L. Modesitt - Imager

By the time all the imagers had filed in, the gallery was close to filled. From my best count, there were close to two hundred imagers there, ranging from primes just out of grammaire to graying masters.

“Is this most of the Collegium?” I looked toward Thenard, seated on my right.

He shrugged. “This is only the third hearing I’ve been to. That’s in two years. There have been about the same number at each hearing.”

Outside, the bells began to ring the glass.

“All rise.” The words came from a dark-haired master standing by the west-end archway facing the dais.

As we stood, the justice-or hearing officer-walked in and then settled himself behind the desk on the high dais. He wore a long gray robe, like the Council justices, except his was trimmed in both black and red, instead of just black.

“You may be seated,” announced the bailiff. “Floryn, Imager Tertius, step forward to the bar.”

Floryn didn’t have much choice about stepping forward. His hands were manacled behind him, and a thick black blindfold covered his eyes. Two large obdurates in black escorted him forward until he stood before the black railing. I wondered about the blindfold, but only for a moment. It would be hard to image anything if you couldn’t see, and the position of the manacles prevented him from lifting his hands to remove the blindfold.

“Who stands to defend the accused?” asked the justice.

“I do.” Master Dichartyn stepped forward and stood beside the small table on the right, facing the dais.

“Who presents the case for the Collegium against the accused?”

“I do.” The thin blond man who stepped up to the table on the left was a man I’d seen at meals, seated at the masters’ table, but whom I did not know.

“State the charges against the accused.”

“The accused faces three charges. The first charge is that of counterfeiting the coin of Solidar, to wit, by imaging a gold crown that was not pure gold and by attempting to use such to purchase goods. The second charge is that of employing imaging to obstruct a civic patroller in the course of his duties. The third charge is that of attempted murder in the use of imaging against a master of the Collegium.”

After the reading of the third charge, I could hear several indrawn breaths, particularly from a row of thirds seated below us.

“How does the accused plead? Guilty, Not Guilty, No Plea, or For Mercy?”

“For Mercy, Your Honor,” offered Master Dichartyn.

The justice looked directly at Floryn. “Floryn, your defender has offered a plea of For Mercy. Do you accept that plea?”

“Yes, sir.”

Even I could sense the defeat and resignation behind those two words.

“Seat the accused.”

The two guards led Floryn to the table on the right of the chamber, behind which were two chairs. After they seated him in the one away from the black stone walkway, they took position behind him, while Master Dichartyn seated himself in the other chair.

“Proceed, Advocate for the Collegium,” stated the justice.

The blond master nodded to the bailiff, who announced, “Sandyal, Imager Tertius, to the bar.”

A lanky and sandy-haired imager who looked to be close to my age walked from the west archway forward to the bar.

“Sandyal,” began the justice, “do you understand that you are required to tell the whole truth, and that your words must not deceive, either by elaboration or omission?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Proceed.”

“Sandyal,” began the Collegium advocate, “you had a conversation with Floryn on Solayi, the twenty-ninth of Maris. Would you please recount what Floryn said he was going to do?”

“Yes, sir. We had the afternoon off. We had to be back for chapel, but the afternoon was ours, and Floryn said that he wanted to have some spiced wine and pastries at Naranje. I told him that I didn’t have enough coin, and he said that he’d take care of whatever we bought. . . .”

Sandyal must have recounted every detail of the afternoon, and it took more than half a glass, but the gist was that Floryn didn’t have any coin and that he imaged a gold. The serving girl thought it felt wrong and put it in a water-tester. It came up false. She told the owner of the patisserie, and he summoned the patrollers. Because she had also said that it came from a young imager, they summoned the duty master. The summons didn’t reach the master before a patroller arrived. Floryn realized something was wrong and ran out of the patisserie. The patroller followed, and Floryn imaged something that tripped the patroller.”

“Did you see what happened after that?”

“No, sir, except that Floryn ran across the boulevard-the Boulevard D’Imagers, sir-and down an alleyway. I just waited there in the patisserie. I didn’t have any coins, and . . . I thought Floryn was going to pay. He said he would.”

“I have no further questions.” The advocate looked to Master Dichartyn.

“I have no questions.”

“You may leave the chamber for the anteroom, Imager Sandyal.”

Sandyal inclined his head, then turned.

“What will happen to Sandyal?” I whispered as he walked back down the black stone.

“He’s restricted to Imagisle for the next year, and then they’ll review it.”

I didn’t hear who said that, but it wasn’t Thenard.

“Master Ferlyn to the bar.”

The angular master who strode down the central black stoneway didn’t look all that much older than I was. He had dark mahogany hair and a sharp nose.

“Master Ferlyn,” asked the justice, “do you understand that you are required to tell the whole truth, and that your words must not deceive, either by elaboration or omission?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Ferlyn’s answers to the advocate’s questions paralleled what Sandyal had said.

“Did you see what happened to the civic patroller?”

“Yes, sir. Floryn imaged a timber right before his knees. The patroller wasn’t threatening Floryn. He was trying to keep him in sight until I arrived . . .”

That also made sense to me.

“. . . when I caught sight of him in Milliners’ Lane, Floryn tried to use imagery to block my vision of what was happening as well as making a personal attack on me. The details are in the documentation presented to the court. I request that those details not be stated in open court.”

The justice looked to Master Dichartyn, but Master Dichartyn did not object to that request. For an instant, I wondered why, but then realized that there was a greater disadvantage to Floryn in having the details made public.

After Master Ferlyn’s testimony, statements were read from the serving girl and from the patroller, and the patisserie owner.

Then the bailiff called out, “Vanjhant, Imager Secondus.”

In moments, the chubby and blond young imager was standing before the bar, having been exhorted to tell the truth.

“Vanjhant, you listened to something that Floryn said several weeks ago. I would like you to recount what you heard.”

“Yes, sir.” Vanjhant licked his lips. Then he swallowed. “We were leaving the dining hall, and it wasn’t that good that day. Least we didn’t think so. Morryset was wishing that he could have a real pastry, and Floryn said that was no problem, that all you had to do was image a few silvers or a gold, whenever you wanted to, and go out across the bridge and buy one. . . . Chastyn said it wasn’t that easy. Floryn said that so long as the gold was on the outside and it was heavy enough, anyone would take it . . .”

The advocate asked several more questions, then dismissed Vanjhant. After that, three more junior imagers were called, and all confirmed that Floryn had made similar statements.

“Are there any additional witnesses?” asked the justice.