Imager’s Intrigue

13

When I reached Third District on Vendrei, I checked the duty logs immediately. There were two more deaths-one a homeless beggar found in an alleyway off Elsyor and another elver. The old beggar died from “natural” causes, such as neglect and poor health. Then I began to assemble the information that had come in on the banque clerk.

According to the reports, Kearyk was older than I’d assumed, four years younger than I was. His father was a baker who had a shop on Sage Lane, right off North Middle to the east of Martradon, and Kearyk had lived there with his parents. If I’d gone by the procedures, I should have informed Bolyet, but the parents weren’t perpetrators or suspects, and I just wanted information. So I took a hack out to Sage Lane. The shop wasn’t hard to find, since it was near the corner-not quite classy enough to qualify as a patisserie, nor pedestrian enough to be the corner bakery. The name over the window was Bakery D’Rykker. The air around the shop carried the odor of baking, of fresh loaves more than pastries.

I stepped inside.

A short but rotund woman looked at me with wide eyes that darted from the grays to the imager emblem on my visored cap. “Sir…?”

“I’m Civic Patrol Captain Rhennthyl.”

Her eyes went back to the imager pin, questioningly.

“I’m also a master imager. Are you Madame D’Rykker?”

“Giseylle D’Rykker.”

“Kearyk D’Cleris was your son, then.”

“He was. Why are you here, Captain?”

“Did you hear about the explosion at the Banque D’Excelsis? When we looked into it, we discovered some interesting things that might have involved your son, and I wanted to talk to you about him.”

A man who appeared too angular to be a baker stepped through the archway that led to the rear of the shop and the ovens. He brushed his hands on his smudged whites, then looked up as if he hadn’t seen me before. He started to glare, then recognized the uniform and glanced at his wife. “What have you done now?”

“He’s a Patrol Captain. He’s here about Kearyk. I told you it wasn’t an accident. I told you he didn’t kill himself. So did Kleinryk.”

Why would Kearyk want to kill himself? “Why didn’t you think his death was an accident?”

“He didn’t like the water. He was always afraid of it. He was a good boy…a good man. Handsome as he was, he was kind and gentle,” said Giseylle.

“He was the oldest, wasn’t he? But you sent him all the way through grammaire. He didn’t join you here in the bakery.”

“He didn’t want to be a baker,” Rykker said.

“He did well at grammaire, and he was a very good clerk. He never got married, though, and he lived with you.” I had an idea, but I wanted to see if their reaction would support it.

The two exchanged glances.

“He had a very fine hand,” I added. “I’ve seen some of what he wrote. Did he leave any indication that he was discouraged or upset before he drowned?”

“No.”

“When did you see him last? The night before he died?”

They looked at each other again. I waited.

“No,” she finally replied. “He did not stay here all the time.”

“He never stayed here,” added Rykker. “He had a friend.”

“Do you know her name? I’d like to talk to her. It’s important.” I doubted strongly that the friend was female, but I could have been wrong.

“His name is Lacques. He’s a…street artist,” replied Giseylle.

“A chalker?” I asked. “Do you know where I could find him?”

“Him?” Rykker snorted. “He practices his…art…all around the Plaza D’Este.”

“Kearyk never told us where he lived,” added Giseylle.

“Did Kearyk ever say anything that suggested he might be in any sort of trouble?” I pressed.

“He never talked about his work,” replied the mother.

“Numbers and figures…I wish he had stayed here,” said Rykker. “He was good with the pastries, but he said he didn’t like it.”

I talked with them for three-quarters of a glass, but I didn’t learn any more about why Kearyk drowned…or had been drowned. They did show me a miniature portrait of him, and it showed an extremely handsome young man with short curly blond hair and fine features.

After that I walked up North Middle toward the Plaza D’Nord, thinking over what I’d found out so far, and studying the neighborhood. I was a block from the Plaza when a patroller stepped from a side street-Silvers Lane-and hailed me.

“Captain Rhennthyl!”

I turned, but didn’t recognize the man. “Yes?”

“Sir…I just wondered…”

“I’m over here to talk to someone who might be a witness in a case that happened the other day in Third District.” I didn’t want to explain even that much, but refusing to say anything would have suggested I was up to no good, rather than just trying to avoid burdensome procedures.

“Oh…yes, sir.”

I smiled politely. “If anyone has any questions, they know where to find me.”

“Yes, sir.” He stepped away.

I kept walking.

