Imager's challenge ip-2

by L. E. Modesitt

  As he opened the door, Master Dichartyn glared at me, possibly the first time his expression had ever held such hostility. “Rhennthyl. Is this some jest?”

  “No, sir. I have with him a certain amount of physical proof, including five identical rusty knives that he imaged at me, six identical iron crossbow bolts, and three large items that resemble morning stars. I also have the patroller who was with me when he attacked us with a large wagon filled with stones and who saw all the imaging attacks.” I paused. “And, by the way, this renegade imager also happens to be taudischef Youdh himself, which might explain a few things.”

  “Why didn’t you-”

  “Because you gave me the impression that, first, you were rather dubious about my insistence that I was facing a renegade imager, and second, that some form of proof was necessary. Given that situation, I thought it best that I deliver the renegade to the Collegium, along with all the proof I could provide. I also thought his trial might prove useful. You might find out what else he knows. I’m doubtful about that myself. He’s been awake for most of the trip down here, but he’s only muttered various expletives having to do with my heritage. Oh . . . his vision is probably somewhat impaired. I did image some caustic there, but not nearly so much as in past cases.”

  Abruptly a series of laughs issued from the study behind Master Dichartyn.

  “Ask and you shall receive, Dichartyn. You might as well open the door.”

  I recognized the voice of Maitre Poincaryt.

  Master Dichartyn’s glare faded from burnished steel to blank obsidian. Then he shook his head, ruefully, as he opened the door. “You might as well come in.”

  I did, inclining my head politely to Maitre Poincaryt. “Sir.”

  “Rhennthyl.” The head maitre of the Collegium studied me. “Tell me. What was it that Dichartyn did that so angered you?”

  “Sir . . . I know that there’s much I don’t know-”

  Master Dichartyn’s expression indicated disbelief or disagreement with my words.

  “But when I tell a senior master I’ve encountered an imager, I do know enough to recognize one. I’ve even uncovered one that he’d met and hadn’t recognized. My techniques are rough, and my knowledge of the finer points of many aspects of imaging is doubtless lacking, but when I report two or possibly three senior officers of the Civic Patrol are corrupt and two are deeply involved with the taudis and bribes and killings . . . don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. You can certainly tell me to ignore it, or that there are other considerations, or that someone else will handle it, but don’t expect me to believe what is not true.”

  Maitre Poincaryt raised his eyebrows and looked to Dichartyn.

  “He’s asked me to take a great deal on faith, sir,” Master Dichartyn said.

  “Has he been wrong?”

  “Yes, sir,” I admitted. “I have been, but it’s been because I didn’t know other information. I needn’t have killed Diazt, but I thought I was facing him and Johanyr alone. I thought that the corruption in the Civic Patrol was limited to Mardoyt and Harraf, and I still can’t prove that Cydarth and Harraf are involved.”

  “Enough.” Master Poincaryt’s voice was firm, but I sensed tiredness behind it. He looked to Master Dichartyn. “Try this renegade, and make it public and quick. Find out what you can about his ties to the Patrol, but don’t make those public. For the moment, only we three need to know that.” He looked at me. “I’d appreciate it if you’d be a little easier on Dichartyn. You’re still young and worried and upset about your situation. Imagine what it would be if you were handling three times that amount, if not more. You worry about one renegade imager and one High Holder being after you. I doubt that Master Dichartyn has ever had that few enemies in the last ten years. In addition, unlike you, he has a wife and two daughters as well.” He paused. “I’d also appreciate it if both of you trusted each other more.”

  Then he nodded and stepped past me and down the corridor.

  I turned to Master Dichartyn. “I’m sorry to have upset matters, sir.” And I was, but what else could I have done?

  He shook his head once more. “Rhennthyl . . . you could be such an asset to the Collegium, if we all survive your learning process.” Then he actually smiled, genuinely, if ruefully. “Let’s take care of your captive imager.”

