Imager's Challenge

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Let them frig this up their own way, without any help from us, or you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” I smiled. “The Tiempran priests might have explosives in their Temple. I thought you’d like to know.”

  His face froze. “How do—don’t bother. If you happen to be right . . . if . . . just what do you suggest? There’s already a crowd gathered around the Temple. It looks like their priests rousted them out, but with that cordon, there’s no way to tell. I’ve called up the mounted riot patrollers, but they only sent half a squad. They’re just backup for us if things get out of hand.”

  “My only suggestion is to keep your patrollers well away from the Temple for now.”

  “You think that they’ll blow up the Temple and their own worshippers?”

  “No one can say that for certain, but the First Speaker of Tiempre sent a warning a month or so ago saying that because we gave favorable treatment to the evil Caenenans, they would strike at the heart of Solidar.” I shrugged. “Those might be just words, but . . .”

  “I think, Master Rhennthyl, that you and I will watch, from a moderate distance, how the conscription teams handle the crowd around the Temple. Lyonyt and Fuast can handle their reduced duties without your assistance. I’ve already informed them and sent them out.”

  “Yes, sir.” I had more than mixed feelings about accompanying Harraf, but the very fact that he wanted to observe and be in a position to handle the patrollers indicated that he was far more worried than his even voice and small and intent black eyes revealed. So did the fact that he’d already dispatched Lyonyt and Fuast.

  We walked up Fuosta and along the north side—the non-taudis side—of South Middle alone. Two other patrollers, whom I’d never seen before, followed us. When we reached Dugalle, the captain halted.

  “For now, this should be satisfactory.” He said nothing more, but looked eastward.

  Ten mounted patrollers in riot gear were lined up the north side of South Middle, about fifty yards farther east. The mounted conscription forces and the naval marines occupied the south side, right up to the low wall that marked the beginning of the taudis. Unlike the scriptie horses, the patrol mounts all wore gray padded armor across their chests, necks, and forequarters. The patrollers wore similar padded armor of the same material as the mounts, except it was pale blue, and riot helmets. While the mounted patrollers carried revolvers, their first weapons were riot lances, effectively long hardened oak truncheons with padded grips.

  Even from where we were, I could see some of the crowd around the Temple, and I could hear a low repetitive chant.

  “Equal coins for equal souls,

  Equal golds for equal roles! . . .”

  That definitely had an equalifier tone to it, but I couldn’t see if there were any Tiempran priests leading the chant or whether those leading the crowd were merely local converts. Given what I suspected, I would have wagered that the crowd leaders were locals.

  “Chanting won’t stop the marines,” Harraf said. “All that will do is make them mad. They’ll eat all those taudis-dwellers alive and come up hungry.” He looked to me.

  “Getting the marines angry might well be the point, Captain.”

  At that, Harraf frowned, then straightened as a rider neared. “Be polite, Rhennthyl,” he murmured. “He’s a marine colonel.”

  The colonel rode up, followed by two other mounted marines, and reined his mount to a halt. He looked down at Harraf. “I thought we might find some Patrol officers here.”

  “Captain Harraf, Third District, Colonel.” Harraf’s smile was cool.

  “We’re about to disperse that crowd, Captain.” The slight emphasis on Harraf’s rank contained a hint of contempt. “Unless you see another way to allow us to proceed.”

  Harraf smiled again, nodding toward me. “Why don’t we ask Master Rhennthyl, here?”

  The colonel looked at me. “Do you have any ideas, Master Imager? Good workable ideas?”

  “Just one, Colonel.” I smiled politely. “Unless they attack your men, leave them alone.”

  “They’re in the way.”

  I didn’t feel like arguing with a senior marine officer, but I knew what was likely to happen, and yet there was no way to explain it, because I didn’t know when or how the priests had planned the explosion . . . or if, for certain, that they had. “Perhaps I’m mistaken, but I didn’t see any crowds on Saelio or any of the other streets more than a block east of the Temple. It seems to me that you could start your conscription efforts there, and you’d have little trouble.”

  “Master Imager,” replied the colonel, his voice holding the tone of a parent talking to a child who did not understand, “we cannot allow anyone to defy the will of the Council. If we do, before long, there would be chaos throughout Solidar.”

  “Colonel, sir,” I replied, “I must be missing something. No one has thrown anything at you, or fired pistols, or even stood in the street blocking your way. They seem to be chanting something like a religious saying.”

  “That’s against the law, and I don’t see the honorable Civic Patrol doing anything about that, Master Imager, Captain.”

  Since Harraf chose not to answer, I did. “The last time any patrollers were allowed close enough to look by your men, there weren’t any priests outside the Temple. As long as they don’t preach on the streets, it’s not illegal.”

  “You sound like an advocate, Master Imager, and advocacy belongs in the Halls of Justice, not on the streets.” The colonel was getting angry. He just wanted to disperse the crowd, quickly, bash a few skulls and subdue the taudis, ransack the place for recruits, and leave the Patrol to clean up the mess.

  “No, sir. The job of the Civic Patrol is to maintain order, not to destroy it.”

