Imager

66

On Mardi, the only thing that happened of note was that a petitioner tried to get to Councilor Suyrien. Dartazn had to kill him, and Baratyn and the civic patrollers discovered that the assassin had killed the factor who had the appointment and taken his place.

That evening, Maitre Dyana, in the midst of attempting to instill more finesse in my poison diagnostics, suggested that half of diagnostics was observation before the fact, and that I still tended to rush before I had all the information.

“Patience, dear boy. Observation in detail with patience.”

If she were still alive twenty years from now, I thought, she’d still be calling me “dear boy,” which I suspected was a more pleasant way of saying, “Think before you act, idiot.”

On Meredi, I received from the Collegium tailor a formal white and gray uniform jacket to be worn to the Council’s Harvest Ball the following week. I tried it on, and, unsurprisingly, it fit perfectly. I had to admit that it looked far better than the standard gray waistcoat.

Of course, right after arriving back at the Collegium on Jeudi afternoon, I marched myself to Master Dichartyn’s studio.

As soon as I sat down, he asked, “Why do you think an assassin tried to kill Councilor Suyrien?”

That certainly wasn’t the first question I expected. “Because he’s the head of the executive committee, and effectively runs the Council.”

“That is a statement of fact that is meaningless. What has he done to cause someone to want to kill him?”

“I don’t know, sir. From what I have heard, he is opposed to changing anything.”

“That is true. What does that tell you about the assassin-or whoever paid him, if it turns out he was hired?”

“He feels he has been hurt by the present system or strongly wants change or both.”

“Many people feel that way. They don’t try to kill a councilor.”

“Either blood or golds or both are involved.”

“Better. Think about this. You’ve read the newsheets, have you not, with the stories about more hostilities between Ferrum and Jariola-and the skirmish between one of our flotillas that was positioned to keep Ferran warships from attacking Jariolan merchanters?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is the possibility of war between Ferrum and Jariola. Which land is less popular in Solidar?”

“Jariola, I’d say. The Oligarch makes people think of an overbearing rex.”

“What about among the factors and merchanters?”

I thought about my father’s reactions. “They’re probably even more in favor of Ferrum, and they’re not happy that the Council’s attempt at evenhandedness is costing them.”

“Now, while it has not been made that public,” Master Dichartyn went on, “Councilor Suyrien has suggested that Solidar may have to support Jariola, given the belligerent stance of Ferrum. He has also stated that he fears the dangers of a nation whose policy is ruled only by profits. Can you see a possible link to the assassin, at least in terms of views?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now . . . have you considered what I asked of you on Lundi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then summarize your conclusions.” He sat back and waited.

“Well, sir . . . I’ve thought about this for a long time, but the only significant strengths I seem to have are very strong shields for someone of my level and the ability to combine what I know with what I feel to come to a conclusion that usually seems to be right-often long before I could have actually proved the correctness of that conclusion. The implication behind that is probably what Maitre Dyana keeps saying, and that’s that I need to be more patient. At least, in most cases.” I couldn’t help adding, “I don’t think I’m the single-handed hero type who can charge into the taudis and capture scores.”

“What about your portraiture ability?”

“That’s a strength, and it probably added to my imaging ability, but, outside of providing portraits for the Collegium . . .”

He nodded. “Those probably are among your strongest points, and the implications are correct so far as you have carried them. We also don’t train, as you put it, single-handed heroes. We often act alone, but it’s far more effective, and far safer, to act from the shadows . . . or in direct sunlight with everyone watching in a fashion where no one realizes what you’ve done, and even when they do, where no one connects it to you or the Collegium.” He smiled. “Next week, at the Council’s Harvest Ball, above all, observe. Observe and try to correlate what you see with what you know and what you feel. It may surprise you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“Taking the young lady who saved my life to meet my parents.”

He fingered his chin, then nodded. “For all of our sakes, use your shields and be careful . . . and observant.”

After I left, I had, more than ever, the feeling that I was the lure for a much larger predator than I’d first imagined.