Imager (11 page)

Not talk about it? When someone died?

“You didn’t come here straight from the grammaire?” asked the prime across the table from me. “Oh, I’m Lieryns.”

“No. I’ve been an apprentice and a journeyman portraiturist. I didn’t realize I could image until a little while ago.”

“Sometimes, it’s like that.” Etyen nodded. “But I always knew.”

“You always know everything,” murmured someone.

There were low laughs from more than a few primes, and as I looked down the table, I was relieved to see that there were a few who looked as old as I was, if not older.

“You were a journeyman. You actually painted real portraits, then,” observed Lieryns.

“Some,” I replied, looking at the large bowl of rice being passed down the table. Behind it followed some sort of dish in sauce. “Mostly of girls and cats.”

“Cats?”

“My master said I had a talent for painting cats, and I don’t think he liked dealing with girls and cats. I did do one portrait of a factorius.”

At that point, the rice arrived, and I served myself a solid helping, as well as of the tomato-sauced fowl chunks that followed. If the lunch fare was any indication, I was going to be better fed than I had been by Madame Caliostrus.

Sometime later, after several mouthfuls of food, and some swallows of a fair red plonk, I took another look around the table before speaking. “I haven’t had a chance to read anything. What do we do, besides study?”

“Whatever we can,” replied Lieryns. “I’m helping Master Schorzat in the chemistry laboratory, but mostly I image little things out of glass for his experiments.”

“I thought there was a counselor-advocate to the Council named something like that.”

“That’s his brother,” someone said. “Scheorzyl. Master Schorzat said his father wanted everyone to know the two were brothers.”

My eyes went to Etyen. “And you?”

“I’m still working on making shapes with metals. They’re harder.”

I couldn’t say that I learned all that much at lunch, but everyone was certainly friendly. Afterward, I left the dining hall and, map once more in hand, began to explore and try to memorize where everything was. No one seemed in the slightest interested as I wandered all over Imagisle and the buildings of the Collegium that Lundi afternoon. I still worried about why no one talked about it when someone died.

Imaging is based on what is, but, without great care,

what an imager feels can change what is.

As Master Dichartyn had intimated, I had to wait to see him on Mardi morning. I sat on a bench outside his study reading the thin volume on the Collegium. I’d made it through fifteen boring pages when he opened the study door and an older imager walked out, somewhat stiffly.

“You may come in, Rhenn.”

His study was small, not more than three yards by four, with a long narrow window, open just slightly. The space held two enormous bookcases, a small writing desk, two filing boxes stacked on top of each other, and two chairs, one with a cushion and arms and one straight-backed and not too comfortable. I sat in the straight-backed chair.

“Before we start, I’d like you to know that one of our messengers delivered your letter to your parents yesterday, late in the afternoon. They were relieved to know that you were safe.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mother was relieved at my safety; Father was more likely relieved I hadn’t embarrassed him or gotten into some difficulty that might have cost him in some fashion.

“Now . . . when was the first time you realized you might have imaging abilities?”

“Not until around the first of the year.” It was actually just a bit earlier, but not much. “I was working on a portrait, and I couldn’t get the area around the eyes right. I could almost see how it should be—and then it was right, even with my brushstrokes, as if I’d painted it just as I’d visualized it. I still wasn’t sure that it was imaging. I thought maybe I’d painted it and then imagined that I’d imaged it.”

“And . . .?”

“Maybe a month later, I was working on another portrait, and it happened again.”

“And you didn’t come to us then?”

“No, sir. I’d heard about how imagers had turned the alabaster walls of the Council Chateau into stone harder than granite, and how they could image parts of machines into being. All I could do was image just the slightest bit of oil paint.”

“All?” Dichartyn laughed. “There are some seconds that can’t do that and never will.”

“I didn’t know that, sir. It seemed very insignificant to me, and I was beginning to get commissions—the kind where patrons asked for me personally.”

He nodded. “What did your master say?”

“I never told him about the imaging. When he talked about the imagers, he was quite clear that I should never want to be one, that most died young, and most of the rest never amounted to anything.”

“He said that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can see where that might give you pause, Rhenn.” He leaned back in his chair and fingered his clean-shaven chin.

All the imagers were clean-shaven, I realized, unlike artists, most of whom had beards or mustaches, if not both. In that way, at least, I did fit in. I’d never liked beards.

“So why did you finally seek us out?”

“Master Caliostrus died in the fire. No one else would take me on. My father wanted me to become a wool factor. I thought that my small talents for imaging might gain me a place here.”

“At least you have no grandiose delusions about your ability.” Master Dichartyn laughed again, not totally unkindly, I thought. “It’s very good that you did. Before long, you would find yourself imaging in ways that could be most destructive. Perhaps you already have and do not even know it. Sooner or later, that imaging would have been noticed by others.”

