“That doesn’t mean that something couldn’t erupt in Stakanar or Tiempre or Gyarl. Schorzat doesn’t have enough field operatives to cover everything. We’ve had word that Tiempre has moved troops toward the border with Gyarl. They’re claiming that the followers of Puryon are persecuting the Duodeusans in Gyarl. Stakanar is also calling up troops.”
That wasn’t good, and it certainly would make the Council leery of committing more ships to the northern ocean.
“What do you suggest I do?” I asked.
“What you’ve been doing. Watch for signs of anything else unusual…and be alert for anything that affects either Artois or Cydarth.”
“What exactly is going on there?”
Dichartyn paused, then finally said, “Councilor Reyner is pressing to have Artois replaced on the grounds that he has been Commander for too long.”
“Fifteen years is a long time.”
“You’d want Cydarth as commander?” His voice was wry.
“Does anyone on the Council besides Reyner want Cydarth?”
“Most factor councilors, except they won’t admit it.”
“Why?”
“Because the Civic Patrol also runs the piers and the river patrol, and Artois enforces things like wagon weight limits and safety rules.”
“Any wagon accident, and we have to check for any weight and safety violations.” I paused. “The factoring associations are really upset about that?”
“They don’t like the Council interfering in trade, and they see that as the first step toward a return of High Holder control, where the High Holders don’t get cited because so many of them have ironway stations on their lands, and those stations aren’t subject to the local patrols.”
“So their right of low justice effectively exempts them.”
Dichartyn nodded.
As I walked back across the quadrangle and north to the house, I wondered if Solidar would ever escape from the abusive remnants of the times of the Rex and High Holders.
13
When I reached Third District on Vendrei, I checked the duty logs immediately. There were two more deaths-one a homeless beggar found in an alleyway off Elsyor and another elver. The old beggar died from “natural” causes, such as neglect and poor health. Then I began to assemble the information that had come in on the banque clerk.
According to the reports, Kearyk was older than I’d assumed, four years younger than I was. His father was a baker who had a shop on Sage Lane, right off North Middle to the east of Martradon, and Kearyk had lived there with his parents. If I’d gone by the procedures, I should have informed Bolyet, but the parents weren’t perpetrators or suspects, and I just wanted information. So I took a hack out to Sage Lane. The shop wasn’t hard to find, since it was near the corner-not quite classy enough to qualify as a patisserie, nor pedestrian enough to be the corner bakery. The name over the window was Bakery D’Rykker. The air around the shop carried the odor of baking, of fresh loaves more than pastries.
I stepped inside.
A short but rotund woman looked at me with wide eyes that darted from the grays to the imager emblem on my visored cap. “Sir…?”
“I’m Civic Patrol Captain Rhennthyl.”
Her eyes went back to the imager pin, questioningly.
“I’m also a master imager. Are you Madame D’Rykker?”
“Giseylle D’Rykker.”
“Kearyk D’Cleris was your son, then.”
“He was. Why are you here, Captain?”
“Did you hear about the explosion at the Banque D’Excelsis? When we looked into it, we discovered some interesting things that might have involved your son, and I wanted to talk to you about him.”
A man who appeared too angular to be a baker stepped through the archway that led to the rear of the shop and the ovens. He brushed his hands on his smudged whites, then looked up as if he hadn’t seen me before. He started to glare, then recognized the uniform and glanced at his wife. “What have you done now?”
“He’s a Patrol Captain. He’s here about Kearyk. I told you it wasn’t an accident. I told you he didn’t kill himself. So did Kleinryk.”
Why would Kearyk want to kill himself? “Why didn’t you think his death was an accident?”
“He didn’t like the water. He was always afraid of it. He was a good boy…a good man. Handsome as he was, he was kind and gentle,” said Giseylle.
“He was the oldest, wasn’t he? But you sent him all the way through grammaire. He didn’t join you here in the bakery.”
“He didn’t want to be a baker,” Rykker said.
“He did well at grammaire, and he was a very good clerk. He never got married, though, and he lived with you.” I had an idea, but I wanted to see if their reaction would support it.
The two exchanged glances.
“He had a very fine hand,” I added. “I’ve seen some of what he wrote. Did he leave any indication that he was discouraged or upset before he drowned?”
“No.”
“When did you see him last? The night before he died?”
They looked at each other again. I waited.
“No,” she finally replied. “He did not stay here all the time.”
“He never stayed here,” added Rykker. “He had a friend.”
“Do you know her name? I’d like to talk to her. It’s important.” I doubted strongly that the friend was female, but I could have been wrong.
“His name is Lacques. He’s a…street artist,” replied Giseylle.
“A chalker?” I asked. “Do you know where I could find him?”
“Him?” Rykker snorted. “He practices his…art…all around the Plaza D’Este.”
“Kearyk never told us where he lived,” added Giseylle.
“Did Kearyk ever say anything that suggested he might be in any sort of trouble?” I pressed.
“He never talked about his work,” replied the mother.
“Numbers and figures…I wish he had stayed here,” said Rykker. “He was good with the pastries, but he said he didn’t like it.”
I talked with them for three-quarters of a glass, but I didn’t learn any more about why Kearyk drowned…or had been drowned. They did show me a miniature portrait of him, and it showed an extremely handsome young man with short curly blond hair and fine features.
After that I walked up North Middle toward the Plaza D’Nord, thinking over what I’d found out so far, and studying the neighborhood. I was a block from the Plaza when a patroller stepped from a side street-Silvers Lane-and hailed me.
“Captain Rhennthyl!”
I turned, but didn’t recognize the man. “Yes?”
“Sir…I just wondered…”
“I’m over here to talk to someone who might be a witness in a case that happened the other day in Third District.” I didn’t want to explain even that much, but refusing to say anything would have suggested I was up to no good, rather than just trying to avoid burdensome procedures.
“Oh…yes, sir.”
