L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

“There have been more fires and flooding of the freeholder grain and flour storage facilities, not only around Piedryn, but across much of the southeast of Solidar,” added Dichartyn. “Another grain silo of High Holder Haebyn also caught fire and exploded.”

“Are the southeastern freeholders and High Holders turning to arms yet?” My words were sardonic, yet I couldn’t help but worry.

“The Council has cautioned both the High Holders and the freeholders, and the ‘accidents’ have dropped off in the last week.” Maitre Poincaryt’s voice was dry. “Unfortunately, I just learned from the Naval Command that quite an amount of old munitions, as well three bombards, have been found to be missing from the Army Ordnance Depot outside Ferravyl.” Maitre Poincaryt’s voice was so calm he might have been discussing the duty maitre’s schedule-a task from which I was exempted so long as I served with the Civic Patrol.

Even Dichartyn looked surprised. “When did that happen? Is there anything linking Broussard or Haebyn to the disappearance?”

“There’s no link to anyone. Worse is the fact that they’ve apparently been missing for months. That may explain what was behind the Place D’Opera explosion.”

“The munitions make sense, but bombards? Who would want them? They’re essentially immobile siege guns. How old are they?” asked Dichartyn.

“So old that no one missed them, initially,” replied Maitre Poincaryt.

“How could anyone walk out with one of those?” I asked. Let alone three .

“They probably planned it months, if not years ago,” replied Maitre Poincaryt. “We don’t know, but I’d wager that they posed as an Army or Navy transport team and used official wagons or the like, then transshipped whatever they took in official crates and used the ironway or a river steamer. Several tonnes of older munitions are missing.”

“And the Army just found out?”

“A marshal and several generals have been relieved. An investigation is under way.” Poincaryt looked to me. “That’s another reason why we wanted to talk to you. Dichartyn has said you had an explosion at a branch of the Banque D’Excelsis in your district.”

“Whoever did it was an expert. It was designed to bend the outer doors open, but not to injure anyone. So far as I could determine, as I told Master Dichartyn, the entire idea was to get my attention so that I would believe the information handed to me.”

Dichartyn nodded. “We have been led to believe that the funds transfers were shifted from commercial accounts in overseas branches.”

“Both of them?” I asked.

“So we’ve been told; but without seeing the actual ledgers, we can’t prove whether Subcommander Cydarth and Councilor Caartyl are being set up or paid off.” Dichartyn’s lips pursed in an expression between disgust and frustration. “Without evidence, we can’t question either one.”

“Have you seen or heard anything more about the use of explosives here in L’Excelsis?” Maitre Poincaryt asked me.

“No, sir.”

“There’s one other matter,” observed Dichartyn. “No one has shot at you or attacked you, have they?”

“No.”

“That’s troubling…”

I understood why. The last time Ferrum had gone to war, they’d deployed assassins all across Solidar, and more than a score of imagers had been killed. If the Ferrans were considering war against Jariola, and the likelihood that Solidar would oppose Ferrum, then given the fact that the Collegium had created problems for Ferrum in the past, why hadn’t there been any resumption of attacks against imagers? But…there was one other thing. “Did you hear that Captain Bolyet was killed in an accident by a loose crane on Lundi? His lieutenant is acting captain, and he’s definitely a backer of Cydarth.”

Poincaryt and Dichartyn exchanged glances, and the Maitre of the Collegium nodded ever so slightly before asking, “Have you heard anything from your other sources?”

“I told you about the Pharsi deaths. I still think they’re connected.”

“So do we, but we haven’t figured out how they fit in and why they’d benefit the freeholders, the factors, or the Ferrans.”

We talked a while longer, although they did most of the talking, largely about possibilities and cautions.

“Before you go, Rhenn, there is one other thing.” Maitre Poincaryt smiled pleasantly. “You also need several sessions with Draffyd. He’s expecting you on Lundi night at seventh glass for the first. If that interferes with your Civic Patrol duties, you can change the day.”

“Lundi night will be fine.” For me, though not necessarily for Seliora; but the sooner I got through what ever they wanted, the better.

When I met Draffyd for another grisly session of many was, I suspected, up to me; but now that I’d revealed that I had some talent for medical imaging, Maitre Poincaryt was determined it would be developed as much as practicable. And I’d need to fit that in with everything else at a time when both Seliora and I were handling more than either of us had planned on…not to mention a daughter who was clearly less than pleased with the diminished amount of attention available from her parents.

For all of the worrying and discussion that had taken place on Jeudi afternoon in Maitre Poincaryt’s study, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary occurred in Third District on Vendrei, although I had cautioned all the patrollers to be alert for anything unusual and to let me or Alsoran know. Not that there weren’t lawbreakers, because there were, including three out-of-work casual laborers who decided to grab at every wallet in sight around the Plaza D’Este. They hadn’t been exactly sober, but it took three patrollers and several bystanders to subdue them before they were carted off. Another elver was found dead, and Caesaro had to bring in a tart for blatantly soliciting on the sidewalk on the Midroad, and then for trying to cut him up with a dagger.

After my exercises and run on Samedi, Seliora left me with our daughter and took a hack to NordEste Design so that she could catch up on everything she hadn’t been able to do when Diestrya was ill earlier in the week. I couldn’t really complain. I’d worked every other Samedi for the past five years.

Even so, by half-past ninth glass, Diestrya was looking and acting restless. So, despite the chill, I stuffed her into leggings and her coat and cap, and we set out on a walk. The wind was light but chill, but the sunlight was bright, although I could see clouds to the northeast, moving toward L’Excelsis, it seemed.

We didn’t get all that far-just to the gate to Maitre Dyana’s dwelling-where she was trimming the thorn-roses.

“Good morning, Diestrya,” she offered.

“Good morning,” Diestrya replied. “What are you doing?”

“Trimming the thorn-roses.” She set the iron shears on the top of the wall. “How are you doing, Rhenn?”

“I’m fine, but I have to say that I’m worried. I feel like everything is about to explode, and yet there’s nothing obvious.”

She laughed, wryly, reaching down and easing the shears away from Diestrya’s inquiring grasp. “Usually, those are the worst catastrophes. This one looks worse than the Stakanaran-Tiempran disaster.”

I’d read about it, when the Stakanarans had tried to invade the south of Tiempre and seize the diamond and gold mines, but I didn’t recall it. That wasn’t surprising, since it had taken place when I’d been about the age Diestrya was. I’d always wondered what Maitre Dyana did, but her statement suggested something I should have seen earlier. “Was that when you had the position that Schorzat does now?” That was a guess, based on a few observations.