Imager's challenge ip-2

by L. E. Modesitt

  Just after we passed the Puryon Temple, I caught sight of another tough, this one some twenty yards up Weigand-the first through street to the south past the Temple. He watched us until we were out of sight. I didn’t look at him but once, but could feel his eyes on my back.

  I didn’t see a purple jacket under the nondescript brown cloak, but I would have wagered he was wearing one.

  “. . . Sansolt always listens, but he never says anything . . . gets to a fellow after a while. Now, Jaovyl, he’s a good man . . . got the round east of the Guild Hall this rotation. . . .”

  Before long, we reached the Avenue D’Artisans, and after less than two quints with Lyonyt, I could see why he’d been paired with the quiet and solid Alsoran.

  “That place there. It’s called Yualtyn’s. Don’t eat there. Wasn’t bad when it was Gosmyn’s. Hetyr fixed a good honest ragout. Yualtyn bought him out two-three years back. Now all they serve is that Tiempran shit that burns your mouth before you open it. Over there, Chapytoc-good bootmaker. Does good resoling, too. . . .”

  Lyonyt did suggest a different place to eat at midday, a patisserie called Jehan’s, which served a folded fried flatbread filled with lamb and mint with a cucumber sauce. I didn’t know that I’d have wanted it every day, but it was tasty and filling and a definite change.

  After we ate, we reversed the direction of the rounds, but outside of the increasing odor of elveweed, something that happened late every afternoon, the remaining rounds were without any major incidents.

  Once I left Lyonyt at the station, I walked down Fuosta and north on Quierca until I could hail a hack. I had the driver drop me in front of Alouette-a patisserie on the Avenue D’Artisans not all that far southwest of Sudroad. If I were to wait for Mardoyt as long as I might have to, I needed something to eat. I settled for a heavy almond-filled croissant and a mug of tea. The tea was merely hot and adequate. The croissant was good enough that I’d come back, perhaps even pick up some to take to my parents and Khethila . . . and, of course, I’d have to make sure there were two for Culthyn.

  I took my time walking down the avenue and then across it and wending my way to Saelio, raising concealment shields more than three blocks away from Mardoyt’s duplex. When I reached the vantage point from where I could observe the oak in front of the house, I settled into the lengthening shadows and prepared for a long wait. Most of the oaks’ leaves had turned, as had the leaves of the other seasonal trees along the street, and possibly a third had fallen onto the grass and the walks, but they were not dry enough yet to rustle that much when someone walked through them.

  I took out the scrap of purple cloth and imaged a larger duplicate, concentrating on replicating the warp and weft of the weave, as well as the weight of the threads. Then I studied what I’d imaged. Even as someone who’d been raised to appraise wool, I could detect no noticeable difference between the smaller sample and the larger imaged section of cloth.

  Then, I imaged out some sections of the selected oak limb, one that was already dead and hung over the walkway leading to the duplex, not enough that it would break, except in a storm, but enough to make the next step easier.

  I kept waiting. I felt I had to, because I needed to resolve the problems Mardoyt was causing before the problems Ryel was causing got even worse. Sooner or later, Mardoyt had to come home, if not tonight, then on Mardi or Meredi, or even Jeudi. I was getting more than a little irritated that I was having to spend so much time dealing with a Patrol officer who was so corrupt, and about whom no one seemed to want to do anything. More than a few patrollers knew what he was doing, and I didn’t see how that helped the Civic Patrol maintain any sort of standards in the slightest.

  I waited, but Mardoyt still did not appear.

  The sun dropped low enough in the west that the entire street was in shadows. Then, roughly a quint after the bells of the nearby anomen rang out sixth glass, a figure in a blue cloak turned the corner and walked up Saelio. It was Mardoyt, his head down, clearly thinking, as if he was worried. He was so preoccupied that I doubted he would have seen me even if I had not been holding concealment shields.

  I imaged away the remaining key sections of the oak limb before Mardoyt was even close to the walkway to his house. It took even more effort to use an extension of imaging shields to hold it in place while he neared.

