So did Seliora, gliding around the small table and putting her arms around me. I didn’t need any more encouragement.
It was a bit before we stepped apart.
“You’re coming next Samedi at half past four.” Her words weren’t a question.
“I said I wouldn’t miss it.”
“If it’s too hot, we’ll eat up on the north terrace. We often eat there in the summer and early harvest.”
“And I might meet your grandmama?”
“She said she would meet you when the time was right. I thought she meant today.”
We walked slowly down to the second level and then down to the main entry foyer. Seliora stood at the top of the steps as I made my way down the last set of steps. Someone had sent Bhenyt down and out into the street, because, by the time I stepped out of the door and walked down the steps, a hack was waiting, and Bhenyt was standing beside the stoop.
“Thank you, Bhenyt.”
“My pleasure, Master Rhennthyl.”
The ride back to the Bridge of Hopes was uneventful, but I did hold full shields when I left the coach and walked across the bridge.
Dinner was also without incident, and Dartazn and I sat with Menyard and Reynol, and we all speculated about what might happen with Caenen and Jariola, not that there was anything new in the scandal sheets. And, of course, we went to services, where, as was often so, Chorister Isola had some interesting things to say in her homily.
“. . . one of the deadly sins is that of Naming. We all talk about the snare of the Namer and praise the life and works of Rholan the Unnamer, but how often do we consider why Naming is indeed a deadly vice? There are two kinds of hunger in life. One is physical. That is based on the need for bodily nourishment, and eating too much becomes the sin of gluttony. The other hunger in life is for self-worth. All men and all women need to feel that they and what they do are of value. But just as eating to stop hunger can become gluttony when carried to excess, so the seeking of ways to show self-worth can quickly turn into Naming. A proud factor builds more and more factor-ages to prove his worth, and then he engages in practices to undermine other factors and drive them out of business. Will being the wealthiest factor in Solis, or Westisle, or even L’Excelsis prove to be enough? A High Holder, already wealthy and respected, still schemes to bring down and even ruin other High Holders to prove he is among the more powerful High Holders. A nation, such as Caenen, or Jariola, or in the past, even Solidar, wants to prove its power-and that is an extension of self-worth-and uses that power to humiliate or defeat other lands. All these are examples of Naming, seeking to exalt one’s name and reputation above others, not through honest effort, but by trying to undermine, ruin, or defeat and destroy others . . . and this is why Naming is the greatest sin of all, because the unbridled hunger for greater esteem can never be satisfied . . .”
I couldn’t say that I really believed in the Nameless, but so much of what surrounded and infused the services made sense. Could I believe in the doctrine without believing in the deity?
56
Seemingly unrelated tiny pieces comprise
images; whoever sees those pieces as a whole earliest
comprehends first.
Lundi, like Vendrei, was a slower-paced day, at least after the morning exercise and run, and I did have time to slip my letter to my parents into the outgoing post in between my duties at the Council Chateau. Besides escorting two very condescending factors from Estisle to see Councilor Diogayn and carrying sealed messages from Councilor Reyner to Councilor Glendyl, all I did was watch the corridors and try to sharpen my observation skills on the few who did come my way. Councilor Glendyl had a tic in his right eye when he spoke, but not when he listened. Councilor Alucion still had massive calluses on his palms and walked with the swaying gait of a man who must have carried great weights when he was younger-as he might have, since he was the representative of the Stonecutters’ Guild. Councilor Haestyr was younger than I’d realized and was cheerful to everyone, but I thought his green eyes were cold.
Because Lundi was such a slow day, we were released before fourth glass. I’d already decided that I needed to talk to more people in the Portraiture Guild, if only to see if someone had been talking to them about me . . . and because I had no idea where else to continue in trying to track down who was after me. Seliora’s family would probably find out more than I ever would, but I had to try. Rogaris might tell me something, if for no other reason than to get me to leave, because he had been clearly uncomfortable the last time I’d seen him. Could that have been because he and Sagaryn knew something?
When we reached the Collegium, I didn’t even have a chance to get to my chambers to change, because a fresh-faced prime was waiting for the duty coach. “Imager Rhennthyl, sir? Master Dichartyn would like to see you immediately, sir.”
Both Dartazn and Martyl shook their heads as they slipped away. I’d have wagered they were just glad they hadn’t been summoned. I followed the dutiful youngster to Master Dichartyn’s study, where the door was open.
“Come on in, Rhenn,” he called.
I entered and closed the door, then took the seat across the desk from him.
“Rhennthyl, there are some other items which the Civic Patrol neglected to mention to me.” Although Master Dichartyn’s voice was pleasant, his eyes were cold.
“Yes, sir?”
“Is there anything you can add to what you’ve told me-anything at all.”
“Sir, I thought I told you what I knew, but there may be more that I thought I told you and did not.” That was the safest answer.
He nodded. “Please let me know if you recall more after I tell you what else I have discovered. The rooms in the pension where Emanus lived were modest, but his savings were not enough to pay for them and food. I had some investigations made. He was receiving a monthly stipend from the Banque D’Excelsis, but the funds came blind from the local branch of the Banque D’Abierto, and we have no way of determining the sender.” He looked at me.
“I cannot say I’m surprised, sir. I did ask him if he had allowed himself to be removed as guildmaster-”
“He was a guildmaster?”
“Didn’t I tell you that, sir?”
“It could be. Matters have been less than serene. Go on.”
“He said he had been, and that he had allowed a scandal to be trumped up because it was better that way, and no one else got hurt. I asked if he’d allowed it to protect someone in his family. He didn’t answer except by asking why I’d ask that. I think he was protecting someone.”
“That might well be. The other thing that the patrol found, hidden inside a leather case made to look like a book, was a miniature portrait of a young woman. Since Emanus had no other known family, they let me have it for the moment.” He held up the portrait of a dark-haired young woman, set in a simple oval ebony frame, no more than five digits from the top of the oval to the bottom, then extended it. “Do you know her . . . or recognize the artist?”
I studied the unfamiliar image of a dark-haired girl perhaps the age of Khethila, also looking closely at the surface texture. “I’d guess it’s close to twenty years old, sir, but I don’t recognize her. The technique is outstanding. I’d judge that Emanus painted it himself, because I don’t recognize the technique, because it’s better than anyone painting in L’Excelsis today, and because it’s unsigned. All works that are sold have to be signed. This was never meant for sale, not with that frame.” I paused. “I’d say that he knew the girl very well. This wasn’t done just for golds. The detail is too good, almost loving.”
