Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio

by Modesitt, L. E. , Jr.

  Cydarth went on for a quint, reiterating what I’d done as a District Captain. On the one hand, I was both amazed and flattered that he’d recalled it all so well and in such detail. On the other, I worried about it. Exactly why was he taking so much time, when usually he wanted to be rid of me as quickly as possible?

  “…And, in the end, while you have created a standard that Third District is thus far maintaining, the Civic Patrol will miss you, possibly more than the Collegium will gain.” He smiled again, then laughed. “I apologize. I’ve taken far too much of your time, but over the years, we’ve seldom talked at any length.”

  “That’s true, and I do appreciate your kind words.” I stood. “I hope what I conveyed will prove useful, and that the matter does not come up again, but I did want you to know.”

  “You’re most kind, Maitre Rhennthyl.”

  With that, I took my leave and headed downstairs and out of headquarters.

  With the cold wind, gray skies, and occasional flakes of snow, I was glad that the duty coach was still waiting for me.

  “You missed the row, sir,” offered Desalyt.

  “Row?”

  “Two fellows came out of the alleyway just up there. They starting fighting. One tried to smash the bistro windows over there. Patrollers came out from here. Stupid to start a fight across from a Patrol station. Always stupid folk.”

  I nodded. “Sometimes you wonder.”

  “That you do, sir. Where to?”

  “Back to Imagisle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I climbed up into the coach.

  Desalyt had waited with the coach headed away from the river on Fedre. So he drove up two blocks and turned right and went three blocks before he came back down Raegyr. I suspected that was so he didn’t have to handle the steep hill on Flaekan. As he turned onto the part of East River Road that ran almost due north, I glanced toward the river, and something struck me. The promenade between the road and the river wall was extremely narrow, no more than three yards, and the low retaining wall was little more than a yard. Could this have been the place where Kearyk drowned? A coach could have stopped, and he could have been carried that short distance and thrown into the river in instants. Late at night, it would have been unlikely that anyone would even have seen the coach stop—especially a black coach.

  At that moment, the duty coach came to a halt. I glanced forward, but I couldn’t see what had blocked us.

  “Wagon loose! Master Rhennthyl!”

  I glanced to my right just in time to see a huge black wagon rumbling backward down Flaekan and across East River Road—right toward the duty coach. There was no way to get out of the coach in time. All I could do was strengthen my shields before the heavy wagon struck.

  My shields held, but they didn’t stop the wagon from pushing the lighter coach right over the narrow river promenade to the low wall. Then, with another sickening crunch, the coach’s wheels ripped loose, and the remainder of the coach plunged down toward the gray water. I couldn’t help but brace for the impact. There wasn’t much of one, because the river below the wall was deep enough that once the coach struck the water it just kept descending, and icy water began to pour into the crumpled space around me. Both doors were jammed shut, and so were the window mechanisms.

  I took a deep breath, then concentrated, imaging out the window glass from the door that seemed to be the one closest to the surface. More icy water poured over me, filling the entire inside of the coach, which seemed to be bobbing along under water or bouncing up from the bottom. I held my breath and grabbed the edges of the window fame, levering myself out, except my left boot became stuck and I found myself being caught and stretched as the current pulled me downstream and the sunken coach held me fast.

  Somehow, I managed to pull my boot free, but my lungs felt like they were bursting by the time my head finally broke above the water. After a moment, I located the river wall. Then I started to swim toward it. That didn’t do much good, because all that was there was a sheer expanse of icy smooth stone stretching upward some five or six yards, and the current was carrying me southward.

  I must have been swept two hundred yards downstream before I managed to locate one of the ladders, even if there wasn’t a platform at the bottom. I lunged and grabbed it, then got my boots on the bottom rung. It didn’t get any easier. The iron ladder was icy and slippery, and after I’d climbed three or four rungs, my hands were numb. I kept forcing myself up. I finally pulled myself over the wall and took several steps away from the river. I was shuddering almost uncontrollably.

