“So he’s the sole supplier to the Navy? And a councilor?”
“Solidar is far from perfect, Rhenn.”
“But what about the other factors on the Council? Surely, they…”
“Do you know of many who go against the High Holders who don’t risk their lives, Rhenn?”
“Point taken.” I laughed, softly. Once I would have been mortified at the gentle correction.
“The Guild Councilors have more power, in a sense, because targeting a single member won’t change matters that much; while individual factors, especially those with competitors, could lose much. Glendyl doesn’t want to risk losing contracts worth hundreds of thousands of golds, but pressure on a Guild Councilor is just likely to make the others madder.”
I could see that. “How many High Holders would have access to explosives experts?”
“I assume you’re going to find out.”
“I’ll look into it, but since it didn’t happen in my district…. You know how the Commander feels about that.” And Cydarth, but I didn’t say that. The subcommander and I tolerated each other.
“That’s something Schorzat might know, also. I’ll ask him.” He paused and offered a smile. “You’ll come to dinner on Vendrei night? Sixth glass? Aelys hoped you and Seliora would.”
“We’ll be there.” I wanted to ask who else might be coming, but didn’t. Dichartyn was still my superior in the Collegium, since technically I was merely on loan to the Civic Patrol.
Once I finished with Master Dichartyn—I didn’t tell him about the elveweed, since there was no point to that, not yet—I hurried back to the house, just in time to sit down at the table in the breakfast room where we usually ate at night with Diestrya when we didn’t have company. These days, that was usually the case.
Seliora said the blessing. “For the grace that we all owe each other, for the bounty of the earth of which we are about to partake, for good faith among all, and mercies great and small. For all these we offer thanks and gratitude, both now and ever more, in the spirit of that which cannot be named or imaged…”
“In peace and harmony,” Diestrya and I replied.
Klysia set a covered casserole dish before me, and I looked to Seliora.
“Ragout paprikash. I had Klysia fix it with Grandmama Diestra’s recipe. I had to write it out for her the other day.”
“How is she doing? Mama Diestra, I mean? She looked tired when we were there for the dinner for Odelia and Kolasyn’s son.” I served Seliora some of the ragout, and then put a much smaller helping on Diestrya’s plate.
“About the same. She’s frail, but there’s never been anything wrong with her mind.”
I knew that all too well.
“She’s already teaching Diestrya plaques. Our daughter can already shuffle…a small deck, anyway.”
“I like placques,” Diestrya affirmed.
“Definitely that Pharsi heritage,” I said with a smile, serving myself, and pouring wine for the two of us from the carafe. It was a red Ryelan, courtesy of Iryela and Kandryl.
“The Pharsi heritage on my side,” she countered. “I still say your family hid some Pharsi ancestors.”
She was probably right about that, appalling as my mother might once have found it. So I just smiled. “Master Dichartyn and Aelys want us to come for dinner on Vendrei.”
“We must be getting popular again. Mama and Papa wanted to know if we’d come to dinner on Samedi.”
“That’s because people have dinner guests more often when it gets cool. I’d like that, but I’ll have to come from the station.”
“You worked last Samedi.”
“I know, but I’m switching with Alsoran, because his niece is getting married on Samedi.”
“So long as it’s just a switch.”
That was a warning. “It is. Alsoran’s very fair about that.”
“Unlike Warydt,” Seliora said, her mouth twisting as she said my former lieutenant’s name.
“Something rather odd happened over the weekend…” I explained about the Place D’Opera explosion. “…and you might ask her if she knows anything about High Holder Haebyn or Factor Broussard.”
Seliora shook her head, smiling. “She doesn’t know every factor in Solidar. There are thousands of them. There are fewer High Holders, but there are still over a thousand of them, and that doesn’t count family.”
“A thousand and thirty-seven High Holders at the latest count.”
“I’ll ask her about both. Even the question from you will make her feel good.”
“She might surprise us. Again.”
We both laughed.
