L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

By that time, it was well past second glass, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Thankfully, there were always hacks around the Square of Justice, and I caught one almost immediately. I had the hacker drop me off on the Boulevard D’Council, just short of the Bridge of Desires, because there were several patisseries there.

I chose Jhesepa’s and took my time over a rolled lamb flatbread and some hot tea. Then I walked back over the bridge and made my way to my quarters.

Once there, I forced myself to sit down at the writing desk and take out the two sheets of paper that held what I had written about Rousel. Over the next two glasses, I rewrote everything twice, but only ended up with another half page of thoughts and comments, but I felt better about what I had. Then I slipped them into a folder and left to make my way to dinner.

The quadrangle was windy, but not quite so chill as earlier, or so it seemed. When I entered the dining-hall building, I saw a group gathered in the corridor outside the hall proper. In the center was Kahlasa, surrounded by Reynol, Meynard, Engmyr, Martyl, and Dartazn. The conversation was animated, and I eased my way toward them.

“Kahlasa’s been made Maitre D’Aspect,” announced Reynol, turning to me as I approached. “Now you’ll have to listen to her again at meals.”

“When he’s here, and that’s not often anymore,” Kahlasa replied.

“Talk about not being here,” I countered. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“She had to have done something special, but she won’t talk about it,” added Meynard.

“You wouldn’t want her to,” replied Engmyr, who was close to finishing his training as a field operative.

As the bells chimed six, I walked to the masters’ table with Kahlasa. She sat between Ferlyn and me.

“When did you find out?” I asked.

“This morning, but Master Schorzat had hinted it might be coming.”

“You already held it as a concealed rank, didn’t you?”

“For a while.”

“Does that mean you’ll do more planning and less fieldwork?”

She nodded. “It’s the right time. Besides, it’s hard to do fieldwork when you’re expecting.”

I almost choked on the wine that I’d begun to sip. “I . . . I didn’t know.”

“Claustyn and I were married just before we were sent out on our last tours.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but it had to conceal pain.

“That has to be a true mixed blessing,” I said. “I’m glad for you, but . . . it can’t be easy, either.” I’d liked Claustyn, and that he had a legacy seemed only right, but that Kahlasa would be without him seemed so wrong. Maybe I felt that way because of what had happened to Rousel, but I would have liked to have thought it wouldn’t have mattered.

“We’ll manage.” Her smile was slightly forced. “The word is that you’ve upset the Collegium, the Civic Patrol, and the Navy all at once.”

“Something like that,” I admitted. “I warned the naval marines not to ride down unarmed taudis-dwellers outside a Tiempran Temple. They did, and the Tiemprans exploded the Temple and killed something like two hundred people, half of them marines. I persuaded one of the local taudischefs to help me capture the priests and the collaborating taudischef and also persuaded the major left in command not to raze the taudis, and then I accompanied one of the conscription teams after things settled down.”

Kahlasa shook her head. “The Collegium will look good when it’s over, and everyone else will hate us for making them look bad, including the Council. Master Dichartyn is doubtless already ruing the day he decided to recruit you for security. For an imager who’s supposed to be covert, you’re not exactly invisible.”

I tried another sip of wine before replying. “Enough people had already been killed, but it’s been pointed out to me that more will die because pinning the blame on the Tiemprans will lead to more violent acts on their part at a time when we can’t spare the ships to retaliate quickly to put an end to such a response.” Master Rholyn hadn’t quite said that, but he might as well have done so.

“The joys of security and operations, Rhenn. No matter what you do, someone’s unhappy, and the better you do it, the more who are displeased. That’s why it helps to remain out of sight. That way, there’s no direct target for blame.”

That bothered me, but I couldn’t argue against her point. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful. Do you think you’ll have a boy or girl?”

She smiled. “It doesn’t matter. He or she will likely be an imager, anyway.”

“How do you know that?”

“If the mother is an imager, and so is the father, the child is almost certain to be one.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“If the mother isn’t an imager, even if the father is, there’s less than one chance in a hundred that the child will be, and that’s only if there are imagers in her background somewhere. Or a strong Pharsi background, for some reason.”

“Is there . . . pressure . . . ?” I didn’t know whether I wanted to know.

“No. Not as such. I was told early what the odds were. I wanted those talents to continue. Some women imagers don’t.”

Just as I thought I’d gotten close to understanding the Collegium, something like this came up. “Then I’m glad for you.”

“Thank you.” She sipped her tea. “Have you heard that another blizzard struck the Jariolan hills, and the Oligarch’s troops are pushing the Ferrans back and inflicting heavy losses?”

“I hadn’t heard, but Quaelyn speculated that might be the case some time back. His patterns suggested that . . .”

Our conversation for the rest of dinner dealt with the war in Cloisera and all the implications for the Council.

After breakfast on Jeudi, since I didn’t have to report to Third District station, I returned to my quarters to go over what I’d written about Rousel . . . and to study my drawings and notes about Ryel’s estate. Then, at ninth glass I walked across the Bridge of Hopes and then slowly up the Boulevard D’Imagers until I found a hack to drive me to my parents’ house.

Khethila, dressed in a gray jacket, a green shirt, and flowing gray trousers, was the one to open the door. “Rhenn, we didn’t expect you so early.”

“I took the day off. You’re doing door duty?”

“Nellica’s helping cook.”

With all the people who might well drop by after the memorial service, that was certainly understandable. I followed her back to the family parlor, where Father sat in his chair, wearing a gray jacket he’d last donned, I thought, at his older brother’s memorial service close to ten years ago. It still fit. So did the green shirt.

Father gestured toward the trays set on the side tables. “No lunch. Eat what you need.”

Culthyn was sitting on the edge of the settee closest to the tray that held an assortment of sweet rolls.

“Culthyn . . .” Khethila’s voice was low, but warning. “Leave the rest of the rolls for Rhenn and the others.”

“All right. . . .”

Mother hurried from the kitchen. Like Father and Khethila, she wore gray and green. “Rhenn, you’re early.”

“Sometimes, I can manage that. Can I do anything?”

She glanced toward Culthyn. “Keep your brother from eating all the rolls.”

“Mother . . .” Culthyn’s voice was almost plaintive.

I looked at him.

“Don’t do that, Rhenn. Please . . . I won’t eat any more.”

“How’s Remaya?” I asked.

“She’s feeding Rheityr. Nellica will take care of him while we’re at the service.”

No one said anything profound or disturbing, and after a while Remaya joined us, holding Rheityr, who was awake and smiling. At his age, I wondered if he even knew what he was smiling about, but his bright face, showing so much of Rousel, cheered the others. Knowing what I knew, every time I looked at him, I wondered what else I could have done . . . and yet, given Johanyr and the institutionalized arrogance of the High Holders, I felt that what had happened would have been fated no matter what I’d done-unless I’d allowed myself to become Johanyr’s sycophant.