The only thing out of the ordinary was that Smultyn and Caesaro found two dead elvers dumped in the street near where Quierca crossed Mando. Both elvers’ faces were contorted in pain, and they stunk of elveweed. There was no way to tell for certain, but it was likely that they’d had too much of the bad weed that Horazt had warned of, since they had no wounds, bruises, or other obvious causes of death. For a moment, I had thoughts that we might actually have fewer cases of disturbance and assaults by elvers, but that wouldn’t happen. Elvers, like all addicts, or most people, for that matter, didn’t really think things happened to them. Everyone else, but not them.
Horazt had warned me about the bad elveweed, but there was one question I hadn’t thought to ask, and that was whether the dealers in the other taudis were getting the same weed. I doubted he’d even know. Still, it was something to keep in mind…and watch.
The duty coach arrived on time, and Seliora and Diestrya were waiting for me in the lower front foyer at NordEste Design. I took Diestrya by the hand as we walked down the steps and out to the coach.
“Did you find out anything about the explosion?” Seliora asked, once we were in the coach and headed to Imagisle.
“Menyard confirmed that it was designed and planted by an expert. I still don’t have any idea who would go to all that trouble for a wealthy factor.” I couldn’t help shaking my head. “If he had High Holders as enemies, they wouldn’t use explosives, and neither would a workers’ group. It looks like foreign agents, but everyone else would know that as well.”
“So it’s someone who wants it to look like foreign agents, maybe Ferran agents, since the Council has backed the Jariolans—”
“Only because the Ferrans attacked our warships. Nearly half the Council was very unhappy about having to support the Oligarch, and they won’t want to get involved if war flares up again. You’re suggesting Jariolan agents pretending to be Ferrans? What about Ferrans pretending to be Jariolans pretending to be Ferrans? That’s wheels within wheels.”
Seliora nodded. “It’s never simple.”
She was right about that.
“There’s another problem…” I explained about the elveweed. “Is there any way some of your family contacts can find out if Third District is the only taudis getting the fresher weed?”
“Grandmama isn’t in touch as much, now, but…that might be something Mama could ask about. It also wouldn’t hurt to let people know she’s aware of that. I’ll ask her tomorrow.”
“How about your day?” I asked.
“Alhyral D’Haestyr sent his bride-to-be to commission a dining set for the town house he purchased. She’s actually rather nice.”
I recalled Alhyral all too well. He’d propositioned Seliora before we’d been married. “I just can’t imagine why he didn’t come.”
“You’re as bad as any Pharsi,” she replied with a laugh.
“You’ve always claimed I had a Pharsi background,” I countered. “Is it a good commission?”
“Very good, and Shomyr can do all the turning with his new lathes.”
“Who is Alhyral’s finance?”
“Her name is Dhelora D’Zaerlyn-Alte. She’s from around Rivages.” Seliora paused. “She did know who you were. She made a quiet point of that.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“Not much. She just said that her aunt had said you were the first master imager ever to serve in the Civic Patrol. She seemed very bright, far better than Alhyral deserves.”
“She doubtless doesn’t have much choice.”
“No. Few of the High Holders’ daughters do.”
I couldn’t help but wonder who her aunt happened to be, but it could have been some relation of Iryela or even of Alynkya D’Ramsael…or of Madame D’Shendael or someone I didn’t even know.
Again, after we reached Imagisle, as Seliora walked Diestrya home, I hurried back south along the west side of the quadrangle. Shault was waiting by the letterboxes opposite the dining hall.
“Master Rhennthyl.”
“We’ll use the conference room here. We need to talk.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shault was as dark-haired as his “uncle” Horazt, but his eyes were hazel, and he was taller. At age fifteen, after six years of training at the Collegium, he was also healthier and in better physical condition.
I sat at the end of the table, and he took the seat to my right.
“I’ve been talking to Maitre Jhulian. He’s not exactly pleased with your progress with the Code.”
“It’s so dull, sir. That makes it hard to concentrate.”
With that, I could sympathize. I’d felt the same way, but it didn’t matter. “Let me see if I can make it clearer and provide some motivation. Just what is justice?”
“The rendering of what is right, owed, or due. That’s what the book says.”
“The root of the word lies in a Bovarian word meaning ‘law,’” I pointed out. “What does that tell you?”
Shault looked puzzled. “That law should be just? That’s obvious.”
“Who defines what is just? Is it the Nameless?”
“Advocates…the Council.”
“Who writes the laws? Who carries them out?” I pressed.
“People, sir. Patrollers, imagers.”
“Laws are made by people, and they’re carried out by people. So is it wrong for a master imager or a Civic Patrol Captain to quietly create justice, especially when the laws don’t seem fair?”
Shault just looked at me blankly.
“What’s the difference between my enforcing justice and when an ancient rex did it?”