  “Enough. We have a job to do, and we’re going to do it. You can help, or you can watch and be reported as obstructing the will of the Council.”

  “Colonel,” Harraf said smoothly, “your men are admirably suited to the task. I would remind you that allowing you to do what you see as your duty is in no way obstructing you.”

  “We will do our duty, Captain, with or without your assistance. Good day.”

  After the colonel rode away, Harraf turned to me. “What will happen now, Master Rhennthyl?”

  “Nothing good, sir.”

  “We’d best watch.” Harraf turned to the two patrollers behind us. “Both of you keep your eyes open.” He paused. “Kharyt . . . have the mounted squad move back west of us. They’re too close to the Temple. We wouldn’t want them to interfere with the colonel’s men.”

  “Yes, sir.” The taller patroller loped off eastward along South Middle.

  Before that long, Kharyt was back, and the riot squad rode past us and drew up a block more toward the station. At the same time, the naval marine formation turned west and marched another hundred yards west, then turned to face the Temple. On the east flank of the formation, a squad of riders formed up.

  “Company! Forward!” The order echoed toward us.

  The marines marched forward, their batons ready.

  My eyes shifted from them to the Temple . . . then back to the marines . . . back to the Temple . . . and stopped.

  Just as I had seen in that momentary flash I could not forget, the Temple seemed to tremble, its walls shivering and bulging outward. Even as I expanded my shields to cover Harraf and the two patrollers behind us, light, a brilliant golden orange, was everywhere, followed by what sounded like thunder from all directions.

  I was shaken within the shields, like a pea in a dried pod in a winter storm, and then . . . everything was quiet . . . for a moment.

  All that remained in an area a good hundred fifty yards across was a low jumble of rubble, none of it more than knee-high, if that. South Middle was covered in bricks and fragments of bricks and timbers, and there was acrid smoke and dust everywhere.

  Faint sounds of injured men were drowned out by the screams of sever
al horses. I had no doubts that the sounds of the maimed and wounded were louder near the Temple—assuming that there were any still alive there.

  Harraf turned to me. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. The Tiempran priests blew up the Temple.”

  “No. We’re untouched. We shouldn’t be.”

  “Imager shields, Captain. I shielded you and the others close by. That was as much as I could do, and I won’t always be able to do that.”

  Harraf swallowed, then moved forward. “Let’s go! We need to see what we can do.”

  “You deal with the Patrol, sir. I need to handle something else.”

  The captain opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded.

  “I hope to see you before too long, sir, with some answers.” I didn’t wait for a response. I just trotted across South Middle, dodging the bricks and other debris.

  For a while, the marines would be preoccupied in dealing with the chaos and their wounded. Then they’d start thinking about retaliation. Before that happened, I needed to see if Horazt and Jadhyl, as I hoped, had decided to follow my advice.

  No one even looked at me as I headed down Dugalle for a block, then turned east, striding toward the alleyway that would bring me out on Weigand and the “red” house. I just hoped Horazt was there, because I didn’t want to track him all over the taudis.

  I didn’t even have to knock. He stepped out onto the front stoop. “One of my runners said the Tiemprans blew up the Temple.”

  “They did. They probably killed a hundred marines and a bunch of Youdh’s people.”

  “Too bad for them.”

  “If we don’t get Saelyhd and some of those priests, it’s going to be too bad for everyone here in the taudis. Do you know where they are?”

  “My boys followed them,” Horazt said. “He’s got a safe house on the other end of Bhaettyr, maybe a block off Quierca. All boarded up. No one thinks anyone’s there.”

  “And the Tiempran priests are there?”

  Horazt grinned. “Might be.”

  “If you don’t want several thousand marines razing the taudis, we need to find them and hand them over to the Patrol.”

  Horazt frowned. “The Patrol . . . don’t know as I like that . . . not for Saelyhd. That’s too easy on him.”

  “If they don’t go to the Patrol, the scripties will just kill them and then raze the taudis anyway. This way, Harraf gets to save his buttocks, and the scripties can’t sweep everything into the nearest sewer. If someone isn’t held to blame, all of you in the South Middle taudis will pay dearly. If the Patrol gets them, the Tiemprans and Saelyhd will all get executed, but the hearing will make it clear that the Tiemprans did it, not the taudis.” I looked at him. “Them or you?”

  “Then what?” he asked.

  “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do what I can to keep things calm and point out that you and Jadhyl and Deyalt kept your people out of it.”

  Horazt nodded slowly. “You don’t offer much, Master Rhennthyl, but no one else is playing this game of plaques.”

  No, and if I’d had any sense, or followed Master Dichartyn’s ways, I wouldn’t be playing it, either. “Can you get enough of your men together to drag the Tiemprans to where I need them after I subdue them?”

  “I’ve got men here. How are you going to get Saelyhd and his boys out of the building?”

  “I have something in mind. Oh . . . we will need rope or cord to tie them up with.”

  “We’ve got that . . . other things, too.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Horazt whistled twice, and taudis-toughs began piling out the door. I stepped back to give them room.

