likely when you don’t.
On Samedi morning, Clovyl’s exercise group was markedly smaller. Out of the ten or so who appeared regularly, the only ones I knew personally-or even by name-were Martyl, Dartazn, Baratyn, and Master Dichartyn. The other six ranged in age from their late twenties to twenty years beyond that, but all were well-muscled and trim, and several of the older men ran faster than I did, although no one came close to Dartazn. That morning, while I knew Master Dichartyn would not be there, neither was Baratyn, nor were two others. Given their absences, and the circles under Master Dichartyn’s eyes, as I struggled to keep up close to Dartazn in the run that ended the morning workout, I couldn’t help but wonder what they might be doing.
After recovering from the run on my walk back to the quarters, I took a cool but thorough shower and shaved. Then I dressed and headed across the quadrangle to the dining hall, where I met Martyl. Dartazn joined us as we sat down at the long table. I poured a full mug of tea and waited for the platters of sausage and fried flatcakes to reach us.
“Master Dichartyn and all the seniors were gone. Did he say anything to you yesterday?” asked Martyl.
Dartazn laughed. “He never tells anyone anything they don’t have to know. Not me, not you, not Rhenn.”
“He only told me he’d be gone for a few days, after pointedly reminding me that I should have been more observant back when I was a portraiturist and didn’t know I needed to remember every conversation within ten yards.” My words came out edged with vinegar.
They both laughed.
“It’s one thing to tell me that about what I do now . . .” I stopped and just shook my head.
“He’s done that to all of us,” Martyl said.
“Something’s afoot.” Dartazn paused to take a healthy helping of sausages.
None of us spoke for a time, perhaps because we enjoyed the sweet berry syrup on the flatcakes and because we were hungry after having been up and active for several glasses.
“What do you think is happening?” I finally asked. “You two have been imagers longer than I have.”
“Most other lands know that starting a war with Solidar isn’t the best idea,” said Dartazn slowly, “but their rulers often face pressures to do something. That can lead to attempts at assassinations, sabotage, that sort of thing.”
“That sounds like Master Dichartyn has gotten wind of something.”
“It could be . . . or it could be that they’re all off meeting to go over what might happen.”
We talked for a time, speculating to no real result, and before long, Martyl rose. “I’m to meet my uncle at the ironway station, and I’d better be there. He’s never been to L’Excelsis.”
We all walked out of the dining hall together, but then I had to hurry out to my studio to work on the portrait of Master Poincaryt-except he didn’t come. Instead, Beleart arrived just after eighth glass had chimed.
“Master Poincaryt won’t be able to make the sitting today, sir. He will be here next Samedi.”
After Beleart departed, I headed back to my own quarters, Once there, I sat down at my desk and thought about the day ahead. Although I would be having dinner with Seliora and her family, I needed to talk to a few more people-perhaps even Elphens and Aurelean. It couldn’t hurt to see if Father or Khethila had any ideas or suggestions, or if either had seen anything.
I decided to start with Father at the factorage and walked from my quarters over the Bridge of Desires to West River Road. That was actually closer to my quarters, but had I been taking a hack directly to my parents’ house, it would have been more costly, not that I lacked coins. In fact, I had more funds than I’d had in years, and I’d actually used the tiny one-room branch of the Banque D’Excelsis in a nook off the dining hall-just an unmarked door behind which was a single teller cage-to open an account. Even with what I’d spent on hacks and food over the summer and early harvest, I had slightly more than five golds put by. Unlike poor Madame Caliostrus, I felt better not having to worry about a strongbox. I also had no doubts about the Banque; it wasn’t about to short the Collegium.
As I stepped onto the bridge, I was holding full shields. That made a warm morning even warmer, but I could see clouds to the north and west. That could herald a cooler afternoon, or one just as hot-and steamy. Just off West River Road, I hailed a hack.
“Alusine Wool-south on West River, a half mille past the Sud Bridge, on the west side.”
“Yes, sir. We can do that.”
When I left the hack in front of the factorage, I took a moment to study it. The building was still the same old yellow-brick structure that stretched a good seventy yards along West River Road. The loading docks were out of sight in the rear, and the covered entry was centered on the middle of the building. As I climbed the three steps to the double oak doors, I noted that they had been sanded clean and then revarnished, and the dark green casement trim repainted.
Inside, it was darker, and cooler, and I took several steps farther into the open area before the racks that held the swathes of various wools. To one side was another set of racks with the lighter fabrics-muslin, cotton, linen. Despite the name of the factorage, Father had always carried a wide range of fabrics, colors, and patterns.
“Master Rhennthyl . . . we’d not expect you here.” The balding man who stepped forward was Eilthyr, who was now in charge of the day-to-day work on the floor.
“I thought I’d drop by.” My eyes flicked to the raised platform at the back, from where Father could sit at his desk and survey everything, not that he sat there much if there were potential customers.
Khethila was at the desk-looking at me. I had a very unsettled feeling about that.
“Yes, sir . . . your father . . .”
“Mistress Khethila can help me, I’m most certain. But . . . thank you.”
“Yes, sir.”
As I skirted the sample racks, I could hear the exchange between the warehouseman, who had appeared from somewhere, and Eilthyr.
“The imager . . .?”
“That’s the factor’s eldest . . . used to be an artist.”
“. . . looks more like a commando . . . wouldn’t want to cross him . . .”
“. . . takes after the old man, that way . . .”
I had to smile at the thought of my taking after my father.
Khethila was standing by the time I walked up the low steps to the desk. “Rhenn . . . I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’d actually wanted to ask both you and Father about some things, but I have the feeling he’s not anywhere around.”
“Neither Mother nor Father are. Mother took the ironway to see Aunt Ilena, and Father went back to Kherseilles.”
“Rousel made a mess of the accounting, didn’t he?”
Khethila looked at me, her eyes too bright. “It’s awful. He borrowed against his inventory, and when the shipments from the Abierto Isles took longer to arrive, the interest was higher, and he borrowed more . . .”
“Father won’t lose everything, will he?” That was my greatest fear.
She shook her head. “No, but it could cost close to two hundred gold crowns.”
“Two hundred?”
“That’s if everything goes wrong. Father and I worked out a way to amortize the debt against the building there that will lower the interest on what Rousel owes.”
“You’re running things here, aren’t you?”
“Mostly.” She grinned. “Father’s surprised. I do have to be very careful and always say that I’ve checked with him, and I do when he’s here.” After a pause, she asked, “What did you want to know?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone outside the family, but people have been shooting at me, and I had to wonder if you’ve noticed anyone lurking around the house or coming in here and asking about me.”
“You told me you’d been shot. I didn’t tell Mother, you know?” She paused. “You said shooting. Has someone else . . .?”
