Imager's Challenge

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  Since Shault had given me an envelope for his mother on Mardi evening, I really felt that I should deliver it, and it would be easier before dark. So as soon as Zellyn and I finished the report, I hurried off up Fuosta and then east on South Middle. More than a few taudis-dwellers either looked away or disappeared into alleyways or doors when they caught sight of the patroller’s cloak. Because most of the street signs were either missing or defaced, what should have taken a quarter glass took me longer. Slightly before half past fourth glass, I rapped on a door that I thought had to be the right one.

  The door itself was age-darkened and cracked oak, without a peephole that I could see. No one answered, and I rapped harder. I also drew open the cloak so that my imager’s grays and the silver imager’s pin would be visible.

  A thin-faced woman finally edged the door ajar, but I could see the heavy chain holding the back of the door to the casement. Her eyes were barely above the loop of the brass links. As Shault had said, her hair was black, and she was tiny. I couldn’t make out the shape of the pendant at the end of the silver chain around her neck, but her face was so like Shault’s that it was hard to believe she could have been other than his mother.

  “Madame Chelya?”

  Her eyes widened more. “Who are you?”

  “Master Rhennthyl from Imagisle.”

  “No! Don’t tell me . . . No!”

  Did she think I was there to tell her bad news? That her son was dead?

  “Shault is fine,” I said quickly. “He’s doing very well.”

  The wide-eyed alarm in her face turned to suspicion. “Why are you here?”

  “You have a good and devoted son.” I eased the envelope through the narrow space between the door and the jamb. “He wanted to make sure you got this.”

  She took the envelope and opened it. Three silvers dropped into her hand, and her mouth opened.

  I was impressed . . . and saddened. Shault had given her everything he had earned since he’d been at the Collegium. Everything.

  She looked at the note, almost blankly.

  “Would you like me to read it? He gave it to me sealed.” I didn’t know that she would, but I thought that I should offer.

  “Please.” She handed me the note back, but not the envelope. She did not loosen the chain.

  I took it and cleared my throat, then began.

  “Dear Maman,

  I am well. I know times are hard. Here are three silvers for you. Master Rhennthyl promised you would get them. He has always kept his word. I can see you on Solayi afternoon—29 Feuillyt, second glass. Ask Master Rhennthyl. I miss you.”

  Chelya looked at me. “Did he write it? All of it?”

  “It’s in his hand.” I handed her the letter back through the chain and the narrow opening between the door and jamb.

  “He is a good boy.” She smiled, if sadly, I thought. “He said I could see him?”

  “Yes. Solayi the twenty-ninth at second glass. Do you know the Boulevard D’Imagers?”

  She nodded.

  “Just walk down it to the gray stone bridge over the river. After you cross the bridge, there is a walk and some benches on the left. That is where young imagers meet visitors.”

  She looked doubtful.

  “When I first came to Imagisle, that was where I met my mother,” I added. “Imagisle is very safe.”

  Some of the doubtfulness vanished, but not all.

  “I need to go, but I’ll tell Shault that you got his letter and his coins.” I offered a smile and stepped back.

  Slowly, she closed the door.

  I kept my eyes moving on the way back to South Middle. For better or worse, I didn’t see anyone who looked to be a danger, but I could smell elveweed, and caught a glimpse of two elvers up on a low rooftop. They’d had enough that they certainly weren’t looking anywhere near me. Then I glimpsed another one, sitting on a stoop. He looked right at me, or through me, as if he didn’t even see me. When I turned onto South Middle, I felt a trace less concerned, but I kept walking until I was almost to the Midroad, where I hailed a hack to take me to Imagisle.

  After I got out at the Bridge of Hopes, I crossed it quickly and headed for Master Dichartyn’s study. He was in, if standing by his desk and preparing to depart.

  “What is it, Rhenn?”

  “Captain Harraf has ‘offered’ me an evening patrol accompanying two patrollers tomorrow night.”

  “I’m certain he wants you to experience what the patrollers do.”

  “Captain Harraf doesn’t like having me around.”

