Imager’s Intrigue

3

Mardi was a typical day, beginning with the usual hurry for Seliora and me-my exercises, dressing and getting Diestrya ready for the day, breakfast, the duty coach to our respective places of work, reviewing patroller performances, a glass or so walking with different patrollers. I didn’t see either Jadhyl or Horazt, and that meant they hadn’t found out anything about the explosion…and that they didn’t have other problems of the sort that might concern me or the Patrol. Jacquet’s report on the specifics of the Place D’Opera bomb arrived by messenger at the station late on Mardi afternoon. It didn’t tell me much more than I already knew, except for the precision of the blast pattern.

Both Seliora and I were exhausted by the time we retired to our separate beds. Tired as I was, the time before I dropped off to sleep was the loneliest part of the day.

Meredi dawned gray and blustery, but it didn’t rain while I was trying to keep in shape with Clovyl’s exercises and four mille run, or even after I walked with Seliora and Diestrya to the duty carriage. Diestyra walked most of the way.

As on this morning, there were times when I couldn’t escort them all the way to NordEste Design, but I tried to keep those to a minimum, and the only time they’d really be exposed was the short walk from the duty coach to the door. I hoped that an imager-obdurate driver was watching, and that it would be enough that my past actions suggested extremely high costs for anyone attacking my family. Also, there were few times when I didn’t accompany them, which added an element of unpredictability.

Once I saw them off, I headed to the armory building, where I eventually found Shannyr in a small room filled with kegs and small square boxes. He was sitting at a work table with circular thin bronze disks on one side. On the other side were thicker bronze disks, each looking like a slice from a bronze cylinder.

“Master Rhennthyl.” The imager second stood quickly, a worried expression on his face.

“Don’t look so concerned,” I said with a laugh. “I need your help.”

“Mine?”

I explained about the bomb and showed him the diagram.

“Sir, I’m not an ordnance designer.”

“I know that. I also know you’re very observant, and that you probably understand a lot more than many imagers would guess that you know.”

“Menyard is really the one who’d know, sir. He’s the top ordnance designer.”

“I’ll talk to him next…but what do you think?”

“The pattern is V-shaped, and that means the blast was directed, but it really wasn’t a shaped charge. I’d guess it was an ordnance-type powder because no one mentions a lot of smoke, and you’d have that with black powder.”

“Thank you. Where would I find Menyard?”

“In the engineering studies on the second level on the south side. I think his is the one closest to the quadrangle.”

“How is Ciermya? And the twins?”

“They’re all fine, except both the twins are getting over the childpox, and she’s had to stay home from work.” He laughed. “She’s ready for them to get well.”

“I can imagine. I hope Diestrya doesn’t get it…but with children, you can’t ever tell.”

“No, sir.”

With a smile, I left. Shannyr had been a friend to me when I’d first come to the Collegium, and I hadn’t forgotten that, although matters between our families were a bit awkward because Ciermya was scared to death of both Seliora and me.

I made my way to the staircase on the end of the building and climbed up. Although Menyard’s door was ajar, I knocked.

“Come on in.”

I did, and he hurried to his feet.

“Rhenn…or should I say Master Captain Rhennthyl? We don’t see you very often any more. Kahlasa and I were actually talking about you this morning. She just left.”

“Oh…I’m sorry I missed her. And…Rhenn is fine. I need your help.” I handed him the diagram and the report. “Anything you can tell me will help.”

As he took the papers, Menyard’s only comment was “Hmmmm. Interesting.” He sat back down at the broad table that served both as both desk and drafting board and began to study the report.

I didn’t say a word, just seated myself in the straight-backed chair set at an angle to the broad desk set before a window looking toward the north end of the Collegium quadrangle.

After a time, he looked up. “I’d say that someone took a four-digit brass shell casing, shortened it, perhaps by half, and then flared it, packed the explosives inside, covered the explosives with metal filings or thin strips, and capped it with a lead cover, probably designed to break into segments. Most likely, the strips came from the part of the casing they cut down…”

“The explosive?”

“Some form of guncotton, Poudre B, I’d guess. The device was attached to the rear axle at an angle. They crimped the bracket holding the device in place. They planned for it to detonate fairly soon after they placed it. If they primed it with totally dry guncotton and an inertial friction spring, any jolt or sudden movement of the axle would trigger the primer.”

That meant that the device was fixed to the carriage axle while the coachman was waiting to pick up Factor Broussard and his family. Since the coachman had been one of those killed, it was unlikely that he’d been part of the plan. Likewise, Broussard’s cousin certainly wouldn’t have wanted to lose both his coach, his coachman, and his team. “They must have scouted Lyrique and known where the pavement was rough.”

“Seems right. If they used dry guncotton as a primer, they were also experts.”

“We don’t use it, do we?”

