Imager

43

On Lundi, I handed in the essay for Master Jhulian. He read it, then nodded. “It is acceptable, and that is all I could expect from an imager who is not a legal scholar.”

I knew the essay wasn’t outstanding, but just acceptable?

On Mardi, I handed in the essay on the qualities of a counterspy to Master Dichartyn. He took his time reading through the four pages. Then he set it down on the writing desk.

“You have noted in some detail the obvious points, that an imager counterspy should be accomplished in technique, be in excellent physical condition, and be able to anticipate what may happen.” The coolness of his words suggested that Master Dichartyn was less than pleased. “Tell me, Rhennthyl. Besides your need to recover, why are you being confined to Imagisle?”

“You had indicated, sir, that was to protect me until I learned enough to defend myself and until the Collegium and I could deal with the perpetrator of the attack.”

“That is true. Why is the perpetrator of the attack seeking you?”

“Because I did something that offended or upset him, or her.”

“That is also most probably true. In connection with your assignment, what conclusion should you draw?”

“Never let anyone know what you are doing, have done, or might do?”

“That is also true, but that is a behavior pattern, not a quality, if you will. I will give you a hint. How did your first meeting go with Maitre Dyana?”

I thought back. Her initial appraisal of me had been strange, because she’d said she could see why I was Master Dichartyn’s protege. “She said I could be any number of things.”

“Rhennthyl! Think . . .”

“Oh . . . the quality of being anything except an imager agent?”

“Precisely.” He shook his head. “The last thing you want is to be noticed-or noticed for what you really are. Any time anyone notices you as excessively capable and bright, you endanger yourself, and sometimes the Collegium.”

That made sense. I wasn’t certain I liked the idea of being invisible, but I couldn’t argue.

“Do you want to be married someday-to the young lady who saved your life or someone like her?”

“I’d hope so, sir.”

“Do you want to have children and live for years with her? How could that happen if everyone in L’Excelsis knew that you were a feared counterspy? No matter how good you became as an imager, would you want to carry heavy shields all the time, never knowing who might be looking for you every time you set foot outside, or even every time you awoke? Or worry whether you would wake up?”

A cold jolt ran down my spine. In a way, I had been thinking of myself as becoming a feared and respected counterspy.

“Do you ever again want to see someone firing a pistol at you a moment too late for you to shield yourself?” pressed Master Dichartyn.

“No, sir.” My words there were firm and heartfelt.

“Then . . . you’d better think about how not to stand out.” He smiled wanly. “It’s not about slinking and slouching, either. That’s an even bigger sign of someone up to no good. The most feared counterspies are the ones no one knows, because they could be anyone in any place. You want to appear so perfectly in place that no thought of offense occurs. Call it first among seconds. Like the lesser moon.”

That made no sense to me.

“Erion was a feared hunter, at least mythologically, but who writes poems to the lesser hunter? Except in a deprecating fashion? Yet no one ever wished to offend Erion in person.” Master Dichartyn smiled. “Say you have three High Holders in a room, and three assistants. You want to be the assistant who’s both perfect and most deferentially confident, so much so that none of the other assistants would think about offending you, and none of the High Holders would either, because you’re deferential and an assistant.”

I didn’t like the idea of being the best second . . . at anything.

“It takes a very confident and superior man to be an imager counterspy, because you have to be better than anyone else, except the few others in your group, and you can never let anyone know how good you are or show it. You have to be able to take pride internally, without needing the recognition of others. Most men can’t live without overt praise and recognition. Lack of praise and recognition can turn them into twisted angry souls, converts of the Namer, if you will, wanting a name and fame beyond anything.”

I had to think about that, and Master Dichartyn let me have time to consider his words.

“What if I said that I couldn’t do that?” I finally asked.

“I’d turn you over to Master Schorzat for field training. You’d make a good field imager. People suspect who field imagers might be, but they can’t ever trace how they do what they do.” He shrugged. “They do get more recognition, but more of them get killed.”

“You think I could be good as a counterspy?”

“If you work at it, you could be very good.” He paused. “There’s an advantage and a drawback.”

“Beside being . . . under-known?”

He laughed. “That’s a good way of putting it. Under-known.” The smile vanished. “Because what we do trains imager capabilities more deeply and widely, imager counterspies get advanced more quickly, and that includes field pay . . . but your public grade is left lower, at least in most cases, until later. If you work, you could become a Maitre D’Aspect fairly soon, but while you would get the pay, your rank wouldn’t be known beyond the maitres of the Collegium. You’d still be viewed as a third. When you master Maitre D’Structure, you will be listed as a Maitre D’Aspect. After that, you can be listed at whatever level of mastery you wish. Most have remained publicly as Maitres D’Aspect until they have left day-to-day countering duties.”

I could see that.

“What do you want to do?”

“Continue with you, sir, if that’s acceptable.”

“I’d hoped you would . . . but it is a matter of choice.” He fingered his chin. “Because of your injuries, and because we’re shorthanded, I’m going to change your training schedule. Starting next week, you’ll spend a glass with Clovyl, right at first afternoon bell, and he’ll give you just the right amount of exercise to help you heal. After that, you’ll report to Maitre Dyana. She will teach you how High Holders behave and some of their particular customs and mannerisms, and what they signify.”

“She was raised a High Holder, wasn’t she?”

“You noticed. Good.” He lifted a long rolled tube-rather large papers rolled to form a tube a yard long-and handed it to me. “These are the plans for the Council Chateau. By the end of next week, I expect you to be able to draw every floor from memory. Keep them out of sight in your room, and don’t take them out of it until you bring them back a week from Jeudi.” Then he stood. “I will see you this Jeudi morning. We will work on some imaging skills that will not take much strength. They’re a matter of technique and knowledge.”

After leaving his study, I carried the Chateau plans back to my quarters and began to study them. In less than a quarter glass, I understood why he’d given me a week. There were rooms and passages that no one could ever have guessed were even there.

I took my time getting to the dining hall, but Menyard and Reynol were the only ones I could see of the group with whom I usually ate.

“You’re looking healthier, Rhenn,” said Reynol.

“I’m feeling better.”

“Where’s Claustyn?”

Menyard shrugged “On assignment. Field imagers don’t say where, and we don’t ask. He left sometime yesterday.”

“You’ll say less than that,” observed Reynol.

“Even if I wanted to,” I replied, “I’ll have far less to say. How can one say anything about what never happens? That would be like writing a history of a place that never existed.”

Both of them laughed.

At that moment, one of the seconds sitting an empty space away from Reynol handed over a platter of chops, and I could see a dish of stewed and spiced apples following. “I haven’t picked up one of the newsheets. What’s happening in Caenen or Cloisera?”

Reynol shook his head. “We probably won’t hear until someone actually invades, and the news will be a good week late, if not two.”

“Who’s stronger, Ferrum or Jariola?”

Reynol frowned. “That’s hard to say. Ferrum has more heavy equipment, and they’ve even got something called a landcruiser-an armored thing powered by steam that can travel over land without rails. The Oligarch has more trained troops . . .”

As Reynol went on, I got the feeling that a war between the two would be long and bloody and in no one’s interest, but wasn’t that true of most wars?