I will be with him in a few moments. Cyran, you're in charge, but Maitre Alyna will direct the imaging until I return. If the rex requires me for an extended period, do not proceed farther than creating the avenue to the point even with the end of the shops to be removed. If the imagers become too tired, you can stop work at any time.”

“Yes, Maitre.” Cyran nodded.

Alastar took another swallow from Alyna's water bottle, then turned his mount toward the chateau guard.

Less than a quint later, he was walking into the chateau study he had seen all too often over the past two weeks.

“Why can't you be here this quickly all the time?” demanded Ryen from where he sat behind the desk piled with papers, some of which Alastar thought had not been moved since his last visit.

“Because I'm usually not working with imagers just off the ring road. Your courier happened to see the imagers and came to see if I happened to be with them. I was.”

“Oh … the new avenue. It's about time.” Ryen's voice was dismissive, but he looked directly at Alastar with an icy glare. “You're doing better on that, late as you are, than getting the High Council to stop opposing my tariffs. What do you have to say to that, Master Maitre?”

That I'm getting tired of your stubbornness and tantrums.
“I'm working on it.”

“Working on it? Do you call suggesting I might compromise working on it?” Ryen's voice increased in pitch and volume. “Why did you make such an idiotic Namer-blessed suggestion?”

“To see how they would respond.”

“I frigging know how they'll respond! The same way they always have! By refusing!”

“I wanted to see if there was any possibility of you and the Council coming to an agreement.”

“The only agreement I'll accept is what I told you, a copper on a half silver.”

“They won't accept that.”

“You had better make them see reason, Maitre. That's all I have to say.”

“You're not willing to—”

“How many times have I told you? It's a copper on a half silver!” Ryen's voice rose to a high-pitched yell. “I'm not bickering like a tradesman. I'm the rex, and they will pay!”

“How many dead High Holders are you willing to accept?”

“However many it takes,” replied Ryen, not quite shouting. “They've gotten away with trying to thwart me at every turn long enough.”

“You expect the Collegium to take the blame for those deaths?”

“Why not? You've taken golds from every rex for nearly four hundred years.” Ryen gestured toward the study door. “Go. I don't want to hear from you again until the High Holders agree to the increased tariffs and start submitting this year's payments.” Ryen's voice turned low and hard. “If I don't have an agreement by Meredi at fourth glass of the afternoon, I'll assume you've taken their side and will act accordingly.”

“Meredi?”

“You've had more than enough time. All the members of the High Council are in L'Excelsis or close by. I'm tired of your stalling and everyone thinking that they can do as they please. That includes you. Now … get out of here!”

Now what?
Alastar thought about using imaging on Ryen right there, then decided against it.
There must be another way …

“Don't even think about ignoring me, Maitre,” Ryen added after Alastar turned to leave the study. “You may escape my wrath, but your precious Collegium won't, no matter what happens. And if anything happens to me … you won't have a Collegium!”

No matter what happens … you won't have a Collegium?

“Make those high-handed bastards submit!”

Alastar waited until Ryen stopped shouting before he opened the door and stepped outside.

The guard posted outside kept looking straight ahead, as if ignoring both the Maitre and the rex.

Alastar walked resolutely toward the grand staircase, thinking.
If you don't get an agreement, the Collegium will be attacked, most likely with Demykalion's new cannon. If you resolve the problem by removing Ryen, the same thing will happen. And if you start removing High Holders, who knows what will happen?

“You're rather pensive this morning.”

The low female voice told Alastar that the woman who stepped out of the side chamber, quickly closing the door behind her, was Lady Asarya. While she wore a tunic and trousers, both were black with silver trim and tailored to show a very feminine figure. Her boots were black as well, and a silver scarf was loosely draped around her neck.

“I am at times. So are you, I imagine.”

“What was His Mightiness screaming about now?”

“He's less than pleased with the High Holders' refusal to accept his tariff proposal, as I'm certain you know.”

“No, Maitre, I do not know. We talk—I would not call it conversation—as little as possible and as seldom as practical … as I'm most certain you know.”

