Imager's Challenge (58 page)

“Scripties?” asked Fuast.

“The Navy conscription teams,” I said. “They’re not popular in the taudis.”

“But they go everywhere,” Fuast said.

“There are exemptions for youngsters and young men who are apprentices, or journeymen, or in school,” I replied. “A far greater proportion of the young men in the taudis are day laborers or don’t qualify for exemptions.”

“Most of them don’t,” added Lyonyt. “They don’t like working hard, either. The scripties get pissed when they do a taudis because there’s always trouble. After they leave, there’s more trouble, and a year or two later, when things get settled down, the scripties do it all over again.”

“That’s . . . do they really do that?”

Lyonyt nodded. He didn’t say anything for a block, and that was the longest time he’d gone without speaking on any of the rounds I’d patrolled with him. After we’d passed the Temple, he glanced back, once, then twice. Finally, he shook his head. “Today’s been the quietest I’ve seen it.”

Captain Harraf was nowhere around when we returned to the station. Since he wasn’t, I stepped partway into the lieutenant’s small study. “Lieutenant? Have you heard anything about the conscription teams?”

He looked up from his desk, then smiled warmly. “I can’t say as I have.”

The smile and the pause told me that he knew.

“Well, sir, no one has told me, but we did notice one interesting thing today. The Temple of Puryon was shuttered up tight, and I’ve never seen it that way, and neither has Lyonyt. It could be that they know something we don’t. I just thought I’d pass that along, sir.”

“I do appreciate that, Master Rhennthyl. I will let the captain know. Thank you.”

I nodded and slipped out.

As I rode the hack back to the Collegium, I wondered how the Tiempran priests had discovered the conscription schedule—if they had. If they hadn’t, why was the Temple so closed up? Hostilities with Tiempre? Some operation Master Dichartyn had planned or undertaken?

As soon as I crossed the Bridge of Hopes and returned to the Collegium, I went looking for Master Dichartyn. For once, as he didn’t seem to have been much lately, he was in his study.

“What is it, Rhennthyl?”

“Just one thing, sir. When I was patrolling South Middle, the Tiempran Temple was totally shuttered. Lyonyt said the only time he’d seen it shuttered was the last time the conscription team came through.”

Master Dichartyn just nodded.

“I mentioned it to Lieutenant Warydt, and I could tell that he hadn’t heard about the Temple, but that he felt the conscription team was about to begin. I thought you should know.”

Dichartyn shook his head. “You could tell? That’s hardly proof of anything.”

“You’re absolutely right, sir . . . except if they begin in the next few days, it would indicate both the priests and the lieutenant had advance knowledge. That’s all I wanted to pass on, sir.”

“Thank you, Rhennthyl.”

“Have a good evening, sir.” I made my way to the dining hall, stopping outside where Reynol and Kahlasa were talking.

“Good evening. You two look to be up to no good. . . .”

They both turned.

“Is any imager?” asked Kahlasa with a smile. “What about you?”

“I’ve definitely been up to nothing that pleases anyone.”

“Except that lovely woman you’ve been seen with,” suggested Kahlasa. “Some of the seconds and primes were almost drooling when they talk about you two.”

Talk about us two? “Why would they do that?”

“Rhenn . . .” Kahlasa shook her head. “You’re the only imager that anyone knows has actually
done
anything recently. Everyone else has managed to keep their accomplishments quiet. The younger imagers want to aspire to something . . . and what better than a tall and powerful imager who attracts a beautiful woman?”

I did groan at that.

“Even some of the girls are gossiping.”

“Like Mayra?” She was one of the few I knew, besides the older imagers, such as Dyana, Chassendri, and Kahlasa.

“It doesn’t matter.” Kahlasa grinned at me. “You’ll just have to live with it. Besides, it keeps people’s attention on you and away from other matters, and that’s not all bad.”

The bells rang at that moment, and Reynol spoke. “I need to eat early because I’m meeting Meynard and a friend later.”

They headed for the table for seconds and thirds, and I found myself moving toward the masters’ table, empty except for Quaelyn and Ferlyn.

After greetings, I just ate and mainly listened to their conversation, partly because I was interested and partly because I was sore all over. At least, I was stiff and sore in so many places that it seemed like all over.

“. . . the yields on the eastern plains show a relation to the height of the rivers flowing through Cloisonyt and Montagne in Maris and Avryl . . .”

“. . .but there’s not enough water for irrigation . . .”

As I got up to leave the dining hall, I couldn’t help but think about Kahlasa’s comments. In effect, because the woman I loved was beautiful, I’d become almost an internal lure for the Collegium . . . and that was in addition to being an external lure. Just how had all that happened?

On my way out of the dining hall, I picked up copies of both
Tableta
and
Veritum
and brought them back to my quarters, where I read them, stretched out on the bed on my stomach, which was the most comfortable position. Neither newsheet had any stories that concerned either Caenen or Tiempre, but there was one about the battles west of the Jariolan coal mines. The sudden winter storm had been followed by a thaw and a rainstorm, and that had trapped another hundred Ferran landcruisers in mud, and cost them several thousand troops. Another story mentioned negotiations between a Council representative and a representative of the Oligarchy concerning a “supply base.” That sounded like the coaling station on the isle of Harvik Master Rholyn had mentioned several weeks ago.

After what had happened the night before, I wasn’t about to try anything else in the way of imaging—only to get a good night’s sleep . . . if I could, and if I could keep from thinking about Rousel.

