Imager

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  What had I learned? “It’s not easy, and it takes time. And one thing leads to another.”

  “Why do you think you’ve been assigned to look into your own shooting?”

  “Because I’ll have a greater interest in it?”

  “Partly. Also because if you don’t, that indicates a certain weakness in dealing with the unpleasant. When it’s your life that’s involved, you’re more likely to learn as much as you can. If you don’t, then you’re not meant to be a master. Even if you are, you don’t know enough yet. That’s not your fault. No one of your age does.”

  After the experience at the Council Chateau, I was beginning to feel that I didn’t know enough about anything.

  Then he nodded. “You weren’t with the morning exercise group, Clovyl told me.”

  I swallowed. I’d totally forgotten about that addition to my schedule.

  “Don’t forget it tomorrow.” Master Dichartyn smiled faintly. “It’s more for your protection than anyone else’s. Much more.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing, Rhennthyl. You know that the world doesn’t stop when you leave the Council Chateau? There are still people in L’Excelsis, if you need to talk to them.” He held up a hand. “Not until I get word from the civic patrollers. I just don’t want you to get into the habit of thinking that Samedi is the only time you have to deal with other assignments.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  How long would it be before I fully understood what I needed to know, what was necessary, and how to do it?

  53

  Beware men in power who praise principles; they’re either without them or lacking in perception.

  Mardi and Meredi were much the same as Lundi … with the exception of getting up each morning a glass and a half earlier to join Martyl, Dartazn, Baratyn, and four other imagers I’d never seen before—as well as Master Dichartyn—for a vigorous two-thirds of a glass worth of exercises and sparring led by Clovyl. He followed that by sending us on a three-mille run. I didn’t finish last in the run, but I wasn’t anywhere close to being first. Dartazn left us all well behind.

  Jeudi started the same way, but once I got to the Chateau, there was a considerable difference. For one thing, there were only a handful of petitioners waiting, and all of them actually had letters from councilors granting them appointments at specific times. They all were also far better dressed and groomed, which confirmed more than a few of my suspicions.

  I’d no sooner arrived than Baratyn handed me a pasteboard. “Factor Alhazyr has an appointment at eighth glass with Councilor Caartyl.”

  I nodded and headed for the visitors’ gatehouse. I had to wonder what a factor wanted in dealing with the representative of the masonry guilds, but it could have been that Caartyl was the only one of the executive councilors who would grant Alhazyr an appointment.

  Alhazyr was waiting, smiling pleasantly. He stepped forward and through the gate when his name was called. He wore a thin silvery vest—open and without buttons—over a pale green linen shirt and carried a thin leather folder, tucked under his left arm.

  “This way, sir,” I offered.

  He nodded in reply and followed me. We had climbed the outer steps and were crossing the grand foyer before he said another word. “You’re new.” His statement was not a question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s not much change in the staff, I understand.”

  “No, sir.” I kept a quick pace, but managed to lead the factor by so little that we were close to abreast. Shields or no shields, the more I could see, the better I felt.

  “That can be very good, or very bad.”

  Since he hadn’t asked anything close to resembling a question, and we weren’t supposed to volunteer information, I just said, “Yes, sir.” Then I gestured for him to walk between the guards—and the angelicas—at the foot of the grand staircase.

  He laughed softly.

  As one of the three executive councilors, Councilor Caartyl had his study in the northwest corner. When we reached the door, I rapped and announced Factor Alhazyr.

  “Escort him in, messenger.”

  I opened the door, watching Alhazyr the entire time. He held an amused smile on his face, as if to indicate he knew I was more than a mere messenger. Once Alhazyr was inside, I closed the door and took a position beside it, ready to depart if the councilor wanted that. I hadn’t brought any petitioners to see Caartyl before, and while I knew his face, I hadn’t been all that close to him. I was surprised to see that he had stood when the door opened and that he was a good ten years younger than my father and wiry, with jet-black hair and a hawk nose. He gave me a quick glance before his eyes settled on Alhazyr.

  “Honored councilor.” The factor inclined his head respectfully, but kept his hands in plain view, the left one still holding the thin leather folder. “I have brought the proposal I had mentioned earlier. I trust it will satisfy the concerns which you raised.” He stepped forward and carefully laid the leather folder on the edge of the desk, then stepped back.

  Caartyl smiled faintly. “They were not my concerns, Factor Alhazyr, but ones raised on behalf of those whom I represent.”

  “That speaks well of you. Not all in power would put the concerns of others above their own.”

  “Most in power in Solidar must do so if they wish to retain power.”

  “That is true, but it does not make your position less admirable,” replied Alhazyr.

  “Nor yours, when most factors think only of this year’s golds.” Caartyl paused, then asked, “How do most factors feel about the embargo on Caenenan goods?”

  “Those who are affected complain. Few believe it is a good idea or effective. It only raises the costs of goods in Solidar without hurting Caenen.”

  “And makes the Abiertan merchants wealthy?”

  “That, too.”

  Caartyl nodded at the folder he had not touched. “I will study that.”