3
Mardi was a typical day, beginning with the usual hurry for Seliora and me—my exercises, dressing and getting Diestrya ready for the day, breakfast, the duty coach to our respective places of work, reviewing patroller performances, a glass or so walking with different patrollers. I didn’t see either Jadhyl or Horazt, and that meant they hadn’t found out anything about the explosion…and that they didn’t have other problems of the sort that might concern me or the Patrol. Jacquet’s report on the specifics of the Place D’Opera bomb arrived by messenger at the station late on Mardi afternoon. It didn’t tell me much more than I already knew, except for the precision of the blast pattern.
Both Seliora and I were exhausted by the time we retired to our separate beds. Tired as I was, the time before I dropped off to sleep was the loneliest part of the day.
Meredi dawned gray and blustery, but it didn’t rain while I was trying to keep in shape with Clovyl’s exercises and four mille run, or even after I walked with Seliora and Diestrya to the duty carriage. Diestyra walked most of the way.
As on this morning, there were times when I couldn’t escort them all the way to NordEste Design, but I tried to keep those to a minimum, and the only time they’d really be exposed was the short walk from the duty coach to the door. I hoped that an imager-obdurate driver was watching, and that it would be enough that my past actions suggested extremely high costs for anyone attacking my family. Also, there were few times when I didn’t accompany them, which added an element of unpredictability.
Once I saw them off, I headed to the armory building, where I eventually found Shannyr in a small room filled with kegs and small square boxes. He was sitting at a work table with circular thin bronze disks on one side. On the other side were thicker bronze disks, each looking like a slice from a bronze cylinder.
“Master Rhennthyl.” The imager second stood quickly, a worried expression on his face.
“Don’t look so concerned,” I said with a laugh. “I need your help.”
“Mine?”
I explained about the bomb and showed him the diagram.
“Sir, I’m not an ordnance designer.”
“I know that. I also know you’re very observant, and that you probably understand a lot more than many imagers would guess that you know.”
“Menyard is really the one who’d know, sir. He’s the top ordnance designer.”
“I’ll talk to him next…but what do you think?”
“The pattern is V-shaped, and that means the blast was directed, but it really wasn’t a shaped charge. I’d guess it was an ordnance-type powder because no one mentions a lot of smoke, and you’d have that with black powder.”
“Thank you. Where would I find Menyard?”
“In the engineering studies on the second level on the south side. I think his is the one closest to the quadrangle.”
“How is Ciermya? And the twins?”
“They’re all fine, except both the twins are getting over the childpox, and she’s had to stay home from work.” He laughed. “She’s ready for them to get well.”
“I can imagine. I hope Diestrya doesn’t get it…but with children, you can’t ever tell.”
“No, sir.”
With a smile, I left. Shannyr had been a friend to me when I’d first come to the Collegium, and I hadn’t forgotten that, although matters between
our families were a bit awkward because Ciermya was scared to death of both Seliora and me.
I made my way to the staircase on the end of the building and climbed up. Although Menyard’s door was ajar, I knocked.
“Come on in.”
I did, and he hurried to his feet.
“Rhenn…or should I say Master Captain Rhennthyl? We don’t see you very often any more. Kahlasa and I were actually talking about you this morning. She just left.”
“Oh…I’m sorry I missed her. And…Rhenn is fine. I need your help.” I handed him the diagram and the report. “Anything you can tell me will help.”
As he took the papers, Menyard’s only comment was “Hmmmm. Interesting.” He sat back down at the broad table that served both as both desk and drafting board and began to study the report.
I didn’t say a word, just seated myself in the straight-backed chair set at an angle to the broad desk set before a window looking toward the north end of the Collegium quadrangle.
After a time, he looked up. “I’d say that someone took a four-digit brass shell casing, shortened it, perhaps by half, and then flared it, packed the explosives inside, covered the explosives with metal filings or thin strips, and capped it with a lead cover, probably designed to break into segments. Most likely, the strips came from the part of the casing they cut down…”
“The explosive?”