  I did appreciate his momentary kindness, even if the rest of the day turned out to be very long. First, I had to send a Collegium messenger to Third District station with a note informing Captain Harraf or Lieutenant Warydt what had happened and why neither Lyonyt nor I would be back for the rest of the shift. I ended up directing a group of primes and seconds who functioned as scriveners to take the statements of Lyonyt and the driver. Then, while Master Dichartyn and Master Jhulian were questioning Youdh, since I could not, having been part of the events, I had to write out my own statement, as well as a description of the evidence.

  After that, Master Jhulian questioned me in great depth-but, interestingly, only about the events of the morning. I had a good idea how the hearing was likely to go, but I’d have to see.

  The worst part, I realized, was how little I’d accomplished.

  Baluzt was probably continuing what Mardoyt had been doing. There was no real evidence to lead to either Captain Harraf or to the subcommander.

  And, worst of all, I’d been able to do nothing to address the problems with High Holder Ryel. I could only hope that I could discover something at the Ball-assuming that he or Iryela or his son or nephew even attended.

  39

  Again, on Meredi night, I didn’t sleep all that well. The nightmares were more vivid, a melange of scenes with Patrol officers, severe-faced maitres, High Holders, and Khethila. Although I couldn’t recall details when I woke, the impression they left with me was that whatever I did was too late or not enough, or both. I had to work to get past the feelings raised by the nightmares as I tried to think out the day on the coach ride to Third District station, but there were so many unresolved matters.

  The first thing I did after I arrived at the station was read over Lyonyt’s official Patrol report of the incident with Youdh, with Lyonyt hovering at my elbow.

  “I think I got it all down, sir. Some of it happened real quick.”

  “The important things are all here.” I smiled, then signed below his scrawl. “I need to talk to the captain for a moment. I won’t be able to be here tomorrow, and he needs to know.”

  “Sir?”

  “The justice hearing for Youdh. It’s tomorrow.”

  “Oh . . . yes, sir.”

  I turned and walked straight into the captain’s study. “Good morning.”

  He didn’t rise from behind his desk. “Good morning, Master Rhennthyl. You and Lyonyt had a busy day yesterday. I would like to say that we won’t have as many problems with the middle section of the taudis.” His smile was forced. “I fear that we will have more and different problems. Much as they are problems, strong taudischefs maintain order in ways that the Patrol cannot.”

  “That they can, sir. I’m not certain that Youdh was a strong taudischef. He was personally powerful, but that doesn’t always translate into strong and effective leadership. As you have said, we will see.” I smiled politely. “I fear that I am going to create a small problem for you. I will not be able to accompany Lyonyt tomorrow. My presence is required at the justice hearing for Youdh.”

  “So soon?” Harraf frowned. “Usually, there’s at least a week between charging and the hearing.”

  “You haven’t had a chance to read yesterday’s report. One of the reasons Youdh’s caused so much trouble is that he’s actually an imager who was never discovered. Imagers fall under Collegium justice.”

  “Oh . . . and what might that be?”

  I kept smiling. “The penalty for using imaging in committing any significant crime is death. There are no exceptions and mitigating circumstances. The only question is whether Youdh committed a crime, but since he used imaging in atte
mpting to kill a patroller and an imager . . .” I shrugged.

  “I don’t imagine he’s said much or confessed to anything. Most taudis-types don’t.”

  “He had quite a few comments upon my breeding and background and why I deserved to be dead, but little more than that. But I’m not trained in obtaining information the way some imagers are. They may find out more, but even if they do, I doubt if I’ll know for some time.”

  Harraf nodded, then spoke. “Subcommander Cydarth sent a message indicating that you would be available to assist Third District for another two weeks, and possibly longer, depending on other circumstances. I had thought that next week, with the possible unrest in the taudis, you could accompany Lyonyt and Fuast-he’s Alsoran’s replacement, fresh from training.”

  “I’ll plan on doing that, sir.”

  “You haven’t heard anything more on the progress of the conscription teams, have you?”

  “There’s a rumor that they’ve started in the west of L’Excelsis, but I’ve heard nothing to confirm that, sir.”

  “The west? Much help that is.” He glanced past me.

  “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  He nodded again, and I departed.