  Then, as he turned, I released those supports, and projected shields to hold him in place. The limb toppled, seemingly slowly, but it took all the imaging effort I could muster with extended shields to direct the limb so that the heavier end twisted and slammed into Mardoyt. Just before the limb hit, I released the shield around him, but he couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the limb’s impact as it smashed across his left shoulder and then crushed and pinned his left leg.

  Still behind concealment shields, I slipped up to the unconscious officer and left the imaged scrap of purple in his hand. I also accomplished a last touch of imaging.

  I stepped back, realizing that I was soaked in sweat. I could feel my control of my shields slipping away. So I retreated into the shadows and tried to move quietly down the street.

  I’d made it less than five yards from the mass of limbs and foliage when I heard a scream from the front porch-that of Mardoyt’s daughter. The sound went through me like a knife-or more like the assassin’s bullet I’d taken. I kept moving, trying to keep in mind that the patroller whose death Mardoyt had arranged had certainly had those who loved him, and I hadn’t done anything to Mardoyt when Youdh’s toughs had started attempts on my life. That didn’t count the attempt with the granite stones.

  Besides, I kept reminding myself on the long and chill walk back to the Collegium, I hadn’t killed Mardoyt. If . . . if things went as I’d planned, he’d live, and he’d receive a stipend. He just wouldn’t keep his position and be able to take bribes and arrange murders.

  If . . .

  37

  When I woke on Mardi, I had my ability to raise shields back, and a dull headache that faded after breakfast. Mardi’s rounds with Lyonyt were much the same as those on Lundi-until we finished the last round and were heading back west on South Middle, through an autumn mist that wasn’t quite a light rain. We crossed Weigand, with the Puryon Temple ahead.

  “Over there, Master Rhennthyl!” Lyonyt’s voice was low, but insistent. “Left, up maybe thirty yards.”

  Two men, wearing purple jackets, and not cloaks or waterproofs, despite the mist, stood on a stoop of a house with boarded-up windows. They looked directly at me. Both were old for taudis-toughs, close to my age. One might have been the imager-tough, but I couldn’t be certain.

  Neither man said anything or moved as we walked past. They just watched us.

  “That’s not good, Master Rhennthyl. Means they got it in for us.”

  For me, most likely, but I didn’t voice the thought. “These days, they may have it in for everyone, what with a conscription team coming sometime this fall or winter.”

  “That’s what I been hearing. You don’t know when, do you?”

  “No. The captain asked me yesterday. I didn’t know then, and I haven’t heard anything since.”

  “That’ll bring more trouble. Always does.”

  We certainly didn’t need more trouble. I knew I didn’t.

  Once we’d reached the station, we completed the round report, and I signed off on it. Then, I left the station, after a nod to Lieutenant Warydt, who returned the nod with his usual smile, and walked down South Middle until I could catch a hack back to the Bridge of Hopes. On the ride back to Imagisle, I couldn’t help worrying about the two toughs. I worried a bit about Mardoyt, but mostly hoped that his injuries were as I’d planned . . . except I could still hear the scream of Mardoyt’s daughter.

  A thin prime was waiting for me on the Collegium side of the bridge.

  “Master Rhennthyl, sir?”

  His presence could only mean that Master Dichartyn was looking for me, but I just replied, “Yes?”

  “Master
Dichartyn would like to see you, sir, right now, sir. If you wouldn’t mind, sir . . .”

  Three “sirs” strung together like that meant more trouble.

  “He’s in his study?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I’ll head right there.”

  The frightened prime followed me, if at a distance, until I knocked on Dichartyn’s door.

  “Master Dichartyn. It’s Rhennthyl. . . .”

  “Do come in and close the door, Rhennthyl.”

  I did.

  He was standing by the window. He just looked at me for a long time before speaking. “This afternoon, I had to spend some time with Commander Artois. He was not exactly happy with the reports he had received from Subcommander Cydarth.”

  “Did something I do displease them?”

  “Did you?”