It wasn’t hard to find Lacques, a thin blond man with short curly beard and a receding hairline. Not only was he one of the few chalkers around in late morning, but he had just finished signing a long mural on the stone in front of a boarded-up building a half block off the Plaza. He saw the uniform and stiffened.

“I wouldn’t run, Lacques. I’m also an imager. Besides, I only want to ask you a few questions.

His eyes took in the imager emblem on my cap and the pin on my grays. He didn’t relax, much as he slouched as I walked toward him. I looked over the chalk drawing of an abandoned building, with a figure peering over broken and uneven stones. The figure had a face that was split into two sides. One side showed a cherubic blond young man with an innocent blue eye and a happy half-smile framed with pinkish lips. The other side of the face depicted an angular and hard-eyed young woman with high cheekbones and a deep-set eye with a black iris. Her hair was swept back and curled over a bare shoulder, her mouth outlined in slashing red. It wasn’t bad.

“Did you ever study with a Guild artist?”

“Those pretenders?”

“Hand me the red and the pink chalks,” I said.

He frowned.

“I’ll give them back.”

After a moment, he handed them over.

It took me longer than I’d thought it would, but when I finished, the female half-face of the figure held a rose, with its green stem caught by white teeth, a single drop of blood seeming to hang in mid-air above the uncovered shoulder. I handed back the green chalk. “I think that fits in with what you had in mind.”

He looked at the rose and then at me.

“Some of the Guild artists aren’t pretenders.” I couldn’t deny that there were some, like Aurelean, who had aspects of pretenders, because Aurelean was a competent artist who pretended he was great.

“You…oh…you’re the one.”

I didn’t bother to ask for a clarification. We both knew what he meant.

“I understand you were a very good friend of Kearyk. Why did he drown?”

“He didn’t drown. I walked all the way down to Patrol headquarters. I told them he was drowned.” Lacques’s voice turned bitter. “They didn’t listen.”

“Do you remember who didn’t listen?”

“It was a patroller. He said his name was Merolyn.”

Merolyn was Cydarth’s assistant. “What else did he say?”

“He said he appreciated my concern, but the body showed no signs of anything but drowning. There were no wounds, no bruises.” Lacques shook his head. “There wouldn’t be. Kearyk was terrified of water. He wouldn’t even walk on the river side of the promenade. All anyone had to do was carry him to a bridge or somewhere on the river where the water was deep, and he would have drowned.”

“What else did the patroller say?”

“He started asking about why I was interested. I knew what he had in mind. If I pressed, he’d drag me in, say we had a lover’s quarrel.”

“Did you?”

Lacques shook his head. His eyes were bright. “Kearyk was supposed to meet me for dinner at Felter’s. He never showed. I never saw him again.”

“Did he ever mention that he had any troubles at the banque?”

The chalker tilted his head, and his brow furrowed. “No…well…not exactly. He did say something about the director badgering him about a ledger page missing from his desk, but it was a blank page. It bothered him. Little details, those bothered him. Fire could be raining down from Erion, and he’d be worried about whether he’d capped his inkwell tightly enough.”

At that moment, I wished I’d actually insisted on looking at the altered page that Tolsynn had mentioned. I’d have wagered that the entire page had been forged, probably carefully and over time. “Did he mention anything else?”

“No. I don’t remember anything. I just remembered that because it was so odd. A blank ledger page. Who would even care?” He shook his head again.

As with the Rykkers, I went back over everything and added questions. After half a glass, I hadn’t learned anything else.

As I walked away from Lacques, I was debating whether to get something to eat at a bistro near the Plaza because I’d sampled all of those in easy walking distance in my own district. At that moment, a hack pulled up, across the square, and a figure in the bluish grays of a patroller stepped out. He hadn’t taken three steps before I recognized Bolyet. So I just waited for him.

The Fifth District captain grinned as he walked up. “Morrsyn sent word that you were headed toward the Plaza D’Nord. I thought it might be a good idea to see what you were following. Do you care to tell me?” His tone was easy.

“You got word about the explosion at the Banque D’Excelsis in District Three, the one just off the Midroad?”

“You’re following up?”

“We got a tip that one of the clerks might be involved. The only problem is that he drowned before the explosion. I was talking to his family and friends…”

Bolyet nodded. “You’ll keep me informed?”

“Of course, but I have to say it’s not looking very promising.”

“You do have a way of making the unpromising promising, Rhenn.”

I shrugged. “I’m just telling you. I will let you know if something turns up.” I paused. “Have you heard anything about Cydarth pushing to become Commander?”