By the time I dragged myself out of bed on Mardi morning, I was more than ready to get on with the day, especially after a dream about a memorial service in an anomen, where I’d kept trying to ask who was being memorialized, and no one would answer me. They just looked away. I didn’t dream about the Temple of Puryon, exploding or otherwise, and the fact that I hadn’t bothered me.

I ate breakfast quickly and finished just as Ferlyn and Chassendri arrived. I stood and smiled. “I’m off.”

“Aren’t you the fortunate one,” said Chassendri cheerfully.

“Always,” I answered with a smile, heading out of the dining hall.

The second duty coach was waiting, the driver wearing a heavy gray jacket against the wind, although I wouldn’t have called it chill, merely brisk enough that I’d had to put on my imager’s visored cap a bit more firmly than usual. On the way to the station, I thought through how I’d need to approach the day. I wasn’t about to tell the captain anything.

Captain Harraf was standing outside his study when I entered the building, talking to Slausyl. Melyor was standing back and listening. I could only catch a few words.

“. . . come, and you stay clear . . . cordon area . . . no point . . . they shoot anyone . . .”

Both Slausyl and Melyor nodded.

I had no doubts that Harraf was warning them to avoid the conscription team. I half expected him to beckon to me or to Lyonyt after he dismissed the other pair of patrollers, but he pointedly avoided me and stepped back into his study without looking in our direction.

I turned to Lyonyt. “Did Captain Harraf mention anything about the conscription teams before I got here?”

“No, sir,” replied Lyonyt.

Fuast just looked puzzled.

“Let’s head out. I’ll go over it while we start the round.”

I actually waited until we were almost up to South Middle before I began to explain. “When the conscription teams come into an area, they
don’t want anyone else around. All we can do is patrol the area of our round outside their cordon.” I was guessing a bit, but I thought I was fairly close to what Harraf had said to Melyor and Slausyl. “They come armed, and they will shoot. I’ve heard that some of them don’t much care who they shoot.”

Fuast swallowed audibly.

Lyonyt just nodded. He’d heard it before, and he didn’t look like I’d missed anything. I hoped not. Harraf’s “oversight” was anything but accidental.

During the first half round, the one where we did the perimeter of the round, we saw only women with children and a handful of men all roughly dressed, walking toward the avenue, most likely to where it and Quierca intersected. That was where builders and anyone who wanted a laborer could find one. When we reached the Avenue D’Artisans, on the return, close to two quints before eighth glass, I stepped up beside Lyonyt.

“If the conscription teams were hitting the taudis, they’d already be here. There’s some imager business that’s come up. I’ll be leaving you for a bit, but I should be back and rejoin you around second glass. It’s possible I may have to do this tomorrow as well.”

“Yes, sir.” Lyonyt didn’t even look puzzled, although his eyes never stopped moving.

I wasn’t sure they ever would, not until he was ashes.

I crossed the avenue and waited until they were a good block away before I hailed a hack to take me to NordEste Design. It was early enough that the direct route there wasn’t that crowded, with the only slowness occurring around the Guild Square, and the hack pulled up on Hagahl Lane just as the last bells of eighth glass were dying away.

For the first time since I had met Seliora, when I knocked, I had to wait for a time before someone came to the door—and that someone was Methyr. He was wearing faded and ragged trousers and a woolen shirt that had seen far better days.

“I’m sorry, Master Rhennthyl. I was cleaning the tiles on the terrace.”

“Up on the third level?”

“Yes, sir. It’s my turn.” He stepped back and let me enter, then shot the bolt. “If you’d come this way.” He walked up the stairs and through the second-level entry hall, leading me through the indirect corridors that led to the back stairs leading down to the courtyard.

Once we were in the courtyard, he said, “Seliora had to go with Mother and Father this morning. She said she hoped you wouldn’t mind. She should
be here when you return, but if she isn’t, she asked if you’d mind grooming the mare and stalling her.”

“I can do that.”

We crossed the courtyard to where the mare was actually saddled and waiting, tied to a post in the rear courtyard outside the stable.

“Who saddled her? Seliora?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She didn’t have to do that,” I protested.

“She said it would be easier on you, and she wouldn’t worry as much.” Methyr looked away.

“If she’s not here . . .” I shook my head. I’d have to express my appreciation personally. I didn’t even dare write a note about it. “I do appreciate it, and I’ll tell her when I return.”

With that, I mounted and set out. Methyr watched until I was out of the courtyard and headed toward the Boulevard D’Este. I’d seen some mounted patrollers over the course of making patrol rounds, and Gulyart and the others had mentioned that there were mounted patrollers, used especially in riot situations. So I doubted that many people would take much notice of a Patrol rider headed along the Boulevard D’Este.

Once I reached the Plaza D’Nord, I added a concealment shield, the kind that blurred people’s vision. They’d see a rider and a mount, but the details would be fuzzy. But along the ride out toward Ryel’s estate, I passed only two wagons coming the other direction.

At the top of the rise south of the one that held the Ryel estate, I slowed the mare and studied the road and the estate itself. The road was empty, and the gates were closed. There was a flatter space, a semiswale next to the wall about a hundred yards up from the place where the stream flowed out from between the walls and into the large stone culvert under the road.

We started down toward the stream, and I could hear the rumble of a heavy wagon. It didn’t sound like a trap, but I wasn’t certain. I eased the mare to the right edge of the road and continued downhill. We’d almost reached the low ground between the two rises when I caught sight of a black wagon pulled by four drays coming slowly downhill, headed southward toward L’Excelsis.