“When do you have to leave here?”
“In about a glass.”
She stepped closer and put her arms around me, then lifted her lips to mine.
42
Ferravyl was close to 450 milles from L’Excelsis, at least by ironway, and even on the express, that was a trip of some nine glasses. Since I was taking the night special, it also meant taking a lead-cloth bed hanging, which I’d obtained from Draffyd, as well as a small bottle of a sleep opiate. Then, too, there was the requirement for an obdurate travel guard. The guard’s name was Claudyn, and, except for the black cloak and trousers, rather than livery, he looked like he might have been a High Holder’s personal bodyguard.
The L’Excelsis ironway station was on West River Road, about a mille south of Alusine Wool. We arrived at the station by duty coach at half before seventh glass, and then had to wait.
While we stood on the platform, I asked Claudyn, “Have you done this often?”
“Never that much. None of the Maitres have traveled since the Ferrans shelled the Collegium-excepting Maitre Rholyn.”
“Where did he go?”
“Only to Asseroiles. High Holder Haestyr had requested his presence.”
“When was that? Do you remember?”
“It was after Councilor Suyrien was shot, but before he died. Maitre Rholyn did say something about not wanting to go.”
That was interesting, especially since Claudyn had no idea what the two had discussed, not that Rholyn would ever have told him. Had Haestyr been angling to succeed Suyrien…or to oppose Ramsael? I’d have to bring that up to Maitre Dyana.
Once the train was opened to boarding, we made our way to the second accommodation carriage and located compartment three. The private sleeping chamber might have been considered commodious by some, but my lead-lined bedchamber was High-Holder spacious by comparison, although the dark oak paneling and deep green hangings and upholstery did help in making the train compartment seem warmer. Once the train was well away from L’Excelsis I prepared for sleep. Even after taking the draught I didn’t slumber all that well, but I didn’t dream. I did wake with a pounding headache and a much fuller understanding of what Schorzat had meant about train travel for an imager.
The locomotive puffed into the station in Ferravyl just before seventh glass on Vendrei morning. Breakfast in the dining car hadn’t been bad, even if the fried cakes had been a touch heavy. Eating had reduced my headache to a dull but faint throbbing. As we departed the train, under a hazy gray sky, Claudyn was cheerful, but kept that cheer to a few remarks and a near-constant smile. Surprisingly, there were more than a few hacks lined up outside the station, and we had no trouble engaging one for the trip to Glendyl’s manufactory, known locally, I discovered, as “the big engine works.”
After Frydryk’s comments, I’d wondered about the security of Glendyl’s facility, but, once the hack stopped outside the closed iron gates, I had the feeling he’d never seen it. The two-and-a-half-yard-high stone wall that surrounded the works ran at least half a mille in each direction from the gates. There were two guards at the stone gate house on the right side of the iron gates.
One of them stepped forward as I walked toward him. The wind was raw, although not as cold as in L’Excelsis. That rawness might have been because Ferravyl was far damper.
“I’m here to look at the works,” I said pleasantly.
“Ah…sir…”
The other one murmured, “You want to stop an imager? Or that big ob with him?”
I stopped and waited.
The first guard swallowed. “Sir…if you wouldn’t mind coming with me? I’m certain Director Huesyt would want to show you what ever you need to see.”
“I’d be happy to see Director Huesyt.”
“This way, sir.”
Claudyn and I followed the guard through a narrow side gate. Then we walked across an open stone-paved space from which ran three paved roads, one straight ahead, and the other two paralleling the walls. On the far side of the plaza, if one could call it that, on the left, was a square gray stone building of one story, some fifteen yards on a side, with a single-door entry. The door was iron and squeaked as the guard opened it. The small foyer held two benches and a table, behind which sat a young man in a pale blue coverall.
“Fardyl…Maitre Rhennthyl’s here to see the director,” said the guard.
At that, Fardyl stood immediately, inclining his head to me. “I’ll tell him, sir.” He turned and headed down the narrow hallway, barely a yard and a half wide.
The works guard did not move, but stood directly in front of the outside door that he had just closed. As I waited, I took in the confined space, with its old but smooth-sanded and varnished oak floors, the oak shutters, the white plaster walls, devoid of any decorations or hangings, and the faint smell of strong oil soap.
In moments, Fardyl returned. “He’ll join you in the conference room, Maitre.”
“Thank you.”
Claudyn remained standing in the foyer as I followed the aide down the narrow hallway to the first door on the right. I entered, and he retreated, leaving the door open. The rectangular conference table was of ancient golden oak, clearly far older than I, and surrounded by twelve straight-backed, armless, and uncushioned oak chairs.
In moments, another figure stepped through the doorway. Huesyt was a narrow-faced grizzled fellow with a short gray and brown beard and a slight paunch, wearing a padded brown leather waistcoat over a pale blue shirt. His trousers were dark blue, or had been before they had faded slightly. He inquired brusquely, “What can I do for you, Master Imager?”
“I don’t know that you’d heard. Earlier this week, Councilor Glendyl was shot. He was seriously injured, but it is likely that he’ll recover with no lasting effect.”
“I hadn’t heard. What does that have to do with your being here?”
“Just about everything,” I replied. “I was taking a walk with the Councilor, and we had just started to talk about the new turbines and why the Council didn’t seem to want to pay for the ships that they’d propel.” I paused. “At that very moment, he got shot. Now, the Council and the Collegium tend to get concerned when the High Holder who builds most of Solidar’s warships gets assassinated, and then the factor who supplies the new engines nearly gets killed. Oh…did I mention that my predecessor was looking into such matters, and he had a building dropped on him? So…you can see why I might be here.”
Huesyt didn’t speak for several moments. Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t say as I understand any of it…what with all the troubles…”
“I understand things haven’t gone smoothly here, either…”
He snorted. “We’re doing all right on boilers and old-style engines for the merchanters…or we would be if we hadn’t lost so many workers. Must have had to hire almost a hundred over the past year. Doesn’t help that the stupid crafters on the Council-pardon me, sir, but not building better ships when your enemy is doing that is stupid. As I was saying, it doesn’t help that we’ve got the best turbines in the world and we got no ships to use ‘em.”
“Why have you had so much trouble with workers? I’ve heard that the manufactory here is modern and well-maintained, and I imagine that workers are paid well.”
“They’re well paid. That they are, but it’s been senseless stuff. You get four or five who tried that new elveweed and killed themselves. A handful more got killed or maimed in tavern brawls. Some just disappeared. Maybe family problems, but no one ever heard from them again. A few got careless on the job. No matter how you try to run safe shops, some get careless or don’t listen.”
I nodded, then asked, “It sounds like you lost a lot more men than in any year before.”
Huesyt nodded. “I’ve been here twenty years. Never seen anything like it. Not all bad, though. Some of the new men are good, better than those that we lost, but it still slows things down. Now…if the Council…” He shook his head. “Sometimes, I talk too much…What can I do for you and the Council?”