Imager's challenge ip-2

by L. E. Modesitt

  “Patroller Tyenat,” began the justice, “do you understand that you are required to tell the whole truth, and that your words must not deceive, either by elaboration or omission?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Proceed.”

  The prosecutor addressed the patroller. “Please recount what occurred on the night of Meredi, thirty-second Erntyn, as it relates to the charges against the prisoners.”

  “Yes, sir. I was just about to start off on foot patrol, when Captain Harraf came into the marshaling room and announced that there was a big disturbance in the South Middle taudis and that everyone was to take the dispatch wagon there. . . .” Tyenat went on to describe how he and nine other patrollers had reached the area just west of the Puryon Temple. “. . . they’d brought in patrollers from all across the city, and there were about fifty of us. That included a half squad of mounted riot patrollers. Three of us were posted at a gap gate in the wall east of their temple . . . the prisoners, those over there, had buckets. They jumped up on the wall. One of them threw the slop in it at us, but it missed. Morgyn told them to go home. They thumbed us, and then threw more shit at us. We charged them. They tried to kick us. Hydrat-he’s the short one-pulled a slider knife, but I knocked it out of his hand with my truncheon. . . .”

  The prosecutor patiently asked question after question, then stopped and looked to the justice. “That is all for this witness, Your Honor.”

  “Do you have any questions for the patroller, Advocate?” asked the justice.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” The defense advocate stepped forward slightly. “Patroller Tyenat, did either of the prisoners show a weapon before you charged them?”

  “No, sir. They taunted us, and threw slops at us, and refused to return to their homes.”

  “How large was this purported slider knife?”

  “Your Honor”-Baluzt rose-“the knife was entered as evidence.”

  “So noted.”

  The defense advocate asked several more questions, all aimed at trying to establish that the prisoners had done nothing more than be disorderly until they perceived that they were being attacked. Finally, he said, “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  The justice looked down. “You may return to your place in the court, Patroller Tyenat.

  “Are there any more witnesses?”

  “We would like to have the accused state their case, Your Honor.”

  Both Hydrat and Chelam told their stories, which were similar to what Tyenat had said, except that they insisted that they had not assaulted or intended to assault anyone, and that Hydrat had only drawn the knife when he thought that he would be attacked and hurt.

  No one else offered anything else, and there was no mention of a third man.

  After the defense advocate finished, the justice spent less than a tenth of a glass before straightening and nodding to the bailiff.

  The bailiff thumped a heavy staff twice. “The accused will rise and step forward.”

  The two patrollers escorted the two taudis-men forward until they stood below the dais.

  “Hydrat D’Taudis and Chelam D’Whayan, the court finds you Not Guilty on the count of deliberate assault on a patroller, but Guilty of a lesser charge of negligent assault, and Guilty of disturbance and disorderly conduct. The court hereby sentences each of you to one year of service on the road crews of Solidar.” The justice looked to the bailiff.

  The bailiff rapped his staff twice, and the gaol patrollers escorted the two men away.

  Neither taudis-man looked particularly upset.

  The rest of the day went on like that, without even a break for lunch, then ended at third glass. In no case were the charges dropped. By the time we gathered everyone together, another quarter glass had passed.

  On the ride back, I asked Baluzt, “How soon do prisoners get sent to the penal workhouses or the road crew?”

  “Could be as soon as tomorrow. Could be a week. They get sent once a week, usually the same day every week for each place. Tomorrow’s the day for Poignard-that’s where the dangerous ones go, or those who’ll be executed. Meredi’s for the two road crews-they’re housed in the south at the Iron Piers gaol or north at Sieuplier.”

  I didn’t have much to say, but I kept thinking about the missing prisoner.

  Once the wagons were unloaded, I made my way back up to the justicing preparatory study. Four patrollers were still there.

  “Tomorrow’s schedule,” Baluzt said.

  I heard steps and turned to see Mardoyt entering. “Lieutenant.”