  “I did a normal patrol round yesterday, sir. I don’t see how that could disturb anyone. Captain Harraf did ask me if I knew when the conscription teams would reach the Third District, and I told him that I didn’t know, except that it was likely they would begin in L’Excelsis in the next few weeks. He wasn’t happy that I didn’t know more.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Last week, Master Schorzat said that they’d already begun in the west of L’Excelsis.” I paused, then added, “Captain Harraf has kept asking about the Navy conscription teams.”

  For just a moment, there was a flicker of something in Master Dichartyn’s eyes. “Most of the teams direct the conscripts to the Navy.” He cleared his throat. “Last week, you asked for a patroller pay scale. Why?”

  “Might I ask why Commander Artois was displeased, sir?”

  “Patience, Rhennthyl. We’ll get there in good time.” His tone suggested that I wouldn’t be happy to get where he was going. “The pay scale?”

  “I was still concerned about Lieutenant Mardoyt. He-or someone working for him-has been altering the charging records of the Patrol. Statements come back to the charging desk that charges have been dropped. Some of those charges were dropped while I was observing the justicing administration, and while I was present in the hearings, and they were never brought up before the justice. There aren’t any records to support the entries, either, in many cases. After seeing Lieutenant Mardoyt’s house-”

  “How did you manage that? Following him?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “He has a house on Saelio below Sudroad. It’s a duplex, but a large one in a good neighborhood. It struck me that it would have been difficult to rent or buy such a house on the pay of a lieutenant, but I didn’t know because I don’t know what a lieutenant makes. So I went to find you, and Beleart said Master Schorzat-”

  “We’ve talked about that. Go on.”

  “Yes, sir. He said that the pay scale wouldn’t prove anything. I realized that but thought I might as well know the pay rates, in any case.”

  “So why did you attempt to kill Mardoyt?”

  “I did no such thing. When did this happen? Is that what Commander Artois was suggesting? Or the subcommander?”

  “I will note for the record that you denied attempting to kill one Lieutenant Mardoyt. What did you do with regard to Mardoyt?”

  “I told you. I’ve been following him, trying to see whom he met, trying to figure out how he was doing what he did. You have been very clear with me, sir. You said that you did not want to hear anything from me that I could not prove. I admit fully that I have been following Lieutenant Mardoyt. He is the only member of the Patrol associated with a death caused by an almost identical method as was attempted on me-granite falling from a height. The first patroller under him was killed that way. Likewise, he has changed or removed charges from records. In addition, he knows all about the young lady I have been seeing, in more than fair detail, and he was clear in letting me know that. . . .”

  That did catch him by surprise.

  Before he could say anything, I went on. “Yet, only Captain Harraf knew where I would be when the granite blocks ‘fell’ off a scaffold and nearly killed me. Now . . . as you have pointed out, all this does not constitute proof. So I’ve followed the lieutenant after work a number of nights to see if I could come up with something that might be acceptable as proof. Last week-on Mardi-while using concealment shields slightly down the street from Mardoyt’s house, I was attacked by two taudis-toughs. Both were wearing the purple jackets of Youdh’s toughs under their cloaks. One was an imager-not terribly well trained, but strong. He used a dust spray to show my position to the gunman and battered at my shields. The gunman fired and hit my shields. I fell and waited. When he came close enough, I dropped him and shot him with his own weapon. I left the body and the weapon there, but the tough who was the imager was already gone.”

  “Rhennthyl.” He used my name as an epithet.

  “Master Dichartyn, sir . . . you cannot have it both ways. You cannot tell me that you do not want to hear what I cannot prove and then object that I have not told you what I cannot prove. I was trying to discover the connection between Mardoyt and Harraf and found that there was one between Mardoyt and Youdh. Oh . . . I forgot one other thing . . . two other things. The day I was attacked, three of Youdh’s toughs watched me on the patrol round. It was so obvious that Alsoran asked me what I’d done to offend Youdh, but I’ve never met Youdh. I wouldn’t know what he looked like if he appeared here in the study with us. Again, this afternoon, two more toughs were watching Lyonyt and me when we returned to the station. One of them might have been the imager-tough, but I couldn’t be sure. I never saw his face, and he didn’t have shields.”

