Imager (12 page)

According to that, if I read it right, even a cow couldn’t piss in a stream, not without bringing a fine down upon the owner.

Rates for freight on any ironway must be levied on the basis of weight and cubic displacement. Those rates must be approved by the transportation subcouncil and by the Council before taking effect and must be posted for one month before being imposed. Changes may not be submitted more than once a year . . . Freight or cargo accompanied by a Council representative or a representative of the Collegium Imago has priority over all other freight . . .

That was suggestive in more ways than one, but of what I wasn’t sure.

Imaging is as much an art in arranging perception as
in changing reality.

I woke early on the following Mardi morning, and after I bathed in the communal shower room—with water that I had the feeling was never less than chill—and shaved and dressed, I sat at the writing table in my room, looking at the two cylinders.

More than a week had gone by quickly, each day following a similar pattern. Breakfast, examination and instruction by Master Dichartyn, which could be over in half a glass or drag on for as many as two, followed by some sort of imaging exercises, lunch, some other activity involving observation or instruction, ranging from watching experiments in the chemistry laboratories to watching or learning how to handle machinery in either the woodworking shop, the metalworking shop, or the model shop. Then, when I was worn out, I had to read and study.

On Lundi, the day before, I’d had to admit to Master Dichartyn that I still hadn’t figured out the skill of placing a small cylinder in the empty space in the middle of the larger cylinder. It shouldn’t have been that hard, because some of the younger primes had been doing something like it, if unintentionally, during the imaging exercises on the boat.

Master Dichartyn had just looked at me as if I were truly stupid and then gone on to ask questions about what I’d read, and what I hadn’t, in the
Natural Science
book. He’d started by asking me how much air weighed. I’d never thought about air weighing something, but since a barometer worked by measuring the change in the weight of the air, I suppose I should have.

Air weighing something . . . had his question been as random as it had seemed? But if air weighed something, then I really wasn’t trying to image something into what I’d thought of as an empty space. Why was it easy to image something on a table? Because the air could be more easily moved? Or because I didn’t have to work to hold it up as it was being imaged?

I kept thinking about it, all the way to breakfast, where we had oat porridge, along with raisins and bread, and two thin strips of bacon.

I concentrated on the idea of imaging a raisin into the middle of a spoonful of the oat porridge. A small gout of porridge spouted up.

“Don’t let the masters catch you playing with your food,” murmured Thenard.

Someone else snickered.

I forced myself to eat the mouthful of porridge. The raisin tasted fine, but should I have swallowed it? I looked at the handful of raisins sprinkled on top of the porridge. Why couldn’t I image one of them into my spoon? Wouldn’t it be easier than trying to create a raisin?

Carefully, I took another spoonful, one without raisins, and then concentrated on the raisin on the top of the porridge farthest from me, visualizing it disappearing and then reappearing on top of the porridge in my spoon. The one raisin vanished, then reappeared on the spoon’s porridge. I could feel my forehead beginning to sweat, but . . . I’d done it.

That raised another question. I could feel the energy it took to do imaging, but why hadn’t I when I’d first begun to image? Or was it that what I’d done was so slight than it just hadn’t taken that much imaging? But then, there was the fire . . . Or hadn’t I noticed the effort then because I’d been so angry and then so involved in trying to help the children out of the house?

Later, as I walked across the quadrangle through the misting rain toward Master Dichartyn’s study, I couldn’t help thinking about what I’d done . . . and what it suggested. By using imaging to move something, I’d also proved that it was possible to remove things, at least to some degree. If one removed the cartridge from a pistol aimed at one, or if one removed . . . I winced. I wasn’t certain I wanted to explore those possibilities, not immediately. But I was beginning to understand exactly why the Collegium insisted on such strict rules and such secrecy.

As was usual, Master Dichartyn’s door was closed, and I sat down on the wooden bench and began to read the sixth section of the
Natural Science
book, which dealt with metals and various alloys. I couldn’t help but wonder how effective imaging might be in creating some of them, at least in small quantities.

Before long, the study door opened, and one of the older imagers, a secondus or even a tertius, departed.

“Rhennthyl?”

I immediately closed the book, stood, and hurried into his study and took my place on the still-warm seat used by the previous imager.

Master Dichartyn came right to the point, as usual. “Only a few of you will ever work in the laboratories. So why does the Collegium insist that you study science and work and practice in the laboratories?”

I gave the best answer I could come up with. “So that we’ll be better imagers?”

“That’s true as far as it goes.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Your brain knows more than you recall at any one point,” he went on. “If you have a friend, when you meet him, you don’t think about everything you know about him at that moment, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“But all your actions and all your words take into account everything you know, even if you don’t try to remember it all. What all this study about metals and science is designed to do is to provide the same kind of knowledge in order to improve your imaging skills.”

That made sense. I could see that I was already doing that.

“Do you have the two cylinders?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s see what you can do.”

I had the two cylinders, but I hadn’t even thought about them. Still, was air any different from porridge, except thinner? I took out the larger cylinder and propped it in place sideways on Master Dichartyn’s writing desk with two books that had been on the far corner, then held the smaller cylinder. Could I just move it? I decided to try.

