Imager

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  I did hide a swallow at that.

  “Being a fully-trained imager is one of the most difficult professions to master, and failure to master it will mean either that you will end up in the machine works or the armory or some lesser position or that you will be injured or die.” He paused for a moment. “I have the feeling that you do not wish to spend your life doing something beneath your potential. Am I wrong?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you will need to use your time more effectively. If you cannot think after a long day of effort, you need to rise earlier and do your reading and assignments then. Short naps also help. Long naps are worse than no naps, because they disrupt your sleep, and you end up more tired than ever.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After that, he was slightly less sharp, but his questions were as probing as ever, and I felt like I knew almost nothing.

  Finally, he stopped examining me on the procedures appendix and said, “Read the appendix again, and think more about it. I also want you to read the next section in the science text, the one about anatomy.” He paused. “Master Draffyd overheard something about your wanting to paint portraits.”

  “No, sir. Not exactly. Some of the thirds asked if I could paint their portraits. I said that I couldn’t do that for coins … but I suppose I could let them give me supplies and brushes. Would there be anywhere I could set up a small studio?”

  “You want to do more? You just told me you were having trouble doing what has been assigned to you.”

  “I didn’t mean right now. It would take weeks even to obtain everything, and I wouldn’t even think of trying it unless I was doing well enough that you approved. But I wanted to know if it might be possible. If it is not, I understand, and I will not bring up the matter again.”

  Master Dichartyn frowned for a moment, then suddenly smiled, and nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it might be well for you to keep that skill. It could be most useful, and some of the masters here have not ever had portraits …”

  That was the best part of the day.

  I had to go back to my quarters and rewrite my essay on secrecy and then pore over the procedural appendix yet again. Lunch was one of the few meals I could barely eat—a strong liver and onion ragout whose smell nearly turned my guts inside out. Even the bread tasted like onions and liver to me. I hurried to get into my exercise clothing. Clovyl worked me hard for a glass with exercises, and then took me on a run—twice all the way around Imagisle, close to four milles. He was barely breathing hard, and I was panting and gasping and sweat-soaked when I tottered to a halt outside the exercise rooms.

  Then came my first instruction in hand-to-hand fighting, where Clovyl demonstrated a move, and I had to mimic it exactly. Exactly.

  After his instruction, which lasted well past the fourth glass, and left me almost as sweat-soaked as the run had, I showered again, and took a short nap and then read the next section of the science text, the one on human anatomy. Dinner was better, a rice and cheese dish with some sort of fowl.

  Then I had to return to Master Dichartyn’s study by the seventh glass and work on imaging with and passing items through moving objects. At that point, my muscles were getting sore, very sore, and I tried not to think about the fact that I had a month of this sort of training ahead of me … if not more.

  I did force myself to hang up my clothes and put everything in my quarters where it should be before I climbed under my blankets.

  33

  Those who speak of “good people” with great conviction are to be feared.

  The next two and a half weeks followed the same pattern of that first full day as an imager tertius in training, a day that could well have been called a Day of the Namer—except that each day except Solayis was more difficult than the day before, and it would have been repetitious to attribute the trials of each to the Namer. Along the way, I managed a visit to the barber, prompted by Master Dichartyn. By the time the morning of Vendrei the twenty-seventh of Avryl had arrived, I had to admit that I was developing muscles I hadn’t realized I had, and I could certainly run farther and faster, and I was so tired every night that I had little trouble falling asleep. The muscular soreness had also abated, and Clovyl had grudgingly admitted the afternoon before that my skills in defending myself had improved.

  “You might be able to take down most common footpads now, but your knifework needs work.” Clovyl had shrugged. “You’re getting there, but don’t go getting any ideas.”

  Most evenings I worked with Master Dichartyn on shields and specialized imaging, including the differences in handling powders and liquids, and even air itself.

  After much more reading and rereading, and more than a few pointed questions from Master Dichartyn, I did understand the rules and procedures of the Council, finally. “Better than some of the councilors,” he admitted.

  Still, that morning, he asked me another question that I’d never heard, just another in a seemingly endless series of such. “Do you know the ‘good people’ fallacy?”

  “That wasn’t in anything I’ve ever read,” I said, adding quickly, “I don’t think.”

  “That wasn’t a bad recovery,” he replied with a smile, “but I’d suggest saying something like, ‘There are a number of fallacies involving good people. Which one did you have in mind?’ Of course, to say that, you’d best have a few in mind.”

  I didn’t have any in mind, and he knew it.

  “The fallacy is that someone who is good cannot do evil. I get rather suspicious when someone talks about another as being a good person. A man may do good in every small way on every day, and yet be a part of great evil. Even a land cannot be accurately judged by the number of good or bad people within it. All lands have good and bad individuals. The goodness or evil of a land is determined by what that land does as a whole. A handful of evil leaders can pursue hatred and destruction, while the majority of so-called good-hearted souls do nothing. Less frequently, but still occurring, are the instances where good-hearted leaders lead a populace whose individuals are predominantly selfish and cruel, and the acts of such a land under such leaders are praiseworthy. All too often, the term ‘good people’ is used as an excuse, as in the phrase ‘but they were good people.’ ”

  I could see that, and I’d even heard words like that from my parents.