Bolyet laughed, sarcastically. “He’s never said anything to me, but it’s no secret that’s what he wants. He’s mentioned it to some of the lieutenants, including Yerkes. Yerkes doesn’t think I know that. Alsoran mentioned it to me, just before he left to come back to Third District. Good man, Alsoran.”

“I know. I was fortunate to get him.”

“No…Cydarth let you have him because he didn’t understand how solid Alsoran is. He thought that Alsoran would be in effective because he doesn’t speak unless he has something to say.” After a moment, he asked, “Anything I should know?”

“You might watch out for elveweed among the wealthier students at Jainsyn’s.”

“That’s in Third District.”

“It is, but half the students come from Fifth District,” I pointed out. “I thought you might like to know, given the subcommander’s directives.”

“What about things I can do something about, Rhenn?”

I had to think for a moment. “Well…that’s a problem. There’s someone running around setting explosions, but I don’t know who or why, except that whoever it is happens to be an expert. There’s the stronger elveweed, but I only know it has to be grown under glass or in the south of Solidar, and I have no leads on who’s behind that.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what else.”

“What about the banque case?”

“Explosion, but no one stole anything. The only tip we got was that a drowned clerk had embezzled funds. The records show he did.”

“That stinks worse than a week-old mackerel in midsummer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Someone thinks he was framed,” Bolyet said.

“I suspect they do, and what exactly can I do, except watch and try to run down leads?”

He shook his head. “As if we didn’t have enough else to do.”

I decided against eating in Fifth District and caught a hack back to Third District station. On the way back, my thoughts went back to the picture Lacques had drawn. The side that had been a young man resembled the miniature I’d seen of Kearyk, but the other side suggested something very different. Yet…even with that insight, I didn’t know what else I could do.

Once I reached the station, I headed for Alsoran’s study. He was about to leave.

“Do you have a moment?”

“I do. I was just going to change the night rounds. Joran is going to fill in for Severyn.”

“How is he?”

“The slash he took from putting down the brawl at Semplex is finally healing.”

“Good.” I followed him back into the study, but didn’t sit down. “I followed up on the business with Kearyk. He had a lover, not a woman, and the lover thinks Kearyk was drowned. The clerk was terrified of water. But one other thing came up. The lover’s a street chalker, and he claims he went down to headquarters to tell them Kearyk had to have been drowned on purpose. Merolyn dissuaded him and offered a veiled threat. So when I talked with Captain Bolyet I asked a bit about Cydarth, and…” I looked to Alsoran.

“From the way you referred to the subcommander, sir, I thought you knew. He’s been trying to get all the lieutenants behind him for years. I guess he figured most would become captains. He wasn’t real pleased when you forced Warydt into a stipend, you know?”

“His displeasure was rather obvious, but I didn’t know that was part of the reason. I just thought he didn’t like the amount of control I had over Third District.”

“No, sir. He doesn’t. He’s just waiting for your last term to end.”

Or until he could find a way to oust Artois.

“What are you going to report on the bank explosion?” Alsoran asked.

“I’m not going to report anything for a bit. We’ll leave the case open for now. If nothing turns up in a month or so, I’ll report it as a failed robbery. I don’t know what else I can do.”

“It wasn’t ever intended to be a robbery, was it?”

“I strongly doubt it. They want someone to look into things at the banque, matters that involve the dead clerk…maybe more.” I shrugged. “Without proof, though, I don’t know what else we can do.”

Alsoran nodded.

The rest of the day was held to a mugging, two thefts, another wagon smash, another elver death, and a husband beating his wife so badly she might not live. All in all, close to a typical Vendrei.

When I reached NordEste Design and Seliora opened the door, I could tell something had happened from the look on her face.

Her first words confirmed it. “Haerasyn stole all of Odelia’s jewelry and all their golds. He ran off. No one knows where.”

I couldn’t say that I was surprised. “I hope it wasn’t too much.” I stepped inside the foyer and closed the door behind me.

“The jewelry bothers her more than the golds. One of the brooches came from Grandmama’s mother.”

“He’s likely already fenced or pawned it. Or he will soon. If someone gives me a description, I can circulate it to the goldsmiths who handle pawned goods. They’d hold it, but Odelia would have to pay…”

“Aunt Aegina would pay…”

And that was how the occupational events of the day ended, not that we didn’t have to get on with returning home, feeding and getting Diestrya ready for bed, and all the other details of domestic life.