With that not-exactly-consoling thought I pulled on my gray heavy winter cloak and made my away across the quadrangle to the duty coach stand. The clouds had lightened some, and the snow had stopped, although the dusting on the grass had not melted. As I rode toward Civic Patrol headquarters, I tried to think of statements or questions that would lead Artois toward areas where I needed to know more without admitting totally my ignorance.
The Commander was in, and he even smiled and stood, if but for a moment before seating himself, as I entered his study and closed the door behind me.
“Greetings, Maitre. I’d thought I might be seeing you before long, now that you’ve settled back into the Collegium.” He paused. “I must admit that I’ve been pleased with the performance of Captain Alsoran. That has been a bright spot in a rather grim winter.”
“He was always very solid for me.” I sat down across from him. “What should I know about this grim winter for the Patrol?”
“I imagine you know some of it. The stronger elveweed is creeping back into the hellhole and the surrounding areas in Sixth District. Cydarth and I agreed on promoting Yerkes and Walthyr to captain, and we’ll have to see how that works out.” He fingered a chin that looked more pointed than I recalled, perhaps because he was even more gaunt than the last time I’d seen him, not that he’d ever been other than slender. “We still haven’t found any more Ferran agents, dead or alive…except for the one you killed that shot Councilor Glendyl. There haven’t been any more explosions in the last week or so, but there’s been a rash of counterfeit silvers-some sort of lead-tin alloy washed with silver. They’re always passed at crowded taverns or bistros. The workmanship is good, too.”
“Silvers…that makes sense. Everyone looks closely at golds.”
“You don’t think they’re the work of a renegade imager?”
“No. If the workmanship is good, it wouldn’t take any more effort to image real silvers, and an imager who could do that would be far better off copying jewelry and pawning it.”
“I thought as much, but I wanted your opinion.”
“I have run across something a bit…odd.” I smiled ruefully. “You remember the explosion at the Midroad Banque D’Excelsis? Well…there was a clerk there who drowned several weeks before the explosion, and I’d asked if there might be any connection. The director couldn’t find any, except that, after the clerk died, when his ledgers were audited as a matter of procedure, they discovered that he’d apparently embezzled a hundred golds. I was looking into something involving the Collegium, and I ran across the lover of the dead clerk, and he told me that the poor clerk was absolutely terrified of water, but that when he’d come down here to tell the Patrol, some patroller named Merolyn had threatened to charge him with murder.”
Artois nodded slowly. “That sounds…unlikely.”
He could have meant anything by that, but I just smiled. “Unlikely on all counts. A guilty lover wouldn’t try to get an accidental drowning classified as a murder if he’d done it, but I can’t see why Merolyn would need to threaten him, either.” I shrugged. “But it seemed so odd that I thought I should pass it on. Oh, the dead clerk’s name was Kearyk D’Cleris.”
“Kearyk D’Cleris…I don’t recall anything on that.”
“The other coincidence is that the subcommander is a client there. The director knows him by sight.”
“We all have to banque somewhere, Maitre Rhennthyl.”
“That we do. That we do. How is the subcommander?”
“As always,” replied Artois dryly.
“Does he have relatives in Ouestan?”
“Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“We’ve run across several strange connections to the Banque D’Ouestan, and one suggested a Cydarth D’Patrol. It’s nothing that I could verify, but I did wonder.”
Artois nodded. “You never know with that kind of information whether it’s real or a ploy to put one in a difficult situation.”
“That was my thought exactly.”
“Tell me, Maitre Rhennthyl. Do you think we’ll see more Ferran agents in L’Excelsis?”
“Like you, I don’t know. I have the feeling that those who might remain, if any do, are more likely to be involved in indirect attacks on Solidar. I don’t think we’ve seen the end of the events they may have set in motion or difficulties that may come from those events.” I shrugged. “You heard about the explosions at Councilor Glendyl’s engine works? Young High Holder Suyrien’s guards thwarted similar attacks in Solis.”
“I read that. You think others may occur?”
“I’d be surprised if they didn’t.”
“You have no idea where or when?”
“I wish I did.” And I certainly did.
We talked a bit longer, and then I took my leave. Artois did not suggest that I stop and see Cydarth, and I didn’t.
Lebryn pulled the coach up as I left headquarters.
“On the way back,” I told him, “I’d like to make a stop at 880 Avenue D’Theatre.”
“Yes, sir.”
The address, despite the street, was actually closer to Nordroad than to the theatre area or to the opera, and when the coach came to a halt, it was outside a yellow-brick structure only ten yards wide, if four stories high, sandwiched between two larger buildings, one of which proclaimed itself the River Association Building. I had no idea that there was a River Association, much less what it might do.
I made my way to the door and rapped on it with the slightly tarnished brass knocker. Although I waited for a time, no one answered.
From there, I had the coach take me all the way out to Frydryk’s “local” estate. He wasn’t there, but in Laaryn, tending to various legalities and property transfers. The chef d’chateau expected him back on Mardi. On the way back to Imagisle, it began to snow again.
I finally got back to the house at close to fifth glass. I’d barely stepped inside, dusted the light snow off my cloak and hung it up, when Seliora appeared, one hand firmly holding Diestrya’s left hand. Diestrya didn’t look at me.
“What did she do?”
“She threw her tea at the stove to hear it hiss, and when I took her mug away, she went into the wash room and got water from the pitcher to throw it at the stove. She broke the pitcher as well.”
“Someone is going to bed before dinner.”
Seliora nodded. “Oh…we received another invitation.”
“From whom? When?”
“It’s from Councilor Fhernon and his wife, on the thirteenth of Ianus. We’re going to that ball at the Almeida’s the next night.” She looked at me. “You need to be at both. I asked mother if Diestrya could spend the night on Vendrei and Samedi. There’s really no one here, now, to look after the girls, and Klysia has that Vendrei night off and the weekend.”
“Is that all right with your mother?”
“She was fine with it, and so were the twins. So was Aegina. She said the girls needed to see just what dealing with an active three-year-old was like for more than a few glasses. After this evening, I’m more than happy to give them the experience.” Seliora turned, then looked back. “The invitation is on the card tray. I’ll be back down shortly.”
Diestrya didn’t say a word as she trudged up the stairs beside her mother.
55
As planned, we went to services at the Imagisle Anomen on Year-Turn afternoon, and then took Diestrya to NordEste Design for the family dinner. Even Odelia was cheerful. We had a good dinner and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. I tried not to think too much about Dartazn and his charges steaming their way toward Ferrum and what awaited them.
On Lundi, after reading the newsheets that held nothing new, and a few scattered reports from across Solidar that also told me little, I finally received a response from Juniae D’Shendael that said she would be happy to receive me on Mardi at half-past ninth glass of the morning. That wouldn’t conflict with my meeting with Valeun at second glass. The rest of Lundi was quiet, and that bothered me. Quiet often foreshadowed trouble, as with a three-year old who was getting into trouble and didn’t want her parents to know.