Imager ip-1

by L. E. Modesitt

  “You won’t find her here. She sold the place to Master Elphens . . .”

  Elphens had made master? Even as a representational artist? I wanted to shudder and scream at the same time. My study had been far superior to his mist-covered gardens with all the wrong lighting, and he was now a master-and I hadn’t been able to get a journeyman’s position. And where had he gotten the coin to purchase the place, let alone rebuild such a dwelling?

  “. . . Even with all the damage, I hear, she didn’t do badly. Plot this large is hard to come by here in the Martradon district.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “Word is that she went back to where her parents came from.” He frowned. “Little place near Rivages, don’t recall the name. She got some money from an annuity or something from a patron of Caliostrus. She said there was no reason to stay here and plenty to leave.”

  “You wouldn’t know anyone who might be able to tell me where she is now?”

  “Might be someone at the Portraiture Guild. I don’t know anyone.”

  “I see. Thank you.” I nodded and departed.

  Because it was more than a little warm, I used more of my coin to take another hack, this one down to the Guild Square. From there I could walk down the Boulevard D’Imagers and make my inquiries. I had the hacker drop me on the east side of the square. As always in late summer, the sidewalks were less crowded than earlier or later in the year, partly because of the heat, and partly because those who could left L’Excelsis in the hottest weeks of the year.

  After less than twenty yards, my forehead and shirt were damp, and I had the feeling that someone was looking at me. I turned as if to study the display items in the silversmith’s window, so that I could look at those around me, but I couldn’t see anyone clearly looking at me, or anyone that I knew. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t looking at me, only that I wasn’t skilled enough to pick them out.

  I continued on, walking slowly toward Lapinina, coming abreast of the coppersmith’s, except that his shutters were closed. He was on holiday. As I passed the bistro, I glanced in through an open window. There were people at only two tables, and I didn’t know any of them. The cooper’s place was open, but there was no one in I could see there.

  I crossed Sudroad and walked back toward the boulevard, slowly, looking down the two lanes I passed to see if there were any hidden boardinghouses or the like. I kept getting the feeling that someone was staring at me, but whenever I glanced around, I couldn’t detect who it might be-or whether it was just my imagination.

  There was another bistro a block west of the square on the Boulevard D’Imagers. I knew some of the older artists went there, although I never had. The name on the signboard was Axotol. I had no idea what that meant, but I stepped in under the light green awning toward a serving girl.

  She looked at me, her eyes wide. I could almost feel the fear. It had to be the imager uniform, because I’d never seen her before. “Yes . . . ah . . . sir?”

  “I’m looking for an artist, white-haired, with a goatee. He’s usually called Grisarius.”

  The girl just stared at me blankly, as if frozen.

  An older woman hurried over. “Might I help you, sir?”

  “An artist named Grisarius, or Emanus . . . white-haired with a goatee. I’m looking for him. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but he might know something.”

  “He’s sometimes here. Not now. You might try Reynardyl, three blocks toward the river.”

  “Do you know where he lives? It’s supposedly close by.”

  “I couldn’t say. He doesn’t talk much.”

  “Thank you.” I offered a smile.

  As I stepped back out into the heat, I could hear the older woman talking to the younger.

  “. . . won’t do anything to you here. Best to answer their questions and get them out. They stay, and people won’t come in. That’ll get Rastafyr in a black mood faster ’n any imager . . .”

  Reynardyl was a long and hot three-block walk from Axotol, and I almost missed it, because it really wasn’t on the boulevard but down an unmarked lane off the main walk, with a signboard so faded that I couldn’t read it until I was almost under it. Although the place was twice the size of Lapinina, there was no one inside except a gray-haired server.

  “Anywhere you want.” Her smile was tired.

  “I’m looking for someone, an older artist named Grisarius. He has a white goatee-”

  “He hasn’t been in today . . . probably won’t be. It’s the end of the month.”

  “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  “You might find him in the public garden, you know, the one south of the Guild Square . . . lot of older types there.”

  I had my doubts, but it was worth a try. “Thank you.” I paused. “If I don’t, I understand he has rooms near here. Do you know where they might be?”

  She shook her head.

  I waited a moment, still looking at her.

  “Well . . . sir, I can’t say as I know, but he did mention going to Mama Lazara’s once.”

  “Is that a boardinghouse?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Not the street, but it’s somewhere south of Marchand not too far west of Sudroad. That’s what Makos told me.”

  “Thank you.” I gave her a pair of coppers and headed out the door. Since I knew where the public garden was, and I didn’t know exactly where Mama Lazara’s boardinghouse was, I headed back up the boulevard toward the square.

  It was too short a distance to take a hack, and there were few around, and too long for the walk to be comfortable under the now-sweltering afternoon sun. I wished I’d stopped for something to drink, but I marched onward. When I reached the public gardens, I strolled along every pathway, checking all the benches. There were perhaps fifty people there, and outside of two women with infants talking to each other, I don’t think that anyone else in the gardens was under thirty, and not a one bore the slightest resemblance to Grisarius. As I reached the north gates, where I had begun, I again had the feeling of being watched.

