Imager's Challenge (62 page)

That was when I caught some of Lyonyt’s low words to Fuast.

“. . . good thing Master Rhennthyl was there . . . might help us later . . .”

“What did he do?”

“. . .never ask . . . things happen to folks who cross imagers . . . all you need to know is that it was an accident . . . even if the captain asks . . .’sides, frigging scriptie deserved it . . . white-haired old Pharsi not that good, but never hurt anyone . . .”

At least Lyonyt felt I’d done the right thing. But had I? Probably not, in Master Dichartyn’s eyes, were he to know. According to him, from what I’d seen and heard, I should have let the lieutenant beat and possibly kill an old woman, rather than involve an imager, because it might reflect badly on the Collegium. In Dichartyn’s eyes, the old woman should have suffered, and I couldn’t accept his arrogance or the dead lieutenant’s. Yet that, too, was arrogance on my part . . . but I knew it, and the lieutenant hadn’t cared that he’d been arrogant. Master Dichartyn? That was another question.

We kept walking, but everything was quiet, and I heard and saw nothing
from the Temple of Puryon, even though I had the feeling that, locked up as it was, it was anything but empty. By the time we finished the last round, I was dreading returning to the station.

Fortunately, for the moment, anyway, neither Captain Haraff nor Lieutenant Warydt happened to be in sight. I didn’t exactly rush in helping Lyonyt with the round report and signing off with him and Fuast, but I didn’t dally either. I was out of Third District station in less than a quint after fourth glass.

Once I walked down Fuosta a block, I stopped to think. I wished I’d been able to think more quickly with the lieutenant, but there hadn’t been time, not if I wanted to save the old woman. But I had very bad feelings about what would happen on Vendrei. Even if the scripties—and it was hard to think of them in other than derogatory terms after seeing their tactics and my encounter with the Navy lieutenant—didn’t blame the taudis-dwellers for the lieutenant’s death and saw it as an accident, they’d still be resentful and looking for targets. And I couldn’t help shivering slightly as I recalled the flash image of the Temple exploding. Was that truly farsight . . . or just what I feared? How would I ever know?

Still . . . I had to do something.

I turned east at the next alley and stepped into the late-afternoon shadows, waiting, then raising concealment shields before walking slowly up the low rise of battered and cracked paving stones. Three blocks later, I reached the cordon. No one looked in my direction, not that they should have, as I walked as close to the midpoint between two marines as I could, some five yards from each, then continued up the alley and into the taudis, the west quarter. After a block I dropped the concealment shields. On top of regular full shields, holding them was an effort. Not a great one, but still an effort.

Coming as I was from the west, I took a little longer to find Chelya’s house, and I didn’t see any of Horazt’s toughs along the way. Once I stood on the stone stoop, I drew back the patroller’s blue cloak to reveal my grays, then rapped.

No one answered.

I rapped again.

Finally, the door opened. Through the narrow crack, I could see Chelya’s eyes widen as she saw me.

“Shault’s fine. I need to find Horazt. Now. There’s going to be more trouble.”

She looked at me. “He might be at the red house on Weigand near the corner of the crooked lane.”

“If I don’t find him there, I’ll be back.”

She kept looking at me, then offered a melancholy smile. “He will be there.”

“Thank you.”

The door closed before I could step back. I turned and began to walk the three or so blocks to Weigand, trying to ignore the growing soreness in my feet and lower back. I was glad the sun had not set, although it had dropped behind the roofs to the west, when I reached Weigand, because none of the row houses had numbers, all looked similar. The “red” house was more like faded burnt umber, but no other dwelling was painted any reddish color.

Once more I stood on a stone stoop and rapped, this time with a tarnished brass knocker that wobbled when I lifted it. There was a long silence before the peephole in the door opened. Then it closed. I was ready to rap again when the door opened and Horazt stepped out. He was barefoot, and his shirt was untucked.

“Master Rhennthyl . . . you friends with the scripties to get in the taudis?” His voice was sardonic.

“No. I had to use imager skills to get past them, but I needed to see you. The Tiempran priests are planning something, probably tomorrow. If . . . if they leave the Temple . . . or if you see them away from the Temple, and you can capture them and hold them for me, I’ll give you five golds.” I paused, then fumbled with my wallet, and handed him the gold I’d been carrying for days. “Here’s what I owe you.”

He took the gold, fingered it. Then it disappeared. “You don’t want much, do you?”

I shrugged. “Something else. If there’s anyone you like, keep them away from the Temple for the next few days. No matter who’s there.” I forced a grin. “But it wouldn’t hurt if someone enticed Saelyhd to be there.”

Horazt spat to one side. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Shault is one reason. He doesn’t want anything to happen to you. When the Collegium tried and executed Youdh, he was terrified that someone might come after you.”

That stopped his half-open mouth from uttering anything . . . for a moment, anyway.

“Another reason is that the Collegium and the Civic Patrol can probably work with you and Jadhyl, but not Saelyhd. A third reason is that I don’t like the Tiempran priests using our taudis-dwellers as expendable weapons against the Council. I don’t like the kind of toughs Youdh and Saelyhd use, and I don’t want to see another riot between the taudis and the Patrol or the scripties. You’ll get hurt, and the scripties will use it as an excuse.”

“Like I said . . . you don’t want much.”