“You’re both imposing your will,” Shault pointed out.
“That’s true, but there’s a fundamental difference. What is it?”
“Who could remove the rex?”
“And?”
Shault’s face brightened. “You have to answer to Master Dichartyn and the Maitre of the Collegium.”
“Or, as a Patrol Captain, to Commander Artois and to the laws enacted by the Council. Even, in the end, the Collegium has to answer to the Council. To whom does the Council answer?”
“Well…the guild representatives answer to their guilds. The factors represent the other factors, and the High Holders on the Council answer to the other High Holders.”
“In total…what does that mean? To whom, in general, does the Council answer?”
“The people, I guess,” Shault said slowly. “But…no one person can tell the Council what to do.”
“Let’s get back to my question. Is it wrong for a master imager to create justice, as opposed to following or enforcing the law?”
“Aren’t they the same?”
“Are they?”
Shault got that confused look on his face again. “No…but…”
“Is what I think just the same as what you think is just? Or what Horazt thinks is just? Or what a factor in Tilbora thinks is just?”
“They should be.”
“Are they?”
“No, sir.”
“So why shouldn’t I as a master imager and a Patrol Captain do what I think is just if it conflicts with the law?”
“Oh…”
I forced myself to wait.
“Are you saying that laws are written to make sure everyone knows what is just?”
“Not quite.”
Shault looked blank…again.
I repressed a sigh. “Write me an essay explaining in logical terms what any Patrol Captain should do when he finds that what he believes to be just is in conflict with the law. Then explain why he should do that. Leave it in my letterbox here by Vendrei evening.”
“Sir…”
“It’s more than enough time.”
“Sir…that wasn’t what I was going to say. You got me thinking. You’re changing the taudis in Third District, aren’t you? You’re accountable to the Collegium and the Council, and you’re trying to make the taudischefs accountable to you so that they’ll follow th
e law more.”
“You’re right, but the problem is that I’m making them accountable through fear of my abilities, not out of respect for the law itself and the reasons behind it. As a Patrol Captain, I don’t have time to make each one of them think.” And some of them never would, and would only respect force. I knew that, but it still bothered me. “I can only hope that they’ll see that things are better when more people follow the law.” I stood. “I need to go home, and I’m sure you have lessons to prepare.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hoped he would come to understand, sooner or later, the balance between justice and codified law, and the narrow line that imagers always walked.
I hurried back to the house, hoping that Seliora hadn’t had too much trouble with a hungry daughter.
4
On Jeudi morning, after the four mille run, I loitered just enough to catch Baratyn, for whom I’d worked briefly as a member of the Collegium’s covert imagers at the Council Chateau some six years earlier.
“How is the Council handling the heating up of the Jariolan-Ferran hostilities?”
“How do they always handle things until they have to act? They’re talking and talking. You shouldn’t have forgotten that.” He laughed, although he was still a bit out of breath.
“Does anyone there even remember me?”
He frowned, paused, then replied, “As a matter of fact…the other day, Councilor Caartyl asked how you were doing as a Patrol Captain. He said you’d proved that artisan enterprise was possible, even in the taudis, and that not everything new had to be larger and operated with less skill and craft. I couldn’t say anything to that.” Baratyn shrugged. “What did he mean by that?”
“Oh…I managed to get people interested in building a small paper mill and a woodworks. They barely break even, but it’s helped some taudis-youths get apprentice positions.”
“You come from a factoring family, don’t you?”
I laughed. “I’d never be any good at it. I found other people who are. Has anyone else said anything?”
“No…except for Martyl and Dartazn. They’d like to have you back. Dartazn says things are too quiet.”
“I don’t think they’ll stay that way.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course.”
As he trotted off, I managed to collect myself. Baratyn was a Maitre D’Aspect, a master imager in his own right, and I’d once reported to him. He’d been very friendly until I’d made my last comment, and he’d almost frozen, and then hurried off. What had that been about? I’d have to think about it, but I needed to get back to the house and get ready for the day.
Diestrya was already up and active, and that meant dressing and breakfast were the usual rush. We didn’t say much beyond the necessary until we were in the duty coach and crossing the Bridge of Desires.
“Have you started working on the design for the upholstery fabric for young Haestyr’s bridal dining set?”
“She won’t be back to look at the proposed designs until next week.”
“How many chairs does he want?”
“Twenty-two side chairs, two end chairs.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” Seliora turned and shook her head. “No. I have a lot to think about in balancing what we’ve promised. We’re either without enough work or swamped with more than we can handle.”
I had the feeling those were the two normal states of human affairs. “At least, the twins can help with Diestrya.”
“At times, she wears them down as well. Bhenyt’s the one who can calm her down, and so can Grandmama, but Diestrya tires her out quickly. Our daughter’s at that age where she’s bored quickly.”
“That’s an age all children are at until they have responsibilities of their own…and children.”