“Not know it, sir?” I had an idea of what he meant, but I wasn’t about to say so.

He smiled, knowingly. “You know more than you reveal, Rhenn, but I will explain, because you don’t know as much as you think.”

I accepted the rebuke silently.

“All people have daydreams, or dreams or nightmares, or wishes. We wish that things would appear or disappear, but what happens if the person who wishes that is an imager?”

The lit lamp! I swallowed.

“Did that recall something, Rhenn?”

“Ah, yes, sir. Sometime after the first time I imaged the oils, I had a dream, and I dreamed that it was so dark that I could see nothing, and I wanted light. The lamp on the chest woke me, because it was lit, and I thought I’d wicked it off. I never believed that I’d imaged the light. I’d just thought I’d been so tired . . .”

“You are
very
fortunate you came here before any of the imaging you did came to light.” Master Dichartyn’s voice was stern. “You have quarters to yourself. Do you know why?”

“No, sir.”

“Every set of quarters in the Collegium is not only stone-walled but has a layer of very thin lead plate between the two courses of stone and under the floor tiles. The windows are all glazed with leaded glass, and those windows which open are designed with louvers so that there is no direct passage of air—or thought—in and out. Do you think that the Collegium went to that expense merely for your comfort?”

“No, sir.” I had a very uncomfortable feeling about where his words were leading.

“No imager ever sleeps with another person, even his wife, and I mean sleep, not lovemaking. The Collegium is here not only to educate and improve imagers, but to protect others from those very same imagers. Yes, we have privileges, and those who become masters can live quite comfortably, and those who do marry can live in pleasant dwellings on the north end of the isle, but never think that we do not pay a high price for those abilities and services that we provide. Imagers who must travel are accompanied by obdurates, and, if they cannot sleep within iron or lead, must take strong drugs of the type that do not permit dreaming when they sleep. Those who serve in the Navy have lead-lined cabins, very small cabins, because lead is heavy, and weight is critical on many vessels. Those who marry and live here have special separate sleeping chambers in their dwellings, and must indeed live here unless they have the wealth to build similar quarters elsewhere in L’Excelsis. You can never spend an entire night with a woman you love, or any lover, for that matter, not unless you remain totally awake, and when you are tired, even that could present a danger to her, especially if she has malleable tendencies.”

Master Dichartyn paused, letting me take in his words.

“One of the reasons for the initial restriction to Imagisle is so that you come to understand what damage even the least able of imagers can inflict upon others. A second reason is that you need to understand that we are so few that we could be wiped out to the last person. Yes, some of us do have the ability to kill or change others, and you are one of those who already possess that ability, whether you know it or not. But while we are individually powerful, for the most part, no one of us could face even a moderately large group of armed men and survive. We therefore do our best to show the Council our goodwill, our self-discipline, and our indispensability to Solidar. No imager can be allowed to jeopardize the others. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” It was more than clear; it was frightening. I wanted to ask about the imager who had lived in my quarters before me, but decided it would be best to wait on that.

“Good.” The smile returned. “I’m going over to the laboratories this morning. I’d like you to accompany me. Then, this afternoon, I will give you a short talk on the introductory aspects of chemistry, and you will begin to read that volume. Tonight, after dinner, you are to read the first section of the book on the government and history of Solidar. You will find it is not like any history book you have read before, and I will be asking you questions about what you have read in both volumes when we meet tomorrow morning.” He bounded out of his chair. “Now . . . let us go to the laboratories. . . .”

Already, I was beginning to wonder about the two sides to Master Dichartyn’s being—the stern and the cheerful. He seemed to switch from one to the other both quickly and comfortably, but the change was more than a little disconcerting to me.

Learning requires unlearning.

On Meredi morning, right after breakfast, I picked up a newsheet and checked my letter box, not expecting to see anything, and found an envelope there. I recognized my mother’s handwriting. I opened it quickly and began to read.

I swallowed as I finished the note. The way I read it, Mother was relieved for me, and, since I wouldn’t be a wool factor, Father was glad to get me out of his hair.

At the thought that Master Dichartyn had sent his own note, I gathered the three books—
Natural Science, History and Politics of Solidar
, and
Imagers’Manual
—under my arm and hurried down the walk of the quadrangle toward Master Dichartyn’s study through a blustery wind, barely arriving before the seventh glass began to ring out from the tower of the Anomen D’Imagisle, located at the south end of Imagisle.

As on Mardi morning, I had to wait, but I immediately began to read more in the
Manual,
the part dealing with the responsibilities of an individual imager. I’d only read another page when Master Dichartyn opened the door and motioned me into his study and into the chair across from his writing desk. He remained standing.

“You’ve read the second section of the
Manual,
haven’t you?”

