Imager ip-1

by L. E. Modesitt

  “Fifth glass.” She walked down to the street level door with me, then unbolted it.

  “You stay here.”

  She smiled and brushed my lips with hers, then stepped back and opened the door.

  Of course, there was no hack nearby, and it took me almost a quarter glass, with Seliora watching, for me to hail one.

  Just as he pulled up, almost at the same moment as I heard a single crack, a blow struck my shields, spinning me around and almost knocking me off my feet. As I straightened a second struck my shields, but braced as I was, I barely flinched.

  I turned quickly, regaining my balance and glancing around. I thought I heard distant hurried steps fading away. In the darkness beyond the circles of light cast by the oil lamps of NordEste Design, I could see no sign of anyone. Neither moon was out, since Artiema had set earlier, and Erion had not risen. In that dimness, I didn’t expect to discover the shooter, but felt I should look. I glanced back up the steps to where Seliora still held the door ajar.

  “I’m all right,” I called.

  Then I walked to the hack. “I was a bit clumsy there. The Bridge of Hopes, if you will.”

  The driver’s mouth opened, then shut. Finally, he said, “The Bridge of Hopes. Yes, sir.”

  At that, I climbed into the hack, still holding my shields and making certain that Seliora had closed the door.

  Why had the assassin waited to shoot? And what had he used?

  The only explanation I could come up with was that he wanted a witness of some sort. Either that or he’d had trouble with his weapon, and that didn’t seem all that likely.

  I didn’t let down my shields until I was back in my quarters with the lock and bolt secured. I hoped I’d be able to sleep.

  60

  Acknowledging needs does not require disavowing

  them.

  I woke up early on Solayi and immediately wrote a quick note to Seliora, reassuring her that I was unharmed and fine. Then I wrote a letter of thanks to her parents, even though I’d be able to post neither until Lundi. Almost none of the seconds and thirds were at breakfast, and I ate quickly and alone, then made my way to the library-in the building adjacent to the dining hall. I’d been there only a handful of times, basically to find out things for my essays for either Master Jhulian or Master Dichartyn.

  The front foyer was dark, unlit, but the door was unlocked. That bothered me for a moment. Then I laughed. There wasn’t any point in locking it, not in the middle of the Collegium. It would be difficult for an outsider to steal the volumes, and any insider who did risked so much that even the densest young imager would think twice.

  In the dimness, it took me close to half a glass to find the D’Shendael book-On Art and Society. I could have lit the lamps, but since I didn’t know where to look, and the library wasn’t that dark, I would have spent even more time lighting than looking, and then I’d have had to snuff them all. I glanced at the title page and the dedication. It was merely to “The nameless artist who has made us who we are.”

  High Holder or not, I felt sorry for her.

  I took the book with me, but I remembered to write it down on the check-out list before I carried it back to my quarters and began to read. I leafed through the pages, skipping over them. Still, I found myself caught by an occasional sentence or phrase.

  Not only does the value of art to a society indicate that society’s type and degree of civilization, but so also do the uses of art which are valued and those which are not, and the placement of each in the daily functions of that society . . .

  The finest of lines separates the most inspiring and beautiful of art from that which is self-indulgent and decadent. . .

  All art is political. Thus, an artist may support a society, oppose it, or stand outside it. Those who support are naive or sycophantic; those who oppose are fools; and those who stand outside are hated by all. . .

  After spending more time than I probably should have reading the book, I went to lunch, thinking that at least I could tell Khethila that I’d read a work of Madame D’Shendael.

  The dining hall was even more deserted at lunch. I doubted that there were more than a score of imagers, and I thought I was the only third. After eating, I decided to risk matters. I returned to my quarters, slipped the letters into the inside pocket of my summer waistcoat, and set out. Remembering Seliora’s cautions, especially after the night before, I raised full shields as I left the quadrangle. The day was far cooler with scattered clouds, some of them a dark gray that suggested a real possibility of rain later in the afternoon. Within less than a quarter glass I had walked over the Bridge of Desires, hailed a hack, and was on my way to NordEste Design, hopefully to see Seliora.

