Treachery's Tools (30 page)

The two galloped toward the guards. All the guards fired simultaneously. Alastar felt as though his entire body had been squeezed through Vaschet's drop hammer or rolling mill, and a reddish mist seemed to hover in front of his eyes.

With another set of shots hammering him, he struggled to hold his shields, as he and Coermyd bore down on the middle of the ranked guards, three of whom immediately tried to scatter. When Alastar's shields momentarily struck some of the riders and mounts, a wave of blackness threatened to rise over him. He somehow pushed it back as he and Coermyd burst through the second rank, knocking at least one rider off his mount.

He slowed the gelding to a fast walk when he neared the fallen gates, but there was no sign of the gate guards, except for the one dead body still hanging from the one gatehouse. After they were a good half mille from the ironworks, and Alastar could feel the blackness rising toward him, he finally released his shields, realizing that he hurt and ached all over.

He was also breathing heavily, as if he'd run all the way around Imagisle, and he felt more than a little faint.

“Sir … might I ask … are those ledgers you brought with you?”

“They are.”

“They wanted to kill us because you took some books?”

“I'm hoping those ledgers will tell us who else has all those heavy rifles. Vaschet must have had a good reason for us not to know. That suggests great wealth and power are behind the shootings.”
Not that you didn't already know that.

After all the difficulty Alastar had gone through to get the ledgers, he definitely hoped that the entries in them provided at least some information about who had bought Vaschet's rifles. But given the abbreviated notations he observed, translating the almost cryptic symbols into something usable was likely to take some effort … and likely expertise and knowledge he lacked.

When they neared the East Bridge, Alastar eased his mount alongside Coermyd. “You're going to have to shield me. Taking all those bullets…”

“Yes, sir.”

At just after two quints past noon, Alastar and Coermyd rode back across the East Bridge, only to find a grim-faced Akoryt hurrying toward the sentry box

“Keep riding until you're well clear of the bridge and out of sight from the east bank.” The Maitre D'Structure turned and walked beside the gray gelding.

“What happened?” asked Alastar, trying to raise his shields once more, and failing. “Cover me with your shields. Mine are gone. Coermyd covered me coming back.”

“Gone? What happened?”

“We got fired on by a squad of Vaschet's guard. All twenty or so fired simultaneously. What happened here?”

“We lost Paolyn, one of the younger gardeners. He was trimming bushes north of the East Bridge. He was shot twice.”

“Poisoned bullets?”

“Who knows? The second shot hit him just above the ear. The worst part is that he was working where he couldn't be seen from the east bank of the river.”

“Was the shooter in one of the taller buildings?”

“He had to be, but Paolyn was working alone, and none of the maitres working this side of Imagisle discovered his body immediately. Actually, Bettaur and Ashkyr found him.”

“Bettaur and Ashkyr?”

“Bettaur's taken an interest in him. It seems to be helpful. His studies have improved, and so has his attitude.”

Will wonders never cease?

Akoryt stopped and gestured. “There. He was found over between those bushes. The only buildings you can see from there are the River Inn and the old port tower that's part of the building where they print that newssheet—”

“
Veritum
?” asked Alastar as he reined up.

“—and Cyran and I already searched both buildings. No one in either building saw anyone on the upper levels.” Akoryt shrugged. “That doesn't mean they weren't there.”

“Could the shooter have used a boat and climbed the riverwall?”

“It's possible. He would have to have been very careful, because no one saw him, and there are no tracks.”

“No one saw anything? Not even the maitres on duty?”

“No, sir.”

Another half quint of questions by Alastar and answers by Akoryt revealed little more, and after Akoryt finished the informal briefing, Alastar rode directly to the administration building, where he dismounted and retrieved the ledgers before leaving the gelding with Coermyd with instructions to water the mounts and return to the administration building in two quints. Then he hurried inside, although he still felt faint … and slightly dizzy.

Maercyl jumped to his feet as Alastar entered the anteroom, carrying the stack of ledgers. “Maitre!”

“Is there anything else urgent besides the shooting? Any messages from Rex Lorien?”

“No, sir.”

Somehow that didn't surprise Alastar, knowing as he did that Lorien would avoid meeting with him for as long as possible. “Please find Maitre Thelia and have her join me as soon as possible. If Maitre Cyran appears, have him come in. Oh … and could you have someone bring me a large beaker of dark ale? Soon, if possible.”

“Are you all right, sir?”

“I will be.”
You hope.

Once in his study, Alastar set the ledgers on the desk in a row, then sat down. For several moments, he just sat there. Finally, he opened the first. He leafed through several pages before he came to a pair of entries that
might
reveal something about Vaschet's sale of rifles.

If “R-2” means rifle and “G” is a gold …
Alastar shook his head, thinking.

“Maitre, you wanted to see me?” The slender maitre of accounts stood in the study doorway.

“I did. Come in, and please close the door.” Alastar stood and motioned for Thelia to join him. He pointed to the ledgers.

Her eyes went to the ledgers, widening as she took in the four volumes.

“These are the ledgers I took from Factorius Vaschet. I believe he's somehow involved in dealings with at least one High Holder and manufacturing something of value for them that he doesn't want anyone to know about. He refused to tell me anything. Rather than follow my feelings, I limited my treatment of him to removing them. After glancing through the pages of this one, I have my suspicions, but I'd like you to take a good thorough look and tell me what all the numbers and comments tell you about Vaschet's ironworks and factorage.”

“Maitre … you realize that the Factors' Council will be incensed at your taking the ledgers?”

“They may be. I don't know that I had any real choice. We lost another person today, a young gardener named Paolyn, and we still have no idea who is behind the shooters. I told Vaschet about the shootings, and he could have cared less. All he cared about was keeping secret the names of those who bought the rifles.”