  “How would you judge Solidar, Rhenn? Is it a good land or less than good?”

  “Compared to what, sir? I know only what I have read about other lands, and I haven’t even met that many different kinds of people in L’Excelsis. I’ve never really met a High Holder or many from the taudis or other countries.”

  “That’s a fair answer. Not helpful, but honest. Shall we say … compared to what you think it could be.”

  I wasn’t at all certain why Master Dichartyn pressed such questions, although I could understand his efforts to get me to think and to point out errors in my facts or thinking. “Ideally, any country could be better than it is, if people acted as well as they could, but they often do not. Solidar is like that, but I don’t see the kinds of cruelties that I read about in places like Caenen.”

  “How do you know what you read is accurate?”

  “I don’t, not for certain. But the reporters aren’t locked up for what they write, not often, anyway, and that would indicate there has to be some truth in what they write.”

  “There is some truth in what you say, but your logic is weak. What if the reporters know what is acceptable to the Council and what is not? Then what?”

  “I’d say that what is acceptable could not be totally inaccurate, because, if it were, then word would get around. It’s hard to hide something that’s wrong.”

  “The first part of what you said is absolutely correct. The second part is half true. Can you tell me why it is only half true? Based on your own life and experience?”

  For a moment, I had no idea what he meant. Then I did—Master Caliostrus and Ostrius. I managed not to show any reaction. “Some thin
gs, perhaps isolated events that few care about, can be hidden, but large and repeated patterns of evil cannot be kept secret forever?”

  “That’s a fair approximation, although I would be leery of using the term ‘patterns of evil.’ Evil can be in the eye of the beholder. Some of what is evil to us is not to the Caenenans, and the other way around. Patterns contrary to the sensibilities of a people cannot be repeated without being noticed.”

  That was a way of expressing it that I wouldn’t have thought of.

  “How much, then, do you think that the Council controls what appears in the newsheets?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but I would guess that there is very little direct interference.”

  He nodded. “I’d like you to think about that and write a paper on it. You’ll have some time because I’ll be away for the next few weeks, beginning this afternoon.” He reached to the side of his desk and lifted a black-bound book, which he then handed to me. “Read the first two sections before Lundi.”

  I opened the heavy tome to the title page—Jurisprudence. Now I was going to have to learn the actual legal code of Solidar?

  “While I’m gone, you will work on learning more about the laws and how they work with Master Jhulian, but at half past seventh glass in the morning, starting on Lundi. His study is at the end of the hall on the right. You will meet with Maitre Dyana next Mardi evening and on whatever other evenings she sets. She asked that you wait outside the dining hall for her.”

  “Yes, sir. Am I still restricted to Imagisle?”

  “No, but I would suggest you avoid the more dangerous areas of L’Excelsis. Clovyl says you should be able to handle common dangers, but not large groups, or more than a pair of hired bravos. What did you have in mind, if I might ask?”

  “I thought I might call on my family, and perhaps eat a meal in a bistro, things like that.”

  “Those I would recommend. You need to see L’Excelsis again.”

  I didn’t realize how strange those words were until after I left him to go study.

  34

  Too often friends fall away when one rises.

  For the first time since I’d left my parents after the fire, I had more than a few coins, and that meant I could take a hack out to visit my parents on Samedi. Since Master Dichartyn was gone, I could also leave Imagisle earlier than on most Samedis. Even so, because I enjoyed taking my time, it was past the ninth glass when I walked across the Bridge of Hopes. The sun warmed the air, heralding late spring, and there was just enough of a breeze for comfort, and not enough to blow away the fragrances from the spring flowers blooming in the narrow gardens flanking the Boulevard D’Imagers. There weren’t many coaches for hire, but I found one and arrived at my parents’ house just before noon. I could only hope that someone happened to be there, because I hadn’t known I’d be able to come in time to dispatch a note and receive a reply.

  Nellica’s eyes widened when she opened the door and beheld me in all my subdued imager glory.

  “Is anyone here, Nellica?”

  “Your sister and Madame Chenkyr, sir.” Her eyes avoided mine.

  “If you’d tell them I’m here.”

  “Yes, sir. If you’d come in, sir.” Nellica ushered me into the foyer and hurried off.

  In moments Khethila appeared, wearing a severe green that made her face look far too pale. “Rhenn! You don’t have to wait in the foyer. You’re still family. Come into the parlor.”

  “Are you still reading Madame D’Shendael?” I offered teasingly as I followed her.

  “Father disapproves,” she said strongly, before glancing around and lowering her voice. “I have her treatise on Civic Virtue.”

  “I wasn’t aware that there was such a thing.” I tried to keep the irony out of my voice.

  “Neither is she. She claims those who profess a civic virtue are cloaking their self-interest in morality.”

  “She doesn’t believe in virtue?” I kept my voice pleasantly curious.

  “She espouses virtue as an individual value.”

  “So we abandon virtue whenever we’re with others?”