  Horazt waited until twelve men and youths gathered round. “Like I told Mynewyr, we’re going to collect Saelyhd and the friggin’ priests, help Master Rhennthyl deliver ’em to the Patrol so as the scripties don’t burn us out.”

  Then he turned and nodded to me, and started walking.

  I took two quick steps and matched his pace. Squat and muscular as he was, that was easy enough because my legs were considerably longer than his. We traveled four short blocks east, and one and a half long blocks south—without seeing anyone—before Horazt stopped and pointed. “That’s it.”

  The “safe” house indeed looked like it was abandoned, a squat, brick-built, blockish thing of two stories. The windows on the lower level had been crudely bricked over. Those on the second level were boarded shut.

  “Any rear doors?” I asked.

  “Nah . . . they bricked that up, too,” Horazt replied.

  “I need a fire. Get as many things as you can that will burn and pile them in the middle of the street. I don’t want to burn anything down. I just want to drive them out.”

  Horazt frowned.

  “Just trust me.”

  Horazt shook his head, but raised his voice. “Stuff that’ll burn! Find it. Pile it in the middle of the street! There.”

  The taudis-toughs spread out, and before long all manner of things had been piled in the middle of the street—old tree limbs, rotten boards and timbers, sections of broken shutters, dried brush and leaves.

  Once the pile was big enough, I imaged flames into several places and waited until fire, ashes, and smoke were pouring upward. Then I went to work, imaging the hot air and smoke into the boarded-up building. A quint passed, and despite the coolness of the day, I was sweating profusely.

  Then thumping and banging began to emanate from within, and finally the boards on one of the windows were pushed away, and a darker soot-stained face appeared, gasping. I imaged a shield across the open space. More thumping followed, but no window boards moved, or not much, and smoke began to seep out from between the boards.

  Another half quint more passed, and then the front door burst open, and two men staggered out.

  Horazt’s men were ready and immediately grabbed and tied them up.

  More figures staggered out, followed by gouts of smoke, only to be caught and trussed. I stopped imaging hot air and smoke and wiped my forehead.

  Finally, no one else emerged, and I walked over to the figures lined up along the sidewalk.

  “This one . . . he’s the head priest,” offered one of Horazt’s men, pointing to a figure in blue and black.

  I noted two others in the same garb.

  “There’s Saelyhd.” Horazt gestured to a burly man who had recovered and was struggling against the ropes.

  “You!” Saelyhd glared at the younger taudischef. “You have sold out to the trolies. . . .”

  I stepped forward. “No. You sold out to the Tiemprans. You’ll pay for it. Just like Youdh did.”

  His eyes turned to me. He started to speak, then looked again and fell silent.

  “We need Saelyhd and the priests. We can leave the others.” I looked to Horazt. “You know who they are?”

  “Yes. Most of them.”

  “Are they safe to let go after we’re away?”

  He looked over the others. “All but Donmass, there.” He pointed to a square-faced man in soiled gray. “He killed many.”

  “We’ll turn him in with Saelyhd, then. Can we leave a few men here to let the others go in a bit?”

  Horazt nodded. “Selyst, Boazt . . . you know how to cut them loose so they have to work themselves free.”

  The smallest tough grinned. “I can do that good.”

  “Just cut the ropes,” Horazt said, then coughed and shook his head. “That’s all.”

  Horazt’s remaining nine men marched the three Tiempran priests, along with Saelyhd and Donmass, back the way we’d come, then up Weigand and across to Dugalle and then toward South Middle. About a half block short of South Middle, I gestured for a halt.

  “I don’t want anyone here shot,” I told Horazt. “I need to arrange where we’re going to take them. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Figured something like that.” He didn’t look happy. I supposed I wouldn’t have, either, but I hadn’t been the one to
create the mess.

  Since I’d have to do it some fifty yards ahead, as I walked away I raised concealment shields.

  “. . .frig! . . .”

  “. . . do that?”

  I thought that might provide some additional incentive for cooperation.

  When I reached the wall at the end of the taudis, I saw a patroller on the far side of South Middle, but until I crossed the street, again dodging debris that had not been removed, I couldn’t tell that it was Slausyl. Then I was within ten yards, and I dropped the shield just before I reached him. His mouth dropped open, but surprising him was the idea.

  “Where’s the captain?”

  For a moment, his mouth didn’t work. Then he finally said, “Over there . . . toward Mando . . . he’s trying to keep the scripties from doin’ something stupid.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see if I can help him.” I began to trot up along South Middle, avoiding more of the bricks and debris. I could smell the odor of smoke, and thin whitish gray plumes drifted up from the ruins of the Temple.

  Harraf was talking to a mounted officer, who was glaring down at the captain and gesturing. Then, Captain Harraf caught sight of me, said something to the officer, and walked toward me.

  I spoke first. “Captain . . . I think I can help stop this before it gets out of hand.”

  “How, Master Rhennthyl?”

  “We can come up with the Tiempran priests and the taudischef who engineered the explosion. That will give the scripties someone to be angry at besides the taudis-dwellers. It will also prove that the Patrol knows better what’s going on. Besides, the priests are the ones who blew up the Temple.”

  “The major there isn’t likely to listen.”

  “Let me try, sir.”