“That’s singularly uninformative,” interjected Heisbyl, who was sitting farther down the table with Ghaend and Quaelyn, all of whom seldom ate at the dining hall, suggesting that they were there as much to see what I might say as for the culinary excellence of the fare.
Kahlasa, between Ferlyn and Ghaend, smiled faintly.
“True enough,” I admitted after another sip of tea. “That’s because we’re dealing with singular times and events.”
“I’ve said this before,” Ferlyn said, his voice not quite edged, “but those of you in the covert branch seem to suspect everyone. You try to hide everything, even from other masters.”
“Do you suggest that we send out newsheets to all Terahnar announcing what we plan?”
I could feel Isola wince at my words.
“Surely, surely, you could convey something more to the Maitres of the Collegium,” suggested Heisbyl in a reasonable tone.
“There are already rumors afoot that the Collegium is diverting Navy ships for an absurd project of some sort,” added Ferlyn.
“That’s interesting,” I replied. “Might I ask the source of these rumors?” Neither Schorzat nor Kahlasa knew the details of the plan, and Maitre Dyana wasn’t about to tell anyone. Of those left in L’Excelsis, that left Sea-Marshal Valeun and whomever he’d told. I suspected that Valeun had let that rumor loose, trying to distance himself from the plan, in case it failed, in which circumstances he could claim that he’d been against it from the start-with witnesses who could back up his assertion.
“You could,” replied Ferlyn, slightly archly.
Ferlyn was bright enough, but he could also be infuriating, because he confused his ability to analyze patterns with the understanding of what they meant. That gave him an inflated sense of importance. But then, I doubtless had an even more inflated sense of self-importance.
“Since I have, why don’t you tell us? Or was this a rumor that began with your reporting it here?”
“I’m led to believe that it came from the Naval Command, or perhaps the Naval Bureau. You know that to me the Navy types and bureaus are really all the same.”
“Now why would anyone there start a rumor that suggests that the Navy is agreeing to an absurd plan by the Collegium?” I asked. “Unless there is such a plan and that someone believes it will fail and he will profit by letting the world know that he was right from the beginning. Of course, anyone who would release that information for purely personal gain probably isn’t anyone that should remain in the Navy.”
“Unless it really is an absurd plan,” countered Heisbyl, “and one that more…experienced master imagers should have reviewed.”
“That’s always a question that the most senior imagers must consider.” I emphasized “most” just slightly. “At this point, however, revealing what the Maitre has approved would only endanger those involved without providing any other benefit…besides personal satisfaction at the possible cost of lives.”
That generally ended the discussion, and the ensuing silence did allow me to finish the casserole and the fresh-baked dark rye bread.
The first thing I did after lunch was to write a short note to Juniae D’Shendael, requesting permission to call on her. I could have shown up, but that could have been awkward, and it wouldn’t have had the effect that the note would. Besides, I wanted her to have advance notice.
Then I found another duty coach and directed the driver to take me to Glendyl’s L’Excelsis dwelling, which turned out to be a modest mansion a mille north of the Council Chateau. His four-level hillside dwelling some sixty yards across the front, set in a small park a quarter mille on a side, was modest only in comparison to the estates of the wealthier High Holders. It was also far enough outside L’Excelsis that it wasn’t under Civic Patrol jurisdiction, which was the only way a factor could obtain the equivalent of personal security that extended to all High Holders through their privilege of low justice. Of course, Glendyl couldn’t punish anyone, and if a crime occurred on his lands, he-or someone else-could petition the regional justiciary for punishment of the guilty party-assuming he could come up with proof and the person of that party.
The gate guard looked dubious, but clearly wasn’t about to refuse a Collegium Maitre. When I walked through the portico and reached the double doors of the dwelling itself, I came face to face with a pair of guards.
“Maitre Rhennthyl to see the Councilor,” I announced.
“He won’t be seeing anyone today,” announced the shorter and broader guard.
That seemed odd, but I persisted. “Is he here?”
“That he is, but not to anyone.”
“I’d appreciate it if you-or someone-would convey my presence to him.”
“That we can do, but he won’t see anyone.” The taller guard yanked on a bell-pull.
Shortly, a tall graying functionary opened the right door. He looked at me. After a moment, he spoke. “Maitre, the Councilor is not seeing anyone. He was specific. If you would like to leave a card…”
I didn’t feel like being shunted off by Glendyl’s functionaries. So I just raised concealment shields, and then imaged a pillar of flame in the middle of the stone portico behind me.
While they were gaping, I yanked open the door and stepped past the bewildered servant in his green livery.
Then I stepped to the side of the foyer, still concealed, and waited.
The flame died away quickly enough, and the functionary retreated, glancing this way and that. I followed him along the corridor to the right to a set of open double doors that filled an archway.
He stopped, cleared his throat, and spoke, “Sir…”
“I said I wasn’t to be disturbed by anyone.” Glendyl’s voice was cold and curt.
I stepped around the bewildered functionary and dropped the concealment, but held my defense shields. “Thank you.” I nodded to the servant. “You may close the doors. Now.”
He was shaking, but he did as I commanded. Then I stepped into the study. Although it had two large bookcases, there were too few volumes for the chamber to be a proper library.
Glendyl looked up from the armchair and the ledger in his lap. To say that he happened to be irritated would have been an understatement. His face was flushed, and his jaw was tight. The fingers of his left hand were white, so hard was he clutching the ledger.
“Maitre Rhennthyl…this is unbelievable…unacceptable…unprecedented…”
“Also unavoidable,” I said quietly.
“I will report this to the Council. I will have you charged with breaking and entering…”
“You won’t. First, I broke nothing. I announced myself and I didn’t force my way in.” I slipped in, but I really hadn’t used force. Surprise, but not force. “Second, I’ve taken nothing and will take nothing. Third, the last thing you want is to confront me before the Council.” I smiled. “I don’t have time for the niceties, and neither do you. I was hoping that you’d see that your story was not believable, but I see no sign that you intend to do anything but try to cover up your misdeeds.”
“Misdeeds? You’re the one-”
“Quiet.” I projected pure force at him, pressing him back into his chair. “Now…was Vyktor the one from the Banque D’Ouestan who came to you, or did he merely introduce you to the others…or suggest the others would be in touch with you?” I watched him intently as I dropped Vyktor’s name. There was enough of a reaction there.
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“But you do. I intend to bring the whole sorry mess in front of the Council. I thought you ought to know. I’ve already confirmed the business of the bribes from Haebyn and the debts you owe Suyrien House, not to mention the explosives in your works. The bribes alone will have you removed from the Council, because the artisan and guild Councilors will vote for your removal, as will the Collegium Councilor, as will the High Holders. Of course, they’ll also have to discipline Haebyn because Ramsael won’t want to give the impression that they’ll stand for that sort of thing. With those votes, do you really think Etyenn, Diogayn, Sebatyon, and Reyner will stand up for you?”