L. Modesitt - Imager

I was definitely not impressing Master Dichartyn. So I gambled and said what I thought.

“That’s all that is necessary. No one can make the Collegium do what it will not.”

“You give us too much credit.” But he smiled. “It’s more accurate to say that the Council has great respect for the Collegium and would prefer to work with the Collegium. If the Council’s imager opposes something, the Council reconsiders the matter.”

“Who is the imager on the Council now, sir?”

“Master Rholyn. He’s very good with words and thinks well on his feet.”

After a moment I recalled Rholyn had been the advocate for the Collegium at Floryn’s hearing.

“I’d like to test your shields. Are you maintaining imaging shields?”

“I think so.”

Abruptly I could feel myself pressed back in the chair.

Master Dichartyn shook his head. “You can detect someone, but you need a second level behind them.”

“How do I do that?” I wasn’t certain what he meant.

“You need to train your mind, just as you trained your hands and fingers as an artist, to react to situations. The moment your shields feel any imaging pressure, those second-level shields need to spring forward.”

I didn’t even have the faintest idea of where to begin.

“I’ll press at your shields gently, and you erect a stronger set . . .”

Once more, I was sweating and exhausted when he finally said, “Enough. You need to work on them more. Now that you’re a secondus and free to travel off Imagisle, you need the ability to protect yourself.”

“Sir, I don’t want to sound presumptuous or like a troublemaker, but what happens if . . . well . . . if I’m in a position where shields aren’t enough?”

“I’d say that you’d probably acted unwisely.” Dichartyn laughed genially, but the laugh died away quickly. “Still . . . there are times when ruffians will attack a single imager, particularly a younger one. We do lose some who are not careful. The rules for defense are simple. You must have exhausted every practical way to avoid attacking, and it’s preferable that you leave no traces of what you have done.”

“How can I avoid . . .” I paused. “Should I practice imaging rain or shadows or fog or mist?”

“I’d try it at night in secluded corners of Imagisle. You’ll get a splitting headache if you try rain, fog, or mist in your room, and you won’t see the shadows right inside. For those efforts, you have my permission, but only when no one is nearby.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll face other trials, as well, Rhenn. I can’t say what they are or where they’ll come from, and it’s best that I don’t try to guess, because those trials are different for every imager and if I give you details, then . . . it’s like naming-you’ll fixate on those. I can only say that if your life is truly threatened, no matter where you are, you have the right to use any imaging ability to defend yourself. Obviously, it’s better not to kill attackers unless absolutely necessary, and every situation facing you has a weakness that can be exploited-if you think quickly enough.”

The implication was that I well might be injured or dead if I did not think swiftly.

“Now . . . off to the laboratories.” He gestured toward the door.

I picked up my bag and books and slipped out, closing the door behind me. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard him mutter under his breath. It might have been “. . . Nameless save me . . .”

In reflection, as I walked down the corridor toward the door onto the quadrangle, I pondered one phrase Master Dichartyn had said. Why had he said “no matter where you are”? Did he mean that absolutely?

How could you disable someone effectively and reliably-using imaging? You would need something so painful and yet so small that it would be easy to image. And it would need to be comprised of substances common everywhere. On the way across the quadrangle toward the building that held the laboratories, it came to me. Common lye-imaged into someone’s eyes. They certainly wouldn’t be able to see or easily move, and it was made of relatively common substances.

With that revelation, I’d hoped to visit the kitchen and scullery before lunch, but Maitre Chassendri was in the laboratory, and, for some reason, she decided to personally instruct me. If I’d thought that Master Dichartyn had been picky, his strictness was lenient compared to hers.

“No! Do not ever place the beaker in any position where the fumes can rise to touch you or your skin . . .”

“The glass must be absolutely dry!”

I wouldn’t have said that I was shaking by the time I escaped from Maitre Chassendri’s tender instruction, but I felt that way when I walked into the dining hall for lunch.

Johanyr waved, and I walked over and took the seat across from him and Diazt.

I usually drank something cool at lunch, but I was more than ready for tea, as much to settle my stomach as to warm me. The beef ragout helped as well.

“What was your morning like?” Diazt asked Johanyr.

“Master Ghaend was pounding away at the structural differences of materials.”

I managed to keep from saying anything, but merely nodded. Master Dichartyn had moved me past that, and Johanyr had been at the Collegium far longer than had I.

“Old Schorzat wasn’t even around,” offered Diazt, “but he left word that I still didn’t understand section five of the science book well enough. I’ll have to go back over that.”

“What sort of questions does Master Dichartyn ask you?” Johanyr’s tone was idle, but he watched closely.

“This morning he was asking about the Council and why it was structured the way it was. He wasn’t happy that I hadn’t memorized the actual structure.”

A faint smile crossed Diazt’s face.

“What about science?”

“He sent me to the laboratories to learn some basics. I got some very direct instruction and too many warnings about handling beakers and how to clean equipment.” I shook my head. “What about you?”

“I didn’t have to go to the laboratories.” Johanyr laughed. “That’s always good. Sometimes the stenches there turn my guts.”

“Has Master Dichartyn said anything more about what happened in Westisle?” asked Diazt.

“He was gone for two days, but he hasn’t said anything.”

“You ask him?”

“I’ve already learned that, when he says he doesn’t want to talk about something, he gets unpleasant if you bring it up again. I don’t think I can afford to make him angry.”

“No . . . I wouldn’t think so,” said Johanyr in a musing tone. “There are more than a few you don’t want to anger, and it’s sometimes hard to tell who’s really important to your getting along and staying at the Collegium.”

“I’m working at understanding that.”

“We’re certain you are.” Johanyr smiled, then stood. “I need to get to the workshops.”

“Me, too,” added Diazt.

I’d definitely gotten their message, and I really would have liked to visit the scullery after lunch, but there wasn’t time. I had to get to the workroom to see if I could work out an even less exhausting way to image those aluminum bars.

The workroom was empty, except for the barrels, but it looked to me that most of them had been replaced with other barrels. So I sat down on the stool and thought about imaging, and began to try yet another way of doing it. A half glass or so later, Grandisyn barely looked in, then just nodded and ducked out.

Right after the Collegium bells struck the fourth glass, I headed for the scullery on the level below the main dining hall. The steps leading down were the same gray granite, and just as clean as any other staircase or corridor I’d seen on Imagisle. I’d taken no more than ten steps down the lower hallway when an older woman, an obdurate from her muted black shirt and trousers, appeared.