Even as I watched, the convulsions began to subside, but he continued to breathe. I reached out and touched his forehead. It was hot.
The mother looked to me, then down at the boy.
“I did what I could.”
We kept watching. Finally, he moaned. “Mama…Mama…”
She looked at me once again, her eyes wide.
“Don’t let him eat anything spicy. Just plain heavy bread for a day or two.”
She nodded, but her face was white, although tears oozed from the corners of her eyes.
When she left, cuddling her son, and murmuring to him, I stood there for a moment. I could only hope I hadn’t damaged him permanently in some way that wouldn’t show up until later.
Jaerdol and Zandyr just looked at me as I rejoined them.
“Sir? What did you do?”
“I tried to image some elveweed he ate out of his stomach. I hope it works.”
“He was about to die. He looks better now,” Jaerdol said.
“He might have gotten better anyway,” I pointed out.
The two looked at each other.
If the boy lived, there would be another story…and more problems. Either way, I needed to talk to Master Draffyd, the imager and doctor at the Collegium. If word got around Third District, who knew who else might come running, and for what. It was just another example of why Master Dichartyn and Maitre Poincaryt were always stressing the importance of doing things in a way that looked like you were doing something innocuous. What I really should have done was to have taken the boy, imaged out the elveweed fragments he’d chewed, probably because he wasn’t being fed enough, and then thumped him on the back and claimed that he’d just been choking.
But, again, I’d been caught short and hadn’t been able to think that quickly.
“You’d think that imagers can do anything.” I laughed. “We can’t.”
That brought dubious looks from both patrollers.
“Come on,” I said. “You have a round to cover, and I need you two to tell me what you’ve seen recently in each block.” I pointed to the second house ahead on the right. “What can you tell me about that one?” That was probably unfair, because I knew that the eldest boy was a quartermaster third in the Navy, because I’d gotten him to enlist before a conscription team drafted him, and that he sent a pay allotment home to his widowed mother. The younger brother was a bigger problem.
“She’s got one boy still at home,” said Zandyr, “and an aunt living with her. The boy’s a loose cannon. Horazt won’t even touch him…”
We continued on the round.
When I finally returned to the station, it was close to a quarter past second glass, and four patrollers were walking toward the duty desk from the holding cells.
“What happened?” I asked.
“A dray horse spooked and pulled a brick wagon into a spirit wagon,” offered Alsoran, who was following the four, “on South Middle just west of the Plaza.”
“Don’t tell me. In the mess, some of the taudis-kids tried to steal the spirits, and the two teamsters got into a fight, and then the avenue got clogged up, and the cutpurses showed up…”
I glanced from Alsoran to Smultyn, whose tunic was smeared in grime.
“Close enough, sir. One of the taudis-toughs caused the brick wagon’s dray horse to spook. We had to chase him, but we got him.”
“How old does he look?”
“Old enough that he can’t plead for the Army or Navy.”
“And the others?”
“Petty theft, except for one assault. The brick teamster’s in there, too. He tried to take a knife to the spirit wagon guard. Guard cold-cocked him.”
I couldn’t help frowning at that.
“It was a set-up,” suggested Smultyn. “He paid the tough to spook the horse, and he guided it so the brick wagon sideswiped the spirit wagon. That’s why all the kids were waiting. The guard accused him of that, and the knife came out.”
“Do we know if he’s the regular teamster? I’d wager he’s not.” I took a deep breath, because from the Patrol’s viewpoint, it didn’t matter.
“Oh…and there was one other thing,” Alsoran added, with a wry smile.
“Both wagons were overloaded for their axle types?”
He nodded. “We had to cite them both. The Patrol teamsters came out and drove them to the holding yards.”
That meant another complaint to the Council, because none of the traders and factors liked having to comply with the weight limits. The wagon owners would pay to get the wagons and teams back, but they knew Commander Artois wouldn’t ever relent. His niece had been killed by a runaway overloaded wagon. So they petitioned the Council, but the Council had refused to change the law.
The rest of the afternoon, what was left of it, was far less eventful.
Desalyt was the duty driver who picked me up outside the station. As I was about to enter the coach, he handed me an envelope. I didn’t open it until I was inside and headed toward NordEste Design.
The single line on the sheet read, “My study before dinner, please.” It was signed with a single “D.”
I didn’t even want to speculate. But…was it about the inevitable resumption of war between Ferrum and Jariola? Or some follow-up about the explosion? Or something else entirely? What ever it happened to be, it would complicate life.
I barely managed to get to the covered portico at NordEste Design before Seliora hurried out with Diestrya, closing the door behind her with a firmness just short of slamming it.
I decided against saying anything for a moment and took Diestrya’s hand so that we both walked her to the coach, unseen imager shields protecting all of us.
Once Desalyt had turned the coach off Nordroad and we were headed southwest on the Boulevard D’Ouest toward the Nord Bridge over the Aluse, I finally asked, “What happened?”
“Are you trying to soothe me?”
“No. I can see you’re upset about something. I thought you might want to talk about it.”
Seliora glanced down at Diestrya, then shook her head. “Later.”