  “Rhenn!” Definite exasperation colored her voice. “That’s not it at all. Virtue or morality cannot be practiced by a group, but only by an individual. Each individual is different from every other individual, but a group pressures each individual to be the same. Otherwise, there is no group. The same is true of a society. The values of the strongest or most persuasive become the values of the group. The larger the group, the fewer the values those in the group share. In time, groups become mobs.”

  “I think your logic is lacking there.”

  “She says it better than I do.”

  I hadn’t read Madame D’Shendael, but Khethila’s interpretation suggested that Master Dichartyn and Madame D’Shendael had considered the same questions and possibly shared some of the same views. Logically, that shouldn’t have surprised me … but it did.

  At that moment, Mother bustled out of the kitchen. “Rhenn! What a pleasant surprise. We were about to have a small lunch in the breakfast room. You will join us, won’t you?”

  “I hoped so.” I offered a grin.

  Mother studied me. “You’ve lost weight.”

  “A little.” I hadn’t, not really, but Clovyl’s exercises and running had turned any softness I’d once had into muscle.

  “Aren’t they feeding you enough?”

  “They’re feeding me very well, Mother.” I started in the direction of the breakfast room, hoping to forestall any more detailed interrogation.

  “He looks stronger,” suggested Khethila.

  “Laborers need to be strong, not imagers.”

  “Imaging does require strength, more than one might think.” I stepped from the back hallway into the breakfast room, where Nellica had added another place to the table. Even with the two wall lamps lit, the breakfast room was gloomy, because the windows were on the east wall and allowed no sunlight past late morning. Lunch had been clearly informal, with the plates set on green place mats, rather than on one of the linen tablecloths used for guests—or family when one or more men were present. “Where’s Culthyn?”

  “He’s with Father,” Kethilia replied. “Father says he needs to learn the business.”

  “That’s why we’re having leftover fowl in pastry,” Mother added from behind me. “Neither your Father nor Culthyn cares much for it.”

  Since I’d always liked fowl in crust and sauce, I had no objections. Then, as I turned, I saw my chess study, mounted in a far more ornate frame, on the always-shaded south wall. For a moment, I just looked. It was every bit as good as I remembered, if not better.

  “It goes well there,” Mother said.

  What I realized as well, and what she had not said, was that it was placed so that she could see it from her customary place at the table. It was behind where my father sat.

  “It does,” I finally said. “Thank you for reframing it.”

  Mother looked puzzled. “That was the way it arrived.”

  “Oh.” Who had had reframed it, and why? It had been in a simple black frame for the competition, as was required, so that no painting had an advantage. “I must have forgotten.”

  Khethila gave me a sideways glance, as if to suggest that wasn’t something I’d forget. She was right, but what else could I have said?

  Once she was seated, Mother looked at me. “You could have sent a note, saying you would be coming.”

  “I honestly didn’t know that I would have this afternoon free until it was too late.”

  Mother just raised her eyebrows.

  “I was given more training, and while it was going on, I couldn’t leave Imagisle. I finished it more quickly than I’d been told it would take. This is the first time I’ve left the Collegium since I had dinner with you the last time.”

  “Even if you didn’t let us know, it was good of you to come here first. You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” asked Mother.

  “Not tonight.” I
could have, but it was the fourth Samedi of the month. I hadn’t seen any of my friends since I’d become an imager, and it was a certainty that some of them would either be at Lapinina or at the Guild Hall later in the afternoon. “I’ll be more free from now on, since I won’t be spending quite so much time in training.”

  “Your father will be disappointed.”

  “I can stay for a while after we eat.”

  “He said he’d be later today.”

  “Does the extra time off mean that you got advanced again?” asked Khethila.

  I smiled. “I did get nicer quarters—two rooms to myself, a sitting room or study, and a sleeping chamber.”

  “Perhaps everything is turning out for the best,” said Mother brightly. “But your father will be sorry to have missed you.”

  “I think you’ve mentioned that before,” I said dryly.

  “Rhenn … I know you two do not see the world in the same way, but that does not mean that he doesn’t care for you.”

  “I know.” I still had the feeling he’d care for me more had I chosen to become a wool factor, but I wasn’t about to say that. I turned to Khethila. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m learning to be an assistant clerk for Father, the one who makes all the daily ledger entries.”

  There was a hint of a frown from Mother. “Until she finds a proper young man, anyway.”

  “What happened to Armynd?”

  Khethila laughed. “He discovered I was reading Madame D’Shendael. He didn’t put it quite that way, but when he said that it was clear we had interests too different for harmony, that was what he meant.”

  Mother frowned, if briefly, and I knew she’d hoped for the match, as much for Khethila’s comfort as anything.

  I managed a pleasant smile, although what had already happened confirmed that anyone Khethila felt interested in would not be someone for whom my parents would care much. “Do you find working at the factorage interesting?”

  “You just have to be careful and thorough,” my sister replied. “What’s interesting is the way in which certain number patterns show up in the accounts. I’m studying Astrarth’s Theory of Numbers on my own, and seeing if any of what he postulates shows up.”