Imager's challenge ip-2

by L. E. Modesitt

  He actually stopped in midstride, and his mouth opened, if for just a moment before he smiled. “Master Rhennthyl, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I missed headquarters,” I replied cheerfully.

  “It’ll be another quint,” Gulyart said to Baluzt.

  “I’ll be back then.” Baluzt nodded to me. “It’s good to see you, Master Rhennthyl.” Then he turned and headed back through the doorway to the staircase, closing it behind him.

  I had no doubts at all that Baluzt was reporting my presence to Lieutenant Mardoyt, and that suited my purposes.

  “I won’t keep you, Gulyart, but I did want to stop by and see how you were doing.” I smiled, not out of calculation, because I liked Gulyart and thought he was doing the best he could.

  “I’m glad you did, sir.”

  Once I left headquarters, I raised concealment shields and waited.

  While I still waited close to two quints, Mardoyt left headquarters close to a glass earlier than he had on Lundi. I used the same technique, holding on to the luggage rack at the back of the hack. I managed to get the brown cloak out of the bag and on, and to switch caps before we reached Mardoyt’s destination. This time, the lieutenant took the hack two blocks farther from the river on the Avenue D’Artisans before leaving the coach. There he stopped by a flower stall and purchased a large bunch of yellow chrysanthemums and then walked, whistling cheerfully, back down the avenue and then to his house.

  Several times he paused, looking back. Once he shook his head.

  Yet . . . I didn’t have the feeling he was looking for me, or at least not in my direction. I looked around as well, but I didn’t see anything. Who would have seen me through shields?

  A girl, perhaps the one who had opened the door the night before, stood waiting for him in the twilight on the porch. Holding the flowers in one hand, he gave her a hug with his free arm. They entered the house together.

  Because it was earlier in the evening than when I had seen the dwelling the night before, I had a better chance to study it. Although it was a row duplex, it was a good fifteen yards in width, and deeper than that, rising three stories. The third level was probably cramped and smaller, but the dormers suggested that there was at least one usable room there.

  Whether the lieutenant leased the dwelling or actually owned it, given what I recalled about Patrol pay scales, he would have had difficulty paying for such lodging, unless he’d inherited money or had other income. I was wagering on the latter, based on what I’d observed when I’d been assisting on the charging desk and observing the justice hearings, but I did need to get a copy of the pay scales and see if Seliora could have her advocate find out who owned the house in which Mardoyt lived.

  Once more, I watched the dwelling for more than two glasses, until the lamps were extinguished on the lower levels and only a faint trace of light escaped from one room on the second floor.

  31

  On Meredi morning, right after breakfast, I stopped by the receiving hall and asked Beleart when he expected Master Dichartyn to return.

  “Not for several days, sir. He didn’t say when exactly. He said it would be late this week.”

  “Thank you.”

  I headed for Master Schorzat’s study, hoping to find him in-and I did.

  “Rhennthyl . . . what can I do for you?” He did not rise from behind his writing desk.

  “Sir, I was wondering if you happened to know where I could lay my hands on the pay schedules for civic patrollers.”

  “Pay schedules?”

  “I’m looking into something, and Master Dichartyn said I needed proof. Part of the proof happens to be what a civic patroller makes.”

  “If you’re looking for proof of bribes, pay alone won’t do it. They’ll claim legacies, inheritances from widowed uncles without children, even gaming wins.”

  “That may be, sir, but I have to start somewhere.”

  Schorzat nodded. “I’ll have a copy made and left in your letter box.” He paused. “By the way, I do like the portrait you did of Thelya. I hadn’t realized you’d been the one to paint it.”

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but then realized that it was the portrait of his niece, Thelya D’Scheorzyl. “She was a very sweet girl.”

  “She still is.”

  “Do you have any idea when the conscription teams will begin their canvass of L’Excelsis, sir?”

  “They started in the western quarter, out beyond Council Hill, on Lundi, but they don’t say where they’ll go next. It usually takes a good week for each area.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome.” As soon as he finished speaking, his eyes dropped to the stack of papers before him.

