Imager's Challenge (46 page)

“Master Rhennthyl?”

I turned.

“Lyonyt, sir.” He stood almost a head shorter than did I, with a wiry build, and brown eyes that never seemed to remain fixed on anything, even while he was looking at me.

“We’re to be patrolling together this week, I understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, but the captain had a question.” I looked toward the station door. “I suppose we’d better get moving.”

“Yes, sir.” Lyonyt seemed to bounce as he moved.

I didn’t say more until we were striding up Fuosta toward South Middle. “You’ve been on leave.”

“Yes, sir. I have to thank you. The captain said I only got it because you were available to help Alsoran.”

“I’m not sure he needed much help.”

“Could be, sir, but it meant a lot to me. Anacherie was so ill after little Marie was born, and then with my father dying right after that . . .”

And Harraf wouldn’t allow Lyonyt leave without a replacement? Was Third District that short of patrollers? “I’m glad it worked out.” I paused. “How long have you been with the Civic Patrol?”

“Be nine years next Ianus. Best thing I ever did, quit being a butcher’s apprentice and apply to the Patrol. Wasn’t the cutting. That was fine. Always have liked knives.” He drew a long shimmering blade from the sheath on his heavy belt, a sheath partly concealed by his short patroller’s cloak. “Times a knife’ll do you better than a truncheon.” The knife vanished. “Always got fidgety halfway through the day. Caymeyrl was always telling me to settle down. Said a good butcher had to be solid. . . .”

We kept walking, turning east on South Middle. I listened, but kept my eyes moving. For all his chatter, Lyonyt didn’t stop looking, either.

Just after we passed the Puryon Temple, I caught sight of another tough, this one some twenty yards up Weigand—the first through street to the south
past the Temple. He watched us until we were out of sight. I didn’t look at him but once, but could feel his eyes on my back.

I didn’t see a purple jacket under the nondescript brown cloak, but I would have wagered he was wearing one.

“. . . Sansolt always listens, but he never says anything . . . gets to a fellow after a while. Now, Jaovyl, he’s a good man . . . got the round east of the Guild Hall this rotation. . . .”

Before long, we reached the Avenue D’Artisans, and after less than two quints with Lyonyt, I could see why he’d been paired with the quiet and solid Alsoran.

“That place there. It’s called Yualtyn’s. Don’t eat there. Wasn’t bad when it was Gosmyn’s. Hetyr fixed a good honest ragout. Yualtyn bought him out two-three years back. Now all they serve is that Tiempran shit that burns your mouth before you open it. Over there, Chapytoc—good bootmaker. Does good resoling, too. . . .”

Lyonyt did suggest a different place to eat at midday, a patisserie called Jehan’s, which served a folded fried flatbread filled with lamb and mint with a cucumber sauce. I didn’t know that I’d have wanted it every day, but it was tasty and filling and a definite change.

After we ate, we reversed the direction of the rounds, but outside of the increasing odor of elveweed, something that happened late every afternoon, the remaining rounds were without any major incidents.

Once I left Lyonyt at the station, I walked down Fuosta and north on Quierca until I could hail a hack. I had the driver drop me in front of Alouette—a patisserie on the Avenue D’Artisans not all that far southwest of Sudroad. If I were to wait for Mardoyt as long as I might have to, I needed something to eat. I settled for a heavy almond-filled croissant and a mug of tea. The tea was merely hot and adequate. The croissant was good enough that I’d come back, perhaps even pick up some to take to my parents and Khethila . . . and, of course, I’d have to make sure there were two for Culthyn.

I took my time walking down the avenue and then across it and wending my way to Saelio, raising concealment shields more than three blocks away from Mardoyt’s duplex. When I reached the vantage point from where I could observe the oak in front of the house, I settled into the lengthening shadows and prepared for a long wait. Most of the oaks’ leaves had turned, as had the leaves of the other seasonal trees along the street, and possibly a third had fallen onto the grass and the walks, but they were not dry enough yet to rustle that much when someone walked through them.

I took out the scrap of purple cloth and imaged a larger duplicate, concentrating on replicating the warp and weft of the weave, as well as the weight of the threads. Then I studied what I’d imaged. Even as someone who’d been raised to appraise wool, I could detect no noticeable difference between the smaller sample and the larger imaged section of cloth.

Then, I imaged out some sections of the selected oak limb, one that was already dead and hung over the walkway leading to the duplex, not enough that it would break, except in a storm, but enough to make the next step easier.

I kept waiting. I felt I had to, because I needed to resolve the problems Mardoyt was causing before the problems Ryel was causing got even worse. Sooner or later, Mardoyt had to come home, if not tonight, then on Mardi or Meredi, or even Jeudi. I was getting more than a little irritated that I was having to spend so much time dealing with a Patrol officer who was so corrupt, and about whom no one seemed to want to do anything. More than a few patrollers knew what he was doing, and I didn’t see how that helped the Civic Patrol maintain any sort of standards in the slightest.

I waited, but Mardoyt still did not appear.

The sun dropped low enough in the west that the entire street was in shadows. Then, roughly a quint after the bells of the nearby anomen rang out sixth glass, a figure in a blue cloak turned the corner and walked up Saelio. It was Mardoyt, his head down, clearly thinking, as if he was worried. He was so preoccupied that I doubted he would have seen me even if I had not been holding concealment shields.

I imaged away the remaining key sections of the oak limb before Mardoyt was even close to the walkway to his house. It took even more effort to use an extension of imaging shields to hold it in place while he neared.

