L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

I had the feeling that I needed to consider her words carefully and at some length.

Vendrei was no different from the rest of the week, starting with exercises, although I was still not participating in the hand-to-hand sparring, but doing solitary knife and truncheon routines, followed by cleaning up, eating, and a long walk to Civic Patrol headquarters, and another day at the charging desk. I did have to admit that the duty with Gulyart had given me a good indoctrination into the myriad forms of petty and mundane violence seldom seen by most citizens of L’Excelsis. But then, that was doubtless the point.

On Samedi, once more, I dragged myself up and to Clovyl’s training and running session. By the time we finished the last of the exercises, it was pouring. We still had to run through the slop and puddles. For the first time ever, I beat Dartazn. Did that mean anything besides I ran better through water? I doubted it.

After a cold shower and shaving, I dressed and headed to the dining hall for breakfast, glad that I could at least use an umbrella crossing the quadrangle. I still hadn’t figured out a practical way to use imaging shields against rain. Maybe there wasn’t one. Master Dichartyn used an umbrella, I’d noticed.

There were no other masters present for breakfast, except for Ferlyn and Maitre Chassendri, both of whom were Maitres D’Aspect. Ferlyn and I sat on either side of her, since she was far senior to each of us. I still remembered the chemistry laboratory studies under her and how she insisted on perfection every bit as much as did Master Dichartyn.

I passed her the platter of egg toast, then the berry syrup. While she served herself, I poured some tea. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

The egg toast was darker than I would have preferred, but not black-brown, and the sausages were perfect.

“You know, except for Maitre Dichartyn,” Maitre Chassendri observed, “you’re the youngest imager to become a maitre in centuries.”

“I had the advantage of having him as a preceptor,” I said, “and some fortune as well.”

“Misfortune,” she corrected. “Rapid advancement always comes from success in dealing with difficulties in hard times. We’re looking at harder times, I fear.”

“Because of the Ferran-Jariolan conflict?” asked Ferlyn.

“More than that,” she replied. “The free-holders in the west are harvesting more produce than are the High Holders, and they’re able to sell it for less. The same is true for timber holdings. Before long, the same may happen in the east, although the water control issues there make it harder.”

“Why should that-” Ferlyn broke off his words as he looked at Chassendri.

“The free-holders are making more golds on their harvests,” I said, “and the High Holders comparatively less. The only way the High Holders can compete is to impose stricter conditions on their lands. That will cause unrest, increase costs, and reduce their profits. If the High Holders sell land, the free-holders will buy it and use it to become wealthier-”

“All right, Rhenn . . . I see that.”

“Fighting wars is expensive, and that means higher taxes,” I pointed out. “The High Holders are pressing to support Jariola, and given the way the Ferrans have dealt with us, the Council doesn’t have much choice.”

“And tax levies are on land,” Ferlyn finished. “So the High Holders are going to be squeezed two ways.”

“Three,” suggested Chassendri. “Conditions will get worse on some of the holdings, not all, because most of the High Holders actually manage their lands well, but workers on the poorly managed lands will leave. They’ll either work for the free-holders or get conscripted. More High Holders will fall to debts, and their lands will be split between successful High Holders and free-holders, but in the end there will be more free-holders and fewer High Holders.”

I could see that, but I didn’t see it happening that quickly. “Won’t that take time?”

“There are at least fifty High Holders who are so land-poor that were they businesses, they’d be close to bankruptcy,” replied Chassendri.

“But they could sell their lands, or part of them, and besides,” Ferlyn pointed out, “there are hundreds of High Holders.”

“More than a thousand,” said Chassendri cheerfully, “one thousand and forty-one High Holdings, to be precise.”

Something . . . there was something. Then I had it, an obscure section of the compact that had created the Council. “The rebalancing provisions. The High Holders would lose a Council seat, probably to the factors, and the head of the Council would no longer be a High Holder.”

“But . . . the High Holders could just split a few holdings up, couldn’t they?” asked Ferlyn. “To keep the numbers above a thousand.”

“They could,” Chassendri pointed out.

Left unspoken was the point that few High Holders ever willingly let go of anything.

Those thoughts put a damper on matters, especially since we were close to being done with breakfast anyway, and I had another concern as well-Shault.

He looked so forlorn that as soon as I swallowed the last drops of my tea, I rose and walked over to the long table that held the primes and the seconds and said to him, “I’ll need a few moments with you after you’re done eating. I’ll meet you by the doors.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then I just stood there for a moment and let my eyes run down the table, face by face, before I turned and walked away, slowly, listening.

“. . . one you don’t want to cross . . .”

I wondered about that, because I’d never done anything harsh to any of the primes or seconds, except for Diazt and Johanyr. I didn’t have to wait long before Shault hurried out of the dining hall, his thin face pinched in worry.

“Sir?”

“I take it that there’s a second who’s giving everyone trouble, maybe from the taudis? More than likely, he’s even suggesting to you that you need to do what he wants, or something will happen to you or someone else.”

Shault’s mouth started to drop open, but he closed it with a snap.

“Have you ever heard of Diazt or Artazt?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Diazt was a second here. His brother Artazt was a taudischef in the hellhole. They’re both dead.” I paused. “Right now, there are two things you need to know. First, no one will rescue you from being pushed around unless you study and work hard and unless you do your best to learn everything you can about imaging. Second, in time, things happen to bullies here at the Collegium.” I paused. “Why do you think I’m telling you this?”

The poor prime shivered. I just waited.

“So I know it will get better? Sir . . . will it get better?”

I offered as gentle a smile as I could. “It will, but it won’t be easy. You have more imaging ability than most primes and even some seconds, but you haven’t had enough book education. Do you have someone helping you to read better?”

“Yes, sir. Mayra and Lieryns are helping me.”

“Good. That’s important.” I paused. “One other thing. No student imager is allowed to harm another. That doesn’t mean there won’t be threats, or other nasty things. No one has actually hurt you physically, have they?”

“No, sir.”

His response was firm enough and without hesitation that I believed him.

“Keep that in mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” As I left him, I wished I could do more for him, but that would only make matters worse. The way I’d approached him would certainly not have let the others think he was getting any favors. But Master Dichartyn had told me that I needed to talk to him at least twice a week, and he certainly had raw talent, more than I’d had at his age, and I couldn’t help but hope that he’d be able to become at least a third in time. I was also pleased that Lieryns was helping. I’d always liked Lieryns.