“Some form of guncotton, Poudre B, I’d guess. The device was attached to the rear axle at an angle. They crimped the bracket holding the device in place. They planned for it to detonate fairly soon after they placed it. If they primed it with totally dry guncotton and an inertial friction spring, any jolt or sudden movement of the axle would trigger the primer.”
That meant that the device was fixed to the carriage axle while the coachman was waiting to pick up Factor Broussard and his family. Since the coachman had been one of those killed, it was unlikely that he’d been part of the plan. Likewise, Broussard’s cousin certainly wouldn’t have wanted to lose both his coach, his coachman, and his team. “They must have scouted Lyrique and known where the pavement was rough.”
“Seems right. If they used dry guncotton as a primer, they were also experts.”
“We don’t use it, do we?”
Menyard shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Even imaging it into place could cause an explosion. But guncotton is relatively easy to make, and there’s enough Poudre B in the world that the powder wouldn’t be that hard to get.” He frowned. “The segmenting could have been done in a soft lead cover with the equivalent of a sharp knife.”
What Menyard’s analysis suggested was foreign assassins or covert agents. But why would they target a mere agricultural factor, albeit a wealthy one? “Is there anything else?”
Menyard shook his head and handed the report back. “Not from this.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who could do this, Rhenn, could build a similar device that would shred even your shields.”
“I got that feeling,” I said dryly. “It’s not a pleasant thought.”
“Be careful. We’ve lost too many imagers over the past few years.”
“I will.”
Just as I left the armory, a young prime whom I didn’t know hurried up to me.
“Master Rhennthyl, sir. Master Jhulian wanted to know if you could spare a moment for him.”
“I’d be happy to. I’ll be right there.”
Jhulian was the justice for the Collegium and the maitre who’d pounded Solidaran law into my skull years earlier. What did he want? Sometimes, he also sat as a member of the Solidaran High Justiciary when it reviewed lower justicing procedures. Was there something he wanted to know about the Civic Patrol? What ever it was, as I walked across the quadrangle, I hoped that it wouldn’t take too long. He had a study just down the hallway from Maitre Dichartyn in the administration and receiving building, and his door was open.
“Do come in, Rhenn.”
I closed the door behind me and slipped into one of the chairs across the desk from him. “What can I do for you?”
“Let’s start with young Shault first, Rhenn. He isn’t exactly excelling in willingness to understand the role of law and how it applies to the Collegium.”
“You’d like me to talk to him.”
“It couldn’t hurt. At times, he won’t really listen to either me or Dichartyn. You’re the only one he’ll really listen to, polite as he is.”
That had been a problem from the first, and after Shault had made secondus, Maitre Dichartyn had become his preceptor instead of Master Ghaend. That had helped a great deal, but not totally. “That’s a combination of the Collegium and the taudis.”
“Combination or not, he’ll end up like Floryn, or in a dead-end armory position.”
I still remembered Floryn. He’d been executed by Master Jhulian just weeks after I’d come to Imagisle. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”
“Good.” He paused, then brushed back a lock of his white-and-blond hair, before saying, “I was talking to Rholyn the other day, and he mentioned that, by the end of the year, the Council will have to decide on whether to reappoint Commander Artois. What has been your experience with the Commander?”
“I’m sure that my opinion would be similar to that of Master Dichartyn.” If the matter were as straightforward as the question appeared to be, Jhulian wouldn’t have even bothered to ask me. He just would have asked Dichartyn.
He smiled, if coolly. “I thought you might say something like that. Might I ask you why you answered that way?”
I offered an off-hand shrug. “If it’s as simple as it sounds, you could just have asked Master Dichartyn. This suggests that you or Rholyn want to be able to claim that you didn’t talk to Dichartyn about it. That suggests that someone is unhappy with Artois and knows that Master Dichartyn would support him.” I still didn’t know why what I thought mattered in the slightest, especially to the Council.
“Or it might be that we want to claim that Master Dichartyn didn’t influence you.”