Then, as he turned, I released those supports, and projected shields to hold him in place. The limb toppled, seemingly slowly, but it took all the imaging effort I could muster with extended shields to direct the limb so that the heavier end twisted and slammed into Mardoyt. Just before the limb hit, I released the shield around him, but he couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the limb’s impact as it smashed across his left shoulder and then crushed and pinned his left leg.

Still behind concealment shields, I slipped up to the unconscious officer and left the imaged scrap of purple in his hand. I also accomplished a last touch of imaging.

I stepped back, realizing that I was soaked in sweat. I could feel my control of my shields slipping away. So I retreated into the shadows and tried to move quietly down the street.

I’d made it less than five yards from the mass of limbs and foliage when I heard a scream from the front porch—that of Mardoyt’s daughter. The sound went through me like a knife—or more like the assassin’s bullet I’d taken. I kept moving, trying to keep in mind that the patroller whose death Mardoyt had arranged had certainly had those who loved him, and I hadn’t done anything to Mardoyt when Youdh’s toughs had started attempts on my life. That didn’t count the attempt with the granite stones.

Besides, I kept reminding myself on the long and chill walk back to the Collegium, I hadn’t killed Mardoyt. If . . .
if
things went as I’d planned, he’d live, and he’d receive a stipend. He just wouldn’t keep his position and be able to take bribes and arrange murders.

If
. . .

When I woke on Mardi, I had my ability to raise shields back, and a dull headache that faded after breakfast. Mardi’s rounds with Lyonyt were much the same as those on Lundi—until we finished the last round and were heading back west on South Middle, through an autumn mist that wasn’t quite a light rain. We crossed Weigand, with the Puryon Temple ahead.

“Over there, Master Rhennthyl!” Lyonyt’s voice was low, but insistent. “Left, up maybe thirty yards.”

Two men, wearing purple jackets, and not cloaks or waterproofs, despite the mist, stood on a stoop of a house with boarded-up windows. They looked directly at me. Both were old for taudis-toughs, close to my age. One might have been the imager-tough, but I couldn’t be certain.

Neither man said anything or moved as we walked past. They just watched us.

“That’s not good, Master Rhennthyl. Means they got it in for us.”

For me, most likely, but I didn’t voice the thought. “These days, they may have it in for everyone, what with a conscription team coming sometime this fall or winter.”

“That’s what I been hearing. You don’t know when, do you?”

“No. The captain asked me yesterday. I didn’t know then, and I haven’t heard anything since.”

“That’ll bring more trouble. Always does.”

We certainly didn’t need more trouble. I knew I didn’t.

Once we’d reached the station, we completed the round report, and I signed off on it. Then, I left the station, after a nod to Lieutenant Warydt, who returned the nod with his usual smile, and walked down South Middle until I could catch a hack back to the Bridge of Hopes. On the ride back to Imagisle, I couldn’t help worrying about the two toughs. I worried a bit about Mardoyt, but mostly hoped that his injuries were as I’d planned . . . except I could still hear the scream of Mardoyt’s daughter.

A thin prime was waiting for me on the Collegium side of the bridge.

“Master Rhennthyl, sir?”

His presence could only mean that Master Dichartyn was looking for me, but I just replied, “Yes?”

“Master Dichartyn would like to see you, sir, right now, sir. If you wouldn’t mind, sir . . .”

Three “sirs” strung together like that meant more trouble.

“He’s in his study?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I’ll head right there.”

The frightened prime followed me, if at a distance, until I knocked on Dichartyn’s door.

“Master Dichartyn. It’s Rhennthyl. . . .”

“Do come in and close the door, Rhennthyl.”

I did.

He was standing by the window. He just looked at me for a long time before speaking. “This afternoon, I had to spend some time with Commander Artois. He was not exactly happy with the reports he had received from Subcommander Cydarth.”

“Did something I do displease them?”

“Did you?”

“I did a normal patrol round yesterday, sir. I don’t see how that could disturb anyone. Captain Harraf did ask me if I knew when the conscription teams would reach the Third District, and I told him that I didn’t know, except that it was likely they would begin in L’Excelsis in the next few weeks. He wasn’t happy that I didn’t know more.”

“How did you know that?”

“Last week, Master Schorzat said that they’d already begun in the west of L’Excelsis.” I paused, then added, “Captain Harraf has kept asking about the Navy conscription teams.”

For just a moment, there was a flicker of something in Master Dichartyn’s eyes. “Most of the teams direct the conscripts to the Navy.” He cleared his throat. “Last week, you asked for a patroller pay scale. Why?”

“Might I ask why Commander Artois was displeased, sir?”

“Patience, Rhennthyl. We’ll get there in good time.” His tone suggested that I wouldn’t be happy to get where he was going. “The pay scale?”

“I was still concerned about Lieutenant Mardoyt. He—or someone working for him—has been altering the charging records of the Patrol. Statements come back to the charging desk that charges have been dropped. Some of those charges were dropped while I was observing the justicing administration, and
while I was present in the hearings, and they were never brought up before the justice. There aren’t any records to support the entries, either, in many cases. After seeing Lieutenant Mardoyt’s house—”

“How did you manage that? Following him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go on.”

“He has a house on Saelio below Sudroad. It’s a duplex, but a large one in a good neighborhood. It struck me that it would have been difficult to rent or buy such a house on the pay of a lieutenant, but I didn’t know because I don’t know what a lieutenant makes. So I went to find you, and Beleart said Master Schorzat—”