L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

At eighth glass I was in my studio, after trudging through a rain that showed little sign of dissipating. While I was waiting, I’d checked the small storeroom that held an assortment of unused items and found a fairly solid and flat crate that I hoped no one would mind my borrowing. At slightly past the hour, in walked Master Rholyn.

“I apologize for being late, Rhennthyl, but Master Poincaryt wasn’t that precise in explaining where your studio was, especially for someone coming from the north quarters.”

I’d assumed that Master Rholyn was married and living in one of the separate gray stone dwellings for senior imagers situated on the north end of Imagisle, but I hadn’t known for certain. I smiled. “I barely knew whose portrait I’d be painting next. Master Poincaryt just indicated that I should be here.”

“He can be terse to the point of being cryptic,” replied Master Rholyn. “One reason Master Poincaryt decided you should paint my portrait is not only your present duty, but your past duty as well. Before we get into that, should I sit there?” He gestured to the chair.

“Not for a moment, sir. I’d like to ask a question. I didn’t often observe the Council. When you speak to the entire Council or to the Executive Council, do you remain seated at your desk or do you stand?”

“In open discussion, councilors remain seated. To offer a motion, one stands.”

“Then I will portray you standing.” I carried the low crate over next to the chair. “If you’d put one foot . . . the one you’d use if you stood that way . . .”

“Rhennthyl . . . you know the chamber floor is flat.”

“Yes, sir, but not if you were making a motion to the High Council.” I paused. “I realize that’s unlikely, but it’s perhaps more politic.”

He laughed. “Did Master Poincaryt suggest that?”

“No, sir, but if I didn’t do it that way, he might.”

Rholyn shook his head, then stepped forward and took the position.

“Look a touch to the right . . . please.” I began to draw in the details on the design I’d already started.

After a time, I had him sit down for a bit while I worked on some of the angles, but I couldn’t help asking, “Do you think the Council will actually declare war on Ferrum, sir?”

“No one really wants Solidar in a war, even the High Holders, but it’s looking less and less likely that we can avoid it. Ferrum will use any pretext to try to obtain the iron and coal mines near the Jariolan border, and their army is large and well trained and equipped enough that any attempt to invade by us would be a bloodbath on both sides. Even if Jariola put all its efforts into attacking Ferrum, and we were able to blockade the Ferran ports, it could devastate both Ferrum and Jariola.”

“So the strategy is likely to stall and negotiate and try to avoid all-out war until the covert field operatives can find a way to persuade Ferrum not to attack?”

Master Rholyn shook his head sadly. “Even if your assumptions were correct, accomplishing a change in Ferran policy would still be difficult, because all those who have power in Ferrum think alike, and the number of illnesses, accidents, and deaths necessary to change the collective political mind of the Ferran Assembly would be so noticeable that it would unite everyone against us.”

That, unfortunately, made sense, and I had to wonder what the Collegium might be able to do against such a united opposition with a mere handful of talented covert field operatives.

By the time the anomen bells struck nine and Master Rholyn had left, I’d changed the design twice, but finally had one that would work while revealing-I hoped-something of the councilor’s wit and temperament.

I thought about taking a hack out to see my parents before going to Seliora’s, but with the rain splashing down everywhere, I decided against it. Instead, I stayed in the studio and set up the canvas. That took me far longer than I’d thought, and I worked through lunch.

What with one thing and another, and from changing from damp grays into better and drier ones, checking some aspects of the patroller procedures, and making sure that I had the “silver knot” card and envelope, it was after third glass when I set out. As always, I held full shields from the time I left my quarters. I allowed for extra time, but the rain had lightened into a drizzle, and the hack I took from the west side of the Bridge of Desires actually got me to the corner of Nordroad and Hagahl Lane well before fourth glass.

Seliora’s cousin Odelia was the one to open the door. “You’re early, Rhenn, but I don’t think Seliora will keep you waiting.”

“Can you tell me who’s coming for dinner this evening?” I asked as we walked up the staircase to the second-level formal entry hall.

“I could.”

“But you won’t because that’s Seliora’s privilege.”

“We don’t infringe on each other.” Odelia smiled. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

With so much of the extended family living together in the huge building that combined manufactory and lavish quarters, I could see that made good sense.

As I ambled around the entry hall, waiting for Seliora, I noticed a chair I hadn’t seen before. It looked new, and I walked over to study it. The seat was upholstered in what I had earlier learned was a Jacquard-loomed needle-point, a family crest of some sort. The design had to be Seliora’s.

I’d barely walked away from it when I heard footsteps coming down the side staircase from the private quarters on the third level. I turned to wait for her. She was wearing blue and silver, flowing dark blue trousers and a matching blouse, with a pale silver jacket trimmed in the dark blue. I couldn’t help smiling as we walked toward each other.

“You’re early. I’m glad.” She took my hands, then tilted her head and kissed my lips, gently but warmly. “You don’t mind if we just sit here? I told Mama that we’d greet everyone.”

“Who is ‘everyone’? Odelia wouldn’t tell me.”

“Good.” Seliora grinned, then turned and led me toward the settee closest to the archway at the top of the entry staircase. “She shouldn’t have. Papa’s sister Staelia and her husband, and Papa’s cousin Duerl and his wife. Staelia has a bistro not that far from the river. Odelia and Aunt Aegina and Grandmama Diestra will join Mama and Papa and us . . . and Shomyr and Methyr. It’s cool enough that you’ll finally get to eat in the dining chamber.”

We settled onto the settee.

“Is that a new chair?” I asked, gesturing to the one I’d looked over earlier.

“Unhappily.”

“Oh? Done for a client, and they didn’t like it?”

“High Holder Tierchyl. He did himself in with his favorite pistol last Mardi. Your ‘friend’ Ryel managed it. I don’t know the details, but Tierchyl was overextended. He arranged a huge timber harvest to pay the interest on his debts. Everything in the sawmill and in the drying barns, as well as the timber waiting to be stripped and milled, caught fire, including Tierchyl’s mill itself. The Banque D’Rivages refused to extend any more credit or to even extend the term of the notes.”

“But . . . a High Holder has to have tens of thousands of hectares.”

“Most of them will have to be sold, Mama said. He had almost no cash at all remaining, and supposedly all his lands were security for the notes at ninety percent. There will be more than enough golds for a comfortable life for his widow and children, but nothing like what a High Holder requires.” Seliora shrugged. “We’re out the cost of the chair, as well as a hundred yards of special fabric. The wood isn’t a problem, because most of it hadn’t been even rough-shaped and can be used for other commissions in the future. It’s still a loss of close to a hundred golds.”