Menyard shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Even imaging it into place could cause an explosion. But guncotton is relatively easy to make, and there’s enough Poudre B in the world that the powder wouldn’t be that hard to get.” He frowned. “The segmenting could have been done in a soft lead cover with the equivalent of a sharp knife.”

What Menyard’s analysis suggested was foreign assassins or covert agents. But why would they target a mere agricultural factor, albeit a wealthy one? “Is there anything else?”

Menyard shook his head and handed the report back. “Not from this.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who could do this, Rhenn, could build a similar device that would shred even your shields.”

“I got that feeling,” I said dryly. “It’s not a pleasant thought.”

“Be careful. We’ve lost too many imagers over the past few years.”

“I will.”

Just as I left the armory, a young prime whom I didn’t know hurried up to me.

“Master Rhennthyl, sir. Master Jhulian wanted to know if you could spare a moment for him.”

“I’d be happy to. I’ll be right there.”

Jhulian was the justice for the Collegium and the maitre who’d pounded Solidaran law into my skull years earlier. What did he want? Sometimes, he also sat as a member of the Solidaran High Justiciary when it reviewed lower justicing procedures. Was there something he wanted to know about the Civic Patrol? What ever it was, as I walked across the quadrangle, I hoped that it wouldn’t take too long. He had a study just down the hallway from Maitre Dichartyn in the administration and receiving building, and his door was open.

“Do come in, Rhenn.”

I closed the door behind me and slipped into one of the chairs across the desk from him. “What can I do for you?”

“Let’s start with young Shault first, Rhenn. He isn’t exactly excelling in willingness to understand the role of law and how it applies to the Collegium.”

“You’d like me to talk to him.”

“It couldn’t hurt. At times, he won’t really listen to either me or Dichartyn. You’re the only one he’ll really listen to, polite as he is.”

That had been a problem from the first, and after Shault had made secondus, Maitre Dichartyn had become his preceptor instead of Master Ghaend. That had helped a great deal, but not totally. “That’s a combination of the Collegium and the taudis.”

“Combination or not, he’ll end up like Floryn, or in a dead-end armory position.”

I still remembered Floryn. He’d been executed by Master Jhulian just weeks after I’d come to Imagisle. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“Good.” He paused, then brushed back a lock of his white-and-blond hair, before saying, “I was talking to Rholyn the other day, and he mentioned that, by the end of the year, the Council will have to decide on whether to reappoint Commander Artois. What has been your experience with the Commander?”

“I’m sure that my opinion would be similar to that of Master Dichartyn.” If the matter were as straightforward as the question appeared to be, Jhulian wouldn’t have even bothered to ask me. He just would have asked Dichartyn.

He smiled, if coolly. “I thought you might say something like that. Might I ask you why you answered that way?”

I offered an off-hand shrug. “If it’s as simple as it sounds, you could just have asked Master Dichartyn. This suggests that you or Rholyn want to be able to claim that you didn’t talk to Dichartyn about it. That suggests that someone is unhappy with Artois and knows that Master Dichartyn would support him.” I still didn’t know why what I thought mattered in the slightest, especially to the Council.

“Or it might be that we want to claim that Master Dichartyn didn’t influence you.”

While I certainly listened to Master Dichartyn, we’d just as certainly disagreed on matters over the years. “My opinion is fairly direct. Artois is an honest and effective commander who has always put the Civic Patrol above anything.”

“That’s a rather sweeping statement, Rhenn.”

“The Patrol is his identity. I doubt that he could let anything destroy or damage it, if it were in his power to stop such damage.”

“That could be dangerous, could it not, if he felt someone or some group were out to disband or replace the Patrol?”

“Who’s on the Council who’s opposed to my being a Patrol Captain?”

Jhulian laughed. “Maitre Poincaryt said you’d say that. Why do you think that?”

“Artois doesn’t like me. He never has. He does respect my ability and my concern for the Patrol, and he thinks I’m good for the Patrol at present. So…who is backing Cydarth as his replacement…or as the director or head of another civil enforcement agency?” I watched Jhulian closely.

He turned his hands up, simulating helplessness. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I shook my head. “What do you and Maitre Poincaryt want me to watch out for?”

“I don’t believe we’ve asked for anything. It would, of course, be in the interests of the Collegium that Commander Artois and the Patrol remain as they are, at least for the next several years.” He stood. “I’m certain you’ll wish to talk to Master Dichartyn, but he won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“As you should know, Rhenn, he seldom reveals his destinations, except to the Maitre of the Collegium.”

After I left Jhulian, I walked over to the dining hall, and left a note in Shault’s letterbox telling him that I’d meet him in the hallway off the dining area at half-past fifth glass. Then, since I was on the east side of Imagisle, I walked across the Bridge of Hopes and caught a hack to take me to the station. I couldn’t justify taking a duty coach, not when I used one so much anyway. And now I had something else to worry about.