Alastar still had his doubts about her lack of knowledge, but he nodded. “I did know that you have had separate quarters for some years.”

“Separate lives, except when required. Just how unreasonable is he being?”

“He's doubtless correct about the problem. As for the solution…” Alastar shrugged. “The Collegium and I will do what we can to see if we can persuade the High Holders of the seriousness of the problem.”

“Do you think that is even possible?”

“Everything is possible until it is not,” he replied with an ironic smile.

At that moment, the door to the chamber opened, and Ryentar stepped out and joined his mother. “I wondered who might be here that so engaged you.” The younger heir wore a dark blue tunic and gray trousers.

The words alone told Alastar that both Asarya's initial approach and Ryentar's “curiosity” were planned.

“Your father apparently persists in his delusion that he can bring the High Holders to his way of thinking by the volume of his voice.” Asarya's words were quietly sardonic.

Alastar nodded. “He was quite vocal.”

“He often is,” she replied. “Has he attempted to browbeat you into bringing some form of imaging against the High Council?”

“He believes they're unreasonable.”

“What do you think, Maitre?” asked Ryentar, offering a serious but friendly expression. “Are they?”

“From their point of view, they believe they are reasonable. And they are, that is, if one believes that they should determine tariff levels and not the rex, which they do.”

“And how will you resolve this?” asked Asarya.

“By attempting to develop a compromise acceptable to both.”

“That will be most interesting,” observed Asarya. “Neither knows the meaning of the word.”

“Life is often interesting, Lady.”

“Since you are determined to reveal little, Maitre, we will not delay you longer. Perhaps in the future, when this contretemps is resolved, we might share refreshments.”

“She has a delightful dark lager,” interjected Ryentar, “although I prefer the light myself.”

“I appreciate your interest and kindness, Lady, Lord Ryentar.” Alastar inclined his head.

“Interested I am. Kind? That depends. Isn't that true of all of us?” Asarya's smile was enigmatic. “Good day, Maitre.”

“Good day.”

Alastar made his way down the grand staircase, musing about exactly what Asarya had in mind, but suspecting whatever it was might not be in his interest … or the Collegium's.

In half a quint, he was reining up at what would be the beginning of the new avenue, but even before the gelding came to a stop, Cyran rode over to join him, a grim look on his face.

“Maitre, we have a problem.”

The way the Maitre D'Esprit said “Maitre” suggested to Alastar that it wasn't a small problem. “What is it now?”

“Desyrk … somewhere in the dust that rose when we took down the last of the shops … When it cleared, he was gone. He had to have used a concealment, but the dust covered the fact that he had vanished.”

“That's my fault.” Alastar couldn't say he was surprised. He'd actually half-expected it, and he'd been watching Desyrk. He just hadn't thought he would be summoned by Ryen so early in the day, and he'd forgotten to tell Cyran his suspicions about Desyrk. “I thought he might try, but I neglected to tell you before I left to see His Mightiness. That was why I had him image first. He could have done more than he did, but he was holding back. That was why.”

“I wish I'd known.”

“It's probably better you didn't. You'd likely have had to kill him to stop him, and only the Maitre has that power … and even then, if I'd done it, I'd have faced a hearing to determine if the act was justified.” Alastar took a deep breath, then pulled out the bottle of lager, uncorked it, and drank, taking a deep swallow. After slipping the bottle back into his saddlebag, he said, “Desyrk's actually a smaller problem than the one our dear Rex Ryen has created.”

Cyran raised his eyebrows.

“We have until Meredi, by the fourth glass of the afternoon, to reverse the decision of the High Council or face Ryen's wrath.”

“What does that mean? Really?” asked Cyran. “I mean…”

“He'll likely cut off all golds to the Collegium. He's already cut what he sends in half. We might be able to image some things … but I don't know that I'd want to eat anything I imaged. Nor would that be good for the horses. He could blockade Imagisle. With concealments, we could get out, but bringing in supplies would be difficult. He could do worse than that. Remember Marshal Demykalon doesn't like imagers.”

“You really think he'd send the army against us?”