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more than that.”
    They were both smiling as they walked the few remaining yards to the administration building.
    Once there, Alastar said, “I hope today goes better with your mathematics session.” He opened the door for her, then followed her into the entry hall.
    â€œIt will.”
    Alastar smiled and watched as she headed to the hallway on the right toward the chamber where, shortly, primes and seconds would appear and realize, again, that they had no choice but to learn.
    Alastar’s first task, once he reached his study, was to review the Collegium’s finances, but the white-haired Dareyn was standing and waiting.
    â€œIs there a problem?”
    â€œNo, sir.” The old second paused, then added, “Factorius Hulet has requested a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. He’ll come to Imagisle.”
    The fact that the chief of the Factors’ Council not only wanted to see Alastar, but was willing to come to Imagisle, was a definite concern. Since becoming chief of the council, Hulet had not followed the practices of Elthyrd, his predecessor, and had avoided meeting with the Maitre whenever possible. “Did he say when he’d like to meet?”
    â€œToday, if possible. His messenger is waiting in the reception hall to take back word.”
    â€œFirst glass of the afternoon, then.”
    â€œI’ll tell the messenger.”
    â€œThank you.” Alastar turned and entered the study, leaving the door ajar. Sitting on the corner of his desk was his copy of the master ledger. Beside it was a single-sheet, badly printed broadsheet, with the one word in bold script across the top— Veritum. Alastar picked up the newsheet carefully, by the edges of the flimsy paper. He’d learned that the ink came off on his fingers all too easily. The newssheet—or scandal-sheet, as Dareyn called it—had begun appearing in late Juyn or early Agostos twice a week, usually on Mardi and Vendrei, and cost half a copper. Alastar had no idea who published it, but had found it was occasionally useful in providing information that might not have come to his attention until later.
    The first story was about the flood damage caused to the livestock pens behind the old piers on the south side of the River Aluse downstream of the Sud Bridge … and how Factorius Duurmyn claimed he’d end up paying for all the repairs because, while High Holders had the rights to use the pens, they weren’t obligated to pay for repairs, and had already informed him that they would not pay higher usage rates. There was also a story about “The Impersonator”—a risqué comic drama at The Yellow Rose about the daughter of a High Holder who posed as a wealthy factor’s son in order to make her fortune before being married off to a dissolute widowed High Holder.
    Given the subject matter, it must be very comic and even more risqué.
    And there was something new—a black-lined box around some text that was definitely not gossip or news, headed by larger type—“The Finest in Men’s Tailoring.” The remainder of the text extolled the fine fabrics and fit provided by one Raabyrt, located at the corner of the Boulevard D’Este and Tailors’ Lane.
    Alastar nodded. Presumably Raabyrt was paying the publisher, and before long, at least if Raabyrt’s business improved, there would be others.
    After setting aside the newssheet, Alastar picked up the ledger and began to go through the receipts column, a column that thirteen years earlier had shown nothing but a monthly allowance from the rex. He was again reminded of the differences as he noted the receipts from the sales of fine papers, and especially of buttons. The buttons had come as an indirect result of the reason for Thelia’s discovery as an imager. Thelia had mentioned that she had tried to image buttons for her mother, the Factoria Kathila, because Kathila had been complaining