Imager's Challenge (47 page)

“We’ve talked about that. Go on.”

“Yes, sir. He said that the pay scale wouldn’t prove anything. I realized that but thought I might as well know the pay rates, in any case.”

“So why did you attempt to kill Mardoyt?”

“I did no such thing. When did this happen? Is that what Commander Artois was suggesting? Or the subcommander?”

“I will note for the record that you denied attempting to kill one Lieutenant Mardoyt. What did you do with regard to Mardoyt?”

“I told you. I’ve been following him, trying to see whom he met, trying to figure out how he was doing what he did. You have been very clear with me, sir. You said that you did not want to hear anything from me that I could not prove. I admit fully that I have been following Lieutenant Mardoyt. He is the only member of the Patrol associated with a death caused by an almost identical method as was attempted on me—granite falling from a height. The first patroller under him was killed that way. Likewise, he has changed or removed charges from records. In addition, he knows all about the young lady I have been seeing, in more than fair detail, and he was clear in letting me know that. . . .”

That
did catch him by surprise.

Before he could say anything, I went on. “Yet, only Captain Harraf knew where I would be when the granite blocks ‘fell’ off a scaffold and nearly killed me. Now . . . as you have pointed out, all this does not constitute proof. So I’ve followed the lieutenant after work a number of nights to see if I could come up with something that might be acceptable as proof. Last week—on Mardi—while using concealment shields slightly down the street from Mardoyt’s house, I was attacked by two taudis-toughs. Both were wearing the purple jackets of Youdh’s toughs under their cloaks. One was an imager—not terribly well trained, but strong. He used a dust spray to show my position to
the gunman and battered at my shields. The gunman fired and hit my shields. I fell and waited. When he came close enough, I dropped him and shot him with his own weapon. I left the body and the weapon there, but the tough who was the imager was already gone.”

“Rhennthyl.” He used my name as an epithet.

“Master Dichartyn, sir . . . you cannot have it both ways. You cannot tell me that you do not want to hear what I cannot prove and then object that I have not told you what I cannot prove. I was trying to discover the connection between Mardoyt and Harraf and found that there was one between Mardoyt and Youdh. Oh . . . I forgot one other thing . . . two other things. The day I was attacked, three of Youdh’s toughs watched me on the patrol round. It was so obvious that Alsoran asked me what I’d done to offend Youdh, but I’ve never met Youdh. I wouldn’t know what he looked like if he appeared here in the study with us. Again, this afternoon, two more toughs were watching Lyonyt and me when we returned to the station. One of them might have been the imager-tough, but I couldn’t be sure. I never saw his face, and he didn’t have shields.”

“You’re certain that there was an imager?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all we need—a renegade imager in the taudis, and one we cannot identify or find. And you said nothing?”

“You weren’t here, and what exactly could anyone do until he acted again? No one knows who he is or where he is.”

“Rhennthyl . . .”

I just waited.

He shook his head.

“What happened to Lieutenant Mardoyt, sir? You never told me.”

“Why do you care? You don’t seem to have a good opinion of the man.”

“I don’t, but I also don’t want him dead. So long as he’s alive, we might be able to find out more of what he’s been doing.”

“How did you manage to mangle him with a tree branch?”

“Sir, I’d like to point out again that I had no intention of killing the lieutenant. Since I had no intention of doing so, why would I attack him with something like a tree branch, which might not injure him at all or might easily kill him? How is he?”

Master Dichartyn sighed, mostly for effect, I thought. “The physicians think he’ll live. If he does, he won’t ever use his left arm for much, and he’ll need a cane and a leg brace to walk.” He looked at me. “Didn’t you know that?”

“No, sir.” I knew what I’d done, but not whether it had worked out as I planned.

“Mardoyt said that he heard a crack and that he couldn’t move, and then an oak limb fell on him. His wife found a scrap of purple cloth in his hand.” Master Dichartyn’s eyes narrowed. “You know, Rhennthyl, taking bribes isn’t that unique an offense, and it’s not one of particular concern to the Collegium. Besides, and more important, his place will be taken sooner or later by someone else who will take bribes.”

“Given the structure, that’s a possibility, sir. But it’s not the bribes that concern me the most. What bothers me, and should bother you, is that both Captain Harraf and the lieutenant have a link to a renegade imager in the taudis, and it’s highly likely, proof or no proof, that they have been paying off that imager to kill Patroller Smyrrt and to attempt to kill me. Or that they’re trading favors or worse. I also find it interesting that all of the displeasure with me gets filtered through Subcommander Cydarth—who was the one who assigned me to Third District where there is an imager-tough who seems to have connections with two other officers. On top of that, there are more than a few indications that more is going on, possibly including the Equalifier priests. Otherwise, why would there be so many attempts to kill me? Also . . . I’m rather curious about one other thing, sir. You say that a tree branch fell on the lieutenant. Isn’t it a bit strange that the commander immediately expresses his displeasure at me? Especially through the subcommander. Why would he even consider that I might be involved?”

“You should have asked that question first.”

“It’s still a good question, sir. I don’t have near the experience that you do, but I know that you and Maitre Poincaryt keep telling me that part of my duties are to be a lure. That may be, but I’m being accused of causing an accident that happened to a Patrol officer who is taking bribes and tied to a taudischef, and probably to attempts to kill me, and I’ve done nothing but look into a real problem.”

“Rhennthyl . . .” He shook his head. “Are you suggesting that I tell the commander we have a renegade imager who’s being paid off by his officers, possibly even his subcommander, with no proof whatsoever?”

