L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

“We picked up four dead elvers last night. There were two last week. In over five years, I’ve never seen more than one in a week.”

Deyalt didn’t speak for a moment. “It won’t stop, Captain. Word is that the weed isn’t bad. It’s just a lot stronger. Makes ‘em feel even better. They’ll pay more for it.”

That made matters even worse, not better. The elvers might lay off if they thought the fresher elveweed was poisoned, but a stronger smoke would only end up with more dying. “That will mean more deaths.”

Deyalt nodded. “We can’t do much about that. Jadhyl thought you should know.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure the patrollers understand.” I paused. “Do you know if the other taudis are getting the same stronger weed?”

“I heard that it started in the Hellhole. Other than that…maybe down by the south river piers…I couldn’t say.”

“Thank you.” I nodded, and he slipped away.

The afternoon suddenly turned cold and windy, as it often did in fall, and I was happy to get out of the chill when I returned to the station. My relief vanished with the appearance of two separate dispatches from the Subcommander. One requested an update on any information any district captain might have on the Place D’Opera explosion. The second one was directed at me, wanting to know what the decrease in chargings from Third District meant, indirectly suggesting that we weren’t doing our job, as if the number of arrests and incarcerations were the only measure of Patrol success.

How exactly could I reply without sounding arrogant? If I said that Third District had fewer chargings because we’d done something to reduce a few of the causes of crime, that was presumptuous. So was pointing out that the local taudischefs really didn’t want to get me angry. So was suggesting that because the taudis was quieter, we could shift a few more patrols to the Avenue D’Artisans and along the Midroad, and that cut down on smash-and-grabs and common theft.

All of those were probably true, but I couldn’t prove it. All Cydarth cared about was numbers. To him, arrests and chargings were proof of Patrol effectiveness. I didn’t want to press my men to make arrests for his numbers.

So I spent more than a glass writing a calm and dispassionate reply that noted a decrease in violence and attributed it to the wise policies promulgated by headquarters…and the aftermath of the removal of the disruptive influence of the Tiempran Temple of Puryon.

After that, I went out and accompanied Chualat on his rounds in the area just east of the Guild Square. When I returned to the station, the Collegium’s duty coach was waiting, and I was more than ready to leave, but I still was a quarter-glass late in reaching NordEste Design.

Happily, Seliora had had a better day, and our ride with Diestrya back to the Collegium was short and uneventful. Seliora didn’t even complain too much about my wanting to talk to Master Draffyd, especially after I told her why.

Draffyd was in the infirmary, but he almost glared when I walked in. Then he recognized me and smiled. “Rhenn…I haven’t seen you in a while, and you’re on your feet.”

“I wanted your advice.” I explained what had happened the day before with the child who’d swallowed the elveweed. “I didn’t know what else to do. I knew it was dangerous. But…” I shrugged.

“I’m glad you realized how dangerous it could have been. The child was fortunate you were the imager there. But you were still very lucky. If you could come in after dinner next Meredi, I’d like to work with you then. Don’t eat much supper.”

“I’ll be here.”

I hurried back to the house and arrived with enough time to spare that we both spent a half-glass playing with Diestrya before readying her for bed, and then dressing for dinner at the Dichartyns’. I just washed up and brushed my grays. Seliora changed into an outfit consisting of a dark gray shimmering blouse, with a matching long skirt trimmed in a deep burgundy, and a jacket of the same shade of burgundy.

Then we set out, Seliora carrying a basket filled with two bottles of an amber Grisio that her Aunt Staelia had suggested was quite refreshing. Since Staelia owned and very successfully operated Chaelya’s-what I would have called a gourmet bistro-her recommendations were worth heeding.

Master Dichartyn’s house was two dwellings to the north of ours. We walked past the dwelling of Master Rholyn and then the one of Maitre Dyana. From the outside, all four looked similar: gray stone walls, with dark slate gray roofs, and leaded glass windows. Each had a low stone wall enclosing the space around the house, with raised beds for gardens flanking the walls, and lawn between the raised beds and the stone walkway surrounding each house. Running along the wide spaces between the walls surrounding each house were stone walks, flanked by low boxwood hedges and, except in winter, flower beds. The dwellings’ window casements were painted dark gray-with one exception. Not surprisingly, Maitre Dyana had the trim on her dwelling painted two shades of blue, one a dark grayish blue, and other a light mist blue. But then, she always wore a bright scarf with her imager grays, and more often than not those scarves were either blue or contained blue.

Just beyond Master Dichartyn’s dwelling was that of Maitre Poincaryt, or more properly, the official dwelling of the Maitre of the Collegium Imago, located on a low flat knoll doubtless raised two yards above the others just to distinguish it from the houses of the other senior masters. It was also half again as large as the dwellings of the senior masters that surrounded it. Seliora and I had only been inside Maitre Poincaryt’s dwelling little more than a handful of times, usually at the year-end reception he held for all the masters of the Collegium.

When we reached the door of the Dichartyns, I didn’t even have to lift the knocker, because he opened the door, his gray hair backlit by the lamps of the foyer behind him. “Rhenn, Seliora…please come in.”

He stepped back, and his wife hurried from the hallway behind to join him.

Seliora handed the basket to Aelys. “We thought you might enjoy this.”

“Oh…you didn’t have to…” replied the good Madame Dichartyn, as angular as when I’d first seen her at the Imagisle Anomen six years earlier, “but it was so kind of you.” With her last words, that angular severity vanished with the warm welcoming smile she bestowed on us. “The girls are at Maitre Poincaryt’s, watching over his grandchildren. He and Auralya are entertaining his daughter and son and their spouses. They don’t see them that often, since one couple lives in Cloisonyt and the other in Khelgror. But…you must come and see my indoor herb garden.” Aelys drew Seliora away.

Master Dichartyn said quietly, “I’d like just a moment with you, Rhenn.”

I waited for him to speak.

“Yesterday, you were talking to Baratyn. You gave him quite a worry.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to. He made a pleasantry about things being quiet at the Council Chateau, and I said that they weren’t likely to stay that way. All I meant was that, with a resumption of the war between Jariola and Ferrum likely, he’d likely be seeing more assassins and the like, the same way as before.”

“Rhenn,” Dichartyn said quietly, “please think about who you are. Believe it or not, people will read more into your words than you may mean. This time, there’s no harm done, because I told him the same thing this morning, and that was when he said you’d already warned him, but I don’t think you meant it in quite the same way, did you?”

“I meant that it was likely…not…” I wasn’t quite certain what else to say.

“Rhenn…how many Maitres D’Structure are there in the Collegium?”