After we’d covered another few blocks, I said, reluctantly, “I’m going to have to stop and see Master Dichartyn before dinner.”
“Again? You’ve had to…” Seliora broke off the sentence.
“He doesn’t ask unless it’s important.”
“Important to him.”
“I know.” I offered a helpless shrug. Maitre Dichartyn was my superior in the Collegium.
Once the duty coach came to a halt at its post on the west side of Imagisle, I did hurry down to the administration building.
Master Dichartyn was standing by the window of his study when I entered, but he did not speak until I closed the door.
“You’ve seen the newsheets, have you not?”
“I have. To which problem are you going to direct my attention?” I didn’t feel like guessing.
“Grain ware houses. You might recall that I mentioned a High Holder Haebyn. The two ware houses that were destroyed and damaged were his.”
“So we now have a subterranean conflict between eastern High Holders and freeholders? I assume the grain factors are on the side of the freeholders. Are they?”
“Wouldn’t you rather deal with a freeholder than a High Holder?”
“Is this because river flows are down, and the freeholders have bought out water rights? Or is it because grain production is up and the freeholders can underprice the High Holders?”
“Something along those lines,” Dichartyn replied. “In dry years, the High Holders have more water, but in good water years the freeholders can underprice the High Holders to the point where the High Holders lose golds.”
“That’s very interesting, but what’s the connection between that and the Collegium and one Civic Patrol Captain?”
“Nothing…yet. Except for one thing: the report of Broussart’s death was in error. He was apparently called away and let one of his assistants take his wife a
nd daughter to the opera.”
“You’re suggesting that he planned the explosion to implicate Haebyn? And he killed his own wife and daughter to do it?”
“He and his wife were not on the best of terms. Apparently, his wife and the assistant were.”
I could see that Dichartyn had been busy. “You won’t find much in the way of proof. Captain Jacquet won’t, either.”
“No. I don’t expect anyone will. I just thought you’d like to know.” He smiled. “One other thing, Rhenn. I don’t believe your wife has ever been to a Council Ball, has she?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s time we remedied that.” He handed me a heavy parchment envelope. “That’s an invitation for you and your wife as a guest of High Councilor Suyrien. You do have formal wear, and I’m certain Seliora will be radiant.”
“What am I supposed to be looking for?” I asked dryly.
“If Suyrien and I knew, Rhenn, both you and Seliora wouldn’t be there.”
“What should I tell her…besides that?”
“That’s all.”
“There’s one thing you should know, sir, if you don’t. Some of the elveweed coming into L’Excelsis is tainted or poisoned…” I gave him a short explanation, but not what I’d asked Seliora’s family to find out. Then I left and hurried to see if I could find Draffyd, but he’d already left the infirmary.
When I reached the house, Seliora met me in the front foyer. “Dinner’s not quite ready. Klysia said it won’t be long. There’s an envelope on the receiving tray, but I didn’t know who it was for. I thought I’d wait to open it until you got here.”
I glanced down to see Diestrya clinging to Seliora’s trousers. I reached down and scooped her up. “There! Dada’s got you.”
She giggled.
Seliora lifted the envelope from the silver tray on the sideboy, then opened it.
I moved closer to Seliora and looked over her shoulder, trying to read the words while maintaining a hold on a very active and squirming Diestrya.
“Dada…want to see.”
“In a moment, dear…” I tried to offer a placating tone as I struggled to catch the words of the note.
Kandryl and I would very much appreciate it if you would join us for a private dinner on Samedi, the twenty-eighth of Feuillyt, with just one other couple, his brother and Mistress Alynkya D’Ramsael…
“That’s sweet of her,” offered Seliora, lowering the note. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out to her estate.”
“Two busy weekends…” I mused.
“Oh…?”
“The following Vendrei we’re expected to be at the Council’s Autumn Ball,” I said, extracting the envelope that Master Dichartyn had given me from my imager grays.
Seliora looked at the envelope and the seal, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m told that’s the seal of High Councilor Suyrien. That was why Master Dichartyn wanted to see me.”
With only the slightest frown, Seliora opened the envelope, breaking the seal, and extracting the heavy card.
“We’re invited as guests of the High Councilor? That’s only three weeks away! I don’t have anything to wear…”
I managed not to choke openly. My darling wife had a dozen outfits that would out-dazzle any that I’d seen at previous balls.
“Why this year?” asked Seliora. “We haven’t been asked before. You, but not us.”
“Master Dichartyn handed me the invitation when I met with him to-night, and I asked him the same thing. He only said that both High Councilor Suyrien and he wanted us both there. Even when I pressed him, he wouldn’t say.”
“So now I’m supposed to help the Collegium?” Her words were tart.
“You have all along,” I pointed out.
“Do you think he wanted us to have the Ball invitation on the same day as Iryela’s invitation…or at least no later than that? But how would he know? Oh…he got the invitation from Suyrien, and the Councilor must have known what his sons were doing.”
“He doesn’t do much without a purpose. It could be that he didn’t want to give it to us tomorrow at his house.”
“You don’t really think that, do you?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Mother will be pleased. Especially if I don’t tell her it’s to help the Collegium.”