  Harraf had not been surprised in the least that Youdh had been an imager. He hadn’t even tried to counterfeit surprise. That strongly suggested that he’d known and, more important, that he knew that I knew he knew. He also knew I had no proof that he’d done anything wrong.

  “Sir?” asked Lyonyt as soon as I rejoined him. “Did he say anything about tomorrow?”

  “He didn’t. I will be patrolling with you and Fuast next week, on some of the days, at least.” That wasn’t what Harraf had said, but the way matters were going I had an idea I might need to be elsewhere.

  When we walked past the Temple I saw no sign of any taudis-toughs, in purple jackets or otherwise. On the first patrol round, the one that made a circuit, we saw only the usual morning people-women sweeping stoops, small children on porches, a few older women walking toward the avenue.

  We’d gone a block farther along on the second round, leaving Saelio, when I caught sight of two men in green jackets, standing beside a gatepost next to an alley.

  “Jadhyl . . .” murmured Lyonyt.

  I’d half expected the well-spoken taudischef, if somewhat later in the day, but all I said was, “Let’s see what he has to say.”

  Once we were within a few yards, I halted and said, “Good morning, Jadhyl.”

  “Good morning to you, Master Imager.” Jadhyl looked at me, appraisingly, before continuing. “It is said that a wagon filled with stones rolled over you, and that you got up and walked through a hail of knives, and arrows, and brushed aside spiked cannonballs. Then you brought Youdh to his knees and then trussed him up like a piglet for slaughter.”

  “Something like that,” I admitted. “It wasn’t that exciting. Youdh had tried to kill me several times before that. It was time to put a stop to it.”

  He inclined his head. “Were you a Patrol lieutenant, Master Rhennthyl, or a captain, the taudis would be far safer.”

  “If you were a taudischef of more blocks, Jadhyl, people would live better.”

  “Deyalt and I do what we can.” He nodded to the muscular man beside him.

  “So do I, and so do most patrollers.” I smiled politely. “I appreciate your being willing to talk and your efforts to make things better in the taudis.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Has it been decided,” I asked, “who might succeed Youdh? Or take over his territory?”

  “Of that I would not know,” replied Jadhyl. “We have made it clear that we will do our own patrols on both sides of Mando. I have heard that Horazt may watch over another block east toward Dugalle. Those between us will decide what they will do.”

  “And the priests of Puryon?”

  “They will decide what they will decide.” Jadhyl’s voice was cold. Then he smiled, politely, but not coolly. “We did wish to express our pleasure that you are well and continue to patrol.”

  “Thank you for your kind words. We will continue to do what we can.”

  He nodded, and I nodded, and we resumed our patrol round.

  Lyonyt looked sideways at me, but did not speak for a time as we kept walking. Finally, he said, “Begging your pardon, Master Rhennthyl, but could I ask . . . ah . . . you’re a real master imager, and you’re doing patrols, like the lowest patroller.”

  I managed a smile. “How would I know what you do if I don’t do it? Words . . . names . . . they don’t convey what it feels like when you have to watch every corner and every alley . . . or wonder if you’re going to walk down a street and find an old lady being strangled by an out-of-control elver, or find taudis-toughs attacking you.”

  “Folks can’t hurt you.”

  I laughed. “I’ve been shot in the chest and almost didn’t live through it. I’ve had my ribs broken in an explosion, and at one time or another just about every part of my body has been bruised. My skills just make it harder for people to hurt me, but it doesn’t mean they can’t and haven’t. Youdh was an imager, but we managed to subdue him.”

  “A good thing, too.” He looked at me again, but I just smiled, and he didn’t ask any more questions about how I might get hurt.

  When we walked down Mando, I noted that the wreckage of the large wagon had vanished totally, although there was sawdust in places in the gutters, as well as wood chips. The broken building stones and bricks had been placed in a single pile. There were no intact bricks or building stones left.

  All in all the rounds of the day were most quiet, and when we finished the last round and returned to the district station, I didn’t see either the captain or the lieutenant.

