Lieutenant Alsoran followed me into the study. He was the biggest patroller I’d ever run across, standing a good ten digits taller than me, and I was taller than most. His shoulders were also much broader, and there wasn’t the faintest trace of extra flesh around his midsection. His black hair was cut short and still faintly curly below his visored cap, and his eyebrows were thick and bushy. “Good morning, Captain. How did the meeting go?”
“As usual, with one exception. Did you hear about the bomb that exploded near the Place D’Opera on Samedi night?”
“Some of the patrollers were talking about it.”
“A wealthy factor from Piedryn was killed, with a note pinned to him, signed by a workers’ group—Workers for Justice—that no one has heard from in years. Have our patrollers keep their ears open. If someone comes into unexplained golds, I’d like to hear about it.”
“I’ll let them know.” Alsoran paused. “You don’t think that’s it, do you?”
“Let’s say that I think it’s unlikely that a workers’ group could build, place, and explode a bomb with that much precision.”
“What about foreigners? The Ferrans haven’t been happy with Solidar ever since the Winter War.”
“They certainly could find the expertise, but I can’t figure out why they’d target a factor whose lands and wealth come from wheat, corn, and agricultural goods. If they went after a High Holder like Young Ryel, who has factories and mills as well as lands, or after High Holder Shaercyt, who owns most of the port facilities in Westisle…that would make more sense. Or especially a factor like Councilor Glendyl, whose works manufacture engines and locomotives.” I managed a smile. “Anyway, we’re not likely to see anything like that in Third District.”
“Even with the rag-paper mill?” Alsoran didn’t quite laugh.
“Even with that.” I grinned back at him.
The mill was small, housed in a building that incorporated three once-abandoned taudis dwellings a block off Mando, adjacent to Quierca, in what had been the worst part of Third District. It represented an idea Seliora, Mama Diestra, and I had come up with, using the expertise of Factor Veblynt and admittedly, some golds from Seliora’s family. Because it wasn’t close to any streams, and because the re-used water requirements necessitated more filtration and settling tanks, it was small; but after four years, it reliably produced small runs of high-quality writing paper with special designs that were more and more in demand in L’Excelsis. It also employed some thirty-odd local taudis-dwellers, both full-and part-time, largely women who could not work full-time or young men who wanted to learn the trade. The entire operation usually broke even, but the greater advantage was that it had provided some twenty young men—so far—with the skills to work in Veblynt’s larger paper mills, without his having to train them. It also had contributed—along with what Seliora called the “simpleworks”—to improved living conditions in the taudis, and that helped reduce the violence, if not as much as I’d hoped.
“Then, there’s the continuing bud get problem.” I shook my head. “The commander turned down our request for another patroller. I’m afraid we won’t get one next year, either.”
“We’re covering the toughest part of L’Excelsis…well…what once was the toughest part of L’Excelsis,” Alsoran said, “and we do it with fewer patrollers than any other district.”
“I told him that, but he said that since we’ve reduced the number of offenses, we don’t have the same priority as Captain Kharles does in Sixth District, with all of his difficulties with the Hellhole taudis.”
“We’re supposed to do a bad job so we can get enough patrollers that they can work regular shifts like they do in Second, Fourth, and Fifth districts?” Alsoran’s tone was gently sardonic.
There was no point in pursuing that. We both knew it. “Before I forget, I’ll be in late on Meredi morning. That’s if I get a report from Jacquet tomorrow. I’ll need to track down some things dealing with the bombing case.”
“Be careful, sir. Every time you go off to track down things—”
“I know. Something happens.” Seliora offered the same kinds of warnings. “But this might not be quite so dangerous. I’m just looking for information, and I’ll be on Imagisle.”
The dubious look I received from my lieutenant suggested that I wasn’t being terribly reassuring. “Right now, I’m going for a walk, along South Middle, and I’ll see if I can run into Smultyn and Caesaro.”
