L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

That explained the burns on the dead runner’s face.

“Don’t take me away!” she pleaded.

Yherlyt looked to me. I understood why I was there.

“I don’t see any reason to take you anywhere,” I said. “Two elveweed runners attacked you to collect silvers that they said your son owed them. You defended yourself. Self-defense is allowed.” I paused. “We will need to take Nygeo’s body.”

“He won’t need it…” Behind the stoic words was an edge, and her eyes were bright, but her voice did not break, nor did actual tears flow.

“I’m very sorry,” I said, inclining my head to her.

She just turned away.

Yherlyt and I carried both bodies out of the dwelling and to the sidewalk.

“Thank you, sir,” he said as we lowered Nygeo’s already stiff figure to the stone.

“You’re welcome. I just did what captains are here for. Write up the report the way she said it, but mention that he had a knife when the dead runner asked for the silvers.”

“Yes, sir. That’s the way Mhort and I heard it, too.”

“Is there anything else you need me for, Yherlyt?”

“No, sir.” He paused.

“I need to tell Deyalt. They’re not supposed to be using schoolboys for runners.”

“No, sir.” After a moment, he added, “I’d not speak poorly of the dead, but Nygeo was always a problem. Foyneo is a good boy.”

“We don’t want the dealers getting any ideas.” I didn’t like having any elveweed in the taudis, but there wasn’t any way I could stop the trade. I’d had to use every tool I knew to get the taudischefs to press for the ban on selling to schoolchildren and not using schoolchildren from the taudis as runners.

I spent more than a glass on the streets. I never did find Deyalt, but did run down one of his toughs in the green jackets. There were always a few around, keeping an eye on things.

“Captain, sir.”

“You know Ismelda on Sleago? She sometimes works for a seamstress. She has two boys. One of them might have been a runner.”

“That’d be Nygeo. Deyalt told him not to run.”

“He won’t run anymore. He smoked too much. He’s dead. Two other runners tried to collect from Ismelda. One’s dead, and we’re taking the other. I thought Deyalt ought to know.” I offered a pleasant smile.

He froze for a moment. “Deyalt told ‘em all…”

“I’m not blaming anyone. But…perhaps Deyalt might put out the word-again-that I don’t like elveweed at all. I especially don’t like schoolboys being sold to or used as runners.”

“He don’t either, Captain.”

“Then we’re all agreed, aren’t we?” I smiled again, before heading back to the station.

Comparatively speaking, the rest of the afternoon was calm, and I caught a hack on South Middle a little after fifth glass. I couldn’t help thinking about poor stupid dead Nygeo, and the devastation I’d felt in his mother. It didn’t help that, when I arrived at NordEste Design, I was as worried as I always was when Seliora left Imagisle without me, even if she always carried her pistol and even if she was a very good shot. I hurried up the steps to the covered portico.

The door opened before I could lift the well-polished and shining but battered knocker that was shaped like a stylized upholsterer’s hammer.

The twins-Hanahra and Hestya, Odelia’s younger sisters-stood there.

“She’s already here, Uncle Rhenn.” They both smiled slyly, enjoying calling me ‘uncle’ even though I was married to their cousin, not their aunt; but then, they’d always thought of Seliora as an aunt, and now that she had a child, the age difference seemed even greater, although the twins were seventeen and looked older.

“And you’re not with Diestyra?” I stepped into the foyer, and Hanahra closed the door.

“Bhenyt is. She wanted ‘Uncle Bhenyt,’” Hestya said dryly. “She’s already flirting. She’s good at it.”

That was something else I’d have to worry about in years to come.

Since the sole inside exit to the foyer was the polished oak staircase, I followed them up the steps. The ample staircase, with its gleaming brass fixtures and elaborately carved balustrades, opened out at the top into a large entry hall, a good ten yards deep and eight wide. Light golden oak comprised the paneled walls. A lush carpet of deep maroon, with a border of intertwined golden chains and brilliant green leafy vines, largely covered an intricately patterned parquet floor. Set around the foyer were chairs and settees of dark wood, upholstered in various fabric designs. There were, however, far fewer than there once had been, because many of the pieces, which had been samples of the work of NordEste Design, had found their way to our house on Imagisle. At the south end of the hall was a pianoforte, well-kept, if seldom played, I had discovered.

Bhenyt sat in a chair on the left side of the hall, several yards away, his legs crossed, with Diestrya riding on his boot while he held her hands. My daughter never glanced in my direction, although Seliora, wearing a light green dress with a dark gray jacket, certainly did, and she smiled. Standing beside her were her father, Shelim, and her brother Shomyr, broad-shouldered, black-bearded, and half a head shorter than I was. Shomyr’s wife, Haelya, with short orange-flame hair, was turned facing Seliora. She was expecting their second child in Avryl.

From the far side of the group, Betara walked toward me. Dark-haired and wiry, wearing blue silk trousers and a matching jacket, at a distance she could easily have been Seliora’s older sister, rather than her mother. Her smile was identical to Seliora’s. “How was your day?”

“Not terrible,” I replied, “but I have to say that I’ve had better.” I didn’t see several members of the family. “Where’s Methyr?” I asked.

“He’s upstairs with a fever,” replied Seliora as she joined us. “Father just checked on him and Grandmama Diestra.”

With her words, I realized I hadn’t seen Grandmama. Betara, understandably, often called her Mama Diestra. I didn’t see Odelia and Kolasyn, nor Odelia’s mother Aegina, but Aegina was often in the kitchen when we arrived. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Odelia.

“Mama Diestra would like a word with you, Rhenn,” Betara said. “She’s upstairs in the plaques room.”

“She won’t be joining us for dinner?”

“Her legs are bothering her more than usual.”

I looked to Seliora and Betara. “You two should come.” I knew Betara would, but Seliora should know what ever Diestra had to say as well.

I followed Betara and Seliora up the stairs, which had a large landing halfway up, and then across the upper hall. As the three of us entered the upstairs plaques room, Diestra looked up from where she sat in front of an array of plaques, then swept them up, shuffled, and stacked them with a fluidity that remained amazing. As I well knew, for all her age, she was a master player of both life and plaques. “You’re looking well, Rhenn.”

“And so are you.”

“The flattery is transparent, but it is welcome, as is your presence.” She smiled and waited for us to sit down around the circular table. Her hair had turned from a heavy gray to a silvery sheen over the years since Seliora and I had been married, but it was still thick and well-brushed, and her eyes were bright, if circled by a blackness that suggested increasing frailty.

“The greener or fresher elveweed is appearing all over L’Excelsis,” Diestra finally said. “It’s stronger than the dried weed from Caenen and Tiempre. One of my contacts said it was like the weed that came from Stakanar years back, before the Stakanarans rooted it all out.”

“They’re still getting the dried weed in Rivages and Touryl,” Betara added.