Imager's Challenge (21 page)

Just short of two blocks along Feramyo, two men—barely more than youths—eased from a side alley toward us.

“This isn’t your part of town,” said the shorter one, revealing a blade.

“Better just turn around,” added the taller.

“I’m Horazt. I walk where I please.”

“Youdh doesn’t care if you’re the Namer. We don’t either.”

“The streets in L’Excelsis are open to all,” I said mildly, readying a nonlethal imaging and hoping it would not be necessary.

“We warned you.” The shorter one lunged, but his feet slipped from under him on the oil I’d imaged under them, and he hit the pavement hard enough that the knife skittered across the worn stones.

The second one fired his pistol through his cloak. The impact on my shields forced me back a step, but I imaged a bit of caustic into his eyes, and oil under his feet before giving him a shove. He also went down hard. “Shall we continue?” I asked Horazt.

The taudischef glanced at the two figures, one unconscious and the other moaning and rubbing at his eyes. “Another block.”

We didn’t make it quite a block before three muscular figures in dark brown appeared. They didn’t say a word, just began swinging blades—for the moment before I imaged all three blades from their hands and onto the pavement.

One of them backed away. The other two drew old-style heavy pistols. I imaged the cartridges from both before they pulled the triggers.

“You fellows might get hurt if you keep trying to cause trouble,” I offered.

One of the two remaining took one step back, then another. The remaining tough, a good half head taller than me, charged. He took two steps before he rammed into the extra-hard shield I’d imaged for just a moment. As he
staggered back, his feet went out from under him on imaged oil, and he went down hard. The only problem was that he immediately jumped to his feet . . . and slammed down a second time. When he started to rise a third time, Horazt kicked him in the temple.

He didn’t get up after that.

No one bothered us on the way back out to South Middle, but I kept full shields and a wary eye. We walked back along the south side, the way we had come.

As we neared Dugalle, Horazt finally spoke. “You’re the first patroller or imager to walk the taudis alone at night in years. Maybe ever.”

Possibly the last and stupidest, as well, I thought. “It’s not something I plan to make a habit of, but I asked for a favor, and it’s best to repay them.”

Horazt laughed, a touch nervously, I thought.

“If you do hear of things that don’t really belong in the taudis, I would appreciate hearing about it,” I said. “That might be best for both of us.”

“It might.” He paused. “It’ll come through Mama Diestra.”

“That’s fine.”

He turned down Dugalle, and I kept walking toward the Midroad.

At that moment, something flashed before my eyes—some sort of fire, I thought, climbing up the side of a brick building. For the moment that I saw the image, I tried to identify what I’d seen.

Had I really seen it?

Or was it just an illusion because my legs were shaky and my vision blurry from too much imaging in a short time? Outside of holding heavy shields, I really hadn’t done that much imaging in weeks, even several months, now that I thought about it. I made a mental note to remedy that . . . when I wasn’t already exhausted.

As I trudged westward, I hoped I didn’t have to do any more imaging anytime soon—and that I could find a hack to hail before too long. But the brief image of the fire climbing the brick wall remained with me, and I tried on the ride back toward Imagisle, without success, to recall anything—or any place—that looked like what I’d briefly seen.

I did stagger back to Imagisle on Meredi night, and almost overslept on Jeudi morning. I thought I’d had more dreams about fires, but I didn’t remember them at all clearly. The newsheets I picked up hurriedly after breakfast didn’t mention any large fires, either, but they might not have, because they were reporting that Ferrum was ready to declare war on Solidar, if our ships insisted on protecting “the enemies of Ferrum.” One of those enemies happened to be the Abierto Isles.

There wasn’t much I could do about that and, fortunately, all I had to do on Jeudi, again, was watch justicing proceedings, and keep mental track of two more cases where the charges were dropped.

Jeudi night, after Mardoyt was tied up with the final scheduling of prisoners, witnesses, and evidence for Vendrei’s hearings, I checked the cases. One charge sheet was missing, and in the other case, the charges were listed as being dropped. That made sense, because the accused already had a record of a year on the road crew, if three years earlier. If his record sheet suddenly disappeared, a few too many questions might be asked.

By Vendrei morning, even after a more spirited hand-to-hand sparring contest with one of Clovyl’s assistants, I was feeling back to normal. But I tried to remind myself that there was definitely a limit to what I could image. Vendrei was like every other day that week, with more cases being disposed of quickly by the presiding justice. In only two cases were there Not Guilty pleas, and in one, the justice actually acquitted the accused. That might have been because the case probably never should have gotten that far—the girl had been fast and loose with her favors, but clearly not soliciting, and she’d never used or had a weapon.

When Baluzt and I and the coach-wagons returned to headquarters Vendrei night, through a mist that was threatening to become a full-fledged rain, a patroller greeted me almost as soon as I’d stepped down into the back alley.

“Master Rhennthyl, sir, the subcommander would like to see you immediately.”

“Thank you.”

Cydarth was standing by the window again, and I had to wonder if that
happened to be his favorite position for meeting people. He turned. “Master Rhennthyl, how have you enjoyed your week at the justice hall?”

“It has been informative in many ways,” I replied.

“That’s good. Both the commander and I felt that seeing the charging process and the trials would give you a better idea of what happens to offenders. Now that you’ve seen that, the commander feels that you need to see the street side of the Patrol. Starting Lundi morning, at seventh glass, you’ll be accompanying various patrollers out of the Third District station off South Middle. Captain Harraf will be expecting you.”

