L. Modesitt - Imager

“It’s from Master Dichartyn.”

I opened the envelope and read the short message.

In my study at fifth glass.

Under the single line was a spare “D.”

I had just enough time to get back to the Collegium and change into my grays and get across the quadrangle to the administration building before the bells in the anomen tower to the south began to strike.

Master Dichartyn was standing by the open window of his study and motioned for me to enter. I did close the door, but I didn’t sit down because he didn’t.

“We finally have that report on Madame Caliostrus.” Master Dichartyn looked both stern and weary at the same time. “She and her son Marcyl were killed back in early Avryl. She was staying with her sister. The sister and Caliostrus’s daughters had gone to market, and the husband was at work on the river. The boy and his mother had their throats cut. There wasn’t much of a struggle.”

“Thelal?”

Master Dichartyn’s smile could have been a shrug. “Most of the golds were missing from the strongbox.”

“She didn’t believe in banks. That was a sore point between her and Master Caliostrus.”

“The other thing is that I talked to the Civic Patrol again.” He shook his head. “Some of the wall stones around one of the windows in Caliostrus’s studio were blown out.”

“Paraffin and waxes won’t do that.”

“No, and that suggests some sort of explosive was involved. Thelal was an ironway laborer for a time. He was dismissed for small thefts.”

All that made a sort of sense. If Thelal had planted-or even just hidden-the explosives in the studio, waiting for the right time, I’d inadvertently committed his murder for him. “But . . . why would he hide explosives in the studio?”

“Where else could he put them? Most nights, he didn’t know where he’d be sleeping.”

“Then you think that Thelal doesn’t have anything to do with my shooting?”

Master Dichartyn frowned. “The patrollers don’t think so, but I don’t like coincidences. Every male in that household is either dead, or nearly so, in your case. The surviving daughters are more than a hundred milles away. Are you certain that you didn’t see something?”

“Once or twice, I overheard Madame Caliostrus mention things like ‘your worthless brother.’ She didn’t like him around at all, but I only saw him once or twice a year, I’d guess.”

“He knew you were there, then.”

“He had to. I was there more than ten years.”

“Please think about it, if you will . . . and try to be more observant. If you had been when you were a portraiturist . . .” He shook his head.

I couldn’t change the past. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Should there be?”

I felt that there should be, but what, I couldn’t have said. “Not that I know, sir.”

“Rhennthyl . . . never mind. You can go.” He paused. “I’ll be gone for a few days.”

I left. Master Dichartyn was clearly worried about more than who had been shooting at me, because the circles under his eyes were deep and dark, but he didn’t want to say. Or didn’t dare.

Was that part of what I had to look forward to as a counterspy imager? I couldn’t say I was a counterspy yet. I was just a hidden security guard for the Council, but, if I ever wanted to be more, would I have to keep more and more secrets?

I decided to go look for Dartazn or Reynol. Martyl was going off Imagisle for a dinner with relatives, and Menyard had mentioned at breakfast that he was leaving for the weekend. He didn’t have to deal with Clovyl’s exercises and runs on Samedi morning.

On Samedi morning, Clovyl’s exercise group was markedly smaller. Out of the ten or so who appeared regularly, the only ones I knew personally-or even by name-were Martyl, Dartazn, Baratyn, and Master Dichartyn. The other six ranged in age from their late twenties to twenty years beyond that, but all were well-muscled and trim, and several of the older men ran faster than I did, although no one came close to Dartazn. That morning, while I knew Master Dichartyn would not be there, neither was Baratyn, nor were two others. Given their absences, and the circles under Master Dichartyn’s eyes, as I struggled to keep up close to Dartazn in the run that ended the morning workout, I couldn’t help but wonder what they might be doing.

After recovering from the run on my walk back to the quarters, I took a cool but thorough shower and shaved. Then I dressed and headed across the quadrangle to the dining hall, where I met Martyl. Dartazn joined us as we sat down at the long table. I poured a full mug of tea and waited for the platters of sausage and fried flatcakes to reach us.

“Master Dichartyn and all the seniors were gone. Did he say anything to you yesterday?” asked Martyl.

Dartazn laughed. “He never tells anyone anything they don’t have to know. Not me, not you, not Rhenn.”

“He only told me he’d be gone for a few days, after pointedly reminding me that I should have been more observant back when I was a portraiturist and didn’t know I needed to remember every conversation within ten yards.” My words came out edged with vinegar.

They both laughed.

“It’s one thing to tell me that about what I do now . . .” I stopped and just shook my head.

“He’s done that to all of us,” Martyl said.

“Something’s afoot.” Dartazn paused to take a healthy helping of sausages.

None of us spoke for a time, perhaps because we enjoyed the sweet berry syrup on the flatcakes and because we were hungry after having been up and active for several glasses.

“What do you think is happening?” I finally asked. “You two have been imagers longer than I have.”

“Most other lands know that starting a war with Solidar isn’t the best idea,” said Dartazn slowly, “but their rulers often face pressures to do something. That can lead to attempts at assassinations, sabotage, that sort of thing.”

“That sounds like Master Dichartyn has gotten wind of something.”

“It could be . . . or it could be that they’re all off meeting to go over what might happen.”

We talked for a time, speculating to no real result, and before long, Martyl rose. “I’m to meet my uncle at the ironway station, and I’d better be there. He’s never been to L’Excelsis.”

We all walked out of the dining hall together, but then I had to hurry out to my studio to work on the portrait of Master Poincaryt-except he didn’t come. Instead, Beleart arrived just after eighth glass had chimed.

“Master Poincaryt won’t be able to make the sitting today, sir. He will be here next Samedi.”

After Beleart departed, I headed back to my own quarters, Once there, I sat down at my desk and thought about the day ahead. Although I would be having dinner with Seliora and her family, I needed to talk to a few more people-perhaps even Elphens and Aurelean. It couldn’t hurt to see if Father or Khethila had any ideas or suggestions, or if either had seen anything.

I decided to start with Father at the factorage and walked from my quarters over the Bridge of Desires to West River Road. That was actually closer to my quarters, but had I been taking a hack directly to my parents’ house, it would have been more costly, not that I lacked coins. In fact, I had more funds than I’d had in years, and I’d actually used the tiny one-room branch of the Banque D’Excelsis in a nook off the dining hall-just an unmarked door behind which was a single teller cage-to open an account. Even with what I’d spent on hacks and food over the summer and early harvest, I had slightly more than five golds put by. Unlike poor Madame Caliostrus, I felt better not having to worry about a strongbox. I also had no doubts about the Banque; it wasn’t about to short the Collegium.