L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

It was fifth glass when I hailed a hack outside Third District station and took it to NordEste Design, where I got off. There wasn’t much point in our returning to Imagisle and then immediately leaving for my parents’ house for dinner.

Betara and Seliora met me at the top of the steps, while Hestya played with Diestrya on a settee near the door to the plaques room off to my right.

“We’ve gotten some word about the elveweed,” said Betara. “It sounds like the only places besides L’Excelsis where the fresher and stronger weed is being sold are Estisle, Westisle, Solis, and Kherseilles.”

“The capital and the major ports.” I paused. “Also, the same cities, except for L’Excelsis, where Pharsi men have been killed. It could be a coincidence…but…”

“You don’t think so,” replied Betara.

“I don’t, but I don’t have the faintest idea why the two would be connected, because, so far as I know, the Pharsi families don’t deal in elveweed.” Even as I spoke, another thought struck me. “Elveweed’s been around for a long time. From what I know, even when Mama Diestra was closer to the taudis, she didn’t deal with it. What’s the Pharsi attitude toward it? Is there one?”

“No true Pharsi likes it. It slows thought and takes away intelligence.”

“Did Mama Diestra lean on the dealers to keep it out or away from children or something like that?”

“She might have. That was when I was very young.” Betara’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think…?”

“I just wonder if the men who were killed were the types who dealt with the taudis…who had those kinds of connections and who felt the same way.”

Seliora looked to me. “Those are the most prosperous cities, aren’t they?”

“L’Excelsis is. The others are among the more prosperous, but places like Cloisonyt, Mantes, and Khelgror are just as well-off. Extela might be also.”

“The four others where the strong elveweed has appeared are ports, you said,” added Betara.

Why ports, I wondered, if the fresher weed was being grown in Solidar? It couldn’t be because it was coming off ships. “They are, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. If someone wanted to cause trouble in the port cities, giving stronger elveweed to taudis-dwellers and the comparative handfuls of others who smoke it certainly wouldn’t disrupt much.”

Betara and Seliora exchanged glances that suggested they didn’t know either.

I glanced around. “Odelia?”

“She’s gone,” Seliora said. “She’s not talking to me any more than she has to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Everyone has to make their own decisions. Haerasyn isn’t a child.” Betara paused. “I did overhear her telling Hanahra that Haerasyn thought that smoking elveweed would make him an imager, or something even better, and that was why the imagers wanted to stamp out elveweed.”

“That’s idiotic,” snapped Seliora. “Odelia knows better.”

“She does. So does Aegina. They both think he’s deluded, but…” She shrugged.

“That kind of rumor will tempt more young people to try it,” I said, “and that’s not good. More of them will die.”

We began to collect Diestrya and her things.

At half past five, Seliora, Diestrya, and I walked down to the hack Bhenyt had hailed for us and began the ride in along Nordroad to the Guild Square and then out the Midroad. We arrived just before sixth glass. After the hack pulled up and we stepped out and I paid the hacker, I couldn’t help comparing my parents’ house to that of Factor Roulet’s. The two looked similar in style, but the Roulet’s dwelling was perhaps a fifth smaller, with far narrower windows.

Even before we reached the front porch, Mother had opened the door. “Diestrya!”

Our daughter was bright enough to discern that grandmothers who received attention were far more likely to reward them with affection, and even more to the point, with treats. Diestrya hurried up the steps and threw both arms around Mother’s right leg. “Nana!”

We followed more sedately, allowing my mother her moment of full attention as she picked up Diestrya.

“Every time I see you,” Mother said to her granddaughter, “you’ve grown. You’re getting to be such a big girl. Now…Rheityr is waiting for you in the nursery, and there are treats for both of you.”

At the word “treats,” Diestrya smiled and hugged Mother again before Mother set her down and led her into the house.

Seliora and I exchanged a knowing glance. In that respect, it was a very good thing we didn’t see my parents too often.

Culthyn, Remaya, and Father were waiting in the family parlor, Father in his usual chair directly facing the stove, which emitted just enough heat for a chill autumn evening. Remaya turned from what ever she’d been discussing with Culthyn.

“What’s new with the Patrol business?” Father always referred to whatever I was doing as “business,” even when I’d been a journeyman artist.

“More of the usual,” I replied as Mother came back down the steps from the nursery.

“One moment, Chenkyr,” she interjected. “What would everyone like to drink before dinner? Seliora?”

“The Dhuensa, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“That’s what I’ll have,” replied Father, “as if you didn’t know already.”

“Red Cambrisio,” added Remaya.

“The same,” I said.

Mother slipped out to the kitchen, where I could hear Kiesela doing something with pots, but returned immediately.

“I ran across a Madame D’Roulet on Meredi,” I said. “She knew who I was. At least, she knew I was your son.”

Mother laughed, and Father looked puzzled.

“Don’t you remember, Chenkyr? It was years ago, when we went to that party of Dacastro’s. She was that awful nervous woman who dragged her husband over to try to sell you a pianoforte for Culthyn…”

Father frowned, his brow furrowed. “Why would I have done that?”

Culthyn looked at Mother, aghast. “You didn’t…?”

Mother ignored Culthyn. “Her name was Rachela or something like that.”

“Rauchelle,” I supplied.

“How did you come across her?” asked Mother.

“Her daughter died of an elveweed overdose. The mother didn’t really know what it was. She knew there was something like elveweed, but not much more. The patrollers called me in.”

“How terrible.” Mother shook her head. She looked to Culthyn.

“I wouldn’t try that.” His voice held the assurance all too common to well-off sixteen-year-olds, an assurance that reminded me of poor Rousel, who’d had assurance beyond his abilities. I had, too, but I’d been fortunate enough to survive it. Rousel hadn’t been fortunate enough to survive my un-warranted assurance, even though I’d had no idea that my acts would have led to his death.

Nellica appeared with a tray and tendered a goblet to each of us, then retreated to the kitchen or serving parlor.

“Do you know a factor named Broussard?” I asked my father, then took a sip of the Cambrisio.

“The one they thought had been killed in that explosion, except it was his assistant who’d taken his wife to the opera?” Father shook his head. “He’s from Piedryn, and we don’t sell much there…or buy wool. That’s grain land. He must be very well off…and well-connected. I couldn’t afford seats on the lower box row.” He laughed. “Even if I could, we couldn’t get them. Those are for High Holders…or their guests.”

“How do you know that, Chenkyr?” asked Mother.

“Veblynt told me that years ago. I doubt things have changed much. They never do where social matters are concerned.”

“I meant about where he was sitting.”

“Where his assistant was sitting, you mean. I read it somewhere. One of the newsheets, I think. I couldn’t make up something like that.”