  “That is all we could ask.” Alhazyr bowed again. “By your leave, honored councilor.”

  Alhazyr said nothing the entire trip back to the gatehouse. There, he turned to me. “Thank you.” Then he left.

  I handed the pasteboard back to the receiving guard and hurried back to the messengers’ study. I had barely seated myself on one of the benches when Baratyn peered in.

  “Rhenn … has Factor Alhazyr departed?”

  “Yes, sir.” Baratyn hadn’t asked that all week. Who was Alhazyr? What had been in the leather folder? It could have contained anything from letters of credit to who knew what.

  “Good. You take the post in the east corridor off the councilors’ lounge. That way, all of them will get familiar with your face. Martyl is already at the post in the west corridor. When the councilors break for midday meal, so do you two, but afterward, switch places. Remember, if a councilor offers you a message, you say you’ll take care of it, but you can’t be out of sight of your post. If it’s farther than that, use the speaking tube to summon me or one of the regular messengers. Most of the councilors won’t ask you because they know that, but sometimes they’re in a hurry, and they know we’ll get the message or package delivered. You only take messages from the councilors themselves. Their aides have to bring letters or packages to the clerk next to the messengers’ study.”

  I’d barely reached the corridor doorway to the councilors’ lounge and turned so that I could watch the corridor in both directions when Councilor Reyner hurried up past and entered the lounge. He didn’t even look at me.

  A short time after that, one of the councilors’ aides appeared—they all wore pale blue waistcoats with a silver triangle embroidered over the left breast. He hurried into the lounge, and perhaps a half glass later left carrying a short stack of papers. Two other aides came and went in the same period. Then Dartazn escorted a factor past me to Councilor Haestyr’s study.

  For the rest of the morning, that was the pattern—an occasional councilor coming or going, and aides carrying papers and fo
lders in and out, and a scattered petitioner or two. I didn’t see Caartyl, but since his study was on the other side of the Chateau, he doubtless entered the chamber by the west entrance.

  During the lunch break, Martyl and I gulped down a rice and lamb dish, and some lager, and then hurried back up to the Council level, where I moved to the west corridor. During the rest of the afternoon, I saw a few more councilors and a few less aides. About a fifth of a glass before four, the Council adjourned for the day, and the councilors returned to their studies or left the Chateau. For the next glass we stood by to escort any visitors. There were only two, and Dartazn took both. Then each of us accompanied a pair of obdurate guards as they inspected and closed down all the public rooms and the outside gardens of the Chateau. After that, Martyl, Dartazn, and I caught the duty coach back to the Collegium.

  Once we were headed back, I asked, “Do you know what the Council was doing today?”

  “No,” replied Dartazn. “We seldom know until later, not unless something special is scheduled, and we have extra duties.”

  “The head clerk’s office prints a digest at the end of each week. It lists any laws or rules that affect Solidar or other lands. There will be copies in the messengers’ study on Lundi. Copies go to the newsheets, too,” added Martyl.

  “Most of it’s pretty dull, and even the exciting stuff sounds dull the way they report it,” said Dartazn.

  When we stepped out of the coach at the Collegium, another prime was waiting. “Tertius Rhennthyl?” His voice quavered slightly.

  “Yes?”

  “Master Dichartyn would like to see you immediately, before you go to dinner.”

  “Lucky you,” murmured Dartazn. But he did grin.

  I walked quickly across the quadrangle, ignoring the looks from several primes and seconds, and made my way to Master Dichartyn’s study. The door was closed, but when I knocked, he opened it immediately and ushered me in.

  I did sit down. I’d been on my feet most of the day.

  Master Dichartyn did not. He stood by the open window in the light breeze that didn’t seem to cool the late-afternoon air at all. “Rhennthyl, we have several matters to discuss. First, how often did the councilors have you leave when you escorted a petitioner to their study?”

  I had to think for a moment. “There’s only been one time so far.”

  “What does that tell you?” His words were slightly sardonic.

  “Their minds are already made up, and any considerations they might entertain have already been determined or will be somewhere besides the Chateau.”

  “Did any petitioner state anything you thought would have been of value to Solidar?”

  “One furniture maker pointed out that the embargo on rare timbers from Caenen did not make much sense because the value of the logs was low and the value added in furniture-making here in Solidar was much higher.”

  “That’s probably true, but embargoes are not just about value. They’re also tools to allow our ships to board or even attack suspect merchanters … among other things. Were there any conversations that puzzled you?”

  “There was one today. A factor named Alhazyr visited Caartyl and left a proposal. Both talked in generalities. …” I went on to explain, ending with, “… suddenly, they talked about the worthlessness of the trade embargo against Caenen, and then Caartyl dismissed Alhazyr.”

  “Hmmm … I would have thought he’d have gone to see Haestyr. We’ll have to keep watch on that. I’ll have to talk to Baratyn about it.”

  “About what, if I might ask, sir?”

  “When politicians and factors congratulate each other on their principles, almost anything but principles are involved. Just keep your eyes open, and you’ll see in time.”