Alsoran laughed. “Lyonyt wagered that you’d follow young Santaero up Elsyor.” Alsoran laughed again. “Now, I’ll have to.”
“The scenery’s better on Elsyor. Go collect your copper,” I replied in a mock-gruff voice.
We both headed out, walking up Fuosta together, past the cafes and the one bistro, if one could call it that, clustered just up from the station. I alternated eating a mid-day meal, when I ate at all, among the various places where I actually didn’t get indigestion.
We turned east on South Middle. Just before Dugalle, Alsoran crossed South Middle to take Elysor north. I flexed my imager shields, as much as to make certain that I was holding them as anything, because I’d been forced to develop them early on. They were proof against bullets, and slings and arrows, so to speak, and perhaps small explosions, but not against cannon, falling buildings, and large explosions—as I’d discovered early on as an imager.
Much as I tried not to spend too much time with the patrollers on their rounds, I still felt that, if I didn’t spend at least a glass a day with one or more of them, I’d end up out of touch with them and with the district. Besides, if I met with them after their rounds, that took their time, and we were stretched thin, and if I met with them in the station during their shifts, then the district wasn’t being patrolled. Also, as I’d discovered early on, I learned more by talking to them on their rounds.
I glanced at the chest-high brick wall to the right, separating the side yards of the taudis-dwellings from the sidewalk and South Middle. At least the bricks were clean. I’d had to lean on Horazt to get that accomplished, but he’d finally managed to take care of it by the expedient of assigning clean-up duties to those members of his gang who misbehaved. That had actually worked better than either of us had thought because the taudis-gang members didn’t want anyone else writing on the walls after that.
A block after I crossed Dugalle, still on South Middle, I could see the square structure of the woodworks ahead, on the block before Mando—Seliora’s “simpleworks,” built from the stones and bricks of the former Temple of Puryon. It had taken two years to construct after the temple had been blown up by the Tiempran fanatics. The taudis-dwellers who worked there produced sturdy, simple, but well-finished benches, tables, and chairs designed for bistros, cafes, and taverns. Since those establishments suffered breakage, there was a continuing market for solid and inexpensive furniture.
Before I reached Mando, I saw Smultyn and Caesaro walking toward me, their eyes scanning the avenue, the side streets, and the yards. They walked not quite casually, alert but relaxed, and that meant the day’s rounds had been good—so far.
“Good morning, Captain,” offered Smultyn, the short, dark-haired senior patroller of the pair.
“Good morning. Why don’t we head back the way you came, and you can tell me what you’ve seen this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
As we passed the woodworks, I glanced to my right at the long and low building.
“Everything’s fine there,” said Caesaro. “Fuhlyt said that all the wood was returned.”
“Good.” I’d just passed the word to Horazt. “Has anyone said anything more about that smash-and-grab at the silversmith’s?”
Smultyn shook his head. “Not much. The serving woman at the bistro one door up said that it was a taudis-youth, but one wearing a open jacket with an orange lining, from what she could see.”
“Orange? That’s one of the Hellhole gangs, isn’t it? The Midroad north of the Guild Square is a long ways from the Hell
hole.”
“It could be a local, using orange,” suggested Caesaro.
“Not smart.” Smultyn looked to me.
“I’ll pass the word to what ever taudischef I see next.”
“Jadhyl was looking for you. He said it wasn’t trouble.”
“Then I’m sure he’ll find me.”
In fact, less than two blocks past Mando, I saw Jadhyl in his green jacket. For what ever reasons, the taudis-gangs in my district had always worn colored jackets, rather than black ones with colored linings that the wearer had to leave open to show affiliation. The taudischef was talking to a youth under a lamppost. He said something, and the youth hurried off.
“I’ll catch up with you,” I told Smultyn, before I headed down the side street.
“Yes, sir.”
Jadhyl just waited until I stopped, then inclined his head. “Master Captain.”
