had been talking to the flower seller, making small talk while he’d been waiting for me to leave Imagisle. He finally vanished into the orangish late-afternoon sunlight at the end of the alley.
Recalling the conversation that had drawn me to the flower seller, I did not follow him, but retraced my steps, still holding shields. I decided against staying or eating in L’Excelsis since I had no idea who had been following me, or why, and not when I really didn’t know what to do next. I wanted to talk to Master Reayalt and Master Estafen, but not until I talked to Master Dichartyn.
On the way back to Imagisle, I looked for the flower seller, thinking she might be able to tell me more about the man who had been tracking me, but the cart, the green and yellow umbrella, and the flower seller had all left. By the time I reached my quarters, I was tired, and my feet were sore . . . and I wasn’t sure that I knew that much more than when I’d left that morning.
52
What is seen can tell one what is not.
Predictably, on Samedi night, I had a nightmare about someone I couldn’t see clearly following me everywhere. After breakfast the next morning, I crossed the Bridge of Hopes, looking for the flower seller with the yellow and green cart and umbrella. I covered a fair area, both on the Boulevard D’Imagers and along the East River Road, but I saw no sign of her, or of any other flower seller. I even tried later, in midafternoon, with no better luck. Apparently, flower sellers didn’t find much trade on Solayi. I also didn’t see the man with the yellow vest, but in the afternoon I did see a number of families picnicking in the gardens off the boulevard.
Especially after what Emanus had revealed, I didn’t want to approach anyone else in the Portraiture Guild, not until I’d talked to Master Dichartyn, but he wasn’t around on Solayi, and I wasn’t about to track him to his dwelling.
On Lundi, I got up earlier because the duty coach to the Council Chateau left at a fifth past seventh glass. I climbed out of bed, washed, dressed, and managed to gulp down breakfast and stop by Master Dichartyn’s study. He wasn’t there. Even so, I was the first one to the duty coach, but Baratyn was but a few steps behind me, and then Dartazn and Martyl followed.
Once we were all in the coach, I asked, “What will happen today with the Council?”
“Almost nothing,” replied Martyl.
“That doesn’t mean we won’t be busy,” added Dartazn. “All sorts show up insisting that they need to see one of the councilors, and some of them do.”
“Others are junior guild members or merchants who claim that they have the right to visit their representatives.”
“It’s a long day because they want to see those people before anything happens?” I asked.
I knew that they had the right to request a meeting, that the regular messengers conveyed those requests to the councilor, and that, if the councilor agreed to see them, one of the three of us had to escort them and listen to the whole conversation, at least until we were dismissed by the councilor. But we still had to wait outside in the corridor to escort them out.
“That’s right,” said Baratyn. “That way, the councilors can claim they listened before they did what they were going to do anyway.”
Once the coach pulled up outside the Chateau, Baratyn led the way through the side gate and up the narrow steps. Harvest season it might well be, but early as it was, the morning air was as hot and close and damp as on any summer morning. I blotted my forehead with the back of my hand once I stepped into the comparative cool of the stone structure.
“Martyl . . . go get the visitors’ request sheet. Dartazn, if you’d get the night guards’ reports.” Baratyn turned to me. “Rhenn, for the moment, just wait in the messengers’ study.”
“Yes, sir.” The messengers’ study was a spare room with two benches and two writing desks and chairs adjoining Baratyn’s study. I hadn’t spent a half glass there in the past three weeks.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be more than a little busy. There’s already a queue outside, all with passes or claims.” With a nod he hurried off.
Martyl grinned at me, and Dartazn raised his eyebrows before they both left.
I walked to the messengers’ study. Boulyan and Celista-she was the only female regular messenger-were already there, sitting on one of the benches.
“. . . can’t believe the crowd out there, and only six of the councilors are even here yet. Councilor Etyenn probably won’t show until Meredi . . .”
“Or Jeudi. That’s when the first full Council meeting is.”
Both looked up at me. Then Boulyan spoke. “Palyar says the petitioners out there are already complaining. We’ve carried requests to everyone who’s here.”
“They’re mostly traders, I’d wager, worried about what all the tariffs and embargoes and blockades are doing to their business.” From what I’d seen at home and from what I’d heard and learned at the Collegium and the Chateau, that was as good a guess as any. “And they’re from nearby.” That wasn’t a guess. Most traders wouldn’t take a long ironway journey on the chance of seeing a councilor, and those that could would already have arranged appointments.
Celista grinned. “You have that right. The next two days are when they listen to all the complaints so that they can tell their guilds or the factors’ associations that they’ve heard from scores of good honest citizens. Councilor Haestyr is the worst. He’s a High Holder, but he likes to think he’s a friend to merchants and crafters, and he sees scores of them.”
“All of whom want to fill their strongboxes without a care about their competitors, or how many sailors will die in keeping trade open.”
“Very true.” Baratyn’s voice came from the open door. “But we all play our part in the process.” He looked to me, extending a pasteboard square. “You get the second lot. They want to see Reyner. Martyl is already escorting some factors to see Councilor Glendyl.”
Glendyl was the factorius on the Executive Council, and his business produced most of the steam engines for the ironway and the Navy.
I took the pasteboard and looked at the neat script-Tuolon D’Spice and Karmeryn D’Essence. Under them was the name and seal of Councilor Reyner.
“When you’ve finished, return here immediately,” Baratyn said. “You’ll likely be running all day. There’s a long line out there.”
“Yes, sir.”
I headed out along the east corridor and through the grand foyer, out the main entrance past the guards stationed there, down the two sets of steps, and then along the main side stone walkway. The mixed mutterings of the petitioners carried over the wall, suggesting a long queue. When I reached the visitors’ gatehouse, through the grillwork of the heavy iron gate I could see a line stretching a good hundred yards. I concealed the frown I felt beneath a pleasant smile. With only three of us acting as escorts, even if each meeting took less than a quarter glass, we’d only be able to escort half-or less-of those waiting. Given the deliberation I’d seen from Master Dichartyn and his experience, he had to have known that.
While I could see two guards stationed outside the gates, there were three just inside, and another four in the shaded alcove behind the gatehouse. Basyl was leaving with a white pasteboard in hand, presumably another request to meet with a councilor. He nodded.
Once he passed me, I stepped forward and handed the pasteboard with the two names and Councilor Reyner’s name and seal on it to the receiving guard.
He took it, studied it, and turned toward the gate, calling out, “Tuolon D’Spice and Karmeryn D’Essence, to see Councilor Reyner.”
Two men stepped up to the gate. The taller and black-bearded one brandished a letter or sheet of
