more…along the lines of what the Ferrans believe is the proper form of government.”
“I have no idea who they were shooting at, Maitre Rhennthyl. They could have been targeting either one of us. I am grateful they were not more successful.”
I knew Glendyl was grateful, but I didn’t believe for a moment that he thought he’d been the target, and that suggested he knew very well who the shooter represented, at least who had hired and instructed him. “That’s possible. But why would anyone be shooting at a relatively unknown Maitre or the temporary head of the Executive Council? Shooting either of us would change little. Also, how would they even know I was coming to the Council Chateau? I didn’t tell anyone I was coming until I took the duty coach on Lundi morning. That would suggest that someone believed I’d be there sooner or later and that they were waiting. But who would know that I’d have to come to the Council Chateau?”
“All imagers wear gray. He might well have thought you were Maitre Rholyn.” Glendyl tried to lift his right hand, as if to wave me off, but it trembled so much that he immediately lowered it. His voice was tired, and he didn’t really want to talk to me. That was clear enough.
“Then who do you believe hired the shooter?”
“It could be anyone. We all have enemies.”
“Has anyone threatened you?”
“Not recently.”
“Why didn’t you want to supply the boilers and turbines for the modern fast frigate?”
“Because Suyrien wanted to build the ship at a loss, and that would have allowed the High Holders and Caartyl to declare that we could build more with the same margins. We’d have had to fight even harder for a reasonable profit for the rest of the ships, and that would have delayed things even more and reduced profits as well. I’m not in business to lose golds.”
“I take it that the Ferrans allow reasonable profit for their shipbuilders?”
“I wouldn’t know, but they must. They’re building modern ships, and we’re not.” He glared at me, except he was too tired to make it effective. “You’re asking me stupid questions when you ought to be asking all the High Holders why they won’t pay their share, and what they intend to do.”
“What else would you like me to do, then?” I asked reasonably.
“What ever you need to, Maitre.” He closed his eyes, not that he was sleepy.
“Thank you. Maitre Draffyd will take very good care of you, Councilor. The Collegium certainly wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, especially under our care.”
His eyes twitched, but he didn’t open them, not while I was in the small gray-walled room.
Draffyd was waiting outside. “You were reasonably brief. Did you find out anything?”
“Not yet. What happened to his right hand?”
“It’s always been weak, from when he was younger, but he’s kept that hidden for years. The angle that the shot took him at damaged some muscles. I don’t know that they’ll fully knit, and, if they do, it’s likely to be months, or longer.”
“I didn’t catch that.”
“You caught enough. He’s still fortunate you were there.” He nodded, and I headed back to the administration building.
Maitre Dyana appeared at my study door within moments of when I returned. She slipped gracefully into the chamber, closing the door behind her. She was again wearing a scarf, one of brilliant blue edged with pale yellow. “Was your conversation with Glendyl productive?”
“Did he tell me anything that was directly useful? No. I didn’t think he would. The way he avoided the questions was indicative of several possibilities. At the very least, he had arranged, or he knew that senior imagers would have to visit him.”
“He had to know that we carry shields that are proof against snipers.”
“I thought about that, and that’s why he’s guilty.”
Maitre Dyana did not speak for a moment. “I have an idea, but I’d like to hear why you think so.”
“Glendyl is anything but stupid. He has to know about imager shields. He’s known, possibly even seen, when Dartazn, Martyl, or I deflected bullets or survived explosions. But…he also knows that the Ferran agents, some six years back, were successful in killing a number of imagers, generally caught unaware. What if, just if…an intermediary let it be known that the Ferrans had weapons capable of piercing imager shields? What does he have to lose? They either succeed or they don’t.”
“Why would he want imagers killed?”
“Because he believes that we support the continued control of the Council by the High Holders. He may even know, or suspect, that there are no longer even a thousand High Holders, and yet nothing has changed.”
“He hasn’t brought that up in the Council, but he wouldn’t.”
“Did you ask Maitre Rholyn that?”
“No. I’ve studied the proceedings and records,” she replied, “and Maitre Poincaryt never mentioned it, either.”
“You think Glendyl wouldn’t bring up the question because he fears the High Holders?” That suggested Glendyl might be an excellent factorius and businessman, but that he certainly didn’t understand fully what had been going on behind the calm front of the Council. All he had to do was to wait a little bit longer than one more year, and he would have been the head of the Executive Council. Suyrien had already laid the groundwork. Instead, Glendyl had failed to see that change was coming, and had tried to use Ferran agents to force that change.
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t bring it up for the same reasons that you believe Maitre Poincaryt didn’t. There are some factors, notably Etyenn, who would relish the chance to become High Holders and who probably already have the wealth if not the lands. Even talking about it could delay the change.”
“Still,” I pointed out, “there’s more here. Master Dichartyn told me that Glendyl had knuckled under to High Holder Haebyn’s demands to delay locomotives and replacement engines to ironways that didn’t give preference to eastern High Holder grain shipments. He also said that there were rumors that golds had changed hands, and that Glendyl had delayed shipments. Why would Glendyl, who disliked High Holders, do that…unless he needed golds? Not only that, but Glendyl, who has always been trying to reduce the power of the High Holders, wouldn’t offer the cartage reform amendment. Caartyl did.”
“That may be, but Glendyl has nothing to gain by having imagers killed.”
She was probably right, but still…
“You have that look, Maitre Rhennthyl. Did you suddenly recall something of import?”
“I’m not certain of its import. I’ll need to talk to some people first.”
“Then I suggest you do.”
After Maitre Dyana left, I pulled my winter cloak back on and left again, trudging through the gray morning to the duty coach stand.
Three quints after I stepped into the coach, Davoryn, who only drove me occasionally, was guiding it up the drive to Frydryk/Suyrien’s L’Excelsis chateau. It was a risk, calling on Frydryk without an appointment and unannounced, but where else was he likely to be on a cold winter day? If he didn’t happen to be in, I could find out where he was. But I had a strong feeling I needed to talk to him as quickly as possible.
The retainer who appeared at the door took in my grays and the visored cap with the silver imager insignia, then finally said, “Sir…I don’t believe that…High Holder Suyrien was expecting you.”
“I’m most certain that he wasn’t,” I said agreeably. “Is he in?”
“Ah…”
“Please tell him that Maitre D’Esprit Rhennthyl needs some time with him, and that I wouldn’t spend a glass getting here without an appointment if it were not important.”
“Yes, sir.” He paused, then added, “If you would come in and wait in the foyer…”
Once I was inside, he closed the door, then turned and headed toward the door on the left side of the hexagonal foyer, the one to the study where I had met with Frydryk earlier. After a quick knock, the retainer opened the door, barely enough to step inside, shutting it behind himself.
In moments, the door opened, and the functionary said, “Sir, this way…”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t even have to close the door. It clicked shut behind me.