  As I stood on the still narrow river promenade, a thought occurred to me. Could I image the water out of my garments? Then I shook my head. They needed some residual water, or they’d likely turn to dust, and, with the water on my skin, and my exhausted state, I might end up injuring myself.

  “Sir! Sir!” A patroller came running toward me. “Are you all right?”

  “For the moment. If I don’t get out of these clothes, I’ll turn into an icicle.”

  “This way, sir!”

  Less than half a quint later, I was wearing borrowed baggy brown wool trousers and a blanket, standing in the kitchen of Aelys’s—a bistro I’d never known even existed.

  “Can you tell me what happened, sir?” asked the patroller.

  “What happened to my driver?” I worried about Desalyt.

  “We haven’t found him, sir. One of the women who saw it said he went into the river.”

  “Why didn’t the horses go into the river?”

  “The traces broke, we think, sir. We had to put one of them down. Could you tell me what happened, please, sir?”

  Along with my questions, that took almost a glass, enough that my boots, set near the stove, were only damp, as opposed to soaked. Then, after I took a hack to Imagisle, I had to tell the duty second about the accident, and then meet with Ghaend, who was in charge of transportation, so that he could tell Desalyt’s family, and Reynol, who handled losses of property for the Collegium. I also left a brief note for Maitre Dyana, who was at the Council Chateau, presumably meeting with Chief Counselor Ramsael.

  It was nearing a quint past fourth glass before I finally left the administration building and made my way across the quadrangle and northward. As I walked swiftly up the front walk to the house, I caught sight of the Maitre’s dwelling, where Maitre Dyana would eventually take residence, and realized that the exterior looked to be complete. Work had slowed considerably, given the imagers who had left Imagisle to accompany Dartazn, but there were still enough, obviously, to continue with the repair and rebuilding.

  Klysia stepped into the hall and looked at me, wrapped in a patroller blanket and baggy trousers, and carrying soaked grays and my winter cloak. In escaping from the coach, I’d lost my visored cap.

  “Master Rhennthyl!”

  “I took an unplanned swim in the river.”

  By the time I had handed off the soaked garments, washed up, and donned fresh garments and dry boots and sat down in front of the family parlor fire for a quint or so, Seliora and Diestrya arrived. I stood and went to the foyer.

  “Rhenn…you’re home early.”

  “That’s because I took an unplanned swim in the River Aluse.”

  “What? How did that happen?”

  “Dada went swimming?” asked my daughter.

  “I did. The water was cold. It wasn’t a good idea.” I turned to Seliora. “Let’s get Diestyra settled in the kitchen for her dinner, and then I’ll tell you.”

  Seliora understood.

  Once the two of us were back in the parlor, I went through the whole thing, grateful that, by the end of my tale, the combination of hot tea and warmth from the stove finally lifted the last lingering chill from my bones.

  Seliora said quietly, “Cydarth wanted you dead.”

  “That’s likely, but the way it was set up will make it difficult, if not impossible, to prove it. There are also a number of people who might want me dead, and all of
them would know enough to pick ways that would be hard for an imager to escape.”

  “Most imagers wouldn’t be able to image away a widow under water and swim through an icy river.”

  “Oh…all of those Clovyl trains could do that part.”

  “What? All ten of you? And who knows that?”

  “Very few,” I had to admit.

  After a long silence, she asked, “Will it always be like this?”

  “For a time,” I temporized. “Until it becomes clear there are other powerful imagers.”

  “That could be a very long time, dearest.”

  Unless I could do something about that…

  60

  On Jeudi morning I woke up only sore in a few places, not enough to change my morning routine, a routine that had doubtless contributed to my surviving the events of the previous day. I did hurry to the administration building, since I wanted to brief Maitre Dyana as soon as possible. I was there before she was. So I sat in her anteroom with Gerard reading the morning newsheets.

