Imager's Challenge (42 page)

After dinner, I did not return to my quarters, but instead walked to the south end of Imagisle, past the anomen, to the west side, where a stand of ancient oaks formed almost a second barrier between the grounds and the River Aluse. I had an idea, but as I was discovering, not all ideas translated into practice in the way I had envisioned.

I walked up and down the line of oaks, under the all too faint light of Artiema, only half full. Erion was full, but already low in the western sky, his grayish red light far less helpful, although it gave a sinister look to the abandoned and partly burned-out old mill across the river. I looked away from the mill, concentrating on the trees. The second oak from the north end had several large branches near the top that appeared to be dead.

After studying them more closely, I set to work, beginning near the branch tip, and imaging out a section of wood. The branch wavered, but did not break.

I imaged out a bit more of the dead wood. Nothing happened.

Another attempt brought a cracking, and then the branch broke, but only hung.

After wiping my forehead, I took a deep breath. Like everything else, making my idea into a practical device was going to take more work and skill than I’d thought. But I kept at it for more than a glass before I finally learned how to make the heavy wood fall in the general, and then the specific area where I tried to direct it.

Vendrei was misty, with intermittent rain, and a damp chill that suggested a bitter late autumn, although winter proper was a bit more than a month away. I slipped several times on the four-mille run, but Dartazn slipped more, and I managed to finish closer to him than usual. Master Dichartyn wasn’t there for either the exercises or the run, and I wondered when he would be returning to Imagisle . . . and where he had been.

After a cold shower and a shave that left my face blue, it took two full mugs of steaming tea at breakfast to lift the chill from my body, but I got to the duty coach early enough that I arrived on time for my last day of rounds with Alsoran. I even had to wait for him.

He was smiling when he walked into the station.

I couldn’t help smiling back. “Good morning. Ready to head out?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrugged, and we left the station and started off up Fuosta.

“Will you miss any part of Third District, do you think?” I asked.

“I’ll miss some of the patrollers. Lyonyt was always good to do rounds with, and Zellyn’s a good fellow. Some of the others, too. But they say that Captain Telleryn runs a good station.” He smiled. “Jotenyr told me I’d eat a lot better out in Fifth District, and that he sees a lot more pretty women.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Have to admit I could stand better food than the bistros on this round.”

With that I could definitely agree.

As was usually the case in the earlier part of the morning, we didn’t see any taudis-toughs on the first two rounds, and only sniffed a hint of elveweed when we were two blocks or so past the Temple of Puryon on the first leg of the first round.

Youdh’s territory, I thought.

“Have you heard anything about the scripties, Master Rhennthyl?”

“All I know is that they’ve started somewhere in L’Excelsis, but I don’t know much more than that, except it’s west of the river.”

“They usually start in one of the taudis. That’d be Caniffe, most likely.”

“Then where?”

Alsoran shook his head. “Might do the nicer districts in the west or go straight for the hellhole. Can’t ever tell, and that’s the way they like it. They just move in and cordon off something like a ten-block square and move from house to house. We have to charge and send to gaol anyone who tries to attack them—if they don’t shoot ’em first.”

I hadn’t heard that aspect of the conscription teams. I’d only seen them twice, when they’d visited our house when I was something like eleven and then again when I’d been an apprentice for Master Caliostrus, just before I made journeyman. “I didn’t see a cordon when they’ve been through before.”

“They don’t use full force in some parts of the city, just in the trade and taudis quarters.”

We kept walking and watching, but the second round ended without incident. By the second round, we’d both removed our cloaks because the sun beat down more like summer, and the air was getting hotter and steamier by the moment.

“You never know what to expect this time of year.” Alsoran blotted his forehead. “You wear a summer uniform, and you freeze. You put on the heavier wool, and you roast.”

By the third round, the usual toughs were beginning to appear, but all of them either ignored us or provided Alsoran with a quick nod. Clearly Jadhyl and Deyalt didn’t want trouble with the Patrol, or with Alsoran. Somewhere near the end of that round, I realized that I’d never seen the tough who’d drawn a knife on me nearly two weeks earlier.

I insisted on buying Alsoran his lunch at Parmiens, one of the better bistros on the avenue section of the round, as a sort of promotion and transfer present. He tried to object.

“Promotions don’t come every day, or even every year,” I pointed out. “And, this way, if no one else says anything, you can tell your wife that someone noticed. Besides, it’s Vendrei, and we deserve a good meal.”

In the end, he capitulated.

Not only was Alsoran pleased, but I didn’t have gut-aches for the rest of the afternoon, something that had occurred more than I would have preferred when we had eaten in some of his “favorite” places.

When we walked up the walk to the station at the end of the last round of the day, I stopped just outside and clasped Alsoran’s hand. “I do wish you well in Fifth District.”

