L. Modesitt - Imager

I studied the sidewalks as the coach neared the Bridge of Hopes, but I didn’t see anyone looking even vaguely like the Ferran. But then, if he were there, he wouldn’t be looking as I’d seen him. Master Dichartyn wasn’t in his study, and I hurried to the dining hall, arriving very late, when most were lingering over dessert. But I did sit with Dartazn and Menyard, and we discussed the state of the world, about which we’d heard nothing new. Since we hadn’t, I supposed that war had not yet broken out.

Afterward, I again stopped by the administration building, but no one was there.

On Mardi morning, it was a struggle to get up in time to stagger off to Clovyl’s exercise group, but I reached the exercise rooms just after the sun’s first rays angled over the east side of the quadrangle and just before Master Dichartyn.

“Rhenn!” he called from behind me.

“Yes, sir?” I stopped and waited.

“Meet me in my study before you take the coach to the Chateau.”

“Yes, sir.”

That change in schedule required more rushing, and a very hurried shower and breakfast so that I could get to Master Dichartyn and still have time to make the duty coach. How he managed it, I didn’t know, because he was waiting behind his writing desk, looking calm and unrushed, neither of which I felt.

“What did you discover, if anything, last night?”

“Someone was looking to find me as early as around the end of Avryl. There were two men. They matched the general description of the Ferran and the man who shot me . . .” I told him what I’d discovered, and my suspicions about Master Estafen and Grisarius. “Oh . . . I also talked to Guildmaster Reayalt. He said no one had asked about me . . . but he was expecting Master Schorzat for dinner.”

“That’s not surprising. They’re cousins.”

“I don’t mean to be forward, sir, but Reayalt became guildmaster and had something to do with Emanus being forced to step down-”

“Master Schorzat is aware of that and has confirmed certain circumstances with his cousin. For the moment, that is all you need to know.”

“Yes, sir.” I was already getting a little more than tired with Master Dichartyn’s secrecy. So far, it hadn’t done all that much to protect me, and I certainly hadn’t done anything to jeopardize the Collegium. “Should I make more inquiries or wait a few days?”

“Do you think that you’ll learn that much more from the others you could easily talk to?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Then I’d suggest you wait. We’ve traced Madame Caliostrus to Cleville-that’s a small town near Rivages. We’re waiting on a report.” He paused, then said, “You’d better catch the duty coach.”

“Yes, sir.” I rose, inclined my head, and hurried off in my messenger/guard uniform.

The only interesting event of the morning was when a purported stonecutter on his way to see Councilor Alucion “tripped” and rolled down the grand staircase. The duty coach carted him back to the Collegium to recover. I didn’t get to ask about that until lunch, when Baratyn sent Martyl and me down to the kitchen, where we sat in the small alcove and with platters of creamed rice and fowl.

“How did you know he wasn’t a stonecutter?” I took a mouthful of the rice and fowl, bland, but probably filling, trying to ignore how hot the kitchen area was.

“The little things. He tried not to say much, but he was too well spoken. His hands were too pale and too soft, and he wore soft-leather boots that were almost new.”

“He tried something before you even reached the councilor?”

“He had a pistol hidden in his jacket. I waited until we were on the stairs and suggested that he shouldn’t take it in to see the councilor. He tried to use it on me and lost his balance.”

I didn’t press on that. “Who do you think he was?”

“Jariolan, if I had to guess. The Ferrans usually don’t attack councilors in the Chateau, and the Caenenans are usually darker. Besides, their new High Priest is sending an envoy to work out a trade agreement. That’s what I overheard High Councilor Suyrien telling Glendyl.”

“Their merchanters are all bottled up in Caena, and they’ve lost their High Priest, and we’re talking about a trade agreement?”

Martyl laughed. “It’s better than calling it a surrender agreement, isn’t it? They’ll probably have to lower tariffs on our goods and pay damages. The Council cares more about golds and results, not what they’re called.”

My mouth was full, and I nodded, then took a sip of the grisio that had come with the meal. The wine was the best part.

“Did you hear about Selastyr?” asked Martyl.

“Is he the tall blond third who works with Menyard?”

“Worked. He had a girl who lived with her older sister and her husband near the Sud Bridge. He went to see her last night. When he got out of the hack, someone shot him. He died right there.”

“No shields . . . then.”

Martyl shook his head. “Most of the imagers who do equipment work and design can do detail imaging, but they don’t manage shields well. And . . . Reynol, he may be an expert with ledgers, but he wouldn’t know a shield if he ran into it.”

“Are field imagers and security imagers the only ones who can handle shields?”

“We’re not the only ones, but we’re most of the ones who can.”

Although I’d suspected the answer before I’d asked the question, I was glad for the confirmation. “It seems to me that we’ve lost a lot of junior imagers this year.”

Martyl nodded, then swallowed, and took a sip of wine before replying. “That’s what Baratyn said. Usually, most of the ones who die get killed by their own mistakes, and that’s maybe three or four in a whole year.”

If I’d counted right, four had been shot since I’d been at the Collegium, five if I counted the attempts on me. But then, I wondered about those killed by “mistakes.” I’d seen three of those in half a year, and those were the ones I knew about. The more I saw, the more I realized what I wasn’t seeing. “We’ve had something like two or three attempted attacks here every week. Is that usual?”

“That’s about right.”

Two or three a week-and the Council was in session, on and off, for thirty weeks out of fifty That was between sixty and ninety attempted assassinations of councilors a year. Was Solidar that hated?

“You’d think that they’d learn, but it keeps happening.” Martyl shook his head. “Some of them are local, too. They think there are too many High Holders on the Council or too few guild representatives, or like that Madame D’Shendael, they think that there ought to be councilors elected directly by the people. Can you imagine where that would lead?”

I could.

When we finished eating we had to hurry back up to the main level to relieve Baratyn and Dartazn.

For the rest of the week, little or nothing beyond the routine occurred at the Council Chateau. That did give me a chance to practice more in the way of observation skills. I did note that Baratyn flicked his eyes up for just a moment before he gave directions.

Nor did I hear anything from Master Dichartyn. In fact, at the morning exercise sessions, he scarcely even looked in my direction. In the running, he was just slightly slower than I was, but over three milles, it generally meant I finished a good fifty yards ahead of him.

Then, just before I left the Chateau on Vendrei, looking forward to a pleasant weekend, especially on Samedi, Baratyn handed me a message.