  No one shot at me when I got out of the hack and walked up the steps . . . and lifted and dropped the knocker-twice. I heard muffled footsteps, and, after several moments, Bhenyt and the twins opened the door.

  “Master Rhennthyl, please come in,” offered Bhenyt formally.

  I didn’t want to correct him. I just said, “Thank you.”

  “He’s here, Aunt Seliora!” called Hanahra, or maybe it was Hestya. They were both smiling, as only girls who are almost women can smile a knowing smile that they feel but do not truly yet understand.

  Seliora stood on the edge of the maroon Joharan carpet in the second-level entry foyer-alone except for Bhenyt and the twins. She was dressed less formally, in white linen trousers and a blouse, with a navy blue linen vest. She still looked lovely.

  I stepped forward, stopping short of sweeping her into my arms.

  “I thought you might come . . . after last night. I was certain you were hit by the bullets. I felt you weren’t wounded, but I still worried.”

  I extracted the note from the inside pocket of the summer waistcoat. “I wrote a note, but I decided that delivering it personally was better. Even if you weren’t here, someone would be able to let you know I was well.”

  She leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

  Someone uttered a sound half between a giggle and a cough.

  “Oh . . . since I’m here, would you give this to your parents.” I handed her the other letter.

  She took it and turned to the entourage. “You’ve all seen that he’s here. Now you may go.” Even though she smiled, there was cold iron behind the words.

  “Yes, Aunt Seliora,” the twins said, inclining their heads and not quite skipping toward the far end of the entry foyer. Bhenyt followed, then ducked into a doorway on the left.

  “The twins called you ‘aunt.’ I thought they were Odelia’s sisters.”

  “They are, but they always saw me as an aunt, and now it’s a habit, even for Bhenyt. Methyr thinks it’s funny.” Her face twisted into a wry smile. “He’s like all younger brothers . . . difficult.”

  “I’ve never seen or heard . . . Aegina’s husband.” I wasn’t quite certain how to phrase that.

  “He was murdered five years ago.”

  I had to wonder how Grandmama Diestra took to having one of her daughters’ husbands killed.

  “Grandmama was not pleased. Neither were a few others, when she was finished.”

  “Ah . . . what happened?”

  “Their dwellings caught fire. They died, but they were heroes because they died saving most of their families . . . except one older boy who was in the family . . . enterprises. He was also a hero. Grandmama paid for their funerals.” She gestured toward the archway that led to the staircase. “We should go up to the east terrace. It will be empty, and since you’ve come so far, I’m sure you’d like to rest.” She grinned. “I’d wager that it won’t be a quarter glass before either Aunt Aegina, Odelia, or Mother arrives with some refreshments.”

  “Your chaperones are always so kind and thoughtful.” I laughed as I accompanied her to the stairs.

  We did enjoy a longer embrace on the landing halfway up.

  The east terrace door was already propped open, and I had the sense that someone had left not too long before, a r
eminder that Seliora belonged to a family where there were few secrets among them, but where little went beyond the family. That realization concerned me, because I was being made almost part of the family.

  I turned to her. “Is Kolasyn as warmly treated by the family?”

  “He’s a very nice person, kind and good,” replied Seliora.

  That was an answer. “Why me?”

  “Because.” That mischievous smile appeared for a moment.

  I waited.

  “We’re linked . . . somehow . . . and we have to find out how.”

  “Pharsi far-seeing?”

  “Grandmama, Mother, and I all sense it.”

  That was another answer, and a chilling one, in a way.

  “And there’s this.” She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me.

  I had no trouble responding. She had a very definite point there, and it went beyond that physical intensity. Not that I didn’t very much enjoy the physical.

