I glanced from Alsoran to Smultyn, whose tunic was smeared in grime.
“Close enough, sir. One of the taudis-toughs caused the brick wagon’s dray horse to spook. We had to chase him, but we got him.”
“How old does he look?”
“Old enough that he can’t plead for the Army or Navy.”
“And the others?”
“Petty theft, except for one assault. The brick teamster’s in there, too. He tried to take a knife to the spirit wagon guard. Guard cold-cocked him.”
I couldn’t help frowning at that.
“It was a set-up,” suggested Smultyn. “He paid the tough to spook the horse, and he guided it so the brick wagon sideswiped the spirit wagon. That’s why all the kids were waiting. The guard accused him of that, and the knife came out.”
“Do we know if he’s the regular teamster? I’d wager he’s not.” I took a deep breath, because from the Patrol’s viewpoint, it didn’t matter.
“Oh…and there was one other thing,” Alsoran added, with a wry smile.
“Both wagons were overloaded for their axle types?”
He nodded. “We had to cite them both. The Patrol teamsters came out and drove them to the holding yards.”
That meant another complaint to the Council, because none of the traders and factors liked having to comply with the weight limits. The wagon owners would pay to get the wagons and teams back, but they knew Commander Artois wouldn’t ever relent. His niece had been killed by a runaway overloaded wagon. So they petitioned the Council, but the Council had refused to change the law.
The rest of the afternoon, what was left of it, was far less eventful.
Desalyt was the duty driver who picked me up outside the station. As I was about to enter the coach, he handed me an envelope. I didn’t open it until I was inside and headed toward NordEste Design.
The single line on the sheet read, “My study before dinner, please.” It was signed with a single “D.”
I didn’t even want to speculate. But…was it about the inevitable resumption of war between Ferrum and Jariola? Or some follow-up about the explosion? Or something else entirely? What ever it happened to be, it would complicate life.
I barely managed to get to the covered portico at NordEste Design before Seliora hurried out with Diestrya, closing the door behind her with a firmness just short of slamming it.
I decided against saying anything for a moment and took Diestrya’s hand so that we both walked her to the coach, unseen imager shields protecting all of us.
Once Desalyt had turned the coach off Nordroad and we were headed southwest on the Boulevard D’Ouest toward the Nord Bridge over the Aluse, I finally asked, “What happened?”
“Are you trying to soothe me?”
“No. I can see you’re upset about something. I thought you might want to talk about it.”
Seliora glanced down at Diestrya, then shook her head. “Later.”
After we’d covered another few blocks, I said, reluctantly, “I’m going to have to stop and see Master Dichartyn before dinner.”
“Again? You’ve had to…” Seliora broke off the sentence.
“He doesn’t ask unless it’s important.”
“Important to him.”
“I know.” I offered a helpless shrug. Maitre Dichartyn was my superior in the Collegium.
Once the duty coach came to a halt at its post on the west side of Imagisle, I did hurry down to the administration building.
Master Dichartyn was standing by the window of his study when I entered, but he did not speak until I closed the door.
“You’ve seen the newsheets, have you not?”
“I have. To which problem are you going to direct my attention?” I didn’t feel like guessing.
“Grain ware houses. You might recall that I mentioned a High Holder Haebyn. The two ware houses that were destroyed and damaged were his.”
“So we now have a subterranean conflict between eastern High Holders and freeholders? I assume the grain factors are on the side of the freeholders. Are they?”
“Wouldn’t you rather deal with a freeholder than a High Holder?”
“Is this because river flows are down, and the freeholders have bought out water rights? Or is it because grain production is up and the freeholders can underprice the High Holders?”
“Something along those lines,” Dichartyn replied. “In dry years, the High Holders have more water, but in good water years the freeholders can underprice the High Holders to the point where the High Holders lose golds.”
“That’s very interesting, but what’s the connection between that and the Collegium and one Civic Patrol Captain?”
“Nothing…yet. Except for one thing: the report of Broussart’s death was in error. He was apparently called away and let one of his assistants take his wife and daughter to the opera.”
“You’re suggesting that he planned the explosion to implicate Haebyn? And he killed his own wife and daughter to do it?”
“He and his wife were not on the best of terms. Apparently, his wife and the assistant were.”
I could see that Dichartyn had been busy. “You won’t find much in the way of proof. Captain Jacquet won’t, either.”
“No. I don’t expect anyone will. I just thought you’d like to know.” He smiled. “One other thing, Rhenn. I don’t believe your wife has ever been to a Council Ball, has she?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s time we remedied that.” He handed me a heavy parchment envelope. “That’s an invitation for you and your wife as a guest of High Councilor Suyrien. You do have formal wear, and I’m certain Seliora will be radiant.”
“What am I supposed to be looking for?” I asked dryly.
“If Suyrien and I knew, Rhenn, both you and Seliora wouldn’t be there.”
“What should I tell her…besides that?”
“That’s all.”
“There’s one thing you should know, sir, if you don’t. Some of the elveweed coming into L’Excelsis is tainted or poisoned…” I gave him a short explanation, but not what I’d asked Seliora’s family to find out. Then I left and hurried to see if I could find Draffyd, but he’d already left the infirmary.
When I reached the house, Seliora met me in the front foyer. “Dinner’s not quite ready. Klysia said it won’t be long. There’s an envelope on the receiving tray, but I didn’t know who it was for. I thought I’d wait to open it until you got here.”
I glanced down to see Diestrya clinging to Seliora’s trousers. I reached down and scooped her up. “There! Dada’s got you.”
She giggled.
Seliora lifted the envelope from the silver tray on the sideboy, then opened it.
I moved closer to Seliora and looked over her shoulder, trying to read the words while maintaining a hold on a very active and squirming Diestrya.
“Dada…want to see.”
“In a moment, dear…” I tried to offer a placating tone as I struggled to catch the words of the note.
Kandryl and I would very much appreciate it if you would join us for a private dinner on Samedi, the twenty-eighth of Feuillyt, with just one other couple, his brother and Mistress Alynkya D’Ramsael…
“That’s sweet of her,” offered Seliora, lowering the note. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out to her estate.”
“Two busy weekends…” I mused.
“Oh…?”
“The following Vendrei we’re expected to be at the Council’s Autumn Ball,” I said, extracting the envelope that Master Dichartyn had given me from my imager grays.
Seliora looked at the envelope and the seal, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m told that’s the seal of High Councilor Suyrien. That was why Master Dichartyn wanted to see me.”
With only the slightest frown, Seliora opened the envelope, breaking the seal, and extracting the heavy card.
“We’re invited as guests of the High Councilor? That’s only three weeks away! I don’t have anything to wear…”
I managed not to choke openly. My darling wife had a dozen outfits that would out-dazzle any that I’d seen at previous balls.