  Since Grisarius wasn’t in the public garden, and since I felt the observer was on the boulevard somewhere, I turned and walked back through the gardens to the south gate. From there, I walked three blocks south to Marchand, crossed it, and came to the next street, much narrower and meaner. The faded letters on the corner wall read LEZENBLY. There was no boardinghouse or pension anywhere among the older and moderately well-kept stone dwellings situated on the two blocks that led north to Sudroad. So I retraced my steps and headed back southward on Lezenbly. At the end of the first block on Lezenbly south of where I’d started, I saw a white-haired figure sitting on a shaded side porch. So I opened the gate and walked around to the side.

  “Grisarius? Or should I call you Emanus?”

  The older man jerked in the chair. I hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been reading, but dozing, still holding the book. He just watched as I took the stone steps and then pulled up a straight-backed chair across from him. My feet ached, and I was more than a little hot.

  The old man squinted at me. “Imager. Ought to know you, shouldn’t I?”

  “Rhennthyl. I was a journeyman for Caliostrus before I became an imager. I did a study in the journeyman competition in Ianus that you liked. A chessboard.”

  He frowned, then nodded slowly. “You’re the one.”

  That suggested something. “Has someone been asking about me?”

  “Not as such. Staela-the bitch at Lapinina-she was saying that some imager had stopped by a month or so ago, said he’d been an artist, but he scared off a bunch of people.”

  “That was me.”

  Grisarius nodded again.

  “I went to see Madame D’Caliostrus. She’d sold the place and left. There was something about an annuity. The mason working on the walls said Elphens had bought it.”

  “Ah, yes . . . young Elphens . . .”

  “How could he
afford to purchase it? How did he make master so quickly?”

  A crooked smile appeared above the wispy goatee. “Might have to do with his father.”

  “Who is his father?”

  “A High Holder from Tilbora . . . Tillak or some such.”

  “A son on the back side of the blanket?”

  “Something like that.”

  I shook my head. That figured. “That must have brought the guild a few golds.”

  “The masters who voted on him, anyway.” Emanus snorted.

  “I never knew Caliostrus had a patron who would have purchased an annuity on his life.”

  “He probably didn’t. That’s always what they say when someone makes a settlement.”

  “But who . . . why?”

  “Rumor was that the fire wasn’t natural-like.” The old artisan shrugged. “It could be anyone. For any reason. That son of his was trouble all the way round. Could be that the fire was meant for Ostrius, and the settlement was because Caliostrus got caught accidentally. Or it could be that it was just easier to send the widow packing so that questions didn’t get asked. You’re young, for an imager. You’ll see.”

  “You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” I hoped he’d say more.

  “There’s much to be seen, if you only look. Most people don’t see things that are right before them because it goes against what they believe or what they want to believe.”

  “You know that I could never find a master to take me on as a journeyman.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Emanus offered a twisted smile. “I don’t think it happened that way, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if someone went after Caliostrus because you’d have made master if he’d lived, and half the portraiture masters in L’Excelsis don’t have your talent.”

  “Were you forced out of the guild?”

  “Let’s just say that it was better that I let it happen. Didn’t have much choice, but I got to watch the mess Estafen and Reayalt made when they took over.”

  “You were the guildmaster?”

  He nodded. “I prided myself on being fair. Most people don’t like that, and when they found out a few things . . . Like I said, it was better that I let them trump up a scandal than what might have happened.” There was a wry smile. “What might have happened remains my business, and I can at least take consolation that I wasn’t the cause of anyone getting hurt.”

  “Except yourself, sir.”

  “That’s a choice we sometimes have to make.” He shook his head. “That was a long time ago, and there’s nothing that anyone can do now.”

  It might have been my thinking about Johanyr and the tactics he’d used, but I couldn’t help asking, “Was it someone in your family you had to protect?”

  “Why would you ask that, young Rhennthyl?”

  “I watched a High Holder’s son do something like that not too long ago.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Blinded him enough so that he’ll never image again.”

  “And you’re still alive?”

  “So far. I’ve been shot once.”

  Emanus looked at me, then leaned back in the chair. “Why did you seek me?”

  “I thought you might be able to tell me if someone was hiring bravos to go after me, or if I needed to look elsewhere.”

  “You seem to think I know more than I do.”

  “You’ve seen a great deal, and far more than I have.”

  “You flatter me with my own words.” Emanus laughed. “Estafen, Reayalt, and Jacquerl wouldn’t go after you, not once you became an imager. Caliostrus’s and Ostrius’s deaths benefited them, and they’d not wish to have any cloud drawn to them.”

  I frowned, but waited.

  “Caliostrus had a brother. Thelal. He was a tilesetter, journeyman. Liked the plonk too much. Caliostrus gave him silvers. Madame Caliostrus didn’t like it. If I had to wager, I’d say Thelal was involved. Either him or that High Holder.” He frowned. “High Holder’s not likely. Most High Holders would make you suffer for years.”

  “Do you know where I might find Thelal?”

  “From what I’ve heard, I doubt Thelal knows where he’ll find himself tonight.”

