L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

“He mentioned that yesterday.” I paused and took a sip of tea. “I can understand his concerns, and his points are logically made.”

“He is always logical,” agreed Dyana.

“There are times when I feel logic misses the point.”

“Such as?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Well . . . if one values not having to fight a war or a conflict with the Tiemprans to the point of allowing part of one of our cities to be razed or to permitting the conscription teams to vent their anger on our own people, that implies that at least some of our own people have less value than the merchants and sailors who might suffer from conflict. If the people come to believe that, then that will create more unrest and less support for the Council.”

Maitre Dyana laughed. “You have made a very logical counterpoint, but you haven’t said why or where Master Rholyn’s logic misses the point. Are you sure you aren’t just saying that Master Rholyn offers logical-sounding arguments that aren’t really that logical when analyzed?”

I shrugged. “That could be. I still feel that you can’t reduce every situation to logic.”

“Of course you can’t. People aren’t logical. They just use logic as needed to justify what they already believe. In governing, you have to appeal to their beliefs . . . or minimize the impact of those beliefs when what you are or what you’re doing stands against those beliefs.”

“That’s why you and Master Dichartyn emphasize that the Collegium must be as invisible as possible.”

She nodded. “People in every society in every time in every land want to believe that small groups of powerful people rule them secretly, even that such groups play people as though they were plaques in some arcane and complex game. While such games are played, they usually involve a very few people at high levels, most all of whom know the rules of such games. The majority of the populace thinks such games are widespread because they cannot accept that bad things usually happen because of greed and stupidity, usually involving many people, if not the entire population of a land. So . . . if the Collegium is seen as powerful and influential, according to people’s beliefs, we must be evil and out to rule them, or play them as if they were plaques.”

Unhappily, I could see that.

After breakfast, I walked northward along the west side of the quadrangle through the intermittent fog that rose off the river and drifted in patches through the Collegium. I’d decided to try to finish what I had to do on Maitre Rholyn’s portrait. That was something I could get done before I had to leave for my parents’ house. Seliora and I had talked it over the night before after dinner and decided that it would be better if she did not join me while I waited with Khethila for my parents and Remaya and Rheityr. I had promised either to stop by or drop Seliora a note to let her know what day and time Khethila had arranged for the memorial service at the Anomen D’Este.

Once I was in my studio I set to work and kept at it for close to six glasses, with perhaps half a glass off for a quick lunch. Then I cleaned up the studio, and myself, and set out across the Bridge of Hopes. The fog had lifted, except for patches drifting across the river, but a thin overcast kept the day from being comfortable, and I was glad to be wearing my heavy gray wool imager’s cloak.

The hack dropped me in front of the house at about two quints before three, and Khethila opened the door. She gave me a sad smile and then an embrace. I held her for a moment, then followed her into the family parlor, and we sat down. The hearth stove warmed the parlor, for which I was grateful after the chill ride in the hack.

“Charlsyn left just after two. That should be enough time, shouldn’t it?” she asked.

“On a Solayi, I would think so. How are you feeling?”

“Running the factorage helps. I know I have to keep things going.” She laughed nervously. “Everything is in perfect order, even the sample racks, and I went through all the past invoices and found several that hadn’t been paid in full. So I sent out reminders. Some won’t ever be paid, but some might.”

“How are the finances here?”

“The fire damage didn’t help, but it will still be a good year for the factorage here. Father is supposed to bring back the ledgers from Kherseilles.” She shook her head. “I hope the losses there aren’t too bad.”

So did I.

“When is the service?” I finally asked.

“Oh . . . I should have told you. It’s on Jeudi, the second glass of the afternoon.” She went on to provide the details, including the fact that I would offer the family remembrance.

By a quint before fourth glass, every few moments Khethila would glance out the window that overlooked the drive leading to the side portico.

“The train could have been late, and we don’t know how much luggage Remaya may have brought for her and Rheityr.” I paused. “Will she be staying here?”

“I don’t know. Mother will want her to, but . . . her parents may have their ideas.”

At just after a quint past four the familiar brass-trimmed brown coach pulled up under the portico. Khethila hurried out, and I followed.

Father was the first out of the coach, then Culthyn and Mother. Remaya handed Rheityr, bundled and squirming, to Mother before stepping down herself. All of them looked tired.

I gave Mother a hug. She needed it.

“I’m glad you’re here, dear.”

“Good to be home,” Father said, to no one in particular.

“I’m hungry,” said Culthyn.

“Dinner will be ready at fifth glass. You can wait,” replied Khethila.

Remaya held Rheityr tightly, then looked at me. “Thank you for coming. Rousel . . .” Her voice trembled. “He said you would always be here.”

“How could I not?” I replied gently. “He was my brother, and I did introduce you.” I offered a smile, trying somehow to inject some warmth into the chill that seemed to permeate everything. That was hard, because my acts had led to Rousel’s death, and yet, how could I have known? I smiled at the squirming Rheityr. “He’s beautiful. I’d heard he was.”

“I need to change him,” Remaya said.

“The guest chambers are all ready for you,” Mother said.

Remaya hurried off, close to tears, I feared.

“It’s cool out here,” Mother said. “There’s no reason to stand here in the wind.”

Culthyn had already vanished, doubtless into the kitchen, but the rest of us followed Mother into the family parlor, where she stood before the stove in the hearth.

“The train was cold the entire way from Mantes,” she said.

“And entirely too hot from Kherseilles to Mantes,” Father rumbled.

“Cook says I can’t have anything,” Culthyn interjected, walking dejectedly from the kitchen.

“That’s right,” Khethila said. “We’ll all eat together, and it won’t be all that long from now.”

“I’m hungry now .”

I turned to Culthyn. “Not another word. Sit down and be quiet.” I wanted to slap him silly. Mother was still shivering. Remaya was probably crying again. Khethila had been trying to hold everything in L’Excelsis together, and all Culthyn could think about was filling his stomach.

As I looked at Culthyn, he turned pale. “Yes, sir.” He did sit down on the settee next to Khethila.

Father actually stepped up behind Mother and enfolded her with his arms, one of the few times I’d seen him be that demonstrative even just before family.

“How are matters with you, Rhenn?” he finally asked.

“Compared to what’s happened here . . . I can’t complain. The Tiempran priests blew up their Temple in the South Middle taudis and killed close to two hundred marines and taudis-dwellers. There were a lot of other injuries.”