“I haven’t quite finished it, sir.”

That got a slight nod, but whether it was of acknowledgment or disapproval I couldn’t tell. “What is the first responsibility of an imager?”

“To follow the Imagers’ Code under all circumstances.”

“What does it mean by ‘all,’ Rhennthyl?”

The manual hadn’t gotten into definitions. “At all times and places, sir?”

“What if you can’t?”

“It’s a responsibility, sir.”

“You aren’t answering the question.” His voice remained patient.

“I’m only guessing, sir, because the
Manual
doesn’t say, but I would think that it means whenever and wherever it is physically and mentally possible.”

“A definition such as yours stands at the edge of a very deep precipice.”

“Yes, sir. People like to say that they can’t do something because they’re too tired or that they can’t think clearly. I don’t think the Code accepts those kinds of excuses. I was thinking more about broken bones or mortal injuries.”

“You think correctly on that. The Code is not for convenience. It is designed for the survival of both the individual imager and the Collegium. What is meant by the prohibition on creating any form of duress on any individual who is not an imager?”

That had seemed obvious to me, especially after what he’d said the day before. “One doesn’t threaten anyone, or say anything to give them cause for fear, and one doesn’t take actions which create fear of either the imager or the Collegium.”

“Very good. Why?” His questions from the
Manual
went on for a good half glass. Then, abruptly, he switched subjects. “That box I gave you to image? Do you know what it was made of?”

“No, sir. It was metal, but not a metal I’ve ever seen.”

“You didn’t think to look in your science book and see what it might be?”

“No, sir.” I knew what was coming next.

“Tomorrow, I want you to tell me what it is, and why we use it for imaging tests. Now . . .” He extended two objects and placed them on the edge of his writing desk. One was a simple carved hollow cylinder, no more than a thumb’s length in diameter and about the same in length. The second was also a cylinder, but solid and less than a quarter the size of the first. Both looked to be made out of bone or ivory, and neither had any markings on them. “I have an exercise for you.” He turned the larger cylinder sideways, then placed a ruler on one side and a book on the other so that it wouldn’t roll. He handed me the smaller cylinder. “Try to image a cylinder just like this exactly in the middle of the larger cylinder.”

“Won’t it fall?”

“It should, unless you know a way to stop gravity.” He smiled. “That’s not the point. You’ve already shown that you can image small things on a flat surface. One of the next steps is to image something into a place that’s not so easy.”

I took the cylinder and held it, letting my fingers run over it. Then I concentrated on imaging one just like it in the air in the middle of the larger cylinder. Nothing happened.

Master Dichartyn didn’t seem surprised. “Take both cylinders with you and keep trying. It may take a while, but you should be able to figure it out.”

I slipped both into the larger inside pocket of my gray waistcoat.

“This morning, you can accompany me on one of the small riverboats. Some of the primes are going to try imaging on the river. You might as well see if you can do it.”

“Yes, sir.” I didn’t ask why imaging was harder on a boat, not after failing at the exercise he’d just given me. I just followed him out of the building.

Master Dichartyn walked briskly along the east side of the quadrangle, right into the fangs of the wind, a wind that had gotten even stronger and colder. We crossed the open space at the northeast corner of the quadrangle and took the stone lane another half mille north past the walled herb and vegetable gardens, now mostly fallow, until we came to a set of three piers.

Five primes stood on the southernmost pier, clearly waiting for Master Dichartyn. The riverboat didn’t seem all that small to me—not at almost fifteen yards long. It had only one deck and the steam engine was in the rear, just forward of the paddlewheel, in a raised and covered enginehouse. The wheelhouse was roughly in the middle of the boat.

I looked out at the river, running as rough as I’d seen it, with whitecaps on the waves.

Master Dichartyn gestured for us to cross the narrow plank to the boat, then followed after me, because I trailed the other five. A bearded sailor vaulted off the bow and untied the line fastened around an iron cleat, then jumped back aboard before the boat swung downstream with the current. The paddlewheel began to churn as the boat headed out into the river. Once it cleared the calmer water around the pier, it began to roll, then pitch as the pilot turned upstream into the current. Spray sleeted over the bow, and some splattered down like fat raindrops where I stood with the others, just forward of the wheelhouse.

One of the primes, a chubby fellow who looked barely out of grammaire, was turning pale before the boat was even ten yards away from the pier, and another just stood frozen, his right hand clutching the railing so tightly that his fingers looked like a claw. I had to spread my feet a bit to keep my balance as the boat continued both to roll and pitch.

“The first exercise is to image a cube like this,” began Master Dichartyn, holding up a black wooden cube perhaps three digits on a side, “and to image it on the center of the third deck plank inboard. This one.” He pointed with the tip of his boot. “You first, Geoffryn.”

