Imager's Challenge (68 page)

“I need to change him,” Remaya said.

“The guest chambers are all ready for you,” Mother said.

Remaya hurried off, close to tears, I feared.

“It’s cool out here,” Mother said. “There’s no reason to stand here in the wind.”

Culthyn had already vanished, doubtless into the kitchen, but the rest of us followed Mother into the family parlor, where she stood before the stove in the hearth.

“The train was cold the entire way from Mantes,” she said.

“And entirely too hot from Kherseilles to Mantes,” Father rumbled.

“Cook says I can’t have anything,” Culthyn interjected, walking dejectedly from the kitchen.

“That’s right,” Khethila said. “We’ll all eat together, and it won’t be all that long from now.”

“I’m hungry
now
.”

I turned to Culthyn. “Not another word. Sit down and be quiet.” I wanted to slap him silly. Mother was still shivering. Remaya was probably crying again. Khethila had been trying to hold everything in L’Excelsis together, and all Culthyn could think about was filling his stomach.

As I looked at Culthyn, he turned pale. “Yes, sir.” He did sit down on the settee next to Khethila.

Father actually stepped up behind Mother and enfolded her with his arms, one of the few times I’d seen him be that demonstrative even just before family.

“How are matters with you, Rhenn?” he finally asked.

“Compared to what’s happened here . . . I can’t complain. The Tiempran priests blew up their Temple in the South Middle taudis and killed close to two hundred marines and taudis-dwellers. There were a lot of other injuries.”

“You were there?” asked Khethila. “I read about that. What did you do?”

“What I had to. It comes with the assignment.”

She gave me the oddest look, but didn’t say more.

“Can’t trust those Tiemprans,” Father said. “Not any of those southerners, really, Caenenans aren’t any better, maybe worse.”

“I’m just about finished with another portrait. This is the one of the Collegium’s councilor . . .” I explained a bit.

Then Father told us about the train trip to Kherseilles and the one back, but said nothing about Rousel, and that I understood.

In another quint, Remaya rejoined us with a quieter Rheityr. “I fed him, and that helped.” Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, and while she’d removed any other physical traces, I had no doubt she’d shed more tears. How could she not, being in the home where her husband had grown up?

Just before five, Khethila slipped out to the kitchen, then returned to announce, “Dinner is ready.” She glanced to Culthyn. “Even for you.”

Culthyn looked to me before getting up, and he didn’t bound toward the dining chamber in his usual fashion. I didn’t care about that. As the youngest, he’d gotten away with far too much for too long.

Dinner was subdued, and no one talked much about anything except the food, the weather, and the dismal state of the world, but only in general terms where the world was concerned. I wasn’t surprised that no one said much about Rousel. For all his faults, he’d been cheerful and lively, and even alluding to him would have been too painful.

I finally left the house sometime after seventh glass, and I had to walk all the way to the Plaza D’Este to find a hack. I hadn’t been about to ask Charlsyn to stay on what was usually his day off. As I rode toward NordEste Design, I realized that I’d missed services at Imagisle, and I hoped that Seliora would be back from services, but then, hers were at sixth glass, not seventh as was the case at Imagisle.

When I finally walked up to the door and dropped the brass knocker, only a few moments passed before Seliora herself opened the door, dressed in a muted dark blue shirt and jacket, with a silver necklace and earrings.

“I hoped you’d come.”

“I hoped you’d be here.” I stepped inside and let her close and bolt the door. Then I put my arms around her. “I can’t stay too long.”

“I know.”

We walked up the staircase to the main hall and then over to the settee midway back and near the west wall, where we sat down.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” she asked.

I nodded. “Rousel’s dead, and I caused it, but it’s not really my fault, and yet it is, and I don’t dare say anything. What good would that do?”

“It wouldn’t. Your parents and Remaya don’t need to bear hate for you because of Ryel’s actions.”

“Still . . . it’s hard. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I want to be here for you.”

For that I was grateful, and I reached out and embraced her again. After a time I said, “The memorial service is at the second glass of the afternoon on Jeudi at the Anomen D’Este. You know where that is—just off the Plaza D’Este?”

“We go to the Nordroad Anomen, but I’ve seen it. I’ll be there. Odelia might come with me.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” She leaned toward me and brushed my cheek with her lips, then leaned back. “Rhenn? How do you feel? Tell me.”

I turned to her. “I feel guilty, even though I had no way of knowing that half blinding Johanyr would lead to Rousel’s death, and I didn’t even mean to hurt Johanyr that much. I’m angry, because Ryel’s arrogance and pride have created so much turmoil and death, and because I’ve had to do things I’d rather not do to protect my family and stay alive. I’ve dragged your family into it, and they’ve supported me because you love me. I’m angry at that, too, because there doesn’t seem any other way to resolve things. I’m angry at the Collegium because their frigging rules mean that no one will stand up directly to the High Holders and because it means I have to fight something all alone except for you and your family, and that’s one family against everyone. That’s the way it feels, anyway.”

“And when you win, what then? Will you be able to put the anger aside?”

When I won?

“You will win.” Seliora took my hands. “You must destroy those who would kill your family . . . and us . . . but no more.”