  “Most patrollers don’t.”

  I shook my head. “It’s more than that.”

  “That may be, but you’ll have to deal with it, at least until you discover why. If you can.”

  “He also said that he’d been told he couldn’t schedule me at night on a regular basis.”

  “I did mention that to Commander Artois. Once you’re more settled in at the Patrol, you will have some additional night duties for the Collegium. That’s in addition to your attendance at the Council’s Autumn Ball.”

  “And the Winter Ball?” I didn’t ask more than slightly sardonically.

  “Assuming you don’t encounter another envoy you dislike,” he replied pleasantly.

  “And what about Ryel?”

  “What about him? Has he done anything but send you a card with a silver knot? You can’t even prove he sent the card, you know.”

  At that moment, I realized that the more I said to Master Dichartyn about Ryel, the more difficult it would be for me to deal with the High Holder because saying anything more—about my family or Rousel, especially—would only provide a trail back to me if anything suspicious befell Ryel. And I was more than certain that whatever Ryel did in attacking me and my family would leave no traces leading back anywhere close to him—not in a way that would provide any proof.

  “You’re right, sir. I should have thought of that.”

  “Yes, you should.” He paused. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, sir. Have a pleasant evening.” I smiled and left. If nothing else, I did need to tell Shault that I’d delivered his coins and that his mother was fine.

  Jeudi’s rounds with Zellyn were relatively uneventful. As the older patroller had predicted, Kantros never offered a list of what had been taken, or even approached us. We didn’t run into any out-of-control elvers, although in late afternoon I could smell the smoke in several places along Faistasa Street. I mentioned that to Zellyn.

  “Didn’t use to smell it outside the taudis at all. This whole area’ll be taudis in another four-five years, if you ask me.” He shook his head.

  Zellyn had the round calculated to the last fraction of a quint, and we ended up at the station just as the last of the four bells from the nearest anomen tower died away.

  I wasn’t about to take a hack to Chaelya’s to get a really good meal. So I opted for eating at Sneytana’s, one of the cafés near the station, not that there was a name posted anywhere, but Zellyn had mentioned it as not being too bad. I had fowl and rice fries, and the meal was edible, but I decided I didn’t ever want to eat anywhere that wasn’t at least “not-too-bad” according to Zellyn. I took my time, but I still ended up waiting nearly a glass, dawdling over a lager, before heading back to the station. I did leave Sneytana’s daughter a larger tip for the time, not that the place was crowded.

  A few moments after I entered the station, a tall patroller, about my height, with blond hair streaked with white, stepped out of the doorway beyond the closed door of Captain Harraf’s study and walked toward me. He offered a pleasant smile. “You must be Master Rhennthyl. I’m Lieutenant Warydt.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “I’m glad to have you here, sir,” he replied. “If there’s anything I can do to help you learn more about the Civic Patrol, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “I certainly won’t.” I smiled. “Don’t expect any questions until I have a better feel for how the s
tation operates.”

  “I won’t.” He paused. “I see Huerl and Koshal coming in.”

  “Then I’d best meet them. Thank you, sir.”

  “My pleasure, Master Rhennthyl.”

  I turned and walked toward the two patrollers. They looked close to what I’d envisioned. Koshal was a few digits taller than I, broader in the shoulders and looked like he’d have little trouble heaving a wrecked wagon or carriage out of the way. Heurl was thin and wiry, and half a head shorter.

  “Master Rhennthyl,” offered Huerl.

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” I returned.

  Both nodded, almost as one.

  “Shouldn’t be too bad tonight,” offered Koshal. “It’s cold for early fall, but it’s not an end-night, and not a pay-night, either.”

  “Didn’t smell any weed on the first round, either,” added Huerl.

  I fell in with them, and we walked out of the station and back up Fuosta in the vestige of twilight remaining, although the sun had set more than a half glass earlier.

  By the time we reached South Middle, only a thin band of lighter purple remained on the western horizon, and the avenue was lit but intermittently by the tall iron streetlamps, a good third of which were not working. Few shops and dwellings had outside lamps, and that meant a patrol through uneven light.