  I slipped out of the study and eased the door closed behind me. Then I hurried toward the duty coach station, still carrying the bag with the brown cloak and plaid cap. Because two wagons had collided and created a welter of carriages around the intersection of the Avenue D’Artisans and Sudroad, it was slightly after seventh glass when I arrived at Third District station.

  Alsoran was waiting outside the station. In the shade, his breath almost steamed. “I was wondering . . .”

  “Two wagons collided on the avenue,” I explained. “We couldn’t get to the side roads for a bit.”

  “Both teamsters blaming the other, I imagine.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, but I didn’t try to find out.” I matched my steps to Alsoran’s, and we headed toward Quierca.

  Unlike Mardi, there were no taudis-toughs watching as we walked down Quierca past the section of the taudis that Youdh claimed as his. Why would they be watching one day and not the next?

  I didn’t have all that much time to think about it, because the day was busy. The same thief as the one who had burgled the silversmith-or one using the same methods-had broken into a tavern just off the Avenue D’Artisans, and as soon as we finished talking to the owner, we had to subdue an older elver who’d mixed beer and weed and who’d decided that he wanted to pull shutters off a tinsmith’s shop.

  After that, a teamster on a wagon carrying lamp oil broke an axle, and one of the barrels rolled off and smashed. With oil in the gutters, we had to make sure no one was smoking or had anything that would cause a fire until the fire brigade arrived with a sand wagon and a clean-up crew. We ate quickly at Florena’s, and with the gut-aches I had for the next three glasses from her special ragout, I decided I never wanted to eat there again.

  On the second round of the afternoon, we happened on two youngsters having at each other with knives, but I flattened one with a shield and Alsoran disarmed the other before they had more than a minor cut or two. One of Deyalt’s enforcers showed up, and we let him escort them off. Neither one of us wanted to charge them. Someone might have to later, but it was worth the risk, given what I’d seen about Jadhyl and Deyalt. If they didn’t learn, they’d end up dead, or on a penal crew for life.

  All in all, it was a long, long day, and I wasn’t looking forward to tailing Mardoyt yet another night, but Baluzt’s reaction on Mardi had convinced me that I was on the right track. So, after more than a half glass of writing out reports, I took a hack back down to East River Road and Fedre and donned my disguise on the way.

  For better or worse, Mardoyt left headquarters later that evening and only took a hack as far as he had on Lundi. Once more, I rode on the rear luggage rack, but there was a trunk with a rounded lid fastened there, and I was more than glad when the hack finally stopped.

  I eased up next to a post in order to allow my shields to blend me into the background because Mardoyt didn’t immediately cross the avenue, but stood there for several moments, glancing around. Once he crossed, he didn’t look back, not once, but he didn’t rush, either, just walked deliberately down two blocks or so and then up on Saelio toward his dwelling. I let him have more space, now that I knew where he was headed.

  That turned out to be wise, because slouching against a gatepost
, across Saelio, was a figure in a black cloak, and that figure looked to be a taudis-tough, although I couldn’t tell if he happened to be one of those who had been watching me on Mardi.

  “Over there,” hissed someone.

  I turned in the direction of the sound, to see another tough, one who looked to be wearing a purple jacket under yet another nondescript black cloak. The second tough was looking in my direction, but not at me. I took another step, and at the scuff of my boots on the sandy stone, his head turned more toward me.

  Then something twisted at my shields, and I staggered for a moment. Another imager? After me? I strengthened my shields and tried to determine from where the attack had come, just as something exploded against my shields, rocking me back again.

  Whoever the other imager was, he was powerful, but I could sense the lack of technique. I dropped behind a scraggly hedge, trying to see through the dimness. Could it have been the second tough?

  Dust flared into a column, just on the other side of the hedge.

  “Now!”

  With that single command came a flurry of shots, all aimed at the dust column. Most missed, but several hit my shields, and one twisted me around, and I sprawled on the ground behind the hedge.