  That didn’t answer my question, but that was Master Dichartyn’s way of indicating that he wouldn’t.

  “More interestingly, your inquiries last Samedi stirred up something.”

  “Sir?”

  “The civic patrollers located Thelal. There was a brawl at Antipodes on Lundi night. Someone knifed him. He was dead when the patrollers got there. Even more intriguing is the fact that Emanus died in his sleep the same night of the day you visited him.”

  “That couldn’t be natural.”

  “It could be,” replied Master Dichartyn, “but it’s rather unlikely.”

  “Could it have been another imager from somewhere else?”

  “It’s very possible. If so, he must be very accomplished, and in the pay of, and probably attached to, some foreign embassy.”

  I didn’t follow that logic at first, until I thought about it.

  “What will you be doing on Samedi?” asked the head of security.

  “I was going to have dinner with my family—a belated birthday dinner.”

  “What time were you planning on leaving?”

  “Not until about fourth glass.”

  Master Dichartyn nodded. “I’d like you to depart earlier, say about third glass. You’ll walk across the Bridge of Hopes and up the Boulevard D’Imagers on the south side. You will be holding full shields. Someone will be following whoever’s following you.”

  “What if someone isn’t?”

  “Count yourself fortunate, but there will be. There couldn’t be two deaths and someone following you last week without someone being there this week.”

  While I had my own ideas about what was happening, I wanted to see what Master Dichartyn might say. “Do you have any idea why all this is happening?”

  “I have several. It could be that someone happened upon something and wants to link Caliostrus’s death to the Collegium. Or it could be that you were simply one of the imagers targeted by whoever is trying to kill imagers, and it’s a matter of pride. …” He shrugged.

  “What about High Holder Ryel?”

  “We can’t rule him out, but High Holders are usually more subtle and more vicious.”

  I could hardly wait. People had tried to kill me already, and others were following me, and the only man I’d talked to who’d given me any useful information was dead—and the High Holder wasn’t even involved yet?

  “I assume you don’t want me to talk to anyone else until after Samedi.”

  “That would be best.” He gestured toward the door. “You need to change before dinner.”

  As I hurried back to my quarters to change into imager grays, questions swarmed through my mind, and at the moment, I had answers for none of them.

  54

  Violence is everywhere, but most will see only that which they must.

  Vendrei was slower than Jeudi, with only a handful of visitors and petitioners for the councilors. Whoever was not on corridor patrol handled those few. Even so, I found time dragged when the corridors were empty more often than not. We were all pleased when we returned to the Collegium late on Vendrei afternoon.

  The brightest spot of the day was a short note from Seliora that was waiting in my letter box when I checked just before dinner. She apologized for being so late in replying, but explained that her grandmama had insisted they leave Pointe Neimon early in order to stop by another textile manufactory, this one in Kephria, and Seliora had found no place to post a letter until she had returned to L’Excelsis. She also wrote that she looked forward to seeing me on Solayi and that she hoped I could come at the first glass of the afternoon.

  I couldn’t help smiling at that.

  When I finally climbed into my bed on Vendrei night, I was still smiling, thinking of Solayi. That was before I realized I still had to get up early the next morning for Clovyl’s exercise session, and then be at my studio to work on Master Poincaryt’s portrait.

  I did manage to make it to the exercise area on Samedi morning—and not be the last. Dartazn was. One good thing was that it was far cooler that early. I tried not to think about what that might mean in winter. Of course, Dartazn outran us all again.

  After showering and dressing in my grays, I had breakfast and hurried out to the workroom studio, whe
re I set up the canvas and materials. Then I began to sketch designs. I should have done that earlier, but there never seemed to be enough time. The second one seemed to fit, with the chair angled slightly, and Master Poincaryt looking not quite forward. I’d decided to make the background indistinct, both for practical and symbolic reasons. Just before the bells began to ring, he walked into the studio and sat down. I could see immediately I’d need to shift the angles, and I changed the faint outlines on the canvas.

  For almost a quarter glass, neither of us spoke, as I worked on the general shape of his face, concentrating on the broad cheekbones and wide forehead.

  “Rhennthyl, what do you think of the Chateau? Is it close to what you had expected?”

  “It is, and it isn’t, sir. I was taught so much …” How could I say what I meant without seeming stupid? I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I didn’t want to lie, either.

  “But what you’ve been taught almost seems meaningless or irrelevant? Is that it?”

  How could I answer that? Finally, I shrugged. “I know it’s not, but sometimes …”

  “Watching corridors and escorting petitioners seems most uneventful, even boring.”

  “At times, sir,” I admitted.

  “That suggests that you are not observant enough, and that you are letting your mind lie fallow. Because you are an artist, I imagine that you could draw a fair likeness of the other imagers with whom you work, could you not?”

  “Yes, sir.” My words were cautious.

  “Could you describe exactly how each of them walks, or carries their hands, or what gestures are so habitual to them that they do not even notice themselves making such gestures? Or how they wear their garments, as much as what they wear? Or, more important, how they use words and arguments and even body postures to inform or dominate others?”