I shrugged again. “The golds are mine. I’d offer more, but I don’t have it. I’ll do what I can, but the next few days could be bloody. If you think it would
help you, I’d suggest you pass on what I’ve said to Jadhyl and Deyalt.” I stepped back. “That’s all.”

He was still watching as I moved down the steps and then toward the alley that would take me to and beyond the cordon. I thought he might be interested, but who could tell?

Again, most likely because of the presence of the conscription teams, I had to walk all the way out to the Midroad before I could find a hack to hail, and I felt as though the driver hit every hole and rough spot on Midroad and then the Boulevard D’Imagers on the way back to Imagisle.

My feet ached with every step I took across the Bridge of Hopes and the quadrangle. Thankfully, at least I thought I was thankful, there were no notes or messages in my letter box or under my door. But I wondered just how long that might last.

Dinner in the dining hall on Jeudi was quiet enough, but for all the effort I’d expended during the day, all I could do was drag myself back to my quarters after eating. Yet it was late before I drifted into an uneasy sleep. On Vendrei, I got up early, not that it was difficult, what with my uneasy sleep and worries about Khethila and what I was getting into with Seliora’s family and what I’d done the day before with the Navy lieutenant. That didn’t count my concerns about trying to use Horazt to capture the Tiempran priests or the fact that I was acting as though my flash vision of the Temple exploding represented true farsight.

After exercises and running, and showering and dressing, I rushed through breakfast and made it to the duty coach as fast as I could. In a way, there was no logical reason for that. If something happened, it was just as likely to happen whether I managed to be near the Temple or not. Yet . . . something impelled me to hurry.

When I stepped out of the coach outside the station, the sun shone white, and a gentle breeze, under a pale blue sky, offered a perfect late autumn day. That didn’t cheer me much as I walked toward the station doors.

Even if I had wanted to escape the captain, I couldn’t have, because he was clearly waiting for me to arrive. He signaled for me to join him, a gesture as close to a command as anything nonverbal could be, then turned and stepped into his study.

I did close the door behind me when I entered.

He stood by the corner of his desk. “Master Rhennthyl . . . the Navy is not happy with us. They’re not too bright, but they have some questions as to why one of their horses spooked and threw a lieutenant and killed him. They know some patrollers were nearby, and it appears that you and Lyonyt were the ones. Lyonyt and Fuast have already told me what happened, and I’m certain it happened that way.” The captain paused. “The lieutenant was a fool to ride after an old woman, and what occurred was his own fault. If something else like that happens, they won’t see it that way.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Let them frig this up their own way, without any help from us, or you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I smiled. “The Tiempran priests might have explosives in their Temple. I thought you’d like to know.”

His face froze. “How do—don’t bother. If you happen to be right . . . if . . . just what do you suggest? There’s already a crowd gathered around the Temple. It looks like their priests rousted them out, but with that cordon, there’s no way to tell. I’ve called up the mounted riot patrollers, but they only sent half a squad. They’re just backup for us if things get out of hand.”

“My only suggestion is to keep your patrollers well away from the Temple for now.”

“You think that they’ll blow up the Temple and their own worshippers?”

“No one can say that for certain, but the First Speaker of Tiempre sent a warning a month or so ago saying that because we gave favorable treatment to the evil Caenenans, they would strike at the heart of Solidar.” I shrugged. “Those might be just words, but . . .”

“I think, Master Rhennthyl, that you and I will watch, from a moderate distance, how the conscription teams handle the crowd around the Temple. Lyonyt and Fuast can handle their reduced duties without your assistance. I’ve already informed them and sent them out.”

“Yes, sir.” I had more than mixed feelings about accompanying Harraf, but the very fact that he wanted to observe and be in a position to handle the patrollers indicated that he was far more worried than his even voice and small and intent black eyes revealed. So did the fact that he’d already dispatched Lyonyt and Fuast.

We walked up Fuosta and along the north side—the non-taudis side—of South Middle alone. Two other patrollers, whom I’d never seen before, followed us. When we reached Dugalle, the captain halted.

“For now, this should be satisfactory.” He said nothing more, but looked eastward.

Ten mounted patrollers in riot gear were lined up the north side of South Middle, about fifty yards farther east. The mounted conscription forces and the naval marines occupied the south side, right up to the low wall that marked the beginning of the taudis. Unlike the scriptie horses, the patrol mounts all wore gray padded armor across their chests, necks, and forequarters. The patrollers wore similar padded armor of the same material as the mounts, except it was pale blue, and riot helmets. While the mounted patrollers carried revolvers, their first weapons were riot lances, effectively long hardened oak truncheons with padded grips.

Even from where we were, I could see some of the crowd around the Temple, and I could hear a low repetitive chant.

“Equal coins for equal souls,

Equal golds for equal roles! . . .”

That definitely had an equalifier tone to it, but I couldn’t see if there were any Tiempran priests leading the chant or whether those leading the crowd were merely local converts. Given what I suspected, I would have wagered that the crowd leaders were locals.

“Chanting won’t stop the marines,” Harraf said. “All that will do is make them mad. They’ll eat all those taudis-dwellers alive and come up hungry.” He looked to me.

“Getting the marines angry might well be the point, Captain.”

At that, Harraf frowned, then straightened as a rider neared. “Be polite, Rhennthyl,” he murmured. “He’s a marine colonel.”

The colonel rode up, followed by two other mounted marines, and reined his mount to a halt. He looked down at Harraf. “I thought we might find some Patrol officers here.”