  Both reported on the story of my river swim, but on the second page. The front page of Tableta featured a story based on “unauthenticated information” that suggested that the northern fleet was preparing for a major offensive against the Ferran fleets. A number of highly placed sources suggested that such an effort, if indeed true, was incredibly risky in midwinter, given the potential for storms and high seas. The lead story in Veritum was about the military situation in Otelyrn, and how the lack of Solidaran fleet presence had allowed Stakanar, an ally in all but name of Ferrum, to seize the most valuable territory of Tiempre.

  The story about my accident was short and direct in both newsheets. A coal wagon had been stolen right on the streets of L’Excelsis, the driver coshed and trussed up, but somehow, the hitches had been loosened and the wagon released and hurtled downhill into the Collegium coach. The team had been found a block away, largely unharmed. Civic Patrol Captain Subunet of First District suggested that the thieves had panicked after the wagon had gotten away and headed downhill. The damage had been limited to the coal wagon and to the imager coach and its occupants. The single passenger in the coach had been thrown into the river with the coach, but had escaped and swum through the icy waters to safety. The driver was still missing and possibly drowned.

  I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Once again, as had happened too often in the past, an innocent man had died because people were trying to kill me. Yet, with all that was at stake, I didn’t see that my becoming a recluse on Imagisle was in anyone’s interests, except Cydarth’s and Vyktor’s…and the Ferrans’.

  At a slight cough, I set down the newsheets and rose to greet Maitre Dyana. “Good morning, Maitre.”

  “Good morning, Rhenn. Do come in.”

  I did follow her into her study. I also made sure the door was firmly closed.

  She set several folders on the desk, then looked at me. She did not sit down, but flipped the end of the gold and green scarf back over her shoulder. “I am glad you left a note, Rhenn. It would have been rather disconcerting to discover those events in Veritum this morning.”

  “Since escaping from a coach in icy water, swimming a quarter mille in that water, and climbing an ice-encrusted iron ladder does have a tendency to exhaust and chill one, I trust you might understand why I did not choose to wait for you, especially since Gherard had no idea when or if you would be returning, and especially since I had already waited almost a glass.”

  “It must be the position. If I closed my eyes, I could easily have been talking to Maitre Dichartyn.” She sighed and seated herself. “You might as well sit down.”

  I took one of the chairs before the desk.

  “Please tell me what was not in the note.”

  I did, all about Cydarth and his sudden and out-of-character cheerful stalling and the link to the Banque D’Ouestan.

  When I finished, she said, “You’re doubtless correct, but there’s no proof at all. Exactly what do you have in mind?”

  “Looking farther. I need to see if I can find out more about the Banque D’Ouestan, especially about their agent here. I have some indication that he lent Glendyl 25,000 golds almost a year ago.”

  “Is there anyone Glendyl doesn’t owe?”

  “I don’t think he owes the Banque D’Rivages or the Banque D’Excelsis,” I replied dryly.

  “Glendyl isn’t likely to hold onto his works or anything else, except he won’t let go of anything willingly, and that won’t be good for Solidar or the Navy.”

  “From his behavior and attitude…it shouldn’t be surprising if he loses everything. Besides, it might be better if someone else took over the engineworks.”

  Dyana shook her head. “Nothing good is going to come of that. Be very careful.”

  “I don’t intend to do anything else dealing with Glendyl.” I didn’t point out that I’d already done all I could.

  “That would be best.”

  “Oh, there is one other matter concerning the Banque D’Ouestan. This was discovered by Maitre Khalasa…” I went on to summarize the findings Kahlasa had presented to me.

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “I’d like to look a little farther. Like so many things, there’s little enough direct proof.”

  “Isn’t it always? Let me know when you find out more.” Dyana shook her head, ruefully. “I trust you read the other stories in this morning’s newsheets?”

  “I did.”

  “How would you interpret them?”

