L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

“That’s true, and I do appreciate your kind words.” I stood. “I hope what I conveyed will prove useful, and that the matter does not come up again, but I did want you to know.”

“You’re most kind, Maitre Rhennthyl.”

With that, I took my leave and headed downstairs and out of headquarters.

With the cold wind, gray skies, and occasional flakes of snow, I was glad that the duty coach was still waiting for me.

“You missed the row, sir,” offered Desalyt.

“Row?”

“Two fellows came out of the alleyway just up there. They starting fighting. One tried to smash the bistro windows over there. Patrollers came out from here. Stupid to start a fight across from a Patrol station. Always stupid folk.”

I nodded. “Sometimes you wonder.”

“That you do, sir. Where to?”

“Back to Imagisle.”

“Yes, sir.”

I climbed up into the coach.

Desalyt had waited with the coach headed away from the river on Fedre. So he drove up two blocks and turned right and went three blocks before he came back down Raegyr. I suspected that was so he didn’t have to handle the steep hill on Flaekan. As he turned onto the part of East River Road that ran almost due north, I glanced toward the river, and something struck me. The promenade between the road and the river wall was extremely narrow, no more than three yards, and the low retaining wall was little more than a yard. Could this have been the place where Kearyk drowned? A coach could have stopped, and he could have been carried that short distance and thrown into the river in instants. Late at night, it would have been unlikely that anyone would even have seen the coach stop-especially a black coach.

At that moment, the duty coach came to a halt. I glanced forward, but I couldn’t see what had blocked us.

“Wagon loose! Master Rhennthyl!”

I glanced to my right just in time to see a huge black wagon rumbling backward down Flaekan and across East River Road-right toward the duty coach. There was no way to get out of the coach in time. All I could do was strengthen my shields before the heavy wagon struck.

My shields held, but they didn’t stop the wagon from pushing the lighter coach right over the narrow river promenade to the low wall. Then, with another sickening crunch, the coach’s wheels ripped loose, and the remainder of the coach plunged down toward the gray water. I couldn’t help but brace for the impact. There wasn’t much of one, because the river below the wall was deep enough that once the coach struck the water it just kept descending, and icy water began to pour into the crumpled space around me. Both doors were jammed shut, and so were the window mechanisms.

I took a deep breath, then concentrated, imaging out the window glass from the door that seemed to be the one closest to the surface. More icy water poured over me, filling the entire inside of the coach, which seemed to be bobbing along under water or bouncing up from the bottom. I held my breath and grabbed the edges of the window fame, levering myself out, except my left boot became stuck and I found myself being caught and stretched as the current pulled me downstream and the sunken coach held me fast.

Somehow, I managed to pull my boot free, but my lungs felt like they were bursting by the time my head finally broke above the water. After a moment, I located the river wall. Then I started to swim toward it. That didn’t do much good, because all that was there was a sheer expanse of icy smooth stone stretching upward some five or six yards, and the current was carrying me southward.

I must have been swept two hundred yards downstream before I managed to locate one of the ladders, even if there wasn’t a platform at the bottom. I lunged and grabbed it, then got my boots on the bottom rung. It didn’t get any easier. The iron ladder was icy and slippery, and after I’d climbed three or four rungs, my hands were numb. I kept forcing myself up. I finally pulled myself over the wall and took several steps away from the river. I was shuddering almost uncontrollably.

As I stood on the still narrow river promenade, a thought occurred to me. Could I image the water out of my garments? Then I shook my head. They needed some residual water, or they’d likely turn to dust, and, with the water on my skin, and my exhausted state, I might end up injuring myself.

“Sir! Sir!” A patroller came running toward me. “Are you all right?”

“For the moment. If I don’t get out of these clothes, I’ll turn into an icicle.”

“This way, sir!”

Less than half a quint later, I was wearing borrowed baggy brown wool trousers and a blanket, standing in the kitchen of Aelys’s-a bistro I’d never known even existed.

“Can you tell me what happened, sir?” asked the patroller.

“What happened to my driver?” I worried about Desalyt.

“We haven’t found him, sir. One of the women who saw it said he went into the river.”

“Why didn’t the horses go into the river?”

“The traces broke, we think, sir. We had to put one of them down. Could you tell me what happened, please, sir?”

Along with my questions, that took almost a glass, enough that my boots, set near the stove, were only damp, as opposed to soaked. Then, after I took a hack to Imagisle, I had to tell the duty second about the accident, and then meet with Ghaend, who was in charge of transportation, so that he could tell Desalyt’s family, and Reynol, who handled losses of property for the Collegium. I also left a brief note for Maitre Dyana, who was at the Council Chateau, presumably meeting with Chief Counselor Ramsael.

It was nearing a quint past fourth glass before I finally left the administration building and made my way across the quadrangle and northward. As I walked swiftly up the front walk to the house, I caught sight of the Maitre’s dwelling, where Maitre Dyana would eventually take residence, and realized that the exterior looked to be complete. Work had slowed considerably, given the imagers who had left Imagisle to accompany Dartazn, but there were still enough, obviously, to continue with the repair and rebuilding.

Klysia stepped into the hall and looked at me, wrapped in a patroller blanket and baggy trousers, and carrying soaked grays and my winter cloak. In escaping from the coach, I’d lost my visored cap.

“Master Rhennthyl!”

“I took an unplanned swim in the river.”

By the time I had handed off the soaked garments, washed up, and donned fresh garments and dry boots and sat down in front of the family parlor fire for a quint or so, Seliora and Diestrya arrived. I stood and went to the foyer.

“Rhenn…you’re home early.”

“That’s because I took an unplanned swim in the River Aluse.”

“What? How did that happen?”

“Dada went swimming?” asked my daughter.

“I did. The water was cold. It wasn’t a good idea.” I turned to Seliora. “Let’s get Diestyra settled in the kitchen for her dinner, and then I’ll tell you.”

Seliora understood.

Once the two of us were back in the parlor, I went through the whole thing, grateful that, by the end of my tale, the combination of hot tea and warmth from the stove finally lifted the last lingering chill from my bones.

Seliora said quietly, “Cydarth wanted you dead.”

“That’s likely, but the way it was set up will make it difficult, if not impossible, to prove it. There are also a number of people who might want me dead, and all of them would know enough to pick ways that would be hard for an imager to escape.”

“Most imagers wouldn’t be able to image away a widow under water and swim through an icy river.”

“Oh…all of those Clovyl trains could do that part.”

“What? All ten of you? And who knows that?”