  I decided not to move, and held my shields as I watched and waited. After a time, perhaps half a quint, I heard footsteps. Then I could see the first tough moving through the late twilight across the street and toward me. He held a pistol.

  Given his intent, I didn’t wait any longer, but imaged air into his brain and heart vessels. He convulsed and pitched forward onto the walk. The pistol dropped onto the dirt beside the walk. I grabbed the weapon, aimed it at his head, and fired.

  After that single shot, I heard boots on stone, running, followed by voices, and someone yelling.

  I got to my feet, dropped the pistol by the dead tough, and eased around the hedge to the street. The second tough had vanished. So had Mardoyt, and his house was unlit.

  Holding concealment shields, I walked back toward the avenue, thinking about what had just happened. Mardoyt had known he was being followed, and he’d gotten word to Youdh. That didn’t surprise me, but what did was that one of the toughs, seemingly one of those working for Youdh, was an imager of sorts, and had the ability to detect another imager.

  That was anything but good, especially since Mardoyt had to know that I was looking into his activities.

  I kept walking until I reached the avenue, where I turned westward, still watching around me and thinking. I’d been shot at, attacked by an unknown imager, and I still had no proof of anything at all-even though I knew Mardoyt was connected to Youdh and the unknown imager. I thought about reporting the imager to Master Dichartyn . . . and decided against it. First, I didn’t have the kind of proof he wanted. Second, I didn’t even know where to start as far as identifying the imager, and third, Master Dichartyn wasn’t even around, and I wasn’t about to report so little to anyone else. Besides, then I’d have to explain too much about what I was doing . . . because I didn’t have any real proof to back that up, either.

  32

  Even though I’d walked all the way back to Imagisle on Meredi night, trying to puzzle out what I should do next, and arrived footsore and tired, I didn’t sleep all that well. My dreams were filled with imagers I could not see, and whenever I tried to move toward them, Master Dichartyn appeared between me and what I could not see. I tried to image a light, and he imaged darkness around it. When I woke on Jeudi, I definitely had the feeling that I was not only fighting against Mardoyt and Harraf and the unknown taudis imager, but the Collegium itself-and that didn’t even take into account my problems with High Holder Ryel and his efforts to ruin me and my family. At that thought, I had to wonder what Ryel might be planning next . . . but I had to deal with the Civic Patrol problems first.

  After breakfast, I did remember to check my letter box, where I found two items. One was the copy of the Civic Patrol pay schedules and the second was an envelope note addressed to me in Seliora’s handwriting. On seeing the pay schedule, I had the definite feeling that I should not have asked for it, although I couldn’t have said why, and not just because of what Master Schorzat had said. I slipped it into the inside pocket of my waistcoat and opened Seliora’s note, not without some qualms.

  Dear Rhenn,

  I am so pleased that your mother wants us for dinner. I hope that you have already accepted. I look forward to seeing you on Samedi.

  The closing read, “With love.”

  I took a deep breath. I hadn’t really expected anything else, but . . . I also knew I wasn’t necessarily that good at predicting how women might react. Then I hurried back to my quarters and dashed off a quick note to Mother to confirm that we would be there, rushed to the reception hall, because Beleart could post the note from there for me, and hurried to the duty coach.

  All in all, I made it to the station just before seventh glass, but not before Alsoran.

  “Good morning, Master Rhennthyl.”

  “Good morning.” I glanced back toward the study doors of the captain and the lieutenant, but didn’t see either. “Has anything happened?”

  “According to the duty desk, it was real quiet in the taudis last night.”

  That didn’t surprise me. At least some of the toughs had been elsewhere. “Let’s hope it continues that way until you get to Fifth District.”

  Alsoran smiled and turned toward the door. “I wouldn’t be arguing against that.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  The first and outer round was as quiet as the night before had been reported. Then, halfway through the second round, we heard screams and found an elver trying to batter his way into a dwelling that wasn’t his. It took both of us to subdue him and keep him restrained until the pickup wagon carted him off.

