“I don’t think that was all Glendyl owed. He wouldn’t have taken what amounted to bribes from Haebyn if Suyrien’s funding happened to be fully carrying him. I can’t be certain, but I think the answer is in Ferravyl.”
“They may not let you in, you know?”
I smiled back at her. “They will.” I smiled back at her. “I’m still a Civic Patrol Captain, too. I never got around to offering a resignation, and Artois never asked for it.”
“No.” She smiled in return. “The Collegium hasn’t canceled your assignment there, either. How long will this take?”
“One way or another, I should be back by Solayi evening.”
“Be careful. You aren’t that indestructible, Maitre Rhennthyl.”
“I intend to be very careful.”
“Be more careful than that. If you won’t think about yourself, your wife, and your daughter, then think about what will happen to poor Schorzat if he has to pick up the pieces.”
“Yes, Maitre.”
I eased out of her study.
It took another two glasses to make the remainder of my arrangements, which included another visit to Draffyd and arranging for an obdurate to accompany me on the express. Then I hurried home to pack. I’d just finished when Seliora entered her bedchamber and took in the valise.
“You’re going where?” she asked. “When?”
“Ferravyl. I’m leaving tonight. I’m fairly sure that’s where that farsight flash took place…or will take place.”
“Why there?”
“Because it’s the only place that makes sense.” I gave her a quick and condensed version of what I’d found out and thought.
“Going there could be very dangerous.” Those were her only words when I finished.
“That’s possible. I think not going could be even more so. I don’t think anyone-including Maitre Dyana, the Council, and Sea-Marshal Valeun-really understands how much thought and resources the Ferrans put into this.”
“You don’t think Geuffryt…?”
“No. He has a very different agenda. The sad thing is that he ended up helping them.”
“What can you do about him?”
“I’ve been ordered not to do anything or to have anyone under me do anything.”
Seliora nodded thoughtfully. “You have another idea.”
“I may, but it will have to wait. Ferravyl is more important.”
“When do you have to leave here?”
“In about a glass.”
She stepped closer and put her arms around me, then lifted her lips to mine.
42
Ferravyl was close to 450 milles from L’Excelsis, at least by ironway, and even on the express, that was a trip of some nine glasses. Since I was taking the night special, it also meant taking a lead-cloth bed hanging, which I’d obtained from Draffyd, as well as a small bottle of a sleep opiate. Then, too, there was the requirement for an obdurate travel guard. The guard’s name was Claudyn, and, except for the black cloak and trousers, rather than livery, he looked like he might have been a High Holder’s personal bodyguard.
The L’Excelsis ironway station was on West River Road, about a mille south of Alusine Wool. We arrived at the station by duty coach at half before seventh glass, and then had to wait.
While we stood on the platform, I asked Claudyn, “Have you done this often?”
“Never that much. None of the Maitres have traveled since the Ferrans shelled the Collegium-excepting Maitre Rholyn.”
“Where did he go?”
“Only to Asseroiles. High Holder Haestyr had requested his presence.”
“When was that? Do you remember?”
“It was after Councilor Suyrien was shot, but before he died. Maitre Rholyn did say something about not wanting to go.”
That was interesting, especially since Claudyn had no idea what the two had discussed, not that Rholyn would ever have told him. Had Haestyr been angling to succeed Suyrien…or to oppose Ramsael? I’d have to bring that up to Maitre Dyana.
Once the train was opened to boarding, we made our way to the second accommodation carriage and located compartment three. The private sleeping chamber might have been considered commodious by some, but my lead-lined bedchamber was High-Holder spacious by comparison, although the dark oak paneling and deep green hangings and upholstery did help in making the train compartment seem warmer. Once the train was well away from L’Excelsis I prepared for sleep. Even after taking the draught I didn’t slumber all that well, but I didn’t dream. I did wake with a pounding headache and a much fuller understanding of what Schorzat had meant about train travel for an imager.
The locomotive puffed into the station in Ferravyl just before seventh glass on Vendrei morning. Breakfast in the dining car hadn’t been bad, even if the fried cakes had been a touch heavy. Eating had reduced my headache to a dull but faint throbbing. As we departed the train, under a hazy gray sky, Claudyn was cheerful, but kept that cheer to a few remarks and a near-constant smile. Surprisingly, there were more than a few hacks lined up outside the station, and we had no trouble engaging one for the trip to Glendyl’s manufactory, known locally, I discovered, as “the big engine works.”
After Frydryk’s comments, I’d wondered about the security of Glendyl’s facility, but, once the hack stopped outside the closed iron gates, I had the feeling he’d never seen it. The two-and-a-half-yard-high stone wall that surrounded the works ran at least half a mille in each direction from the gates. There were two guards at the stone gate house on the right side of the iron gates.
One of them stepped forward as I walked toward him. The wind was raw, although not as cold as in L’Excelsis. That rawness might have been because Ferravyl was far damper.
“I’m here to look at the works,” I said pleasantly.
“Ah…sir…”
The other one murmured, “You want to stop an imager? Or that big ob with him?”
I stopped and waited.
The first guard swallowed. “Sir…if you wouldn’t mind coming with me? I’m certain Director Huesyt would want to show you what ever you need to see.”
“I’d be happy to see Director Huesyt.”
“This way, sir.”
Claudyn and I followed the guard through a narrow side gate. Then we walked across an open stone-paved space from which ran three paved roads, one straight ahead, and the other two paralleling the walls. On the far side of the plaza, if one could call it that, on the left, was a square gray stone building of one story, some fifteen yards on a side, with a single-door entry. The door was iron and squeaked as the guard opened it. The small foyer held two benches and a table, behind which sat a young man in a pale blue coverall.
“Fardyl…Maitre Rhennthyl’s here to see the director,” said the guard.
At that, Fardyl stood immediately, inclining his head to me. “I’ll tell him, sir.” He turned and headed down the narrow hallway, barely a yard and a half wide.
The works guard did not move, but stood directly in front of the outside door that he had just closed. As I waited, I took in the confined space, with its old but smooth-sanded and varnished oak floors, the oak shutters, the white plaster walls, devoid of any decorations or hangings, and the faint smell of strong oil soap.
In moments, Fardyl returned. “He’ll join you in the conference room, Maitre.”
“Thank you.”
