A wink is not as good as a well-chosen phrase; in
intrigue, it’s better.
The next week and a half gradually got harder and harder, both in terms of my lessons with Master Dichartyn and the interrogations that resulted from those studies; the exercises required by Clovyl, which were designed to increase my strength and stamina without straining unduly my recovering injuries; and the sessions with Maitre Dyana.
I thought about Seliora, more than a little, but generally during the day, because I was so tired at night that I fell asleep quickly.
Maitre Dyana had me read and memorize a set of handwritten notes and observations on High Holders, and then she would quiz me. On the first Jeudi in Juyn, she took the notes back. “By now, you should understand that conversation is more than mere words. It is a combination of inflections, innuendos, gestures, and dry wit. Few not born into that culture ever master the intricacy of conversing well in that style, but someone such as you could certainly learn enough to interpret what lies beyond the words.”
“Especially as a merchant-born young man never expected to be more than an aide?”
She ignored my question, clearly deeming it rhetorical and unworthy of a reply. “The difficulty faced by the High Holders is that many of them equate intricacy and complexity with intelligence. The difficulty faced by those who do not understand intricacy and nonverbal complexity is that they often cannot distinguish between mere complexity for the sake of complexity and complexity that masks motives and intelligence often far greater than is usually encountered.”
I thought for a moment. “The more powerful High Holders would not remain so without both wealth and intelligence, but the web of complexity that veils all High Holders can shield the actions of the more intelligent and deadly, often until it is too late to discern the pattern and results.”
“Dichartyn believes you can see beyond the complexity.” Maitre Dyana raised her right eyebrow, a gesture far more effective than words could have been.
“You have great doubts, but you’re willing to make the attempt.” I smiled politely. “I can’t do a gesture like that, but even if I could, wouldn’t it be out of character for a man?”
“For any man thought to be interested in women.”
I had doubts that I’d be terribly convincing as any other type of man.
“Maintain that pleasant, close-to-but-not-quite-supercilious smile through everything, young Rhennthyl, and it will save you many words and much difficulty. Do not ever forget that on their actual holding, High Holders retain the rights of low justice, and that can be quite painful.” Her face changed slightly, in a manner I could not have described, but could certainly have painted, and there was pleasant interest, behind which was a hint of cold predation.
“Is that the expression one receives just after swallowing poison or getting a knife in the back?”
“No.” Her voice was sweetly pleasant. “That is the expression used when someone has just received word that they have ruined you. It’s an expression of triumph over someone who used to be an equal. The High Holders seldom kill each other . . . or those who have done them great wrong. That is far too kind.”
What was left unsaid was that a High Holder who did not dispose of an underling who needed it was considered weak, as was one who actually had to attempt to kill an equal, rather than ruining him and his family. But it also suggested that High Holder Ryel might well have worse in mind for me than assassination . . . and over a long time.
Her face changed again. Now, behind the smile lay contemptuous pity.
“That’s disposal of inferiors?”
“Good.”
That was my introduction to the conversational patterns of the High Holders, but Maitre Dyana was just beginning. At the end of our session, she handed me a book. “This is a novel. Read it. Part of it is accurate. Part is not. We will discuss it on Mardi.”
That was on top of Master Dichartyn’s latest assignment-to describe with a supporting proof the easiest ways to enter the Council Chateau and reach the private studies of the councilors without being detected. I had the feeling that the weekend would be long, both because of the work I had to do . . . and because I would not be seeing Seliora.
Messenger/Guard
47
Silence is not golden; it is only a tool like any other.
At the end of the following week, Master Draffyd examined me and said that I could go back to a stronger conditioning regime, and whatever imaging Master Dichartyn had in mind. I had not received a letter from Seliora, but I couldn’t say I was totally surprised, not when she and Shomyr were still traveling. I did receive a letter from my mother, expressing concern and wanting to know if and when she could visit. I wrote back that because of the nature of my training it would be several weeks yet. I just didn’t want to have to explain. Some of what had happened I knew shouldn’t leave the Collegium, and Mother didn’t respond well to my refusing to say much. I also didn’t want to mention Seliora, not yet. Not until after she returned from her trip. It had taken Mother years to accept Remaya, and I wasn’t about to raise that issue until I was absolutely certain that Seliora and I belonged together.
The next Lundi-Juyn sixteenth-I had barely settled into the chair in Master Dichartyn’s study when he said, “Your messenger uniforms arrived, did they not?”
“Yes, sir. They fit comfortably.”
“They should. It’s time for you to go to work. You’ll be going to the Chateau every morning for the next three weeks. In the afternoons, Clovyl will still work with you, and I’ll occasionally give you instruction and exercises. When the Council resumes meeting officially on the second of Agostos, you’ll be there all day, every day, and some evenings.” He paused. “But you will be expected to continue the physical conditioning. After you begin full-time at the Chateau, you’ll be joining the group that exercises at fifth bell every morning but Solayi.”
What could I say to that but “Yes, sir.” Then I asked, “With everything going on between Caenen and Ferrum and Tiempre, the Council’s not meeting?”
“The Executive Council is still there. Effectively, they control the government. The full sessions deal more with laws and problems.” He cleared his throat. “At the Chateau, Baratyn will brief you on your duties. He’s in charge of the messengers, both the imagers and the non-imagers who handle most of the messages. All of the imagers are listed as part-time messengers and security aides. The regular messengers aren’t supposed to know that you’re imagers, but they all know you’ve been trained to deal with weapons and attackers. Now for Baratyn-he’s a Maitre D’Aspect, but he’s listed on the official public Collegium records as a tertius.”
“Yes, sir. Am I supposed to know who the other imagers are?”
“You are, and they’re supposed to know you. Baratyn will introduce you. You wear the messenger uniform here at the Collegium only when you’re on your way to and from the Chateau. All of you travel using a duty coach that’s generally indistinguishable from a hack. If necessary, you can take a hack back, but only so far as West River Road. The Council members know that some of the messengers are imagers, and, soon enough, most of the sharper ones will be able to pick you out, but they don’t say anything because their safety rests on you.”
“What about the High Holders?” I knew that there were five High Holders on the Council, and I was glad that Ryel was not one of them. He had been, years earlier, but councilors were limited to two consecutive five-year terms. If they wished and their appointing body agreed, they could return after standing down for a full term.
“Even if Ryel were a councilor, you’d be quite safe for now, and always in the Chateau. Your situation isn’t the first time that sort of thing has occurred. High Holders never act precipitously. Often they wait months or even years.”