The small cylinder vanished from my hand and appeared in the middle of the larger one, hanging there for just an instant before clunking down onto the bottom side of the larger cylinder.

Master Dichartyn’s eyes flicked from my hand to the cylinder and then back to my hand. He nodded slowly. “I wondered when you’d make that connection. Some never do. They’re the ones who remain seconds.”

“Seconds?” I blurted.

“Right now, you have the raw talent of a tertius, but you don’t have the understanding necessary for a secondus of your ability. We’re going to have to work on that.”

“Yes, sir.” While I didn’t mind the work, I didn’t much care for the way in which he’d expressed the words.

“Why is there an absolute prohibition on an imager using his ability for any significant financial advantage for himself personally or for any other individual?”

I’d read that section. So I answered quickly. “That would give him or her an unfair advantage over others, and that would create anger against the Collegium.”

“That’s very true, Rhenn. It’s also very incomplete. Can you think of other reasons?”

“It might create conflict within the Collegium.”

“That’s also true. I’d like you to think about that for a while. Let’s look at it from another perspective. You mentioned that you’d used imaging in painting your own work, but what if you used your talent to copy an entire painting of a master?”

“It wouldn’t work, sir. There’s too much detail.”

Dichartyn sighed and gave a weary smile. “That’s a bad example, then. Let’s take something simpler, a gold crown. You could probably image one now. Doing so would leave you weak and dizzy, if not in far worse shape, and, even if I said you could, you shouldn’t try it, but in time you would be able to image a handful or so of them, at least in the right place. They’d be real gold, not counterfeit, and no one would be the wiser. Why would that be wrong?”

“Besides the fact that the rules of the Collegium forbid it?” I had to think about that. “I don’t know that I can answer that, because that sort of imaging is work, and if I imaged real gold pieces, what’s the difference between painting a portrait and receiving golds and creating the golds. I mean . . . someone mines the ore, and someone smelts it, and someone coins it, and they all get paid. So where is that any different from my imaging a gold crown?”

This time I got a cold look. I just waited. I really did want to know.

“Did you get a number of extra assignments in the grammaire, Rhennthyl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can see why. Let me see if I can make this clear with a different example.” He frowned. “You’ve heard of the Cyella Ruby, haven’t you?”

“The one that sits on the scepter of the Priest-Autarch of Caenen? Yes, sir.”

“He’s the High Priest. What about the Storaci Emerald?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What if you imaged an exact, an absolutely perfect duplicate?”

“Sir? How would I ever get close enough to see the originals?”

He gave me an even colder look.

“There’d be two,” I said slowly, trying to think what he wanted.

“Yes, there would be.” He paused, then asked, “What makes them so valuable? What would happen if you imaged two . . . or three?”

“Oh! They wouldn’t be so valuable because they wouldn’t be so rare.”

“That’s one thing. How would the owners feel about being robbed of that value? And if the valuable object has some religious context or value . . . does the duplicate? Who could tell which one happened to be the one with that value? What might the Caenenans do?”

“They could do . . . anything.” Of that, I knew enough to be sure.

“You need to think about what the imagers of the Collegium image—you’ve seen some of what we do—and why we’re so careful about what we allow to be imaged. Also, not all things imaged turn out to be true duplicates. I trust you can see what difficulty that might create.”

“Yes, sir.” I paused. “What laws would punish someone who could image who got caught by making a bad copy?”

“If that person happened to be an adult, older than eighteen, and the crime was a major offense, he or she would be executed. Committing any major crime through the means of imaging is a capital offense. Younger than that and they’d be sent to us for training. Some of them don’t survive training, but imagers are rare enough that it’s worth the effort. Some of the young ones don’t know it’s a crime, and some don’t see that they have any choice.”

I felt cold inside. I was older than eighteen, and I had been when the fire and explosion had killed Master Caliostrus.

“That should give you enough to think about for now. Today, I’m going to take you over to the machine shop for some instruction. Then you can help with cleaning duties.”

That sounded like an assignment I’d rather do without, not that I had any choice, especially after what I’d just learned.

Death always creates either guilt or fear, whether
either is acknowledged or accepted.

I’d been at the Collegium three weeks and three days, and on that Meredi morning, Maris eighteenth, I was shivering, even under my covers. I forced myself from bed and peered through the window. Outside, fat flakes of snow were drifting down from a dark gray sky, although not more than two or three digits’ worth of snow had piled up on the quadrangle. Spring was supposed to arrive in a week or so, but it felt like winter. I pulled on the robe that had come with the room and trudged out and down to the showers and bathing rooms. I did like being clean and clean-shaven. I just didn’t care much for the process, and not in winter-cold weather.

On the way back from the shower, as I climbed the steps from the lower level, I heard heavy footsteps. When I stepped away from the landing, I saw two obdurate guards in their black uniforms carrying a stretcher. They headed down the hallway to an open door two doors before mine. Before I reached that doorway they had entered and then come out, carrying a figure covered with a blanket. One of them closed the door one-handed, bracing the stretcher on his knee for a moment, and then they strode toward me. I flattened myself against the stone wall of the corridor, not that I really needed to. Neither looked at me, but most obdurates ignored those of us who were still learning.