“Yes, sir.” Seventh glass. That meant a very quick shower and breakfast snatched on the run. Third District was the station with the responsibility for the South Middle taudis . . . and an additional two milles from Imagisle.

“I’m most certain that you will find that duty more interesting, Master Rhennthyl. I won’t keep you. If you would tell Lieutenant Mardoyt of your change of duty, I would appreciate it.”

“I will, sir.” I inclined my head, then departed, making my way down the upper level hallway to Mardoyt’s study. I caught him as he was about to leave, probably for the court preparation room.

“If I could have a moment, sir. The subcommander has decided that a week of observing your duties was sufficient. He’s assigned me to observe Third District next week.”

“What we do”—Mardoyt smiled warmly—“isn’t terribly interesting. Necessary, but not intriguing.”

“I’ve learned a great deal.” And I had, if not exactly what Mardoyt would have wished.

“You’re obviously an imager with a future, Master Rhennthyl,” Mardoyt said. “That’s clear from the ease with which you’ve picked up how the Patrol works.”

“You and the others have gone out of your way to make sure I understand, and I appreciate that.”

“You’ve been most diligent in checking the charge sheets against the justice proceedings, I also understand.”

“I just want to make sure that I understand how things really work, Lieutenant.” I smiled pleasantly.

“You’re a very bright man, especially for an imager, Master Rhennthyl, and you have quite a future. That Seliora D’Shelim is quite a beauty, I understand. Like a fine blade or a good pistol. You know, a year or so ago, a young man, not much older than you, Master Rhennthyl . . . well . . . he was shot. He was Pharsi, and he wouldn’t say anything, but there were only two girls who could
have done it. One was Seliora.” Mardoyt shrugged. “He got it in the shoulder, but he lived, and no one in the Patrol thought there was any reason to get involved in a Pharsi love spat. Not when no one would say anything.”

I wasn’t surprised that Mardoyt had made his own inquiries, not after Grandmama Diestra’s cautions to me. I couldn’t even say I was surprised that Seliora had shot someone who’d attempted to force himself on her. I’d seen her use the pistol to get me to safety.

“Her family has done well, coming up from the taudis,” Mardoyt went on, “but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they still didn’t have ties to some people there that the Patrol would like to put away for a long time.”

“They’ve never mentioned anything like that.”

“I suppose they wouldn’t, not to an upstanding young imager like you.”

“It wouldn’t matter.” I laughed softly. “We get all types at Imagisle, from the children of High Holders to those from the taudis. Some have even been brothers to taudischefs. At Imagisle, what you do is what matters, not where you came from.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He shook his head. “It’s too bad that the rest of L’Excelsis and Solidar aren’t like that. I’ve seen families suffer, sometimes even to the point of being ruined, when people find out their past.” He shrugged. “Sometimes, that past isn’t even past. You never know.”

I nodded. “That’s true.” I wanted to add something, but anything I said along those lines, such as that the most respectable-seeming officers were often nothing like that, would have revealed too much. Better to leave the lieutenant guessing. “If you don’t have anything else for me, sir, I’ll be leaving.”

“Best of fortune at Third District.”

“Thank you.” I walked out of the anteroom and down the corridor to the stairs, then I stopped and stepped back into the alcove beside the steps, erecting an image shield that matched the wall—I hoped.

Before long, Mardoyt appeared, and walked past me and down the steps. At the bottom, he eased open the door, looked, and then closed it, before turning and walking back up and past me. His actions were more than suggestive, but certainly not proof. I waited until he entered the courtroom preparation chamber before slipping down the stairs to the charging area.

Gulyart was still at the charging desk, alone with several stacks of paper.

“Would you like some help filling out some of those?” I asked. “I’ve got a little time.”

Gulyart smiled faintly.

“I mean it.” I pulled up a chair. “Just tell me what you want done.”

“If you don’t mind . . . Ghrisha would be glad that I got home before it gets too dark.”

I followed his example, checking the record sheets that had been delivered, and then filing them, after making any necessary changes or entering changes on existing records sheets and then replacing them. Along the way, I sneaked a look at several areas of the files, but the sheets I was looking for weren’t there, including the one that should have been on Chardyn D’Steinyn. Only after close to half a glass, when we were nearing the end of the pile, did I speak.

“Someone mentioned a first patroller named Smyrrt who used to work for Lieutenant Mardoyt. I got the impression that something had happened to him.”

Gulyart nodded. “He was killed last winter, walking by that new stone building some three blocks up on his way home. Someone knocked over a stack of cut granite . . . fell three stories and hit him. Anyway, he was found under the stone, and his skull was crushed. . . .”

“That sounds like accidental on purpose,” I observed.

“Some said it was.” Gulyart shrugged. “But Mardoyt looked into it and said it was an accident. Everyone agreed.”

“Then it was an accident.” I paused. “Have a good weekend.”

“I will . . . and thank you for the help.”

When I left the Patrol headquarters, I did hail a hack to take me back to the Collegium, and not because of the rain, which wasn’t that heavy, but because I wanted to get there in time to talk to Master Dichartyn. I was fortunate enough to find him in and momentarily unoccupied.

“I thought I might be seeing you. Have you been reassigned yet?”