Imager

71

When I woke, I was looking up at a gray ceiling. I was back in the infirmary, and Master Dichartyn and Master Draffyd were both standing over me. My head ached, and various pains were shooting through my chest and back.

“How bad is it?” I managed to ask.

“For what you’ve been through,” replied Master Draffyd, “not all that bad. You’ll live, although it may not feel like it when you try to move or breathe deeply. You might have a cracked rib, and you’re bruised all over. In fact, you’ll be on your feet-very carefully-once we put you in a rib corset.”

He was right. As he and Master Dichartyn gently maneuvered me into the grayish corset, I felt like my entire chest and rib cage were pressing in on my lungs. It was far more painful than the gunshot wounds I’d taken from the assassin, but the very worst of it subsided once Master Draffyd had laced the corset up tightly. It was more like a cross between a flexible brace and a corset.

“How’s that?” asked Master Draffyd.

“It’s better . . . painful, but not nearly so bad.”

“You’ll stay here tonight, just to make sure, but I’ll let you go in the morning.”

“I’m supposed to attend a wedding tomorrow,” I offered.

“Not your own, I hope.”

“No, sir.”

“If you take a coach and don’t walk too much-and stay out of any explosions-you should be all right. But don’t take off the wound corset without help. You’ll have to come here to wash up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not a word about this, Draffyd.” Master Dichartyn said. “I’d appreciate a word or two with him alone.”

The younger master nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. I knew that Master Dichartyn had more than a word or two in mind.

Master Dichartyn looked at me and shook his head. “You did wrap up everything in a neat way that didn’t implicate the Collegium, albeit with rather messy consequences. From the evidence remaining, it’s fairly certain that the explosion you triggered took out three assassins, and the one body whole enough to be recovered from that explosion was that of the Ferran. But why did you kill Vhillar?”

“Besides the fact that he was the one hiring the assassins, you mean?” I wanted to shake my head. “You didn’t know, sir?”

“He was an agent of Ferrum and a spy. All their envoys are, but that’s to be expected. Even hiring assassins is to be expected. That’s not a reason for killing him. For expelling him, yes, but killing envoys leads to repercussions. The Council may have to recall our envoy to Ferrial before something similar happens to him. Maitre Poincaryt will want an explanation, and so do I. A good explanation.”

I just looked at him for a long moment before asking, “Who was the body?” Then I realized he’d already told me, but I’d almost forgotten that in the surprise of learning he didn’t know that Vhillar was an imager.

“The body was that of the Ferran. The others were shredded.”

I winced. “What about the duty coach driver?”

Dichartyn shook his head. “That happens. But why Vhillar?”

“He was the imager.”

For the first time, his mouth opened. “Vhillar, an imager?”

“Most certainly,” I replied.

“Oh . . . and how did you know that?”

“I tested his shields, and he tried an image attack on me during the Ball. He was the one who hired the Ferran, and he tried to poison Suyrien during the toast. I imaged the poisoned wine out of his glass and replaced it with some from a closed bottle. There’s probably a vacuum there, and they won’t be able to uncork it.”

“So . . . that was why Constanza D’Amerlen had that burn on her shoulder.”

“Ah . . . not exactly. That was Vhillar’s second attempt, and it hit an invisible shield in the air. The spray flew back.”

His face hardened. “Rhennthyl . . . why didn’t you explain this or find me?”

“I never could find you, and there wasn’t time to explain that the wine was poisoned. You see, the wine was in the glass and unmoving except for the tiny bubbles. The goblet was on the table, and then the wine trembled, but not the goblet or the table. And after I blocked both attempts, Vhillar looked at me, but he didn’t do anything until just before he left when he tried to kill me. I tried to find you, but I didn’t want to leave the hall because I wouldn’t have been able to watch Vhillar . . .” I tried to explain, but so much of it rested on what I’d felt about how things went together. “. . . and there was also some link between Juniae D’Shendael and Vhillar. Not an affair, but something else. I’d wager it’s linked somehow to Emanus, and that’s why he was killed, but that’s only a guess.”

