Imager's Challenge

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  Both sides of the street were filled with modest row houses, either duplexes or triplexes. They were established enough that the trees lining the narrow strip next to the walk were older and would offer considerable shade during the day. Almost all were oaks.

  Mardoyt walked up the walk of the fifth house, the left side of a duplex, which had a covered porch on the east side. A girl opened the door, and Mardoyt stepped inside.

  I moved under a tall and not quite ancient sycamore, one of the few softwoods, and leaned against the trunk.

  From what I’d seen of Mardoyt’s schedule during the time I’d been at headquarters, if he were meeting with those outside the Patrol, it most likely had to occur after he left headquarters or before he arrived. I knew very few people, except imagers working for Master Dichartyn, who were that active in the early morning, and I was wagering that if I followed Mardoyt long enough, I’d learn something.

  Although I watched the house for close to two glasses, no one entered or left, and I finally walked back to the avenue and waited another half glass to pick up a hack. It cost me double because it was so late.

  When I got out of the duty coach outside Third District station on Mardi morning, the pale blue sky was clear and crisp, and the wind had died away. I nodded to Melyor and Slausyl as they headed out of the station, and to Zellyn, who was just inside the station door. He gave me a smile.

  Alsoran arrived right after I stowed my bag in my cubby, and we immediately walked out of the station and up Fuosta to South Middle. Well before Dugalle, we passed the first of three toughs, all on the edge of Youdh’s “territory,” and all of whom watched me as we passed. I thought I caught a hint of purple under the nondescript dark brown cloak of the second tough.

  Once we were past the third tough—who was barely visible and indistinct from where he watched from within an alleyway—and started on the round proper, Alsoran cleared his throat. He didn’t quite look at me as he spoke. “Looks as you did something that Youdh didn’t like. Any idea what that might have been?”

  “The only thing I’ve done recently is ask some of the other patrollers what they know about Youdh. I asked Melyor and Slausyl because that’s their round.”

  “Good men, and they do their best.” He paused again. “No one else?” His tone was casual.

  “I did ask Sansolt about Youdh on Solayi. He was on the desk.”

  “Sansolt knows a great deal. He talks to everyone.”

  The flatness of Alsoran’s tone suggested even more than his words.

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind. Is there anyone else you think I should talk to who might know why Youdh’s men are watching me?”

  Alsoran didn’t speak for several steps, then fingered his chin. “You know, Master Rhennthyl, I can’t think of anyone who’d be helpful besides the ones you’ve already talked to. No patroller worth his stipend wants to get too close to the taudischefs. Folks believe the worst. The taudischefs think you’re out to get them somehow, and everyone else thinks you’re getting something from them. No way to come out ahead.”

  I laughed. “It’s too bad, but it makes sense. It seems to me that a taudischef like Jadhyl wants the same thing as the Patrol. He wants things to be orderly and go smoothly.”

  “He also wants to line his wallet.”

  “That’s true, but who doesn’t? The question is how people do it. Youdh likes to kill people if they don’t pay him. Does Jadhyl? You’ve patrolled here. What do you think?”

  “Jadhyl will . . . I think, only if he has to. Someone’s disappearing every week around Youdh. That’s what Melyor says. Is it true? Who knows? We don’t find bodies, and that’s fine with the captain.”

  I had doubts about that policy, but I wasn’t the captain.

  Meredi was again comparatively uneventful, although we did have to investigate a break-in at one of the bistros. A side of beef was missing, along with flour and oil and an empty cashbox that had held only a handful of coppers, but it had happened in the middle of the night, and the thief hadn’t left many traces except where he’d pried the bars away from a window opening onto the alley.

  Since we didn’t bring in any malefactors near the end of our round, I was able to leave the station close to fourth glass. Again, I hailed a hack to take me to Patrol headquarters. This time, I didn’t put on the cloak and cap in the coach, but left them in the bag. I didn’t slink around, either, but had the driver deliver me right to the building. I actually walked right into headquarters to the charging desk. Gulyart was still there.

  “Working the late glasses again?”

  Gulyart looked up from the charging sheet. “Master Rhennthyl.” He shook his head. “It takes longer by myself. I heard you were still at Third District.”

  “I am, but I thought I’d stop by and see how things were going here.”

  Gulyart shrugged. “Same as always.” He looked at me. “Maybe not quite. We’re not getting as many prisoners from Third District.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been walking rounds with patrollers, mostly in the taudis areas. The patrollers haven’t said much about numbers.”

  “There aren’t as many.” He gave a crooked smile. “Could be that some of them don’t want to try anything with an imager.”

  I shook my head. “From what I’ve seen, offenders don’t think about patrollers or imagers.”

  “They don’t, but the taudischefs might.”

  I just shrugged. What else could I have done? My next words were far lower. “Has anything changed here?”

  He was the one to shake his head. Then he glanced toward the closed door that led to the upper level and Mardoyt’s study. After a moment, he asked, “Have you heard about when they might send in the conscription teams?”

  “No. They wouldn’t tell me or anyone I know. I’d have to believe that it won’t be long, but who knows?”

  “Be nice if they’d let us know.”

  We both knew that the Army and Navy would do what they’d do.

  At that moment, the door from the upper level opened, and Baluzt stepped out, hurrying toward the charging desk. “Gulyart, do you have the charging sheets—”

  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.

  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.

  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.