  Koshal crossed the avenue and headed eastward.

  “Does the round go all the way out to the plaza?” I asked.

  “Just halfway there, maybe a block past the heathen Temple, except it’s on the south side. There’s just one round through the taudis at night, and it takes a three-man team. Ciemyl runs it.” Huerl shook his head. “Wouldn’t want that round.”

  Were three men enough?

  As if to answer my question, Huerl went on. “The taudischefs could take any team, but if they hit one member, we’d hit back. If they took out all three, then we could go in and level anything we wanted. They know that. No one except the elvers and the stupids gives Ciemyl trouble, and that’s fine with Horazt and Jadhyl. Youdh doesn’t like it, but doesn’t make trouble. Not often, anyway.”

  South Middle was not deserted so early in the evening, but most of the traffic on the avenue consisted of occasional hacks and private coaches, and a very infrequent rider, usually one of the private couriers. There were even fewer on the sidewalks, except around the bistros, but there were no bistros once we neared the taudis, just two lonely cafés across Dugalle from each other on the north side of South Middle.

  “You need to eat on the round,” offered Huerl, “take Aylsim’s. That’s on this side. That Tiempran slop Rivara serves over there . . .” He shook his head. “It’d be a real long night.”

  The two patrollers moved at a moderate pace, not ambling, but not striding, their eyes constantly moving, checking the closed shutters of the shops on the avenue, as well as the alleyways we passed. At times, they stopped and listened.

  Before long, we turned up Elsyor, which ran north and actually, if we were to walk far enough, would have taken us to the Anomen D’Este, where my family attended services. We didn’t walk that far, only to Marzynn, before turning back east. Marzynn was better lit than South Middle and flanked by stylish row houses that gave way to a range of equally stylish trade shops, including the milliner Mother frequented, once we neared the Midroad.

  Abruptly a scream rang out, and then just ahead of us, a woman ran down a narrow lane to our right, passing directly under one of the street-lamps. Part of her blouse looked to have been torn away. She vanished down the lane, followed moments later by a larger figure, who did not pass so directly beneath the light.

  Another scream echoed from the lane.

  “Frig!” Koshal looked to Huerl.

  “We’ve got to look.”

  “Don’t rush,” muttered Koshal. “Take it a step at a time.”

  I followed the two down the narrow lane between two taller three-story buildings. The first streetlight was out, as was the second, but the glow from the third one allowed some relief from the shadows and gloom. The building to the right looked abandoned. I took a closer look and realized that it was being rebuilt, with the third level being added.

  Ahead to the left was a pile of discarded roofing shingles and broken timbers, forcing us more to the right. Thankfully, there weren’t any crannies or niches, just a relatively even brick wall on the ground level, although there were windows—without casements or glass—on the second level.

  I dropped back slightly as the two patrollers skirted the pile of construction debris.

  “See anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  At that moment, something slammed into me from overhead, and stars flashed before my eyes. I took two steps and whirled as I heard steps on the stone behind me.

  I didn’t have any shields. That I could sense, and two figures were running toward me from a doorway half concealed by the rubbish pile. The man on the left slowed, while the one on the right, who carried a club or pipe with a padded grip-end, charged right at me. He raised the pipe, and I ducked under it and inside, and in that moment, the moves that Clovyl had drilled into me for months took over. That was the way it felt. My left forearm came up under his arm and blocked the downswing of the pipe. My knee came up, and my elbow came across. The pipe dropped with a dull clunk onto the stone, and the attacker doubled up, silently gagging . . . or trying to.

  I kept moving, delivering a side-kick to the weight-bearing knee of the second assailant. I didn’t hear the crack, but could feel it through my boots. I had to dodge the wild swing of the long knife, but grabbed the back of his arm and used his remaining momentum to help him into the wall, temple first. He just lay against the brick wall.

  Only then did I glance around.

