Imager’s Intrigue

4

On Jeudi morning, after the four mille run, I loitered just enough to catch Baratyn, for whom I’d worked briefly as a member of the Collegium’s covert imagers at the Council Chateau some six years earlier.

“How is the Council handling the heating up of the Jariolan-Ferran hostilities?”

“How do they always handle things until they have to act? They’re talking and talking. You shouldn’t have forgotten that.” He laughed, although he was still a bit out of breath.

“Does anyone there even remember me?”

He frowned, paused, then replied, “As a matter of fact…the other day, Councilor Caartyl asked how you were doing as a Patrol Captain. He said you’d proved that artisan enterprise was possible, even in the taudis, and that not everything new had to be larger and operated with less skill and craft. I couldn’t say anything to that.” Baratyn shrugged. “What did he mean by that?”

“Oh…I managed to get people interested in building a small paper mill and a woodworks. They barely break even, but it’s helped some taudis-youths get apprentice positions.”

“You come from a factoring family, don’t you?”

I laughed. “I’d never be any good at it. I found other people who are. Has anyone else said anything?”

“No…except for Martyl and Dartazn. They’d like to have you back. Dartazn says things are too quiet.”

“I don’t think they’ll stay that way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.”

As he trotted off, I managed to collect myself. Baratyn was a Maitre D’Aspect, a master imager in his own right, and I’d once reported to him. He’d been very friendly until I’d made my last comment, and he’d almost frozen, and then hurried off. What had that been about? I’d have to think about it, but I needed to get back to the house and get ready for the day.

Diestrya was already up and active, and that meant dressing and breakfast were the usual rush. We didn’t say much beyond the necessary until we were in the duty coach and crossing the Bridge of Desires.

“Have you started working on the design for the upholstery fabric for young Haestyr’s bridal dining set?”

“She won’t be back to look at the proposed designs until next week.”

“How many chairs does he want?”

“Twenty-two side chairs, two end chairs.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” Seliora turned and shook her head. “No. I have a lot to think about in balancing what we’ve promised. We’re either without enough work or swamped with more than we can handle.”

I had the feeling those were the two normal states of human affairs. “At least, the twins can help with Diestrya.”

“At times, she wears them down as well. Bhenyt’s the one who can calm her down, and so can Grandmama, but Diestrya tires her out quickly. Our daughter’s at that age where she’s bored quickly.”

“That’s an age all children are at until they have responsibilities of their own…and children.”

Seliora sighed. “She’s your daughter in that.”

Unfortunately, I knew that.

Once I’d left NordEste Design, I quickly read through both Veritum and Tableta. According to a story below the fold in Veritum, the Ferrans had not only produced large numbers of their improved land-cruisers, but were moving them up to their border with Jariola. In turn, the Oligarch had canceled all leave for Jariolan troops and moved several battalions west within an easy march of Ferran territory. The Abierto Isles were loudly pleading neutrality, and the Council was debating reinforcing the northern fleet, currently deployed around the coaling station off Jariola that Solidar had acquired from Jariola during the last round of hostilities in partial payment for Solidaran support.

There was a short story in Tableta about the increasing number of violent crimes in the taudis areas across Solidar, but no speculation about the reasons, and no mention of tainted elveweed. Another short story mentioned another case of arson-this time the grain ware houses in the area near Piedryn-and an instance where the lower level of another ware house was flooded by the failure of a retaining wall alongside an adjoining millrace. The story didn’t say who owned the ware houses, but I was getting the impression there was a definite problem with grain ware houses.

I’d barely settled into my study at the station when the morning courier run from headquarters brought various documents and reports, as well as a brief note from Commander Artois thanking me for the report on the explosion and asking to be informed of any other developments that might bear on the case. Since I didn’t have any, not yet, I could put off replying until I got another officious communique from the subcommander.