  Once we were seated in the two chairs flanking the small circular table, Seliora turned to face me. “I had Bhenyt see if he could find the bullets this morning, as soon as it was light.”

  “Did he?”

  She handed me a small felt bag across the table. “Grandmama says that they’re from a sniper’s rifle, but that the bullets are longer and heavier.”

  “Is there anything she doesn’t know?” The bag felt heavier than I would have thought, and I untied it and eased the bullets out. Both were flattened, at an angle, and they were far longer and heavier than those that had been fired when I’d been attacked with the flower seller. After a moment, I replaced them in the bag and slipped it into my inside waistcoat pocket.

  “Grandmama believes that you die when you stop learning. She has no wish to meet death any sooner than necessary.”

  “Do you follow her example?”

  “I wouldn’t dare not to.” That mischievous smile reappeared momentarily.

  “Do you know anything more about Madame D’Shendael?”

  Seliora shook her head. “Why?”

  “I have the feeling that somehow, she’s involved in why people are targeting me, but I can’t seem to discover any reason why.” I went on to explain what I’d deduced. Master Dichartyn might not care for my revealing that to her, but I had the feeling that Seliora and her family were more than capable of holding secrets-and I needed all the help I could get, because I didn’t see much of it coming from the Collegium at the moment.

  “Grandmama could find out about her parents through Ailphens.”

  “Ailphens?”

  “He’s the advocate for NordEste. Since the mother was executed there will be a record somewhere.”

  Her matter-of-fact response underscored how little I knew about certain practical aspects of life.

  “Rhenn . . .” Her voice was gentle.

  “What?”

  “We all have different talents. I never could have figured out that she was Grisarius’s daughter. Our talents complement each other.”

  “You’re also kind and diplomatic.”

  “Not to her family.” Betara stood in the doorway to the terrace. “If she wants, she can peel varnish off finished wood-and hide-without ever raising her voice.” She moved forward with the small tray that she carried, noiselessly.

  “Mother . . .” Seliora was smiling.

  “I did take the liberty of assuming you would still like Sanietra, along with the summer almond biscuits and the apple slices.” The small platter with the dainties and fruit went in the middle of the front edge of the table, and a glass of Sanietra, with a napkin, beside each of us.

  “That was a very good assumption,” I replied with a smile.

  “Grandmama was very pleased to meet you.” Betara smiled, and I could see from where Seliora had gotten the mischievous expression. “I’ll let Seliora fill you in. Enjoy yourselves. It is a beautiful afternoon.” With a nod, she slipped away.

  I lifted the tall narrow goblet. “To you and a beautiful afternoon.”

  She blushed, ever so slightly, as she lifted her own goblet. “To you.”

  I hadn’t realized how dry my throat was until the Sanietra cooled and moistened it. “Very good . . . and timely. You and your mother do have a sense that way.” As well as in other ways.

  “I’m still learning.”

  “Your mother was offering a reminder.”

  “Mother can be very direct.”

  “And you’d prefer to be a little less so.”

  Seliora nodded. “But there’s no help for it. It’s as much about the family as about you. Grandmama feels everyone should either contribute to the family-or strike out on their own.”

  “She doesn’t like the idea of the family supporting those who don’t contribute at least their share.”

  “Or as much as they can, once they’re grown.” I had no idea where her words were leading.

  “Contribution isn’t just how one can add to the golds. We’re not badly off that way.”

  I gestured to the building that surrounded us. “I can see. But you don’t want men to know that. Wasn’t that why you met me at the hall . . . and why Odelia does as well?”

  She nodded. “Also, flaunting wealth is a form of Naming.”

  I could definitely see that.

  “You must have guessed that Grandmama came out of the taudis. She’s always said that she’s done what she had to, but that she didn’t have to like it . . . only do it well. To this day, she won’t let anyone else talk to her oldest . . . acquaintances.”

  “That’s all you have to say, I think.”