  Huerl and Koshal stood there. Both had their truncheons out. Koshal’s mouth was open, and his eyes were focused behind me. I turned quickly.

  The alleyway was empty—except for a pile of cut stone almost knee-high that was fragmented in places and scattered across the alleyway in others. I glanced up. The stone had to have fallen from a broken platform beside a chimney at least two stories up. I swallowed, then gestured to the two bodies. “You happen to know either one?”

  Huerl moved forward, looking at the ruffian with the crushed throat, who had stopped moving. In fact, he’d stopped breathing. Huerl bent down, then straightened and shook his head.

  Koshal checked the other dead man. “Chykol. Used to be a bouncer at the Red Ruby. Haven’t seen him for a good year. Fleuryla said he got too heavy into the plonk.”

  I was still seeing flashes like miniature stars, and despite another effort, I could not raise my shields. I couldn’t image anything. “Now what?”

  Huerl shrugged. “Well, sir, if it’d just been me and Koshal, we’d report that they got in a fight over the girl and killed each other, and she ran off.”

  I nodded. “It seems to me that Chykol fought off the other man, protecting her, and then got hit with the stone. Maybe their fighting loosened that platform up there.”

  “That’d do,” replied Koshal. “Make Moalyna happier, too.”

  “Moalyna?”

  “Chykol’s girl . . . maybe his wife, now.”

  “What do we do with the bodies?” I asked.

  “Not much we can do but get a pickup,” said Huerl. “I’ll stay here, and you two go back to the pole off Florrisa.”

  “What if I stayed with you?” I asked. “This lane isn’t all that well lit.” That was an understatement; it was barely lit at all, with only the single light farther to the south.

  “Might be better,” replied Huerl.

  “Good idea,” seconded Koshal. He turned and hurried off back out onto South Middle.

  “We ought to look farther down the lane. Just in case,” offered Huerl. “She’s probably long gone, and one of the ones you stopped was one of those after her.”

  I suspected that as well, if not for precisely the same reasons as Huerl voiced.


  I moved up beside the veteran patroller as we began to check out the lane ahead.

  No shields. Yet how could I complain about continuing the round with Huerl and Koshal? They’d never had shields, and they made patrols every night. Still, I wasn’t about to hint anything was wrong, not after the occurrences of the evening.

  I focused my attention on the lane, checking the more deeply shadowed spots.

  When we reached the end, at Dysel, Huerl turned to me. “She could have gone anywhere.”

  “She probably did.”

  “Might as well go back and see if they left any traces.”

  We headed back down the lane, and I was listening for any sound, as well as checking windows above, but I heard nothing but the faint echo of our boots on stone.

  The doorway of the building where the two had hidden—or from which they’d emerged—was locked and barred from the inside, and no one answered our pounding. No lamps were lit within, and there were no signs to indicate the building’s purpose or use.

  As we waited for Koshal and the wagon, I could only hope that the rest of the round was less eventful—far less eventful.

  When I woke well before fifth glass on Vendrei morning I tried to create shields—and ended up with a blinding headache that forced me to drop them immediately. How long would it be before I recovered from all that stone dropping on my shields? Effectively, I’d gotten a concussion from the shields, but that was better than being dead. Still, the fact that I could raise shields for a moment suggested I would recover, but not as soon as I’d prefer.

  The other question, one that I’d pondered the night before, was whether the attack on me had been set up by Harraf or Mardoyt—or both. Either Harraf or Warydt had to be involved, because they were effectively the only ones who’d known where I’d be patrolling. I doubted that either Huerl or Koshal knew anything. They’d both been as surprised as I’d been. I somehow didn’t think Warydt was involved, but I had nothing but feeling to support that conclusion, and I certainly could be wrong. But whether it was Harraf or Warydt, by making sure the two patrollers didn’t know, whoever planned it was avoiding any direct links. Also, there was the case of Smyrrt, who had died suspiciously under exactly the same kind of circumstances, according to Gulyart. Since Smyrrt had worked for Mardoyt, that suggested a certain collusion between the officers. But why would they have used the same method?