I’d never seen anyone who looked quite like the east-end taudischef, with his faintly golden-tinged skin and his natural golden-brown hair and piercing eyes. He always spoke in a way that I could only have described as slightly over-precise. He’d never said where his parents had come from, only that they’d died when he was young, and he’d avoided answering me the one time I’d asked. I’d never asked again, because there wasn’t any point in it.
“Jadhyl.” I nodded in return. “I thought you might like to know…” I explained about the explosion, then finished, “If you hear anything, I’d appreciate what ever you might wish to share with me.” Before he could reply, I added, “There’s one other thing. We had a smash-and-grab at the silversmith’s—Alaint’s place just off the Midroad.”
“He’s not that friendly,” replied Jadhyl. “Kantros wasn’t much of an artist, but he’d smile now and again.”
“That’s true, but one of the serving girls got a look at the thief. He was wearing orange under his black jacket. Now…if he was a Hellhole tough out of his territory…”
“Thank you. I do appreciate your courtesy, Captain. I don’t mention that often enough. Would that your predecessors had been so. I’ll talk to Deyalt. If it’s someone who shouldn’t be wearing orange…we’ll take care of it.” Jadhyl smiled.
His words meant I’d have to tell Horazt.
“On the other matter…I have not heard anything, but if I do, you will know. Explosions…” He shook his head, then smiled again. “My nephew Gayhlen. You might recall him?”
“He’s the one at the woodworks.” Among the taudischefs, “nephew” usually meant a son born of a woman not a wife or a permanent companion.
“Yes. Fuhlyt says he could pass the apprentice-level skills for the woodworkers’ guild.”
I nodded. “Is he truly the kind who will work hard and not cause trouble?”
“I would not ask otherwise, Captain.”
“Then he may list me as a referring sponsor.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “He’s a good boy, and it’s best if he leaves the taudis.”
What that meant was that Gayhlen was hard-working and gentle-natured, and thus unsuited to his “uncle’s” occupation.
After I left Jadhyl, I had to walk quickly for a good block before I caught up with Smultyn and Caesaro. Smultyn looked at me inquiringly.
“He doesn’t seem to know about the smash-and-grab, but…we’ll see. He wanted to see whether one of his nephews who’s been taught by Fuhlyt might be considered as an apprentice woodworker.”
“Some of those kids are good,” said Caesaro. “A couple of them are selling wooden boxes and little things. They’re not bad.”
“The more of them that get into real work, the better for us,” added Smultyn. “We’re not seeing near as many elvers anymore.”
Part of that was because I’d pressed the taudischefs to avoid selling elveweed to the younger people. There wasn’t any way that those already addicted would change.
I stayed with the two patrollers all the way to the Plaza SudEste and then down Quierca for a ways before I left them. Nearing Fuosta, I saw a short, dark-haired, and all-too-familiar figure ahead. Horazt was the first taudichef I’d met, because his “nephew” Shault had shown imager talents, and I’d been Shault’s unofficial preceptor and helped ease the boy—now a youth and a promising imager secundus—into the routine and discipline of the Collegium. Horazt had a worried look on his face.
What concerned me more than his expression was that he was looking for me. Horazt was the most secretive of the three taudischefs in Third District, and I’d been fortunate that he’d had a problem with Shault, or I’d probably never would have been able to work with him.
“What is it?” I asked, pleasantly, but without smiling.
“Elveweed, Master Rhennthyl. The latest batches have something different…It’s not good.”
“Is it poisoned? Is it from some place besides Caenen?”
“The carriers claim it as good as the best Caenenan green.”
“As good as? Where is it coming from?”
“It’s not from Caenen. It’s too fresh, but they say we can’t get any other.” Horazt glanced toward the taudis wall, not quite meeting my eyes. “Three long-timers had half a pipe and went screamer. They weren’t the type. Deyalt had that happen twice this week. Doesn’t look any different. Doesn’t smell that way. I’ve tried to warn all the runners, but they won’t go against their dealers. Since you took over, none of them ever come here, and I don’t know where their safe houses are. Not now. I’ve warned the users I know, but most of ‘em won’t listen or don’t care. I thought you might want to let your patrollers know.”