  After that, while Emanus was pleasant enough, I didn’t learn much more, and I began to have the feeling that someone was watching us. So, finally, I stood. “Thank you. I appreciate your talking to me.”

  “Best of fortune.” His face quirked into a strange smile. “You might remember that truth has little to do with the acts and decisions of most folks.”

  Rather than leave by the front gate, I went down the porch steps and then hurried to the alleyway behind the pension, making my way eastward. I was back on Marchand, almost to Sudroad, when I caught sight of a man almost a block behind me. I couldn’t make him out clearly, because he was on the shadowed side of the street. I turned northward on Sudroad toward the Guild Square, and kept checking. He was still following, holding to the shadows, but I could make out that he wore a light-colored vest. I stopped to look at a crystal decanter in the glassblower’s window. He halted to talk to a man selling kerchiefs and straw hats.

  There had to be some way to separate him from the Samedi crowds around the Guild Square. I passed one alleyway, but it was a dead end. The second one ran clear through, if at an angle, to Carolis, and the entire alleyway was cloaked in shadow. I ducked into the alleyway, then hurried down the north side. I didn’t hide behind the first pile of broken crates, because that was obvious, but instead slipped into a niche where the rear walls of two buildings joined. Once there, I created a brownish shadow shield that matched the painted plaster walls.

  Then I waited in the shadows behind the shield that I had imaged, as the man peered this way and that. I also raised shields against a bullet or a blade, but since the bravo-or possible assassin-hadn’t done anything but follow me, I really couldn’t do much more. Not yet. He kept moving and peering, but before long walked past me. As he passed, I got a good look at him. He was the same man in the yellowish tan vest and wash-blue shirt who had been talking to the flower seller, making small talk while he’d been waiting for me to leave Imagisle. He finally vanished into the orangish late-afternoon sunlight at the end of the alley.

  Recalling the conversation that had drawn me to the flower seller, I did not follow him, but retraced my steps, still holding shields. I decided against staying or eating in L’Excelsis since I had no idea who had been following me, or why, and not when I really didn’t know what to do next. I wanted to talk to Master Reayalt and Master Estafen, but not until I talked to Master Dichartyn.

  On the way back to Imagisle, I looked for the flower seller, thinking she might be able to tell me more about the man who had been tracking me, but the cart, the green and yellow umbrella, and the flower seller had all left. By the time I reached my quarters, I was tired, and my feet were sore . . . and I wasn’t sure that I knew that much more than when I’d left that morning.

  52

  What is seen can tell one what is not.

  Predictably, on Samedi night, I had a nightmare about someone I couldn’t see clearly following me everywhere. After breakfast the next morning, I crossed the Bridge of Hopes, looking for the flower seller with the yellow and green cart and umbrella. I covered a fair area, both on the Boulevard D’Imagers and along the East River Road, but I saw no sign of her, or of any other flower seller. I even tried later, in midafternoon, with no better luck. Apparently, flower sellers didn’t find much trade on Solayi. I also didn’t see the man with the yellow vest, but in the afternoon I did see a number of families picnicking in the gardens off the boulevard.

  Especially after what Emanus had revealed, I didn’t want to approach anyone else in the Portraiture Guild, not until I’d talked to Master Dichartyn, but he wasn’t around on Solayi, and I wasn’t about to track him to his dwelling.

  On Lundi, I got up earlier because the duty coach to the Council Chateau left at a fifth past seventh glass. I climbed out of bed,
washed, dressed, and managed to gulp down breakfast and stop by Master Dichartyn’s study. He wasn’t there. Even so, I was the first one to the duty coach, but Baratyn was but a few steps behind me, and then Dartazn and Martyl followed.

  Once we were all in the coach, I asked, “What will happen today with the Council?”

  “Almost nothing,” replied Martyl.

  “That doesn’t mean we won’t be busy,” added Dartazn. “All sorts show up insisting that they need to see one of the councilors, and some of them do.”

  “Others are junior guild members or merchants who claim that they have the right to visit their representatives.”

  “It’s a long day because they want to see those people before anything happens?” I asked.

  I knew that they had the right to request a meeting, that the regular messengers conveyed those requests to the councilor, and that, if the councilor agreed to see them, one of the three of us had to escort them and listen to the whole conversation, at least until we were dismissed by the councilor. But we still had to wait outside in the corridor to escort them out.

  “That’s right,” said Baratyn. “That way, the councilors can claim they listened before they did what they were going to do anyway.”

  Once the coach pulled up outside the Chateau, Baratyn led the way through the side gate and up the narrow steps. Harvest season it might well be, but early as it was, the morning air was as hot and close and damp as on any summer morning. I blotted my forehead with the back of my hand once I stepped into the comparative cool of the stone structure.

  “Martyl . . . go get the visitors’ request sheet. Dartazn, if you’d get the night guards’ reports.” Baratyn turned to me. “Rhenn, for the moment, just wait in the messengers’ study.”

  “Yes, sir.” The messengers’ study was a spare room with two benches and two writing desks and chairs adjoining Baratyn’s study. I hadn’t spent a half glass there in the past three weeks.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be more than a little busy. There’s already a queue outside, all with passes or claims.” With a nod he hurried off.