  “You’re certain that there was an imager?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s all we need-a renegade imager in the taudis, and one we cannot identify or find. And you said nothing?”

  “You weren’t here, and what exactly could anyone do until he acted again? No one knows who he is or where he is.”

  “Rhennthyl . . .”

  I just waited.

  He shook his head.

  “What happened to Lieutenant Mardoyt, sir? You never told me.”

  “Why do you care? You don’t seem to have a good opinion of the man.”

  “I don’t, but I also don’t want him dead. So long as he’s alive, we might be able to find out more of what he’s been doing.”

  “How did you manage to mangle him with a tree branch?”

  “Sir, I’d like to point out again that I had no intention of killing the lieutenant. Since I had no intention of doing so, why would I attack him with something like a tree branch, which might not injure him at all or might easily kill him? How is he?”

  Master Dichartyn sighed, mostly for effect, I thought. “The physicians think he’ll live. If he does, he won’t ever use his left arm for much, and he’ll need a cane and a leg brace to walk.” He looked at me. “Didn’t you know that?”

  “No, sir.” I knew what I’d done, but not whether it had worked out as I planned.

  “Mardoyt said that he heard a crack and that he couldn’t move, and then an oak limb fell on him. His wife found a scrap of purple cloth in his hand.” Master Dichartyn’s eyes narrowed. “You know, Rhennthyl, taking bribes isn’t that unique an offense, and it’s not one of particular concern to the Collegium. Besides, and more important, his place will be taken sooner or later by someone else who will take bribes.”

  “Given the structure, that’s a possibility, sir. But it’s not the bribes that concern me the most. What bothers me, and should bother you, is that both Captain Harraf and the lieutenant have a link to a renegade imager in the taudis, and it’s highly likely, proof or no proof, that they have been paying off that imager to kill Patroller Smyrrt and to attempt to kill me. Or that they’re trading favors or worse. I also find it interesting that all of the displeasure with me gets filtered through Subcommander Cydarth-who was the one who assigned me to Third District where there is an imager-tough who seems to have connections wit
h two other officers. On top of that, there are more than a few indications that more is going on, possibly including the Equalifier priests. Otherwise, why would there be so many attempts to kill me? Also . . . I’m rather curious about one other thing, sir. You say that a tree branch fell on the lieutenant. Isn’t it a bit strange that the commander immediately expresses his displeasure at me? Especially through the subcommander. Why would he even consider that I might be involved?”

  “You should have asked that question first.”

  “It’s still a good question, sir. I don’t have near the experience that you do, but I know that you and Maitre Poincaryt keep telling me that part of my duties are to be a lure. That may be, but I’m being accused of causing an accident that happened to a Patrol officer who is taking bribes and tied to a taudischef, and probably to attempts to kill me, and I’ve done nothing but look into a real problem.”

  “Rhennthyl . . .” He shook his head. “Are you suggesting that I tell the commander we have a renegade imager who’s being paid off by his officers, possibly even his subcommander, with no proof whatsoever?”

  “No, sir. I’m certain that you could tell him something far more palatable. But you might point out that there have been three attempts on my life since I was named as Patrol liaison, and that doesn’t reflect very well on what’s happening in the Patrol.”

  He smiled, if coolly. “That’s exactly what I did tell him. He was even less pleased. Next time, if there is a next time, and I do hope that there isn’t, you should start your explanations where you ended.” He looked at me. “It would also help if you could find a way to resolve these . . . difficulties before too long. It would also be good to have more than your word about a renegade imager.”

  “I’m doing the best I can, sir.” And that didn’t even take into account my problems with High Holder Ryel.

  “You need to do better.” He paused. “That’s all, Rhennthyl.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Close the door on your way out.”

  I did.

  Once again, I’d gotten another lesson, if not the one that Master Dichartyn had intended. Still, he knew I’d injured Mardoyt. The fact that he’d gone through the motions meant that he didn’t think much of Mardoyt, either. He just hadn’t cared for my way of handling it. What else was I supposed to do? Keep looking for nonexistent proof until I got killed?