Were her words based on Pharsi farsight . . . or faith? Or both? Whatever they were based on, there was no doubt of her absolute conviction, and that was more chilling than my own doubts about whether I’d be able to prevail.

For a time we clung to each other, although I was the one clinging, really. Then it was time for me to return to Imagisle.

When I returned to the Collegium, I found my steps lagging as I approached my quarters. Was it because I wasn’t looking forward to anything in the week ahead? The corridor outside my quarters was empty, and so were they, but I could not shake a feeling of apprehension and dread as I laid out my garments for Lundi before preparing for bed.

Lundi was the coldest morning of autumn so far, with frost everywhere and a biting wind out of the northeast that rattled my windows and seeped into my quarters. Even so, I was in the duty coach before a quint past sixth glass, wearing the blue-gray patroller’s cloak that wasn’t as warm as my imager’s cloak. I walked into Third District station just after half past the glass. Lieutenant Warydt was waiting.

“Major Trowyn has suggested that your presence would be appreciated on the conscription team that will begin at the northwest corner of Mando and South Middle at seventh glass.” Warydt did not smile, for once, and for which I was grateful.

“I’ll join them now.”

Warydt nodded, saying nothing. I turned and headed for the station doors.

As I walked up Fuosta and then eastward on South Middle, I tried to remember what Maitre Jhulian had taught me about the laws concerning conscription. The five rights of citizens did not preclude searches of private property, but they did preclude seizure of property without cause. Conscription was not a seizure and was allowed for those older than fourteen who were not in school, not artisan apprentices or journeymen or higher, or otherwise engaged in trade or commerce as a proprietor or holder—or those who could show a worth of a hundred golds or more. In short, the Navy could conscript the jobless, day laborers, young idlers, and the like—and taudis-toughs . . . if they could find them. I doubted that many of the taudis-toughs would be found.

Three large stake wagons with bench seats were lined up on South Middle, opposite the ruins of the Temple. Did the marines expect to fill all those wagons with conscriptees? I certainly hadn’t seen that many young men or men who weren’t mindless elvers.

As I approached the marines gathered at the corner of Mando and South Middle, I did a quick count. Ten men—a chief, eight marines armed with truncheons of a length between a patroller’s truncheon and a riot stick, but with pistols at their belts, and a ninth marine with a bound folder. Did they need that many?

The chief kept surveying South Middle in both directions, until he saw me. Then he just waited until I stepped up to the marines.

“You’re the master imager working with the Civic Patrol?” he asked.

“Rhennthyl, Maitre D’Aspect, and liaison to the Civic Patrol.”

“You’re the one that captured those Tiempran friggers?”

“I worked with the Patrol and some of the local dwellers to bring them in. The locals didn’t want to be blamed for something they had no part in.”

The chief shook his head. “Smartest thing I ever saw in a taudis. Like as not, I’ll never see it again.” He looked to me. “You’re coming with us?”

I nodded. “That was the agreement with the major.”

“Then we’d better get started.” The chief gestured. “We’ll start on this side, go down as far as the alley, then come back and do the other side that far.”

I walked beside the chief to the first house on the corner, half of a duplex, with soot-smeared bricks and the windows and front door boarded up. Two of the marines produced pry bars, and in moments had the boards away from the door.

Three other marines slipped into the house.

In what seemed like moments, they returned with a bearded man, perhaps thirty, clad in a tattered leather jacket and trousers with ragged ends. His shoes were held together with rags, and his mouth worked silently for a moment before he spoke.

“I work! Over on the avenue.”

“Name the place and the owner.”

“Gosmyn’s. Hetyr owns it.”

I thought for a moment. I hated to say anything, but the fellow would probably live longer as a conscript. “Gosmyn’s place has been gone for two or three years.”

“Friggin’ trolie . . . frig you.”

“Take him to the wagons.” The chief’s voice held the resigned boredom of a man who’d heard all too many stories.

Two of the marines marched him off, but he turned and looked in my direction and spat.

We waited on the sidewalk while one of the remaining marines used a hammer to replace the boards over the door. Then we walked the few yards to the next stoop, where the chief rapped loudly.

A graying woman opened the door to the adjoining duplex. She might have once been pretty, but the gray in her reddish hair was less than flattering, and her eyes were a flat brown, not quite uncaring.

“Navy conscription team,” the chief announced.

She said nothing.

“Did you live here in the year 750?”

“Yes.” The resignation in the single word and the lines worn into the woman’s face suggested she was too tired to have moved anywhere in the past six years.

“The last enumeration states that eight people lived here, and two were boys aged eight and eleven,” the chief stated. “Where are they?”

“Doylen’s thirteen. He’s at the grammaire. Smart boy, he is.” The momentary smile removed the sullen dullness from her face.

“Which grammaire?”

“Number thirty-one. That’s the one at the corner of Weigand and Alseyo. You want to go there, he’ll be there.”

“What about his brother?”

She shrugged. “Left here last Juyn. Said he wouldn’t be staying till the scripties came back.”

“You mind if we look?”

With a resigned expression, she stepped back.

The chief nodded. “We won’t need to. Thank you very much.”

The woman moved forward, but waited to close the door until the chief and the two marines and I stepped off the stoop.

“You decided not to look because she agreed?” I asked.