  “How was your day watching the justice proceedings, Master Rhennthyl?”

  “Interesting, but long, I must confess.”

  “It almost always is. It can be much longer if there’s an elaborate trial. If that happens, they’ll try that case with a senior justice, and cram all the minor cases into the two small court chambers with the junior justices. Means twice as much work for us with three chambers to cover. Fortunately for us, there’s nothing like that on the docket this week.” He half turned. “Is tomorrow’s schedule ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I watched from the side as Mardoyt reviewed the cases scheduled for Mardi and as he and Baluzt discussed the arrangements and patroller assignments.

  Before he left, Mardoyt turned to me. “I’ll see you in the morning, Master Rhennthyl, but you’ll be going with Baluzt again.”

  After I left Baluzt, I made my way back down to the charging desk.

  “Master Rhennthyl.”

  “Gulyart . . . would you mind if I checked the ledger? I’m trying to recall a case we saw today.”

  He laughed and pushed the charging ledger over to me.

  As I’d thought, there were three names associated with the piss-bucket case-Hydrat D’Taudis, Chelam D’Whayan, and Chardyn D’Steinyn. Once I checked the names in the ledger, I went to the files in the cases behind Gulyart.

  There was no sheet on Chardyn. The other two had sheets listing the charges, but not him. As I remembered, he’d been the quiet one of Pharsi-Caenenan heritage. He’d given his name and nothing else.

  “Gulyart, when does a record sheet get put in here?”

  “Once we charge them, the patrollers working for Mardoyt send down the sheets with the convictions and sentences. Once in a while the charges are dropped. After the trial, they send lists with the names, and when I can, I update the records.”

  “Do the sheets with the charges arrive here before the trial?”

  “They’re supposed to, but they don’t always.”

  “Thank you.” I had the feeling that the sheet on Chardyn would never show up, but I’d still have to check later. “Good evening. I’ll see you later.”

  Gulyart nodded pleasantly as I left.

  I was still pondering the missing records sheet when I got back to my room and found a package wrapped in brown paper had been set inside my door. There was a note on the top.

  This arrived late this afternoon.

  Beleart

  The envelope on top had my name, but was unsealed with nothing inside. I had to cut the heavy cord before I could unfasten the heavy gray paper wrapping. Inside were another envelope, still sealed, and a tattered long brown cloak and a frayed black-and-brown plaid cap whose brown did not match the cloak. I had to smile at that, clearly a touch of Seliora’s, but a subtlety I would not have considered.

  I opened the envelope to find a plain white card with just a few words.

  South Middle at Dugalle, sixth and a half, Meredi.

  So now I could meet with Horazt and learn something-if I happened to be fortunate.

  14

  What I observed in the justice chamber on Mardi was much the same as what I had seen on Lundi, although there were three separate cases involving the sale of elveweed. Meredi followed the same pattern, except that one prisoner was released because none of the witnesses could be found, and no patroller had observed the reported assault on a taudis-dweller. The purported victim could not identify w
ho attacked him, and three women of what I would have termed dubious occupations insisted that the accused had been with them. The advocate for the accused was not a public advocate, but the same man who had defended the two piss-bucket assailants on Lundi.

  I was getting a very definite feel for matters, and I didn’t exactly like what I was seeing, but as with other matters I didn’t like, there wasn’t anything faintly resembling proof.

  The caseload at the Square of Justice was heavier on Meredi, and Baluzt and I-and the coach-wagons-did not return to Patrol headquarters until almost fifth glass. I couldn’t have walked to the Collegium, eaten, and then taken a hack to meet Horazt, not and be there by half past sixth glass. Instead, I decided that I’d walk to Chaelia’s and sample the cooking there. I carried the package holding the cloak and cap. I certainly wasn’t about to wear them until after I left Chaelia’s.