“I’d be wishing you well, too, Master Rhennthyl. If you don’t mind my saying so, with some more experience, you’d be a good Patrol captain. You settle things down, somehow. Zellyn said the same thing.”

Settle things down? It seemed to me that I was always being forced to stir things up.

Once we entered the station, Captain Harraf, whom I hadn’t seen in days, beckoned to Alsoran, then smiled at me before escorting Alsoran into his study and closing the door.

After I left Third District station, just after fourth glass, I took a hack to the Avenue D’Artisans and had the driver drop me off midway between the two points where Mardoyt had left the hack when I’d trailed him. Then I made my way westward to Saelio, moving in from the north under concealment shields. With the sun getting lower in the west, and the shadows from the old dwellings and oak trees, no one seemed to look in my direction as I took my time getting into position two houses away from Mardoyt’s duplex. His daughter was playing with dolls on the porch, then disappeared inside when someone called her as the shadows merged with twilight.

As I continued to wait, not exactly comfortably, I studied the old oaks, picking out several as possibilities, and testing them gently. The twilight deepened into night, past the time when other men, and some women, returned to their houses. Twice, I had to ease out of people’s way, but they either didn’t see me through my shields, or if they caught a hint of something, they really didn’t want to look in my direction.

In time, the lights on the lower level of the house were snuffed out, except for a single lamp that remained lit in the front hall, barely visible through the large window behind the porch. I kept waiting, until close to midnight, or perhaps past it.

It was a long, long walk back to Imagisle, since there were no hacks about, and my feet ached by the time I opened the door to my quarters. I almost stepped on the note that had been slipped under my door, but bent over and picked it up. Then I closed the door and imaged the desk lamp into flame before opening the envelope and reading the single line.

I’d like to see you.

Under the five words was the initial D.

I couldn’t say that I was surprised.

I was so tired on Vendrei night that it took me a moment to realize that my old charred armoire had been replaced, but my clothes had been merely laid out on my bed. That meant I had to put them away before I went to sleep. Before breakfast on Samedi morning, I immediately stopped by Master Dichartyn’s study. He wasn’t there, and I left word with the duty prime—Olseort—that I’d been by to see him. After breakfast I stopped by once more, but unsurprisingly he wasn’t there.

So I headed out to my studio, where I fired up the stove to take the chill off, prepared for Master Rholyn’s sitting, and then began to work on the background—which didn’t require his presence. Several times, I glanced outside, where the morning sun was warming the damp ground and grass and fog was rising into a clear pale blue sky.

Right around half past seven, while I was finishing up the foreground at the bottom of Master Rholyn’s portrait, Master Dichartyn walked into the studio.

“Rhennthyl . . . I thought I might find you here. You’re so very predictable. Dutiful, too, for the most part.”

I smiled my polite smile, the one Maitre Dyana had called almost supercilious or some such. “Yes, sir. I do try.”

“You’re also trying.” He sighed. Loudly. “You asked for a pay schedule for the civic patrollers. Fortunately, you asked Master Schorzat. What would have happened if you had asked the Patrol commander or subcommander?”

“I realized I shouldn’t have—”

“Of course, you shouldn’t have. And it’s all well and good to be contrite after Master Schorzat pointed out the problems.” He didn’t raise his voice. “Sometimes, you offer such promise, and then . . .”

“Sir . . . I understand. You pointed out to me when I first arrived at the Collegium, and that was slightly more than half a year ago, that I would be required to learn not only the written and formal rules of the Collegium, but the equally important and unspoken ones as well. That is all well and good, but I can learn what is unspoken only if I can observe, or if I can deduce from what I do not see, what I should or should not do. From Master Schorzat’s
reaction and other observations I have made, I realized that requesting any such documentation from anyone in the Patrol would be a mistake, and I have requested nothing from anyone in the Patrol.” I didn’t see much point in stating that I had observed enough documents to learn what I needed.

His face softened, just slightly. “You don’t really expect anyone in the Patrol to adhere to the standards of public conduct expected of imagers, do you?”

“No, sir.”

He paused. “What else have you noted?”

“About the conduct of the Civic Patrol and its officers, I’ve seen nothing new in the way of what might be termed proof. The patroller with whom I’ve been doing rounds for the past two weeks has been promoted and transferred. I agreed to do rounds with his partner, who has been on leave, for the next week. After that, I have no idea what either Captain Harraf or the commander or subcommander have in mind for me.”

“Has anything occurred with regard to the High Holder?”

“Nothing has changed there, either, sir.” That was true enough. I had learned more, but it hadn’t changed the situation at all.

“What have you been doing, then?”

“Learning as much as I can, sir, but as you have pointed out, if what I have learned does not qualify as proof, that knowledge, by itself, does not change the situation.”

Abruptly he laughed, shaking his head. “You sound like Maitre Jhulian.” The laugh faded all too quickly. “Patrol Commander Artois is concerned that you are concerned with issues beyond learning about the Patrol.”