“Master Rhennthyl, we’re closed ’cause of the fire, but Mistress Khethila and Factor Chenkyr are inside.”
“A fire? Where?” A coldness flashed down my spine.
“In the back on the north end.”
I hurried up the steps to the open double oak doors and inside, where the heavy acrid odor of smoke assaulted me. I glanced beyond the open area before the racks that held the swathes of various wools. To the right was another set of racks with the lighter fabrics-muslin, cotton, linen. Behind that was the raised platform with desks and files from where Father-and now Khethila-could watch the entry.
Khethila hurried toward me. I didn’t see Father.
“Rhenn . . . how did you know?”
“I had a feeling I should come.” That was accurate enough. “What happened? How bad is it?”
“Someone pried open the boarded-up window in the small storeroom-the one Father converted-and threw something in-something like a glass jug of lamp oil. Everything there is ruined, but Sherol-the night watch-he stopped the flames. He was burned badly.”
“He’s dead?”
She shook her head. “Father doesn’t think he’ll live, but he’s still alive. He’s at the South Hospital of the Nameless.”
“Where’s Father?”
“He’s in back. The Civic Patrol and the fire brigade left a while ago. The Patrol wasn’t that helpful. Oh, they were nice enough, but how can you find someone that no one even saw? It’s not like they stole goods that might be traced, or even golds. Even before this, it wasn’t that good a week.”
“Something happened in Kherseilles?”
She nodded wearily. “One of the properties adjoining the factorage building was sold. The new owner required a survey. He claims the building wall and the courtyard wall were built on his land. He’s asking that they be removed-or for five hundred golds to convey the property that the walls were built on. The discrepancy is all of half a yard. Five hundred golds for a strip twenty yards long and half a yard wide.”
“Who’s the new owner?”
“Rousel doesn’t know. The Banque D’Rivages is handling it through the Banque D’Kherseilles.”
“How long since Father built the place?” I thought it had been ten years.
“Nine years.” She shook her head. “Ten, and it wouldn’t matter.”
“Can’t Father require compensation from the original surveyor?”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh.” I had a very good idea who was behind what had happened, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the surveys and documents presented had even been forged or altered, but, again, with the surveyor dead, and the details almost ten years old, I doubted that there was any way to prove what I instinctively knew.
“Rhenn . . . do you know something?”
“No.” I didn’t know. “Seliora’s family might be able to find out who’s behind it. Or I might. Even if I can, though, it will be hard to find any proof.”
“That’s what Father said.”
“He might ask his friend Veblynt, though. He knows people.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’m going back to see Father.”
“He’ll be glad to see you.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I made my way through the racks of woolens, most of which would require a good airing out, if not more. Some of them might not be salvageable.
Father was standing in the doorway of the small storeroom. Two men I didn’t know were using large sponges to collect water and squeeze it into buckets that they emptied out through the window that had been boarded shut and pried open by the arsonists.
Father turned. “Khethila thought you might be here.” He gestured around the small room. Most of the racks were charred. “A good three to four hundred golds’ worth of ruined wool, and a good man who saved us from total ruin who will like as not die.”
He turned from the room and shut the door before looking at me. “Do you know who might have done this?”
“It’s not someone who knows the business,” I said. “They would have forced one of the doors next to the loading docks, and they would have used more oil.”
“That means it’s someone who just wants to hurt factors-like those Tiempran religious fools or Jariolan sympathizers. Or it’s personal.”
I nodded. “Has anyone gotten mad at you lately? Or have you had to collect?”
Father shook his head. “Oaletyr’s been a season late in paying all year, and there are a couple of tailors I’ll never get paid by, but they wouldn’t do this. Have you upset anyone?”
“A dead Ferran envoy, and a few dead assassins, but people don’t usually attack imagers’ families because we can’t inherit anything.”
“You can’t?” His tone of voice told me that he hadn’t known that.
“No. And it can’t go from you to any children. Now . . . if I married Seliora, her property and golds could go to them, but nothing from my family.”
“Then . . . why . . . who?”
“You might ask your friend Veblynt, and I’ll see what I can find out.” I wasn’t about to tell Father what I suspected, because, first, there was no proof, and second, if I happened to be right, no one in my family should know anything at all. I didn’t even like telling Seliora, but her family at least had experience in dealing with what I suspected I and mine were facing.
We walked slowly back to rejoin Khethila.
“I’ve been checking the bolts out here,” she said. “Most of them will be all right.”
While there wasn’t that much that I could do, it was two glasses later before I felt that I could leave, and it took nearly half a glass to get a hack headed back north.
Seliora and I had not made any specific plans for the evening, just that I would arrive around half past four, but the hack dropped me off outside the private entrance closer to a quint past third glass. I held shields and glanced around carefully as I made my way to the steps, despite Seliora’s statement a week earlier about Grandmama Diestra calling in some favors. Still . . . no one shot at me.
Bhenyt was the one to open the door and greet me. “You’re early.”
“Something happened. If you’d tell Seliora, I’ll wait in the main foyer, if that’s all right.”
With a nod, Bhenyt was gone, and another quint passed while I sat on the chair that had been designed for the ruined High Holder Tierchyl, thinking about exactly what I could do and how. I certainly couldn’t go running off to wherever Ryel’s main holding house was. First, I didn’t know where it was. Second, I didn’t know where he was. Third, I had no idea exactly how to best do what needed to be done-or what exactly that might be, given the way High Holders clearly held grudges. Fourth, I needed to make sure that whatever I did would not run afoul of the rules of the Collegium, although Maitre Dyana’s words suggested I could do almost anything so long as it never became public or linked to me. And, fifth, while I suspected, even knew, that Ryel was behind the arson, if I acted before his acts became known, I’d end up destroying myself, if not my entire family.
When I heard Seliora’s steps, I immediately stood and walked toward the archway at the bottom of the staircase. She was wearing deep green trousers, a paler green blouse, and a jacket to match the trousers. Her earrings were silver studs with green stones, and she wore a silver chain with a pendant that looked to be jadeite, matching the earrings.
She gave me a hug and a warm kiss, then wrinkled her nose. “You smell . . . like smoke.”
“I’m certain I do. I think I’m going to need even more help. I’ve just come from the factorage. Last night, someone set a fire there. . . .” I explained as quickly as I could what had happened there-and in Kherseilles.
“It has to be Ryel,” she said. “Who else would have the golds-or care that much?”
“I know that, but there’s not a shred of proof. Even the card with the silver ribbon couldn’t be traced.” I stopped. “There’s one other thing. On Meredi night after I talked to Horazt . . . Oh, I need to tell you about that as well . . . but, first . . . I was walking back down South Middle, and I felt this flash in my head. That’s what it felt like, and I saw flames leaping from a hole in a brick wall-”