  According to Seliora’s directions, the bistro was two blocks east and off Pousaint. Her directions were quite accurate. I’d had the impression that the place was just a common bistro, but it wasn’t, not from the outside. The polished light oak double doors were framed by a bright green casement, and the shutters on each side of the sets of leaded glass windows were of the same green. Two large bright brass lamps were set on each side of the door, and the front facade of the bistro was of gray stone, rather than of brick.

  I’d barely stepped inside when Staelia hurried forward. She wore black trousers and a gray sweater, with no jewelry. The effect was strangely impressive, perhaps because her skin was just olive-dark enough that her face stood out against the pale gray.

  “Master Rhennthyl! I wondered when we might see you.”

  She spoke loudly enough that several people looked up from the nearby tables to study me. The bistro was mostly full. After a moment I realized that the loudness had been deliberate, and a way of reassuring everyone that I was known and expected. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “This is the first time I could get away for a meal. I haven’t had lunch off all week.”

  “I’m glad you could come, whenever it happened to be.” She led me back through the tables, all of which were covered in pale green linen, and sat me at a small circular table near the rear, but not the one next to the door to the kitchen.

  “No one told me what Chaelia’s was like,” I said as I seated myself in the chair that would let me watch the front of the restaurant.

  “Some things are better left undescribed.”

  Like Seliora, I thought. “You told me what not to order. What would you recommend? I didn’t have lunch, but I have to meet someone later.”

  Staelia nodded. “The fowl with brown mushrooms and grass rice, with the blanched vegetables on the side. It comes with a small plate of greens.”

  “That sounds good. Cambrisio or Grisio?”

  “We have a sparkling Grisio.”

  “Done.” I grinned.

  Staelia returned with the wine almost immediately, and I sat and sipped it, studying the others in the dining area. Almost all the diners wore coats or dresses or skirts with jackets. I was the only person dining alone. Couples or sets of couples comprised those at other tables.

  In a short time, Staelia returned, placing the “small” plate of greens before me-a full salad with fresh fall apple slivers, toasted almond fragments, and a crumbly bluish cheese.

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re glad you came. Would you mind if Taelia and Sartan came over and met you?”

  “Not at all.” While I couldn’t have said anything else, I did want to meet them.

  In moments, they were there. Taelia looked to be a year or two older than Khethila, and she took more after her father, shorter, a bit more solid than her mother, with Clyenn’s light brown hair.

  Sartan was taller than his mother, a shade taller than me, black-haired, and was probably about twenty. His mother’s features looked good on him, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he said, “I’m very glad to meet you, Master Rhennthyl. Everyone has been talking about you.”

  I didn’t bother to conceal the wince. “I just hope it’s not too bad.”

  They all laughed. Then Sartan and Taelia slipped away.

  “They’re good children,” Staelia said.

  “They look that way.”

  Someone entered the restaurant, and Staelia nodded and left.

  I addressed the “small” salad, and after Staelia had seated the two couples who had just entered and turned them over to Taelia, she eventually returned to my table.

  “Did you like the greens?”

  “They were excellent. What was the cheese?”

  “Blue cave cheese from north of Eshtora. It doesn’t take much to give a special flavor to greens. It’s a pity it doesn’t take heat. You can’t use it in most cooked dishes unless you add it at the very end.” She paused. “Seliora is my favorite niece.”

  “She thinks most highly of you.” I had an idea what might be coming next.

  “You know that Seliora thinks you’re very special.”

  “I think she’s more than special.”

  “That’s good. I’ve never seen her look at anyone like she does you . . . but . . .”

  “You have reservations about me?”

  “You could be a very dangerous man, Rhenn, and women can be hurt by dangerous men, even unintentionally.”

  Staelia’s words were a bit of a shock. I’d never been called dangerous, and she wasn’t flattering me by doing so. Still, she deserved an answer. “I’m involved in a dangerous profession, Staelia, and I’ve never hidden that from Seliora or her parents.”