  Seliora raised her eyebrows. “I can finish it, but I’d be interested in how close you are.”

  “I’ll try to put it in . . . general terms.” I took another swallow of Sanietra. “Your grandmother wants the best for her family, and, frankly, I think you’re her favorite. She also knows that it’s very difficult to retain golds without various forms of power. One form is being able to provide a good or a service that is highly valued, and that is something that she and your mother and father have established with NordEste Design. I’d wager that your father is the best furniture crafter in L’Excelsis, and possibly was the very best without a guild patron or master. By emphasizing furniture with specialized textile upholstery, and with her taudis contacts, they created something unique.”

  Seliora nodded again. “Is that all?”

  “Do you want me to go on?”

  “No, but it’s necessary. Just remember what I said to you last night . . . and that I asked you to dance before you became an imager.”

  Last night? I almost nodded somberly as I recalled her words.

  “In a very general sense, power can come from two sources. One is the ability to apply force without using the established resources of a society. The other is the ability to use force sanctioned by society. Your grandmother retains the first ability. She’s kept her children from that source, at least partly. But she’s no longer young.” I looked to Seliora, wondering if I’d said enough or too much.

  Her face was a pleasant mask.

  “Grandmama has been concerned for some time what will happen to the family, and her hope is that you-and whoever you choose-will save it.” I laughed, ruefully. “That’s quite a burden to put on you . . . or Odelia.”

  “You didn’t mention Shomyr.”

  “He’s too kind, I would judge, and Mehtyr’s too young, and L’Excelsis still respects men in power, at least in officially sanctioned positions. There’s only one high woman maitre in the Collegium, and look at the attacks Madame D’Shendael has undergone.”

  “You knew this?” Her voice was steady, but I could sense . . . something . . . behind it.

  “Not until you said what you did about your grandmama. Then, all the pieces fit. I think I was feeling some of it, but I hadn’t thought about it in that way before. I was just interested in you, even from that night last Fevier when you asked me to dance . . .”

  I looked to Seliora, seeing
the brightness of unshed tears. “To fall in love, and then to find that everyone looks to you . . . you’re braver than I might be.” I stood and eased around the table, drawing her to her feet and putting my arms around her.

  For a long moment, she was as stiff as if she had been carved from ancient oak.

  Then she clung to me, shuddering silently. Finally, she lifted her head and murmured softly, “I didn’t want that. I wanted you. I want you.”

  “You and your grandmama are alike in one way,” I said quietly, still holding her.

  She looked up at me, questioningly, still, holding me.

  “You’re both honest. She could have said nothing, just encouraged you, made things easy. You could have said nothing. Neither of you did. For that, I respect you both.” I kissed Seliora gently.

  What I didn’t say was that her grandmama knew how to use honesty to the greatest effect . . . or that I might need Seliora and her family every bit as much as they needed me. But then, I doubted that I needed to say it. Seliora already understood that, whether she consciously knew it or not.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “No. Not in the slightest.” Perhaps strangely, I didn’t. I’d already learned that having needs didn’t make a person less-or more.

  The kiss and embrace that followed my words made any words superfluous.

  We had barely reseated ourselves and gained a measure of composure when I heard footsteps on the wooden floor of the short hallway from the main upper hall.

  Seliora gave me a wry smile as she blotted her eyes. I only had to swallow several times.

  Grandmama Diestra stepped out onto the porch, favoring one leg. She looked at Seliora, then at me. “I see you told him, girl.”

  “No, Grandmama. I offered him a few words, and he told me.”

  She looked at me. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, madame.”

  She nodded. “You two are right for each other. That doesn’t mean it will work out. Working it out means working it out. You’re right for this family, Rhennthyl, and this family is right for you. Will that work out? I don’t know. What I do know is that inside a family, or between a husband and a wife, secrets destroy trust. So does a failure to talk honestly and directly, but not hurtfully. Marriages and families are built on trust.”