“No, sir. I’m certain that you could tell him something far more palatable. But you might point out that there have been three attempts on my life since I was named as Patrol liaison, and that doesn’t reflect very well on what’s happening in the Patrol.”

He smiled, if coolly. “That’s exactly what I did tell him. He was even less pleased. Next time, if there is a next time, and I do hope that there isn’t, you
should start your explanations where you ended.” He looked at me. “It would also help if you could find a way to resolve these . . . difficulties before too long. It would also be good to have more than your word about a renegade imager.”

“I’m doing the best I can, sir.” And that didn’t even take into account my problems with High Holder Ryel.

“You need to do better.” He paused. “That’s all, Rhennthyl.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Close the door on your way out.”

I did.

Once again, I’d gotten another lesson, if not the one that Master Dichartyn had intended. Still, he knew I’d injured Mardoyt. The fact that he’d gone through the motions meant that he didn’t think much of Mardoyt, either. He just hadn’t cared for my way of handling it. What else was I supposed to do? Keep looking for nonexistent proof until I got killed?

I stopped by my quarters, leaving my patroller’s cloak behind, and then headed to the dining hall. Because I was a bit early, I stopped by my letter box, not that I really expected anything. But there was a letter there, and it held the red stripe. Who would be sending me an urgent message by private courier? I looked at the writing . . . and swallowed. It was Khethila’s—and that was anything but good. I didn’t quite rip the envelope open.

Dear Rhenn,
I am writing this because Father and Mother did not have time to. We have just received word that Rousel has been badly injured in a wagon accident in Kherseilles. We don’t know how it happened, but his legs have been crushed, and he has other injuries.

It seems so unfair. He had just written that he had managed to get a stonemason to rebuild the wall on our property. He had worked all night and day with the mason to meet the deadline stipulated by the legal agreement in order to avoid a 500 gold penalty, and there are other problems as well.

You cannot do anything, I know, but you should know. Father and Mother have already left on the ironway for Kherseilles with Culthyn . . .

I lowered the letter. I had no doubts that Rousel’s injury was anything but an accident, and that Ryel had been behind it. Then I slipped the letter inside my waistcoat and left the dining hall, heading across the Bridge of Desires, because that was the closest place to find a hack. The mist had turned into a light rain and I was damp, but not soaked, by the time I was inside a coach and headed to see Khethila.

Why Rousel? Even as I asked myself that question, I knew the answer. Because he was Father’s heir to Alusine Wool and because Ryel was a typical sadistic High Holder who wanted to prove that he could destroy my family, slowly and deliberately, without a shred of proof to link anything illegal to him. Everything he’d caused to happen would show as either perfectly legal or connected in no way to him.

The rain was heavier when I left the hack, and I gave the driver a few extra coppers for his trouble, then hurried up under the portico roof, where I gave the knocker several sharp thraps. After several moments, the door opened slightly, and I could see the chains.

“Khethila . . . it’s me. I just got your message, and I came immediately.”

She opened the door. “Oh . . . Rhenn . . . you didn’t have to.” The tone of her voice contradicted her words.

I stepped inside, closed the door, and put my arms around her.

She sobbed silently for a time, then stepped back and blotted her eyes. They were blotchy. “Thank you.”

“It’s all I can do right now.” That was more than true, unfortunately.

She looked at me. “You didn’t eat, did you?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re pale. We can go into the kitchen. You can eat, and we can talk. There’s some cold fowl and cheese and some fresh bread. I didn’t have cook fix a supper . . .”

“Anything would be fine.” I followed her through the family parlor and into the kitchen.

Before long, I was sitting on one side of the table in the breakfast room, lit by a single wall lamp, and she was on the other. I had slices of bread, cheese, and fowl on a plate, and we each had a glass of Grisio. She needed it more than I.

“What happened?” I asked, after taking a bite of the sharp white cheese. I was hungry.

“I don’t know much more than I wrote. Rousel was hit by a horse that spooked and knocked him under a brewer’s wagon that was moving. Remaya sent a dispatch by ironway. Father talked to someone he knew to get a compartment on the afternoon train.” Khethila took a healthy swallow of the Grisio. “It’s almost like the Nameless or the Namer is after Father.”

“Or some commercial rival,” I suggested.

“Could anyone . . .” She let the words die away for a moment. “Of course they could. Some people will do anything. But who?”

“It could be someone with an old grudge, who just waited until the time
was right to hurt the family the hardest.” That was as close as I was going to get because, with what I planned, no one in my family, especially Khethila, could afford to know why it was happening.

“It could be Rousel, too,” she said softly. “He hasn’t always been as careful as he should be.”

“You need to think about it. So will I. You’ll keep me informed?”

“I promise.”

After that we talked, first about Rousel and the factorage in Kherseilles and then about less consequential things, but I did mention I’d been required to attend the Autumn Ball, and that led to a few questions about Madame D’Shendael, none of which I could really answer.

Then, as it got close to eighth glass, I rose to go.

“You can’t stay tonight . . . can you?”

I shook my head. “I can’t stay anywhere at night besides the Collegium.”

“That’s a stupid rule.”

“No. Unhappily, it’s not. Imagers can image in their dreams, and dreams aren’t always under control. Especially at a time like this.” I’d never been told I couldn’t say that, and she needed a real reason, tonight more than any other.

“Oh . . .”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t tell anyone else that. It’s not something the Collegium likes known, but tonight I didn’t want to just say that it was a rule.”

That brought a shaky smile to her lips. “I won’t . . . but thank you.” After a moment, she said, “Charlsyn can take you back. I’ll let him know.”

I didn’t argue, even if it meant that Khethila would end up paying him more for the week.