At that moment, there was rap on the door, and Maercyl stepped into the study carrying a large beaker of dark ale. “Sir…”

“Thank you.” Alastar immediately took the beaker, raised it to his lips, and took a long slow swallow before setting it down.

The study door closed behind the retreating Maercyl.

“You were saying,” prompted Alastar. “About secrecy…”

“For some goods, that is indeed the custom.” Thelia paused, then added, “Maitre … these are more precious to Vaschet than all but his firstborn son.”

“He'll get them back. As I told you, I promised him that … although I'm not so certain that he deserves that much consideration.”

“The Factors' Council will not see it that way.”

“You mentioned that. Why not? I'm not giving the information to another factor or a High Holder … or even to Rex Lorien or his Minister of Finance.” Alastar took another swallow of lager. He
thought
some of the dizziness and faintness was subsiding.

“That is good, but most factors won't see it that way. They believe that anyone who would steal private ledgers cannot ever be trusted.”

“While I believe that anyone who would refuse to provide information that would halt the killing of innocent students cannot ever be trusted, especially when it comes to golds and power.” Alastar half-shook his head, stopping as he realized that the motion renewed the dizziness, and gestured to the ledgers. “Take them and see what you can discover. I have another visit to make. I'll see what you've been able to find out when I return. That will likely be around fourth glass.”

“I'll do what I can, Maitre.”

Alastar closed the open ledger, watching as Thelia picked up all four ledgers and carried them out of his study and through the anteroom into the hallway that led to her small study.

Less than a quint later, Alyna appeared, closing the study door behind her, eyes intent and fixed on Alastar. A water bottle was in her left hand. She glanced to the empty beaker.

“At least, you had enough sense to have some lager. I brought some more.”

“That's my second beaker,” he admitted. “They did help.”

“Alastar D'Imagisle! You are fifty-two years old. You are not a young man. Why on Terahnar did you think you could prevail over twenty men aiming heavy rifles at you?”

“I did manage.” Alastar almost grinned at the concern in her voice.

“Barely. Akoryt said you looked three steps from death's front door, and your eyes are still pinkish…”

“Who would have expected a private army, even a small one, at a factorage?”

“Alastar…”

“They surprised us as we were leaving. The guards at the gate I expected, but…” He started to shrug, but stopped as twinges ran through his back and shoulders. He managed to keep a rueful smile in place.

“You are to be careful. You are.” She uncorked the water bottle and poured more lager into the beaker.

“I'll do my best.”

“You need to do better than that. Promise me.”

Alastar knew better than to argue.

“You need to stay here and recuperate.”

“I can't. I need to see Cransyr immediately.”

“Without shields?”

“I can take a junior maitre. Once I'm inside the Chateau D'Council, nothing will happen, and I will have enough strength to ward off anything Cransyr might do.”

Alyna sighed. “You are the most stubborn…”

“It does take one to…” Alastar grinned.

Alyna just shook her head.

A good quint later, Alastar, Coermyd, and, at Alyna's insistence, Belsior, who was also shielding Alastar, were riding north on the West River Road and were nearing the Nord Bridge on Alastar's second unscheduled visit of the day, this time to see High Holder Cransyr. The early-afternoon sun beat down as if it were midsummer, rather than closer to late harvest, and Alastar kept having to blot his forehead and to adjust his visor cap. Less than half a quint later, after the three imagers crossed the Boulevard D'Ouest, Alastar concentrated on the Chateau D'Council, now visible slightly less than a half mille ahead on the left. The iron gates were closed.

The gates remained closed, and when the two reined up outside the ironwork, the pair of guards in their maroon livery looked out warily, then opened the gates.

One said, “High Holder Cransyr did not mention he would be receiving, Maitre.”

“That's correct. He is not formally expecting me. He will not be surprised to see me, however.”

The pair exchanged quick glances, but said nothing as Alastar, Belsior, and Coermyd rode past and up the stone entry lane to the receiving portico.

The footman who awaited Alastar at the portico was also in maroon and nodded respectfully as Alastar dismounted and handed his mount's reins to Coermyd. “High Holder Cransyr requested that you be shown to the study, Maitre. He will see you there.”

“Thank you.” Alastar wondered if Cransyr had actually expected him or had merely observed his entrance from the windows of the main-floor study.

When Alastar entered the study, Cransyr stood beside his desk. As seemed to be the case every time Alastar had seen the High Holder, his comparatively short silvered-blond hair was swept back without a strand out of place. His narrow-set blue eyes, seemingly harder-looking than usual, which Alastar would once have thought close to impossible, fixed on the Maitre and then looked away almost dismissively.

“You might have requested a meeting, Maitre Alastar. However, since you are here…” He gestured toward the armchairs with a motion both precise and contemptuous, then walked to one and seated himself.

Alastar smiled easily as he took the other chair, nodding pleasantly but not speaking.

After several long moments, Cransyr looked sharply at Alastar. “I assume you have something to say.”

“I do. How many High Holders are arming their private armies with rifles purchased from Factorius Vaschet?”

Alastar noted just the slightest stiffening and hesitation before Cransyr replied.

“Private armies? Armed with weapons purchased from a factor? Even on the surface, that's preposterous. No High Holder would ever subject himself to being dependent upon a factor, particularly now.”

Alastar nodded again. “I thought that might be the case, but, assuming what you say is true, that does raise another interesting question. Just who might be using the latest heavy rifles to shoot at imagers, especially young imagers? Oh … and attempt to shoot them in the back? That would seem to be against the reputed honor of High Holders, but the factors insist that it is also against their standards of honor.”