L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

“And Odelia got upset and then retreated?”

“You’ve gotten to know her moods well.”

“For better or worse, her feelings come first.” I didn’t point out that sometimes thought came far later, if at all.

“She’s good at heart,” Seliora pointed out.

“That’s true, but she can be hard on those closest to her.” I laughed as we walked into the family parlor. “At times, I suppose, that’s true of all of us.” The warmth of the stove felt good after a cold night and a colder hack ride back to Imagisle.

“You’re aware of that, dearest.” She squeezed my hand. “You’re cold. Sit down. I have some warm spiced wine for you.”

I didn’t need much persuasion to settle on the settee in front of the stove, especially since I knew Seliora would be back beside me before long.

Meredi followed the same pattern as had Mardi, but late as I stayed at the station that night, there was still no sign of any violence. That left me edgy, but I didn’t doubt that some form of attack would occur. I just didn’t know when, and I didn’t sleep that well on Meredi night.

Jeudi was bright, clear, and cold, even when I reached Third District station just past mid-day. To me, the chill foreshadowed a long and cold winter. Lyonyt looked up from the duty desk as I neared.

“Are there any severe problems this morning?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

“Any dispatches from headquarters?”

“No, sir.”

“Is the lieutenant in yet?”

“Yes, sir. He’s been here for a glass or so.”

I checked the duty logs. The number of elver deaths was about the same-two for the previous evening-but incidents and arrests remained low, and that was as good a sign as any that trouble wasn’t far away. Even though that made no logical sense, that was always the way it was. Then I walked into Alsoran’s study.

“Still too quiet,” I offered.

“It is.” He smiled, ruefully. “How long do you think before the druggers’ boys start trying to take out patrollers?”

“Tonight will be the second dry night. It looks like it will be clear. I’d say tonight or tomorrow.” I shrugged. “Then, it could be Samedi.”

“Not Solayi?”

“That’s unlikely. Even the Duodeans and the Puryons respect Solayi. Besides, fewer people are out, and that’s likely to call attention to strangers. They like to mingle in crowds once they’ve made a score.”

“You’re probably right about that. How long will they keep at it?”

“Until they kill at least five or six patrollers or until we stop them. That’s a guess, but there’s more at stake here than a crazy tiler killing expendable drug dealers.”

“You keep saying that, Captain, but you avoid saying what is.” Alsoran glanced toward the barred windows that fronted on Fuosta.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire future of Solidar isn’t.”

Alsoran looked at me for a long moment. “I don’t think you’re jesting. But…druggies shooting at patrollers affecting all of Solidar?”

“Oh…what happens here is only a small part of what’s happening. The stronger weed is hitting the five most important cities in Solidar. Elver deaths are higher than ever before, and half are hitting outside the taudis-among people with shops and golds. There’s almost a civil war going on in the eastern grain lands between the freeholders and the High Holders. War is about to break out between Jariola and Ferrum. And Cydarth is scheming to replace the Commander. But it’s all going to happen at once.”

“I can’t say as I’ve seen you this gloomy before.”

I forced a smile. “I could be wrong. All these things might be coincidence.”

The lieutenant snorted. “For a patroller, coincidence is a fair-weather friend. We both know that.”

After leaving Alsoran, I spent the next several glasses catching up on the various reports required by headquarters, mostly by Cydarth, who thought that more reports equated to more accountability and more effective patrolling. Beyond a certain point, I’d observed in my own experience, greater accountability resulted in less effectiveness because too much time and effort was spent on reports and documentation.

I made my first rounds with Deomyn and Zarcyl, around sixth glass. While they had to handle a drunken husband and catch and tie up a loose sway-backed dray, their round was calm. At a quarter past eighth glass I switched to accompanying Sammyl and Rarydn. Their round encompassed the east end of the district out to the Plaza SudEste, the same one I’d once patrolled with Alsoran years before, and the round I thought likely to see taudis-toughs or strong-arms from the Hellhole.

We’d made one complete circuit and were just two blocks in and a block east of the woodworks, when a taudis-kid gave a low whistle from the alleyway.

“Sir?” asked Sammyl.

“It’s for me.”

The two patrollers exchanged looks, but said nothing as I slipped away from them and walked up to the alleyway. I waited.

The slender figure studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Jadhyl says four outsiders are moving up the alley west of Fedre. They crossed Quierca by the old silversmith’s. They’re likely carrying pieces.”

“Give him my thanks.” I slipped a pair of coppers to the taudis-kid-a girl, I realized after the fact, as she vanished into the darkness.

I had a good idea where the four outsiders were headed, and that was to the forked alleyway west of Fedre just off North Middle, where the lighting offered a clear view of anyone on the south side of North Middle, and where two separate patroller rounds intersected. That section of the alley was also slightly higher, and afforded several escape routes.

Sammyl and Rarydn and I took two side alleys and zigzagged through the taudis until we reached the top of the alley two blocks south of North Middle, just short of the fork and only a block inside the taudis.

We waited less than a tenth of a glass before I could make out movement in the alleyway south of us. Despite the fact that Artiema hung barely over the houses behind me and was little more than a crescent, it wasn’t long until I could make out four figures in black jackets, not even moving all that quietly.

“Stay close to me.” I kept my voice low.

Both patrollers moved shoulder to shoulder with me as I walked through the darkness toward the shadows, holding my shields around the three of us.

“Halt! Just stop where you are,” I called.

The four never said a word. Bullets slammed into my shields.

Two of the guns had muzzle flashes, and I imaged iron into the barrels. Both weapons exploded, and the toughs carrying them collapsed where they stood. The other two turned and started to run. I imaged a sheet of oil onto the pavement in front of them. They pitched onto the stone.

I kept walking toward them.

One of the two on the rough alley pavement didn’t move. The other one-the squatter figure-rolled onto his side and lifted a short-barreled, wide-muzzled weapon. He fired twice.

The force of the shells against my shields threw me back, and I nearly fell. I staggered, and, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

The squat figure started to run. I imaged more oil under his feet, and projected air and a partial shield. Under the combined attack, he went down hard.

“You all right, Captain?” asked Rarydn.

“A little winded, but I’ll be fine.” I might also be sore, but I wouldn’t know that until later.

Still holding my shields, I imaged away the oil, then moved toward the fallen figures. The two patrollers flanked me, truncheons ready to strike, but even the squat black-jacketed strong-arm was out cold.

We checked all four, but the two whose weapons had exploded were both dead. The other two had cuts and some shrapnel wounds, but they were breathing.