In the hack, I pondered over what Jhulian had asked, what he had hinted, and what he had not said. The implication was clear that someone on the Council, or several someones, didn’t want Artois continuing as Commander. Some of that might revolve around me, but certainly not all. Alsoran might know some of the rumors, but he wouldn’t know the Council side of matters.

He met me just outside my study. “Captain.”

I gestured for him to follow me inside. “Close the door, if you would.”

He did. We both sat down.

“Have you heard anything about someone wanting to replace Commander Artois?”

Alsoran didn’t say anything for a moment. He wasn’t the kind to reply immediately, but rather to think over what anyone said. I appreciated that quality and tried to emulate it, not always very successfully, as I’d shown earlier in dealing with Jhulian.

“Not in anything like those kind of words. Barcuyt-he’s Hostyn’s lieutenant-mentioned that the Council had to confirm Commander Artois for another five-year term before long. I didn’t think much about it. That was after the lieutenants’ meeting at headquarters last month.”

I waited. Alsoran often took his time.

“All the captains and the subcommander have to be reconfirmed,” he added.

“I’ll be up for that a year from now,” I said.

“The strange thing was that one of the other lieutenants-I can’t think of his name, but he’s the one from Second District-he was asking Barcuyt if he’d likely replace Hostyn. Not out in the open, but later, when they were alone, outside waiting for a hack, and I was coming down the steps. I didn’t think it was any of my business so I didn’t even look their way.”

“That’s interesting,” I mused. “Have you heard anything else?”

“No, sir. Not a thing.”

After Alsoran left, I went on to the more routine aspects of my day, if anything in the Civic Patrol was totally routine. The next few glasses were as uneventful as any Patrol captain’s time might be. That is, there were arrests and malefactors dispatched by wagon to headquarters for charging. There were two muggings on the northern section of the Midroad in Third District, both of shopgirls careless with their wallets. And, of course, both happened while I was on the other side of the district, accompanying Recyrt and Fuast on their rounds along Saenhelyn Road. I also received a dispatch from Subcommander Cydarth asking if Third District had discovered anything that might shed light on the explosion. That request crossed my earlier report to Commander Artois summarizing what Menyard had told me, although I had merely referred to “ordnance experts at the Collegium.”

The only thing out of the ordinary was that Smultyn and Caesaro found two dead elvers dumped in the street near where Quierca crossed Mando. Both elvers’ faces were contorted in pain, and they stunk of elveweed. There was no way to tell for certain, but it was likely that they’d had too much of the bad weed that Horazt had warned of, since they had no wounds, bruises, or other obvious causes of death. For a moment, I had thoughts that we might actually have fewer cases of disturbance and assaults by elvers, but that wouldn’t happen. Elvers, like all addicts, or most people, for that matter, didn’t really think things happened to them. Everyone else, but not them.

Horazt had warned me about the bad elveweed, but there was one question I hadn’t thought to ask, and that was whether the dealers in the other taudis were getting the same weed. I doubted he’d even know. Still, it was something to keep in mind…and watch.

The duty coach arrived on time, and Seliora and Diestrya were waiting for me in the lower front foyer at NordEste Design. I took Diestrya by the hand as we walked down the steps and out to the coach.

“Did you find out anything about the explosion?” Seliora asked, once we were in the coach and headed to Imagisle.

“Menyard confirmed that it was designed and planted by an expert. I still don’t have any idea who would go to all that trouble for a wealthy factor.” I couldn’t help shaking my head. “If he had High Holders as enemies, they wouldn’t use explosives, and neither would a workers’ group. It looks like foreign agents, but everyone else would know that as well.”

“So it’s someone who wants it to look like foreign agents, maybe Ferran agents, since the Council has backed the Jariolans-”

“Only because the Ferrans attacked our warships. Nearly half the Council was very unhappy about having to support the Oligarch, and they won’t want to get involved if war flares up again. You’re suggesting Jariolan agents pretending to be Ferrans? What about Ferrans pretending to be Jariolans pretending to be Ferrans? That’s wheels within wheels.”

Seliora nodded. “It’s never simple.”

She was right about that.

“There’s another problem…” I explained about the elveweed. “Is there any way some of your family contacts can find out if Third District is the only taudis getting the fresher weed?”

“Grandmama isn’t in touch as much, now, but…that might be something Mama could ask about. It also wouldn’t hurt to let people know she’s aware of that. I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“How about your day?” I asked.

“Alhyral D’Haestyr sent his bride-to-be to commission a dining set for the town house he purchased. She’s actually rather nice.”

I recalled Alhyral all too well. He’d propositioned Seliora before we’d been married. “I just can’t imagine why he didn’t come.”