  “I know, but Betara has her reasons.”

  “I know that, too,” I replied softly. “I’ve thought about it more than a little, and Seliora knows that.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “You look the type to have done that.” A crooked smile followed, part affectionate and part wry. “That makes you more dangerous and more desirable, and not just to Seliora, you realize.”

  That was something I hadn’t thought about.

  “Good! You need to think about that. Now . . . I need to get your entree.” She straightened and headed for the kitchen.

  I took another sip of sparkling Grisio, thinking that it was no wonder none of the men in Grandmama Diestra’s family strayed. I also wondered if the death of Aegina’s husband had been exactly unrelated to the family, despite what Seliora had said about it.

  Staelia returned with a platter that she set before me. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” I was still hungry enough that I started right in. The fowl had been pounded thin and tender, breaded in some sort of savory crumbs I didn’t recognize, cooked quickly at high heat while only browning the covering, and then served with some sort of thickened wine sauce with sauteed mushrooms. The side vegetables-beans and carrot strips-were still crisp, yet both warm and tender.

  I ate it all, enjoying every bite, and I’d barely finished when Staelia returned.

  “How was it?”

  “Delicious, better than you said, if anything.”

  “Good. Clyenn will be pleased.”

  “I’m going to have to go. I do have this meeting . . . How much?”

  “You’re almost family . . .”

  “I’m also with the Patrol, and not paying . . .” I shrugged. “That could cause me some difficulties. I hope you aren’t offended, but I’m a very junior master and need to be very careful.”

  She smiled, an expression of both understanding and relief. “It would be a silver and one, but we do give all patrollers a tenth off. So just a silver.” Her eyes twinkled. “And you don’t tip family.”

  “Yes, Aunt Staelia.”

  She laughed softly, but she did take the single silver coin.

  As I left, I realized that the dinner was one of the best I’d had in a restaurant, and I wondered why Seliora hadn’t suggested we eat there. Because it was family, or because she hadn’t wanted to expose me to Staelia’s protective
ness too early? I’d have to tease her about that. In any case, I wouldn’t be taking any patrollers to Chaelia’s to eat, but not for the reason I’d originally thought, but because most of them couldn’t have afforded it, and I couldn’t afford to pay for them as well as for myself. In fact, I couldn’t afford to eat there often.

  It didn’t take long to hail a hack. Once inside, I donned the awful wool cloak and the mismatched plaid cap. I had the driver drop me about a mille up South Middle, past the side street that held the Third District Civic Patrol station, but a half mille short of where I was to meet Horazt.

  The driver gave me a knowing smile when I paid him. Doubtless he thought I was up to something out of a swash-and-dagger mystery . . . or looking for low pleasures with lower women.

  Now that the sun had set, as I walked eastward on the south side of South Middle, my shields as strong as practicable, I could see more people on the streets, but most of them were men. The worn cloak and the cap seemed to help, because I got far fewer glances than I had when I’d walked the same street earlier in obvious imager grays.

  Before I reached Dugalle, Horazt stepped out of a niche in the wall and began to walk beside me. He wore a black cloak, one finer than the plaid I’d donned, but no cap.

  “You wanted to talk to me, Master Rhennthyl?”

  “I did. First, I wanted to tell you that Shault is doing well at Imagisle. He had a little trouble at first, but now-”

  “He wrote Chelya. He said that after you talked to him, no one bothered him. His mother and I thank you for that kindness.”

  “He still has a long road to walk, and it’s not an easy one.”

  “He’ll do better there.”

  “I think so, but it’s not easy.”

  We kept walking, not slowly, but not all that rapidly, either.

  I gestured to the oblong structure ahead and to the right of the chest-high wall. “That’s the Temple of Puryon, isn’t it?”

  “Call it that and the equalifiers get real upset.” Horazt’s voice carried a sourness. “They want everyone to call it the House of Equality. Don’t much like taudischefs or imagers.”