  I was more tired on Jeudi night when I got to the dining hall than I had been the night before. Thankfully, there were no red-striped letters in my box, but I had the sinking feeling that sooner or later there would be. Ryel was nothing if not thorough, and yet I was still flailing, and trying to work out how I could respond without overt traces back to me . . . and I feared that others would pay the price. Yet, without knowing more, I couldn’t take any action that would not be hasty and futile.

  Belatedly, as I headed toward the masters’ table, I realized that it had been quite a while since I’d eaten two dinners in a row at the Collegium. Maitre Dyana beckoned to me in a quiet way that could not be denied, and I settled into the seat to her left. Ferlyn and Quaelyn were to her right, with Chassendri and Isola beyond them.

  “Good evening, maitre.”

  “Good evening, Rhenn. I understand that you have been rather dogged in ferreting out what many would prefer not to be ferreted out.”

  “I imagine that’s a matter of opinion.”

  “So it is. You’re going to the Autumn Ball tomorrow, are you not?” Maitre Dyana’s words were polite and mildly curious as she straightened the comparatively subdued black scarf, trimmed in gold.

  “Unless Master Dichartyn changes his mind,” I replied with a smile. “Would you like the red or the white Grisio?”

  “The white goes better with the veal. The cream sauce is usually a touch heavier than it should be. But then, cream applied heavily enough can sweeten anything.”

  “That’s something I’ve observed with Maitre Poincaryt.” I chuckled wryly, after half filling her goblet. “He can deliver a reprimand with such gentleness that you almost don’t feel the welts-except they don’t go away. I suppose that’s just another reason why he’s the Collegium Maitre.” I could have been less direct, but I wasn’t as good at it as she was, and she had something in mind.

  “A series of cuts delivered with a sharp knife has the same delayed effect, but there’s more bleeding. Poison in a dessert wine is also a favorite of some High Holders. It’s best to remember that the meal isn’t over until it’s thoroughly digested.”

  I supposed that was the same as saying that the last laugh was the best, but since High Holders seld
om laughed, not in honest enjoyment, anyway, they wouldn’t have said anything like that.

  “Tell me, Rhennthyl. How long do you think that taudis imager had been imaging?”

  “I have no way of knowing, but I’d judge at least ten years, if not longer.”

  “Yet he revealed himself to you, if indirectly.”

  “Not exactly,” I replied. “I discovered his abilities when he didn’t know who I was, and then, after he’d revealed those abilities, the attacks on me began.”

  “I thought it might have been something like that. Even in games of plaques, when one must only keep track of cards, it’s a pity that often revealing one’s abilities leads to greater difficulties . . . unless, of course, one reveals limited abilities and holds greater capabilities in reserve.”

  “The problem there, maitre, as I see it, is that one can do that only once, perhaps twice, even in plaques.”

  “Precisely.” She smiled. “The seasoning on the pilaf is almost piquant.”

  I’d definitely gotten a message. Whether I could translate the implications of her conversation was another question entirely, since I’d already revealed my abilities to a greater degree than was wise. I avoided frowning, though, as I realized that it was highly unlikely that High Holder Ryel knew the extent of what I could do-and Maitre Dyana’s comments had been prefaced with remarks about the Autumn Ball.

  40

  Between Youdh’s hearing and my required attendance at the Council’s Autumn Ball, I knew Vendrei would be a long day-a very long day-beginning with the strenuous exercises and sparring under Clovyl’s watchful eyes.

  I was at the Collegium Justice Building at half before eighth glass, as Master Dichartyn had told me to be, and found myself sitting alone in the witness chamber adjoining the hearing area. Except for Youdh, who had not appeared, there were no other witnesses, because Master Dichartyn had taken their statements for the hearing record.

  As I waited, I stood in the open door to the witness chamber and glanced through the archway up at the wooden high-backed gallery benches set on tiers that rose behind a low wall that separated the hearing area from the gallery. A central set of steps split the benches, rising from the wall to the upper entry on the second level. My eyes dropped to the justicing area. At the east end was a dais a yard high, with a black desk in the middle. The floor was entirely of gray seamless stone, except for a walkway of black stone that ran from the archway where I stood to the foot of the dais.