“Your ‘guesses’ have been rather accurate in the past. I have the feeling this one may be as well.” His tone was dryly ironic. He fingered his chin before speaking again. “If Vhillar had succeeded in poisoning Suyrien, the blame would fall on the Collegium, either for doing it or failing to prevent it, and Ferrum’s greatest opponent on the Council would be dead, probably to be replaced by Councilor Haestyr, who is far more favorably inclined toward them.”

“Councilor Haestyr said something to Councilor Caartyl after the toast. Caartyl looked most unhappy for a moment.”

Master Dichartyn was the one to look displeased at that. “You realize that there is absolutely no proof linking the assassins to Vhillar, nothing except what you saw and felt.”

I hurt, and I was getting tired of the cross-examination. “Then talk to Madame D’Shendael, and ask her who told her that an imager killed her father . . . pardon me, who told her about the rumor that an imager killed her father.”

“How did you know that?”

“She asked me to dance . . .” I backtracked and told him about both encounters with Juniae D’Shendael. “. . . and how else would she have known?”

“You are not making matters much easier, Rhennthyl.”

“Maitre Poincaryt told me that lures don’t have to be defenseless, and too many junior imagers have already died.”

“He said that to you?”

“Yes, sir-about the lures, that is.”

“Even so, you’re asking me to take a great deal on faith.”

I just looked at him, again, for a long moment, before replying, “If I might say so, sir, far, far less than you have asked me to take on faith and without full knowledge. If I had known more, I might have been able to act in a . . . less messy fashion. Besides, Envoy Vhillar tripped on the steps and split his skull. Most regrettable, but accidents do happen, and there was no poison involved . . .” I was so tired I wanted to yawn, but I was afraid of just how much that might hurt.

“Then what would you suggest the Council do with regard to Ferrum to explain the death of their envoy?”

“Send a very polite sealed communique to the head of their government”-I was so dizzy I couldn’t remember the official title-“telling them that the Council deeply regrets the accident, and that for the sake of everyone involved, it should remain that way, unless, of course, Ferrum would like it known that their envoy was an imager, which would raise the question of how many others might be.”

“You have a very nasty mind. They could still deny it.”

“Send a letter from Master Poincaryt saying that one of the functions of the Collegium is to keep renegade imagers out of Solidar, and that who else would better know who was an imager. Besides, even the charge would create problems for them. People half-expect it from Solidar, I’m sure. So any countercharge shouldn’t affect us much.” I looked at him. “You should have thought of all that. Or did you?”

“I did, mostly, but I wanted to see if you were really as devious as Master Poincaryt thinks.”

“Am I?” That bothered me.

“No. You’re worse, because you have the ability to incorporate more of the truth in what you do.”

I closed my eyes, then opened them.

“Rhennthyl . . . after this, you can’t stay at the Chateau.”

“Why not?” I was tired, bone-tired, but I was irritated. I’d done my job, better than Master Dichartyn had done his, and he was telling me that I couldn’t keep doing something I’d done well? Maybe I’d been messy, but I’d gotten it done.

“The first reason is because you aren’t ready to supervise people, but you have more imaging skills than Baratyn, possibly more than he will ever have. You also jump to conclusions. Most of the time, so far, you’ve been right, but the higher you get in the Collegium the more convoluted and complex matters you will have to deal with can get, and that will increase the possibility that you’ll be wrong. Masters can’t afford to be wrong often, especially in dealing with the Council and High Holders. The second reason is that you still have trouble distinguishing when to be patient and when not to be.”

“So you’re going to send me off to the armory or something?” I almost didn’t care-except I did.

“No. I have an idea, but I’ll have to talk to Maitre Poincaryt about it. I’ll have to brief him tonight anyway after the mess you made. He shouldn’t find it out from anyone else.”

I almost snapped back that, if he’d told me more, we wouldn’t have had such a mess. If I’d known about Vhillar . . .

Then again, that was hindsight. Besides, expressing my anger at him wouldn’t help me any, and he already warned me about impatience once.

“Now . . . get some rest. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

After he left, I did close my eyes, then.