L. Modesitt - Imager

As I stepped onto the bridge, I was holding full shields. That made a warm morning even warmer, but I could see clouds to the north and west. That could herald a cooler afternoon, or one just as hot-and steamy. Just off West River Road, I hailed a hack.

“Alusine Wool-south on West River, a half mille past the Sud Bridge, on the west side.”

“Yes, sir. We can do that.”

When I left the hack in front of the factorage, I took a moment to study it. The building was still the same old yellow-brick structure that stretched a good seventy yards along West River Road. The loading docks were out of sight in the rear, and the covered entry was centered on the middle of the building. As I climbed the three steps to the double oak doors, I noted that they had been sanded clean and then revarnished, and the dark green casement trim repainted.

Inside, it was darker, and cooler, and I took several steps farther into the open area before the racks that held the swathes of various wools. To one side was another set of racks with the lighter fabrics-muslin, cotton, linen. Despite the name of the factorage, Father had always carried a wide range of fabrics, colors, and patterns.

“Master Rhennthyl . . . we’d not expect you here.” The balding man who stepped forward was Eilthyr, who was now in charge of the day-to-day work on the floor.

“I thought I’d drop by.” My eyes flicked to the raised platform at the back, from where Father could sit at his desk and survey everything, not that he sat there much if there were potential customers.

Khethila was at the desk-looking at me. I had a very unsettled feeling about that.

“Yes, sir . . . your father . . .”

“Mistress Khethila can help me, I’m most certain. But . . . thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

As I skirted the sample racks, I could hear the exchange between the warehouseman, who had appeared from somewhere, and Eilthyr.

“The imager . . .?”

“That’s the factor’s eldest . . . used to be an artist.”

“. . . looks more like a commando . . . wouldn’t want to cross him . . .”

“. . . takes after the old man, that way . . .”

I had to smile at the thought of my taking after my father.

Khethila was standing by the time I walked up the low steps to the desk. “Rhenn . . . I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’d actually wanted to ask both you and Father about some things, but I have the feeling he’s not anywhere around.”

“Neither Mother nor Father are. Mother took the ironway to see Aunt Ilena, and Father went back to Kherseilles.”

“Rousel made a mess of the accounting, didn’t he?”

Khethila looked at me, her eyes too bright. “It’s awful. He borrowed against his inventory, and when the shipments from the Abierto Isles took longer to arrive, the interest was higher, and he borrowed more . . .”

“Father won’t lose everything, will he?” That was my greatest fear.

She shook her head. “No, but it could cost close to two hundred gold crowns.”

“Two hundred?”

“That’s if everything goes wrong. Father and I worked out a way to amortize the debt against the building there that will lower the interest on what Rousel owes.”

“You’re running things here, aren’t you?”

“Mostly.” She grinned. “Father’s surprised. I do have to be very careful and always say that I’ve checked with him, and I do when he’s here.” After a pause, she asked, “What did you want to know?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone outside the family, but people have been shooting at me, and I had to wonder if you’ve noticed anyone lurking around the house or coming in here and asking about me.”

“You told me you’d been shot. I didn’t tell Mother, you know?” She paused. “You said shooting. Has someone else . . .?”

“Someone has been following me, and they did shoot at me again,” I admitted. “I’m fine. They didn’t come close to hitting me.” In a way, that was deceptive, but I didn’t feel I could explain. “Master Dichartyn thought I should ask everyone I knew, and my family, if they’d seen anything strange.”

Khethila shook her head. “I haven’t seen anything like that, but I will keep an eye out, just in case.” She glanced past me, toward an older man who had entered and was walking toward Eilthyr. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” I glanced down at the book on the corner of the desk. It didn’t look familiar. “What’s that?”

She flushed. “It’s my guide . . . sort of. Madame D’Shendael wrote a volume on the basics of commerce and finance for the wives of High Holders and factors. She said it was a treatise for women who lost their husbands through illness and accident, to help them understand matters so that they were not helpless.”

“It’s much more than that, isn’t it?”

That brought a grin.

“How did you find it?”

“I finished her Poetic Discourse and her Civic Virtue, and I went to the bookshop near the square. The only book of hers I could find was this one.” She held it up. The name on the spine was A Widow’s Guide. “I almost put it down, but since there wasn’t anything else there, I started to read. I almost burst out laughing, right in the bookshop, by the third page. There are things in there that Father never even thought of, but I didn’t tell him where I got them.”

“How many books has she written?”

“Not that many. There’s one other one, and I ordered it, but I don’t remember the title. It’s about the role of women in fostering culture, I think.”

“She’s quite the writer.”

“She is, and she writes well.”

“I know. You’ve quoted her at me a few times.”

“She’s worth quoting.”

I just smiled. “How long will you be in charge here?”

“Father hopes to be back by next weekend. I gave him a set of guidelines for Rousel. I told him to tell our dear brother that they came from an old treatise on commerce.”

“But they came from that?” I gestured toward A Widow’s Guide.

She nodded. “Can you join me for dinner?”

I shook my head. “I have an engagement.”

“Who is she?”

“Someone . . .” I grinned.

“Rhenn!”

“If it turns into something really serious, you’ll be the first to know. Come to think of it, you are the first to know that there is a someone.”

“She’s part Pharsi and dark-haired, isn’t she?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ve never looked at any other kind.”

“Yes . . . and that’s all I’ll say.”

She grinned once more. “And she’s as poor as . . . as a bookkeeping clerk?”

“I answer your questions, and you’ll figure it out. Besides, I have to talk to a few other people, hopefully before they start shooting at me again.”

Her grin vanished. “You will be careful? Promise?”

“I will.”

She gave me an embrace, and I headed for the door.

Outside, I only had to wait a bit to hail a hack, and before long we were headed north on the West River Road, then over the Nord Bridge and east on the Boulevard D’Este.

When I finally reached Master Kocteault’s studio and knocked on the door, Aurelean was the one to open it. His eyes widened. “Rhenn? You’re an imager? I had heard something of that. I do suppose that is natural for one with artistic pretensions . . . I mean abilities.”

“That’s true. You always have been outstanding at determining pretensions . . . I mean abilities, Aurelean. But enough of the trivial. I’m here on imager business. Might I come in?”

“Oh, of course. Imager business, how droll.” He stepped back and let me enter and close the door. “What can I do for you? Master Kocteault is not here.”