While I certainly listened to Master Dichartyn, we’d just as certainly disagreed on matters over the years. “My opinion is fairly direct. Artois is an honest and effective commander who has always put the Civic Patrol above anything.”
“That’s a rather sweeping statement, Rhenn.”
“The Patrol is his identity. I doubt that he could let anything destroy or damage it, if it were in his power to stop such damage.”
“That could be dangerous, could it not, if he felt someone or some group were out to disband or replace the Patrol?”
“Who’s on the Council who’s opposed to my being a Patrol Captain?”
Jhulian laughed. “Maitre Poincaryt said you’d say that. Why do you think that?”
“Artois doesn’t like me. He never has. He does respect my ability and my concern for the Patrol, and he thinks I’m good for the Patrol at present. So…who is backing Cydarth as his replacement…or as the director or head of another civil enforcement agency?” I watched Jhulian closely.
He turned his hands up, simulating helplessness. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shook my head. “What do you and Maitre Poincaryt want me to watch out for?”
“I don’t believe we’ve asked for anything. It would, of course, be in the interests of the Collegium that Commander Artois and the Patrol remain as they are, at least for the next several years.” He stood. “I’m certain you’ll wish to talk to Master Dichartyn, but he won’t be back until tomorrow night.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“As you should know, Rhenn, he seldom reveals his destinations, except to the Maitre of the Collegium.”
After I left Jhulian, I walked over to the dining hall, and left a note in Shault’s letterbox telling him that I’d meet him in the hallway off the dining area at half-past fifth glass. Then, since I was on the east side of Imagisle, I walked across the Bridge of Hopes and caught a hack to take me to the station. I couldn’t
justify taking a duty coach, not when I used one so much anyway. And now I had something else to worry about.
In the hack, I pondered over what Jhulian had asked, what he had hinted, and what he had not said. The implication was clear that someone on the Council, or several someones, didn’t want Artois continuing as Commander. Some of that might revolve around me, but certainly not all. Alsoran might know some of the rumors, but he wouldn’t know the Council side of matters.
He met me just outside my study. “Captain.”
I gestured for him to follow me inside. “Close the door, if you would.”
He did. We both sat down.
“Have you heard anything about someone wanting to replace Commander Artois?”
Alsoran didn’t say anything for a moment. He wasn’t the kind to reply immediately, but rather to think over what anyone said. I appreciated that quality and tried to emulate it, not always very successfully, as I’d shown earlier in dealing with Jhulian.
“Not in anything like those kind of words. Barcuyt—he’s Hostyn’s lieutenant—mentioned that the Council had to confirm Commander Artois for another five-year term before long. I didn’t think much about it. That was after the lieutenants’ meeting at headquarters last month.”
I waited. Alsoran often took his time.
“All the captains and the subcommander have to be reconfirmed,” he added.
“I’ll be up for that a year from now,” I said.
“The strange thing was that one of the other lieutenants—I can’t think of his name, but he’s the one from Second District—he was asking Barcuyt if he’d likely replace Hostyn. Not out in the open, but later, when they were alone, outside waiting for a hack, and I was coming down the steps. I didn’t think it was any of my business so I didn’t even look their way.”
“That’s interesting,” I mused. “Have you heard anything else?”
“No, sir. Not a thing.”
After Alsoran left, I went on to the more routine aspects of my day, if anything in the Civic Patrol was totally routine. The next few glasses were as uneventful as any Patrol captain’s time might be. That is, there were arrests and malefactors dispatched by wagon to headquarters for charging. There were two muggings on the northern section of the Midroad in Third District, both of shopgirls careless with their wallets. And, of course, both happened while I was on the other side of the district, accompanying Recyrt and Fuast on their rounds along Saenhelyn Road. I also received a dispatch from Subcommander Cydarth asking if Third District had discovered anything that might shed light on the explosion. That request crossed my earlier report to Commander Artois summarizing what Menyard had told me, although I had merely referred to “ordnance experts at the Collegium.”
Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio Page 4