Bad elveweed on top of everything else. “Thank you. I will let them know. There are two things you might like to know…” I went on to tell him about the smash-and-grab and the explosion.
He just nodded.
I headed back to the station, where I spent the rest of the afternoon occupied with more of the usual duties of a captain—some of which included interrogating two of the taudis-dwellers picked up for assault, revising the patrol schedules for the next two weeks to take into account the promotion/transfer of Charkisyn to Fourth District when we wouldn’t get a replacement for three weeks, checking the charging reports against our arrest records, and accompanying Gervayn on part of his round. I mentioned what Horazt had said about the elveweed to Alsoran and told Lyonyt to put a caution in the duty book for all patrollers. Beyond the worry about elver deaths, there was something about it that nagged at me. For one thing, there were only a few areas of Solidar where elveweed would even grow—unless someone was growing it under glass, and that was far more costly than harvesting it in the wild from the jungles of Otelyrn and shipping it half the world away.
The duty coach arrived at half-past fourth glass and proceeded to NordEste Design where I got out and walked to the door, shields in place, and then walked back with Seliora and Diestrya. I carried our daughter. Once we were back at the duty coach stop on Imagisle, Seliora carried Diestrya to the house, while I hurried south to the Collegium Quadrangle and then across it to the administrative building on the east side. Master Dichartyn was in his study, as he usually was between the fifth and sixth glass of the afternoon. I slipped into the chair in front of his writing desk.
“So…what can you tell me about the explosion?” He set down the sheets of paper he’d been reading and lifted his dark gray eyebrows.
“I’m supposed to get a full report from Jacquet tomorrow on the details, but it was a bomb with a defined blast pattern, and someone pinned a note on one Broussard D’Factorius after the blast. The note was ostensibly from ‘Workers for Justice,’ but otherwise unsigned…” I went on to tell him what else I knew.
“Broussard’s a rather undistinguished factor except for two things,” mused Dichartyn. “He’s essentially a freeholder, as well as a factor, with close to enough lands to qualify as a High Holder, but he’s rejected any approaches along those lines. He’s also come afoul of a High Holder named Haebyn. Haebyn has been a fierce opponent of ancilla
ry water rights, especially to freeholders who use them to produce grain in dry years.”
“I think I need more of an explanation.”
“Think of ancillary water rights as the right to divert excess water in high run-off times. Broussard has obtained considerable such rights on the Piedra River. This infuriated Haebyn, and he has tried to come up with every possible way to give grain shipments from High Holders priority on the ironway. He pressured Glendyl to delay delivery of locomotives to ironway companies that didn’t provide that priority. There were even rumors that golds changed hands, and there were apparently some delays. Needless to say, Broussard was less than pleased about such efforts, and he persuaded Caartyl to push through an amendment to the Cartage Code that made granting priority on any commercial transport a matter only of shipping charges, with criminal penalties for violations, both for the carrier and anyone who attempted to obtain such a priority.”
“You could only get priority if you wanted to pay for it?” That made sense to me; but then, my father was a factor.
Dichartyn nodded.
“What sort of pressure was Haebyn exerting?” I knew all too well what sorts of tactics High Holders could employ.
“Works engineers who suffered accidents. Delays in obtaining iron plate or tubing. Nothing fatal and nothing easily traceable. All well away from any of our collegia or even from any regionals. It all stopped once the code was amended.”
“That suggests Broussard could have a few enemies, possibly beyond Haebyn. And Broussard had to go to Caartyl? I don’t see why Glendyl wouldn’t want to push such a proposal, and even if he didn’t, what about the other factors on the Council, such as Reyner or Diogayn?”
“Glendyl doesn’t want to call attention to himself or his manufacturing. He has the rights to the steam turbines all the newer Navy ships use. His engineers developed them, but he’s managed to keep the processes to himself…as well as all the contracts.”
Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio Page 3