“Yes, sir.” The chubby prime closed his eyes and seemed to tense all over.

A misty shape appeared on the plank, then solidified into a muddy black oblong box.

“A cube, Geoffryn.” Dichartyn’s voice was louder, rising over the wind and the engine, but he did not sound angry. “Do you recall the shape of a cube?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jakhob, you try.”

“Yes, sir.” The thin prime who had been clutching the rail just looked at the deck plank. His imaged creation was almost a cube, if slightly angled and muddy black, and it appeared above the next plank inboard, possibly because the riverboat was rolling.

The next three primes managed to image cubes, generally close to the center of the designated plank.

“Rhenn?”

I didn’t like doing imaging in public, but those watching couldn’t have been any more critical than Master Caliostrus had been when I’d begun as an apprentice. First, I visualized the cube, shimmering and black, and then I added the positioning.

The cube appeared, almost mirror-like, right on the middle of the plank. As it did, I realized that it was a shade too large. Abruptly, it shimmered, then reappeared as the correct size. I did feel a trace light-headed, and had to put my hand out, steadying myself on the railing.

“You used too much effort,” observed Master Dichartyn. “You should have paid more attention to the size the first time.”

“Yes, sir.” Still, I was pleased, even if he didn’t happen to be. My cube looked better, and had been imaged in exactly the right position—even the first time.

“Now . . . you’re going to try the same thing—except I want you to balance your cube on the railing on the far side of the boat.”

Three of the other primes couldn’t image anything that far away, and one could only create a blob. The last one managed a decent cube on the railing, as did I, but they both slid off into the river when the boat rolled as the steersman made a turn.

“Take us back!” Master Dichartyn finally ordered.

That afternoon, Gherard took me on a quick tour of the various shops and laboratories, as well as showing me workshops in the large gray building north of the quadrangle. Then I went back to my quarters and began reading.

Already it was clear that Master Dichartyn’s assignments varied widely.

I had to stay up later than I should have on Meredi night, but I did discover that the box was made out of a metal called aluminum. The science book described it as a light whitish blue ductile and malleable metallic element almost never found in pure form in nature, but common in natural chemical compounds. It was extremely difficult to refine, requiring special techniques involving potassium, and the price was something like a hundred and fifty gold crowns a pound. The little box I’d imaged, if I’d done it correctly, might have been worth ten crowns or so. No wonder Master Dichartyn had pocketed it—except I knew that he wouldn’t have made off with it, even if the Collegium rules hadn’t prohibited using imaging for personal gain.

The science book was different, almost strange, because it mixed things I’d learned years before with things I’d never heard or thought about. One section had a detailed set of plans for a steam engine of the type used on the ironway, but the next diagram was of a mining water pump, and beyond that was the axle assembly for a carriage or coach. But there were also anatomical drawings of human beings, very detailed, and clearly taken from dissections of cadavers.

The book on history and governing was the thickest of all, and to me, the hardest reading, even just leafing through it. The book led off with the Five Rights of Citizens:

All citizens, whether they be men or women, are of equal stature before the law and as such may hold and dispose of property; unless an authority has reason and evidence to the contrary that is sufficient for indictment in a court of justice, they are presumed innocent.

The laws of the Council take precedence over any and all local or administrative regional laws, ordinances, or restrictions, but no law enacted at any level may identify as a criminal offense any action already taken, nor encumber persons or seize their property without just compensation, save taxes levied on all and approved by the Council.

No individual, whether a citizen or an alien, may be imprisoned without formal charges being posted and without being informed of those charges.

All citizens, unless under indictment for a crime or imprisoned for such, have the right to travel unfettered throughout all regions and territories.

All citizens have the right to petition the Council for redress of any harmful action taken by any level of government, including the Council itself, and all such petitions will be made public.

After that, there were sections on everything, but as I riffled through the pages, just trying to get a sense of what was there, some paragraphs stood out.

A minimum of three Council members must be from areas within fifty milles of either east or west coasts . . . and no more than three Council members can be from within 200 milles of L’Excelsis, with the exception of the sole representative of the Collegium . . . misrepresentation of domicile mandates immediate removal from the Council, loss of a master’s position, and a fine of 1,000 golds. In the case of a High Holder, such a violation will also include forfeiture of one-fifth of all lands and assets . . .

With fifteen Council members in all, those non-imagers from L’Excelsis could never comprise more than twenty percent of the Council—something that I remembered vaguely—but the penalties I didn’t recall ever seeing.

No refuse or waste, including any liquids, from a factorage or manufacturing facility, nor from any agricultural or commercial activity, nor from any watercraft, shall be allowed to flow or be placed into any waterway, nor shall any human refuse be so allowed . . . whether it be from an individual, a town, or a city . . .