“You’re as bad as any Pharsi,” she replied with a laugh.

“You’ve always claimed I had a Pharsi background,” I countered. “Is it a good commission?”

“Very good, and Shomyr can do all the turning with his new lathes.”

“Who is Alhyral’s finance?”

“Her name is Dhelora D’Zaerlyn-Alte. She’s from around Rivages.” Seliora paused. “She did know who you were. She made a quiet point of that.”

“What exactly did she say?”

“Not much. She just said that her aunt had said you were the first master imager ever to serve in the Civic Patrol. She seemed very bright, far better than Alhyral deserves.”

“She doubtless doesn’t have much choice.”

“No. Few of the High Holders’ daughters do.”

I couldn’t help but wonder who her aunt happened to be, but it could have been some relation of Iryela or even of Alynkya D’Ramsael…or of Madame D’Shendael or someone I didn’t even know.

Again, after we reached Imagisle, as Seliora walked Diestrya home, I hurried back south along the west side of the quadrangle. Shault was waiting by the letterboxes opposite the dining hall.

“Master Rhennthyl.”

“We’ll use the conference room here. We need to talk.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shault was as dark-haired as his “uncle” Horazt, but his eyes were hazel, and he was taller. At age fifteen, after six years of training at the Collegium, he was also healthier and in better physical condition.

I sat at the end of the table, and he took the seat to my right.

“I’ve been talking to Maitre Jhulian. He’s not exactly pleased with your progress with the Code.”

“It’s so dull, sir. That makes it hard to concentrate.”

With that, I could sympathize. I’d felt the same way, but it didn’t matter. “Let me see if I can make it clearer and provide some motivation. Just what is justice?”

“The rendering of what is right, owed, or due. That’s what the book says.”

“The root of the word lies in a Bovarian word meaning ‘law,’” I pointed out. “What does that tell you?”

Shault looked puzzled. “That law should be just? That’s obvious.”

“Who defines what is just? Is it the Nameless?”

“Advocates…the Council.”

“Who writes the laws? Who carries them out?” I pressed.

“People, sir. Patrollers, imagers.”

“Laws are made by people, and they’re carried out by people. So is it wrong for a master imager or a Civic Patrol Captain to quietly create justice, especially when the laws don’t seem fair?”

Shault just looked at me blankly.

“What’s the difference between my enforcing justice and when an ancient rex did it?”

“You’re both imposing your will,” Shault pointed out.

“That’s true, but there’s a fundamental difference. What is it?”

“Who could remove the rex?”

“And?”

Shault’s face brightened. “You have to answer to Master Dichartyn and the Maitre of the Collegium.”

“Or, as a Patrol Captain, to Commander Artois and to the laws enacted by the Council. Even, in the end, the Collegium has to answer to the Council. To whom does the Council answer?”

“Well…the guild representatives answer to their guilds. The factors represent the other factors, and the High Holders on the Council answer to the other High Holders.”

“In total…what does that mean? To whom, in general, does the Council answer?”

“The people, I guess,” Shault said slowly. “But…no one person can tell the Council what to do.”

“Let’s get back to my question. Is it wrong for a master imager to create justice, as opposed to following or enforcing the law?”

“Aren’t they the same?”

“Are they?”

Shault got that confused look on his face again. “No…but…”

“Is what I think just the same as what you think is just? Or what Horazt thinks is just? Or what a factor in Tilbora thinks is just?”

“They should be.”

“Are they?”

“No, sir.”

“So why shouldn’t I as a master imager and a Patrol Captain do what I think is just if it conflicts with the law?”

“Oh…”

I forced myself to wait.

“Are you saying that laws are written to make sure everyone knows what is just?”

“Not quite.”

Shault looked blank…again.

I repressed a sigh. “Write me an essay explaining in logical terms what any Patrol Captain should do when he finds that what he believes to be just is in conflict with the law. Then explain why he should do that. Leave it in my letterbox here by Vendrei evening.”

“Sir…”

“It’s more than enough time.”

“Sir…that wasn’t what I was going to say. You got me thinking. You’re changing the taudis in Third District, aren’t you? You’re accountable to the Collegium and the Council, and you’re trying to make the taudischefs accountable to you so that they’ll follow the law more.”

“You’re right, but the problem is that I’m making them accountable through fear of my abilities, not out of respect for the law itself and the reasons behind it. As a Patrol Captain, I don’t have time to make each one of them think.” And some of them never would, and would only respect force. I knew that, but it still bothered me. “I can only hope that they’ll see that things are better when more people follow the law.” I stood. “I need to go home, and I’m sure you have lessons to prepare.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hoped he would come to understand, sooner or later, the balance between justice and codified law, and the narrow line that imagers always walked.

I hurried back to the house, hoping that Seliora hadn’t had too much trouble with a hungry daughter.