Seliora sighed. “She’s your daughter in that.”
Unfortunately, I knew that.
Once I’d left NordEste Design, I quickly read through both Veritum and Tableta. According to a story below the fold in Veritum, the Ferrans had not only produced large numbers of their improved land-cruisers, but were moving them up to their border with Jariola. In turn, the Oligarch had canceled all leave for Jariolan troops and moved several battalions west within an easy march of Ferran territory. The Abierto Isles were loudly pleading neutrality, and the Council was debating reinforcing the northern fleet, currently deployed around the coaling station off Jariola that Solidar had acquired from Jariola during the last round of hostilities in partial payment for Solidaran support.
There was a short story in Tableta about the increasing number of violent crimes in the taudis areas across Solidar, but no speculation about the reasons, and no mention of tainted elveweed. Another short story mentioned another case of arson—this time the grain ware houses in the area near Piedryn—and an instance where the lower level of another ware house was flooded by the failure of a retaining wall alongside an adjoining millrace. The story didn’t say who owned the ware houses, but I was getting the impression there was a definite problem with grain ware houses.
I’d barely settled into my study at the station when the morning courier run from headquarters brought various documents and reports, as well as a brief note from Commander Artois thanking me for the report on the explosion and asking to be informed of any other developments that might bear on the case. Since I didn’t have any, not yet, I could put off replying until I got another officious communiqué from the subcommander.
After that, I reviewed the log and duty books, checking on what had happened since I’d left the station the afternoon before, and then I made a quick inspection. The holding cells were empty, although it was rare to have anyone there from late morning until late afternoon or early evening, since most offenders were picked up from afternoon on, and any offender brought in overnight was dispatched to headquarters for formal charging right after the morning shift change on the headquarters collection wagon.
Next came a review of the station accounts, and various other oversight chores, before I could leave the station.
Jaerdol and Zandyr were the two patrollers on the day shift who had the taudis round just east of the station—the blocks that Horazt called “his.” I caught up with them just short of Dugalle a glass after midday.
“Captain, sir.”
“What troubles do you have today?” I asked cheerfully.
“Nothing today,” replied Jaerdol.
“That’s good, too, sir, after yesterday,” added Zandyr. “It took the both of us to handle that fellow who tried to cut Musario. Sure made a mess of his bistro, but he’s got it cleaned up already.”
“He gave you a meal today?” I grinned.
“Well, sir, he did offer, and…he said he’d already set it up.”
“I hope it was good.” I wouldn’t have dared to eat the high-spiced Stakanaran food that Musario served. “Just don’t let his gratitude become a habit.”
“Oh no, sir.”
We turned down Mando, which ran northeast to southwest, as did most of the streets between South Middle and Quierca in Third District. I had to admit that the dwellings on both sides looked better than they had five years earlier. Now, none of the windows were boarded up, and most had shutters.
I could still smell hints of elveweed though, much as I’d tried to get the taudischefs to discourage it. The only thing that the three had agreed on was that children still in school shouldn’t be allowed to smoke it. It had taken a few beatings and the disappearance of two young dealers several years back—so I’d heard—to make that stick. I’d definitely turned a blind eye—or ear—to that rumor. I didn’t see much point in trying to find whoever had gotten rid of someone who wanted to turn schoolchildren into elvers. Besides, I never knew who the missing dealers were, or even where their bodies might be found. But now, as Horazt had pointed out, no one ever saw the dealers, only their runners.
From the alleyway on the right, I heard fo
otsteps, and I turned quickly.
“Master Rhennthyl! Help! Help!” The woman was carrying a child wearing a stained and worn blue jersey and crudely sewn trousers. He looked to be about Diestrya’s age, with a thin and angular face, without any baby fat, but he might have been older, because the taudis-children tended to be smaller. The child was convulsing, but not vomiting or choking. His face was contorting in a way that reminded me of the dead elvers.
“He’s not choking! There’s nothing in his mouth…” She thrust the child at me.
I didn’t take him. Holding him wasn’t going to help the boy. “What did he eat?”
The woman looked at me, fear in her eyes.
“Did he chew on some elveweed?”
“He…he…”
“Yes or no?” I snapped.
“Maybe…I didn’t see.”
The child spasmed into another convulsion, so violently that his mother barely could hold him.
I’d imaged items and substances into people, with often deadly results, and I’d imaged items in and out of a cadaver, but I’d never tried to image something out of a living person. But unless I did something, the boy was going to die. He might anyway.
I took one deep breath, then concentrated, trying to recall exactly all that Master Draffyd had shown me, trying to visualize removing what ever was in his stomach, without touching the lining or anything else. The quick wave of dizziness that passed over me indicated that I’d done something, and I was almost afraid to look at the boy, but he was still shuddering. So I hadn’t killed him outright.
Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio Page 5