  “As an indication that the retirement or ill-health of Sea-Marshal Valeun might be beneficial to all Solidar.”

  “What good would that do if his successor feels the same way, or, more important, that most of the junior marshals feel that way?”

  “Then I need to determine what our options are.” I could be wrong, but, after having met Deputy Sea-Marshal Caellynd, I had the feeling he had to be an improvement over Valeun, but that was another thing I needed to determine.

  “Or if we have any. Change for the sake of change is not a particularly good policy, especially if it creates even greater distrust of the Collegium.”

  “Greater distrust would not be good.” I nodded politely, even as I worried about keeping what we had when it didn’t seem to be doing that much good for either Solidar or the Collegium.

  After I left Maitre Dyana, the first thing I did was have Schorzat send a message requesting a meeting with Sea-Marshal Valeun for Vendrei, suggesting a certain urgency. Then I met with Kahlasa and asked her if she could check what she had discovered with the false transport companies to see if there happened to be anything in common with the false barge lease for the vessels used in the attack on Imagisle.

  Next, I went back to my study to think.

  61

  On Vendrei morning, Veritum featured a story about the northern fleet and about how the fast frigate delivered to the Navy last week from the Suyrien shipworks was the only half-modern ship in the fleet, and how even the Collegium, once known for its concern about matters military, was silent on the need for fleet modernization. There were also a few lines about how the lack of better ships required a greater reliance on innovative and often desperate tactics, tactics that could only go on for so long. I thought that touch was particularly clever on Valeun’s part. I couldn’t help but wonder how Maitre Dyana was taking it all.

  Then I found a note from Maitre Jhulian that said High Holder Haebyn had filed a motion to stop Broussard from rebuilding his impoundment dam, on the grounds that such reconstruction prejudiced Haebyn’s ancillary water rights. Jhulian had added that Haebyn’s legal actions were obviously the beginning of a salvo designed to keep the dam from being rebuilt until after the height of the spring runoff.

  I could only shake my head.

  Moments later, there was a knock on the door, and Schorzat stepped inside. “We did receive a reply from his highest excellency Sea-Marshal Valeun.” His voice was emotionless.

  “Does he condescend
to see me?”

  “Only at the first glass of the afternoon, and only for two quints. He will expect you then, unless you send a messenger declining. He can see you on Mardi or Jeudi next week.”

  “He’s playing position gaming. I’ll see him today. Timing’s more important than bureaucratic maneuvering.”

  “If it were anyone but you, I’d suggest not seeing him until two weeks from now.”

  “Waiting only benefits him, and he knows it. That’s what he’s playing for.” I couldn’t help shaking my head—again. I was doing that all too often. “Thank you for setting it up. I’ll let you and Kahlasa know what happens.”

  When he left, I went and checked with Ghaend about Desalyt, but so far no one had reported any sign of him or his body. It was a certainty he was dead, and Ghaend had already talked to his wife, most likely his widow.

  “It wasn’t exactly an accident, was it?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t have any proof, either about whether it was or about who might have done it.”

  “You were leaving Patrol headquarters, weren’t you?”

  “I was. I’d just paid a call on Cydarth.”

  “There are all sorts of rumors about him.”

  “I know, but I’ve never found a single shred of proof to support any one of them.”

  “Be nice if the Namer finally claimed him.”

  I could agree with that.

  When I left the Collegium in the duty coach at two quints past tenth glass, heading out to the Naval Command, I had a fairly good idea of what awaited me. I wasn’t that far off. When I reached the anteroom of the Sea-Marshal’s study just before first glass, I had to wait. Not long enough to be truly insulting, perhaps less than half a quint, but just enough, and when the door opened, a junior ensign emerged.

  Valeun appeared behind the young officer, beaming. “Maitre Rhennthyl, I had no idea you were waiting.”

  “Neither did I,” I replied with a smile equally false.

  “Do come in!”