Standing in the corridor between the now-closed door and mine were two imagers. Although they looked to be several years younger than I was, they were both seconds, and had said little to me. From what I could see, they were both upset and trying not to show it. The taller one’s cheeks were damp, as if he’d wiped away tears.

“Who was that? What happened?” I asked.

The two seconds looked at each other, then at me, before one replied, “Mhykal. On his way to the Bridge of Stones.”

All I knew about Mhykal was that he was an imager secondus, that he was of average height, a few digits shorter than me, and that he hadn’t bothered to speak to me when we passed in the corridor or on paths of the quadrangle. People that young just didn’t die in their beds. When they didn’t answer, I asked again, “What happened?”

“Who knows? It happens. Not often. We’re not allowed to say. Ask your preceptor.”

Ask my preceptor? Before I could say more, one had retreated to his room, and the other was headed for the stairs.

I returned to my room and dressed deliberately, trying to make sense out of what I had seen. An imager second was dead, and his body was carted off. No one acted as if it were strange. Sad, but not strange. I’d heard that more than a few would-be imagers died, but hearing that, and seeing it the way I just had—that was another thing.

After finishing dressing, I stuffed my books in the canvas bag I’d been issued and then made my way downstairs and through the snow to the dining hall. I managed to find Etyen and sat across from him.

“There were obs in the quarters this morning, and—”

“I heard that. Mhykal, they said. I could have guessed he’d be one. He was always talking about what he could do.”

“Like you?” quipped Lieryns.

“No. More like you.”

“Me?” Lieryns’s voice almost squeaked. “I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Why would Mhykal be one?” I pressed.

“You can get in real trouble imaging by yourself . . . least until you’re a third or a master. There are lots of things that can happen. Be best if you asked Master Dichartyn to explain.”

Lieryns and another prime nodded.

I ate slowly, but good as the fried ham, hot biscuits, and white gravy were, I had trouble finishing what I’d served myself. After breakfast, I had to wait almost a full glass for Master Dichartyn. I read the newsheet I’d picked up, glancing over the top story that mentioned the recall of the Solidaran ambassador to Caenen, and then took out the history text and started rereading the pages I’d already read three times.

“You look worried, Rhennthyl. Trouble with the assignment?”

“No, sir.” I straightened. “Sir . . . before we start . . . might I ask a question?”

“Briefly.”

“Sir . . . I was coming back to my room after my shower, and two obdurate guards had a stretcher coming out of a room . . . and there was a body under the blanket. The two seconds there wouldn’t tell me what happened. They said that they couldn’t and that I should ask you.”

“That’s something you’ll probably see again . . . unfortunately.” Master Dichartyn looked across the desk at me. “About a third of the imagers who arrive here as primes die before they complete their secondus training. Close to forty percent of the more talented ones die.”

Forty percent, and he’d already told me I was talented?

“Would you like to guess why?”

That was the last thing I wanted to do.

“There’s a saying about imagers. There are bold imagers, and there are old imagers. There are no old bold imagers. While it’s not totally true, it’s close enough. Tell me why.”

When he put it that way, I did have an idea. “Imagers who are bold try things that are different, or in different ways, and too many things can go wrong?”

“We all occasionally have to try to accomplish different things. It’s a matter of approach. The Collegium believes a graduated and cautious approach is the best one. We try to build on what you already know or have been taught. Some young imagers think they know better. Sometimes they do, but most of the time they don’t. If they keep trying things without enough knowledge and supervision, sooner or later something will go wrong, often very badly, in one of two ways. They either kill themselves doing what they’ve been told not to do, or they get killed when they go out in L’Excelsis and start boasting or carrying on.”

“Can’t you do something?”

“What else would you suggest? We caution you. We try to show you how to do things in the proper ways. Are you saying we should have a tertius or a master spend every moment of every day with those of you who are talented? Or accompany you every time you leave Imagisle? We don’t have enough masters or thirds for that. Besides, anyone who really wants to do something boldly stupid will find a way, and, frankly, we can’t afford to have imagers who are stupid or publicly arrogant. There’s too much at stake.”

Master Dichartyn felt that way about the Collegium, but that wasn’t much help to me personally.

“Now . . . tell me how the founding of the Collegium changed the history of Solidar.”

I pushed away my anger at his near-indifference and tried to think. According to the history book, because imagers could create certain chemical compounds and metals, the Collegium gained greater and greater power by supporting the emerging merchant class, until the last absolute ruler and rex of Solidar, Charyn, ceded power to the Council once he realized that the imagers no longer supported him and were prepared to back a violent change in government, if necessary. So, being wiser than most rulers, Charyn requested a position as head of the Council for life, as a “transition,” and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Now, the book didn’t put it quite like that, and I had the feeling it had been nowhere near that neat and sanitary. “The Collegium allowed a growth of collective power of the imagers . . .”

I just hoped that Master Dichartyn wouldn’t be too critical, but I was still worried about what happened to Mhykal. I’d lit a lamp through imaging in my sleep and killed two men while not really trying to do so. Could I do something stupid enough to kill myself . . . and not even know it?