  After that, there were more people on the streets and lanes, and two times when older women reported grab-and-runs. We couldn’t find either youth.

  Lunch came, and we ate, and then went back to walking the round.

  In midafternoon, I happened to ask Alsoran how he’d worked out the way he’d developed of patrolling the round.

  He grinned. “Just did.”

  “You must have put some thought into the order.”

  “All things have an order. That’s true. My papa told me that time after time when I was little. You do things in the wrong order, and you run into trouble. If you try and it doesn’t work, maybe you forgot to do something first. He was a great one for doing it step-by-step.” Alsoran laughed. “Sometimes that works, and sometimes it doesn’t. It’s always worth trying.”

  I nodded slowly. That didn’t seem to be my problem.

  “The thing I learned here on the Patrol is that sometimes you do the opposite.”

  “The opposite?” I had an idea what he meant, but I wanted to see if I did.

  “You put in too many steps.” He shook his head. “Take elvers who’ve gone crazed. The procedures say that we’re supposed to tell them to halt and that we’re patrollers. There’s no elver who’s overweeded that’ll hear anything. You try to talk to them, and before you can say three words, they’re either running from you or at you. You have to know what steps to skip.”

  As we finished the last round of the day, Alsoran’s words kept echoing in my thoughts. That could have been because Master Dichartyn-all the maitres, really-had pressed so hard on me the need to proceed logically, to go through all the steps, one by one. There were more than a few problems with that. First, any logical progression would lead back to me. Second, no matter how hard I searched, I would never have the kind of absolute proof that Maitres Jhulian and Dichartyn had kept stressing. But . . . that worked two ways. And it meant that I never should have asked for the pay schedule.

  It also meant that there was little point in following Mardoyt until I made another set of preparations. So I just took a hack back to Imagisle.

  As I sat in my quarters before dinner, I continued to think ab
out Mardoyt. I knew that he was changing charges, even eliminating the records of any charges in some cases, or sending back notes that the charges had been dropped. He was also connected to taudis-toughs and a taudischef, most likely Youdh, and those toughs had tried to kill me. Twice-through imaging and shooting at me. Equally important, I hadn’t done anything to threaten anyone. I’d only followed Mardoyt.

  I also had to wonder if imaging had been used to topple the pile of granite that had left me without shields for almost a week. If that were so, it suggested most strongly that both Harraf and Mardoyt were linked to Youdh, but in the case of Harraf, I had less information. I certainly couldn’t call it proof.

  At dinner, I ended up sitting between Chorister Isola and Quaelyn.

  “How is your pattern analysis going?” I asked Quaelyn, after we had served ourselves from the platters brought out by the servers. I hoped he might reveal something of interest.

  “There are always patterns.” He smiled. “Sometimes we can read them, and sometimes we can’t.”

  “Do you analyze patterns that affect the Ferrans?”

  “I have, but there’s little point in that now.”

  “When we’re at war?”

  He shrugged. “Their response will be to build as many weapons, ships, and landcruisers as they can and train as many soldiers and sailors as possible. Ours will be to deny them effective use of all that materiel. Because we control the sea after last week’s battles, they will turn their fury against the Jariolans on land. The Jariolans will let them attack until they are overextended, and until winter is at its height, when the steam engines of the landcruisers have a tendency to freeze up, and they will counterattack. That is what the patterns indicate.”

  “People aren’t patterns,” Isola pointed out.

  “No, honored chorister. People are patterns. We could not function without routines, schedules, and habits, and the confluence of these create patterns in every society. Success in war is being able to maintain your vital patterns and to deploy others the enemy cannot replicate or counter while anticipating and disrupting all his patterns.” Quaelyn shrugged. “Those words make it sound far simpler than the strategies and tactics necessary to do so, but in the simplest terms, that is what war is all about.” He smiled at Isola. “One of the patterns that few recognize is that of titles and naming, but I would judge that you as a chorister would see that.”