“Every time I see you,” Mother said to her granddaughter, “you’ve grown. You’re getting to be such a big girl. Now…Rheityr is waiting for you in the nursery, and there are treats for both of you.”
At the word “treats,” Diestrya smiled and hugged Mother again before Mother set her down and led her into the house.
Seliora and I exchanged a knowing glance. In that respect, it was a very good thing we didn’t see my parents too often.
Culthyn, Remaya, and Father were waiting in the family parlor, Father in his usual chair directly facing the stove, which emitted just enough heat for a chill autumn evening. Remaya turned from what ever she’d been discussing with Culthyn.
“What’s new with the Patrol business?” Father always referred to whatever I was doing as “business,” even when I’d been a journeyman artist.
“More of the usual,” I replied as Mother came back down the steps from the nursery.
“One moment, Chenkyr,” she interjected. “What would everyone like to drink before dinner? Seliora?”
“The Dhuensa, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“That’s what I’ll have,” replied Father, “as if you didn’t know already.”
“Red Cambrisio,” added Remaya.
“The same,” I said.
Mother slipped out to the kitchen, where I could hear Kiesela doing something with pots, but returned immediately.
“I ran across a Madame D’Roulet on Meredi,” I said. “She knew who I was. At least, she knew I was your son.”
Mother laughed, and Father looked puzzled.
“Don’t you remember, Chenkyr? It was years ago, when we went to that party of Dacastro’s. She was that awful nervous woman who dragged her husband over to try to sell you a pianoforte for Culthyn…”
Father frowned, his brow furrowed. “Why would I have done that?”
Culthyn looked at Mother, aghast. “You didn’t…?”
Mother ignored Culthyn. “Her name was Rachela or something like that.”
“Rauchelle,” I supplied.
“How did you come across her?” asked Mother.
“Her daughter died of an elveweed overdose. The mother didn’t really know what it was. She knew there was something like elveweed, but not much more. The patrollers called me in.”
“How terrible.” Mother shook her head. She looked to Culthyn.
“I wouldn’t try that.” His voice held the assurance all too common to well-off sixteen-year-olds, an assurance that reminded me of poor Rousel, who’d had assurance beyond his abilities. I had, too, but I’d been fortunate enough to survive it. Rousel hadn’t been fortunate enough to survive my un-warranted assurance, even though I’d had no idea that my acts would have led to his death.
Nellica appeared with a tray and tendered a goblet to each of us, then retreated to the kitchen or serving parlor.
“Do you know a factor named Broussard?” I asked my father, then took a sip of the Cambrisio.
“The one they thought had been killed in that explosion, except it was his assistant who’d taken his wife to the opera?” Father shook his head. “He’s from Piedryn, and we don’t sell much there…or buy wool. That’s grain land. He must be very well off…and well-connected. I couldn’t afford seats on the lower box row.” He laughed. “Even if I could, we couldn’t get them. Those are for High Holders…or their guests.”
“How do you know that, Chenkyr?” asked Mother.
“Veblynt told me that years ago. I doubt things have changed much. They never do where social matters are concerned.”
“I meant about where he was sitting.”
“Where his assistant was sitting, you mean. I read it somewhere. One of the newsheets, I think. I couldn’t make up something like that.”
About that, my father was absolutely correct. He couldn’t imagine much beyond the here and now, and the logical and direct consequences of the present. That trait made him the solid and prosperous wool factor that he was and had created a reputation for honesty and solidity for Alusine Wool.
“High Holders or not…” Mother paused. “Dinner is ready.”
Seliora and I carried wine goblets that we’d barely sipped from into the dining room.
After the blessing and after Father sliced and served the crisped roast lamb-always his favorite-conversation died into a lull.
“How is Khethila doing in Kherseilles?” asked Seliora.
“Fine,” replied Father. “I wouldn’t have thought it, not as a woman that young running a wool factorage, even with my name behind her.” He shook his head, as if still amused by the whole idea.
“You didn’t tell them!” Mother exclaimed. “She’s now a factoria; the factors accepted her as a full factor.”
“Oh…I thought they knew.”
“Chenkyr, who would have told them? Her letter only arrived on Mardi. She was very pleased.”
“That’s wonderful!” said Seliora. “Is she the only recognized wool factor who’s a woman?”
“I suppose so,” replied Father.
I didn’t say anything, but I was glad that Khethila was recognized as a factor in her own right, as Khethila D’Factoria, rather than just as Father’s daughter. I couldn’t help but understand her satisfaction, since she’d had to petition the association and face a real board of inquiry, rather than the mere formality that Rousel had gone through. But she’d succeeded. I did smile.
“She bought the adjoining property, too,” added Mother, looking at me. “She’s going to expand in time. She said you’d made it possible.”
“I hope she didn’t have to trade too hard on my name.”
“No…the Banque D’Kherseilles approached her, saying that the owner would like to sell the property at a reasonable price. She wrote that the Banque D’Rivages represented the owner and handled the sale through the Banque D’Kherseilles. She didn’t know the owner, but the banker who approached her asked if she was indeed the sister of Maitre D’Structure Rhennthyl. She said to thank you.”
“I’m certain that she managed it all on her own,” I replied, knowing that reasonable as the price might have been, the first payment had been made in blood by Rousel years before. But it had been thoughtful of Iryela, even if it made me suspicious, given the timing. Very suspicious.
Father cleared his throat, then said, “She did say that the factors in the Abierto Isles-the ones who ship to Cloisera-have cut back on their orders.”
“That suggests they think that war will break out and Ferrum will attack any shipping bound for Jariola.”
“They did before,” interjected Culthyn.
“They also lost much of their fleet,” Father replied.
“They’ve spent a great deal of golds and effort rebuilding the fleet with more modern vessels. They’ve also developed better land-cruisers. That says that they haven’t given up on obtaining the Jariolan coal fields.”
“And anything else they can grab,” asserted Culthyn.
“Can we talk about something other than war?” Mother smiled broadly and turned to Remaya. “How is Rheityr doing in the grammaire?”
It was my nephew’s first year in school, and Mother doted on every episode that indicated Rheityr’s potential.
“He’s already reading the first primer…”
“That’s not new,” Culthyn said. “You really had him reading before he went to school…” His words died away as all three women at the table looked at him.
After that, all the conversation was about family, or food, or the books that Mother and Remaya had read. I had to admit that I missed Khethila’s comments on Madame D’Shendael, and Father’s dismissals of that most intellectual of High Holders. But Seliora and I did add a few comments about Diestrya. Just a few.
Mother had paid Charlsyn to stay late and use the family coach to take us back. We were halfway to
