L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

The lieutenant went on for another quarter glass before he sent me back down to the charging desk. After that, we only charged two more offenders, both for trying to make off with hams from a butcher.

As we got ready to leave for the day, I turned to Gulyart. “Thank you. I appreciate your time and showing me how the charging desk works. On Lundi, I start to observe Lieutenant Mardoyt and the courts.”

“I appreciated the help, especially this week.” Gulyart grinned. “The lieutenant is very smooth, very polished. Watch him closely, and you’ll learn a lot.”

“I’m sure I will. I just might stop back here occasionally.”

“You’re always welcome, sir.”

As I walked back toward Imagisle, I couldn’t help but think that my own impressions, not to mention Gulyart’s polite words, tended to confirm what Grandmama Diestra had said.

Once I got to the Collegium, I did have a little time to clean up before I headed to the dining hall. But when I did head in to dinner, I picked up a copy of Veritum because my eyes picked up the headline-“Ferran Fleet Alert.” To one side was another story about the need for increased conscription.

I saw that the masters’ table had only a handful of people there. Ferlyn was on the side away from me, seated with Ghaend and Draffyd. That reminded me that I had to see Maitre Draffyd at ninth glass on Samedi morning, right after the portrait session with Master Rholyn.

Closer to me were the two women maitres, and I stepped toward them.

“I see you’ve been perusing the scandal sheets,” said Maitre Dyana from where she sat beside Maitre Chassendri. “Did you learn anything?” She flipped back the brilliant blue scarf, one of the many bright-colored ones she wore to complement her imager grays.

“Only that they don’t seem to know much more than I do, and that’s discouraging.” I slipped into the chair beside her.

“That’s the beginning of wisdom,” added Chassendri, “when you realize that almost no one really knows much about anything and that the sum total of human knowledge can explain only a fraction of what we observe.”

“Spoken like a true scientist.” Maitre Dyana’s words were both dry and cutting. “If we know so little, you might explain why we still don’t live in caves.”

“Given how intelligent so many seem to be,” countered Chassendri, “why has it taken so long for us to learn how to build warm and comfortable dwellings, let alone steam engines and turbines, and ironway systems?”

“Politics,” I suggested, “and the fact that there are far too many people who want more than they contribute. Or who would rather take from others than build or make it themselves.”

“You’re almost as cynical as Maitre Dyana,” said Chassendri, “and you’re far younger. I shudder to think of how misanthropic you’ll be by the time you’re her age.”

“Young master Rhenn has lived longer beyond the walls of the Collegium than have most imagers his age,” replied Dyana, her voice gentle, almost sweet. “He’s been required to look at life from three very different perspectives. That sort of experience does tend to create a more realistic outlook than laboratory expertise.”

“A lofty perspective, such as that of a High Holder who has to become an imager.”

“Any High Holder’s daughter would murder if she thought it would make her an imager, and bribe and suborn almost anyone to marry one . . . as you should know, dear Chassendri.”

I froze, unable to say anything. Those were the most cutting words I’d ever heard from Maitre Dyana, as sweetly as they had been spoken.

After the briefest of pauses, Dyana went on in the same tone. “Rhenn has a far wider perspective than a High Holder, and that will make it harder for him to deal with such, but also will make him less understandable to them.”

For the moment, listening to them, I felt more like a chemical substance or a creature on Master Draffyd’s dissecting table. I still smiled, then asked, “What do you two think about the taudis riot?”

Chassendri shrugged. “They do riot at times. It comes with poverty and deprivation.”

“You don’t think it was that, do you?” Maitre Dyana looked at me.

“No. It’s too soon after harvest. Food isn’t dear, and it’s neither that hot nor that cold, and the Council didn’t announce increased conscription levels until after the riot, and the Patrol hasn’t been harassing the elvers.”

“What do you think?” inquired Dyana.

I grinned. “You have far more experience than I, despite your kind words. I was hoping you might offer an opinion based on your expertise.” I poured some red Cambrisio into her goblet, and then into mine. I could use it after dealing with both Cydarth and Mardoyt.

Chassendri managed to hide a grin behind the platter of sliced Mantean beef.

Dyana chuckled. “Unlike my compatriot, I would so love to see you in twenty years.”

I waited through that gambit while Dyana served herself the beef, the gravy, and the brown rice. Then I served myself.

Finally, she said, “The riot was most likely instigated by an outside source, but whoever did so will not have left any direct traces, but evidence leading to some other party.”

“Couldn’t it just be some of the High Holders who fear the factors and guilds getting more power in the Council?” asked Chassendri.

“It could be, or it could be the mercantilist factors who want to prove that the poor are that way because they deserve to be-that’s the way the Ferrans operate. Or it could be someone in the taudis trying to get the Civic Patrol to crack down on the territory of a rival taudischef. Or it could be a foreign power with the aim of creating unrest and disruption here in L’Excelsis so that we would be less likely to become involved in war elsewhere. Or . . .” Dyana offered an enigmatic smile. “There are more than a few possibilities.”

There were, and I didn’t much care for any of them. I doubted that we even knew all of them . . . but I couldn’t help wondering how much the words of the First Speaker of Tiempre had contributed to the riot . . . and whether it had just been his words.

When I walked along the edge of the quadrangle toward the exercise chambers on Samedi morning, I could see there was no frost on the grass or trees or walkways, but it didn’t feel much warmer than earlier in the week because a stiff wind blew out of the northwest.

After the warm-up and conditioning exercises, and before I started the blade and truncheon routines, Clovyl drew me aside for a moment.

“Lundi, if Master Draffyd says it’s all right, you’ll start on a refresher in hand-to-hand combat, with some work on techniques that might prove useful on the streets with the patrollers.”

“Good. These solitary routines get tedious after a while.”

“They still might save your guts someday. You can’t always image your way out of all the troubles you might face.” He lowered his voice. “You’re talented enough that you’ll end up in more tight places than most could imagine. Master Dichartyn doesn’t hesitate to use talent.”

Or sacrifice it for a great gain for the Collegium. But I didn’t say that.

Dartazn was back in running form, and I didn’t finish the four-mille run within a hundred yards of him. He’d already headed for the showers before I stumbled to a halt outside the exercise chambers.

Master Schorzat wasn’t all that far behind me. He gave me a smile. “How are you finding the Civic Patrol?”

“It’s interesting, and I’m learning.”

“You might think over if there are other ways to do what the Patrol does, and what implications they would have.”