“I suspect your grandmother will be even more so. She won’t say anything, though.”
“No…she won’t.”
A small bell chimed, Klysia’s way of reminding us that dinner was ready, and I’d still have to talk to Seliora about what had upset her…after Diestrya was in bed.
5
It wasn’t until more than two glasses later, after dinner and getting Diestrya to bed, before Seliora and I sat down in the family parlor, in front of the old iron stove with ornate castings, whose heat was slowly fading, if still radiating warmth into the room. We hadn’t lit any lamps, but we could still see each other by the light oozing from the mica lenses at the top of the stove.
“What were you so upset about when you left your family’s place this afternoon?” I asked.
“Odelia.”
“You two usually get along.” In fact, I’d never heard of a time when they didn’t. They’d been as close as sisters the whole time I’d known Seliora.
“It’s about Haerasyn.”
“Kolasyn’s younger brother, the problem one? What’s he done now?”
“He’s an elver. Not too serious, but…Odelia heard about some of the elveweed being poisoned. She wanted to know why you couldn’t stop the smuggling and the smoking. I told her that you were fortunate to be able to find out about it, and that she or Kolasyn should tell Haerasyn.”
“And?”
“She said that Haerasyn didn’t listen to his brother or to his brother’s family, especially not to Pharsis tied up with imagers.”
“That’s Haerasyn’s problem, not Odelia’s or Kolasyn’s.”
“Haerasyn’s never been…very practical.”
I wondered if that was because everyone had sheltered him, because he could be so charming, the way my own brother had been.
“Haerasyn can be very sweet, like Kolasyn. Odelia likes Haerasyn, and so does Kolasyn. They’re worried, and they can’t do anything. They think you can.” Seliora squeezed my hand, but her eyes were sad.
“So I’m supposed to halt a trade no one has ever been able to stop because suddenly her husband’s brother might lose his life because he’s addicted to elveweed…and it’s your fault if I don’t?”
“That’s about it. She didn’t say it. Not that way. She said that it was interesting what you could and couldn’t do.”
“Oh…I can survive bullets and explosions, even if they break my ribs and nearly kill me, and I’ve worked with three taudischefs for over six years so that I finally know a few things before they get worse, but I’m supposed to stop a trade in a weed that people have been smoking for hundreds of years all by myself…when they’re the ones choosing to smoke it?”
“I agree with you, dearest,” Seliora said gently, “but…”
“Odelia doesn’t feel that way, and she’s your cousin, and she’s looking at you as if it’s all your fault because your husband won’t do something to save poor addicted Haerasyn. No wonder you were upset.” I paused. “What does your mother think?”
“She agrees. You know how practical she is. She just tells me to ignore Odelia about the whole thing, but Odelia kept bringing it up yesterday and today, every chance she got.”
“Have they found out anything about the fresher elveweed?”
“No. That will take a few days.” Seliora yawned. “You’re thinking that someone is sending some of the poisoned weed just to the dealers supplying Third District?”
“I couldn’t say. It’s too fresh to have come from Caenen or Otelyrn, and I don’t see how anyone could grow enough under glass or in the Sud Swamp to supply much of Solidar.”
“But why would anyone poison just so
me of the weed? No one important smokes it, and no one with any factoring or holder connections makes golds from it.”
“Not that we know.”
“Do you really think…?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know enough. It might not mean anything at all, but I’d still like to find out.”
“What about the Ferrans?”
“They’ll attack, sooner or later. They think that the Jariolans are weak and corrupt.”
“Are they?” Seliora yawned again.
“They’re corrupt. That doesn’t mean they’re weak.” I took her hands and stood. “You’ve had a long day, and you’re about to fall asleep.”
“I know…but I like the quiet times, talking to you. We don’t have that many of them these days.”
That was all too true, between my schedule and Diestrya.
Even so, we climbed the stairs hand-in-hand, and then got ready for bed. Once we were in Seliora’s bed, holding each other—and more—helped alleviate my feeling that the relative stability and comfort we’d enjoyed for the past few years was about to vanish…and not because of anything that either of us had done.
In the end, of course, we kissed and parted, and I returned to my small sleeping room and cold sheets…with the hope that my sleep would be pleasant, or at least dreamless.
6
Fog had settled around Imagisle, and I was walking southward through the dank and thick gray mist from the house toward the quadrangle to meet with Maitre Poincaryt and Master Dichartyn. I could barely see a yard or two in front of me, and I didn’t know what they wanted.
Somewhere overhead in the distance, thunder rumbled, then died away.
Ahead, I saw a figure in a cloak. The cloak could have been either dark gray or black, but whoever stood there on the stone walkway did not move as I neared.
“Hello, there,” I offered.
There was no response, nor did the figure still move.
I was close enough to make out the hood, but for some reason I couldn’t make out the face within it.
A blinding flash dazzled me, leaving glittering flashes in my eyes. Then, a deafening crash numbed and shook me. The figure in the cloak still did not speak, and instead of a face under the hood, I could only see darkness. Suddenly, as I watched, the cloak collapsed into a heap on the stone walk…and huge gray stones began falling out of the misty sky, all around me.
Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio Page 6