After that, I reviewed the log and duty books, checking on what had happened since I’d left the station the afternoon before, and then I made a quick inspection. The holding cells were empty, although it was rare to have anyone there from late morning until late afternoon or early evening, since most offenders were picked up from afternoon on, and any offender brought in overnight was dispatched to headquarters for formal charging right after the morning shift change on the headquarters collection wagon.

Next came a review of the station accounts, and various other oversight chores, before I could leave the station.

Jaerdol and Zandyr were the two patrollers on the day shift who had the taudis round just east of the station-the blocks that Horazt called “his.” I caught up with them just short of Dugalle a glass after midday.

“Captain, sir.”

“What troubles do you have today?” I asked cheerfully.

“Nothing today,” replied Jaerdol.

“That’s good, too, sir, after yesterday,” added Zandyr. “It took the both of us to handle that fellow who tried to cut Musario. Sure made a mess of his bistro, but he’s got it cleaned up already.”

“He gave you a meal today?” I grinned.

“Well, sir, he did offer, and…he said he’d already set it up.”

“I hope it was good.” I wouldn’t have dared to eat the high-spiced Stakanaran food that Musario served. “Just don’t let his gratitude become a habit.”

“Oh no, sir.”

We turned down Mando, which ran northeast to southwest, as did most of the streets between South Middle and Quierca in Third District. I had to admit that the dwellings on both sides looked better than they had five years earlier. Now, none of the windows were boarded up, and most had shutters.

I could still smell hints of elveweed though, much as I’d tried to get the taudischefs to discourage it. The only thing that the three had agreed on was that children still in school shouldn’t be allowed to smoke it. It had taken a few beatings and the disappearance of two young dealers several years back-so I’d heard-to make that stick. I’d definitely turned a blind eye-or ear-to that rumor. I didn’t see much point in trying to find whoever had gotten rid of someone who wanted to turn schoolchildren into elvers. Besides, I never knew who the missing dealers were, or even where their bodies might be found. But now, as Horazt had pointed out, no one ever saw the dealers, only their runners.

From the alleyway on the right, I heard footsteps, and I turned quickly.

“Master Rhennthyl! Help! Help!” The woman was carrying a child wearing a stained and worn blue jersey and crudely sewn trousers. He looked to be about Diestrya’s age, with a thin and angular face, without any baby fat, but he might have been older, because the taudis-children tended to be smaller. The child was convulsing, but not vomiting or choking. His face was contorting in a way that reminded me of the dead elvers.

“He’s not choking! There’s nothing in his mouth…” She thrust the child at me.

I didn’t take him. Holding him wasn’t going to help the boy. “What did he eat?”

The woman looked at me, fear in her eyes.

“Did he chew on some elveweed?”

“He…he…”

“Yes or no?” I snapped.

“Maybe…I didn’t see.”

The child spasmed into another convulsion, so violently that his mother barely could hold him.

I’d imaged items and substances into people, with often deadly results, and I’d imaged items in and out of a cadaver, but I’d never tried to image something out of a living person. But unless I did something, the boy was going to die. He might anyway.

I took one deep breath, then concentrated, trying to recall exactly all that Master Draffyd had shown me, trying to visualize removing what ever was in his stomach, without touching the lining or anything else. The quick wave of dizziness that passed over me indicated that I’d done something, and I was almost afraid to look at the boy, but he was still shuddering. So I hadn’t killed him outright.

Even as I watched, the convulsions began to subside, but he continued to breathe. I reached out and touched his forehead. It was hot.

The mother looked to me, then down at the boy.

“I did what I could.”

We kept watching. Finally, he moaned. “Mama…Mama…”

She looked at me once again, her eyes wide.

“Don’t let him eat anything spicy. Just plain heavy bread for a day or two.”

She nodded, but her face was white, although tears oozed from the corners of her eyes.

When she left, cuddling her son, and murmuring to him, I stood there for a moment. I could only hope I hadn’t damaged him permanently in some way that wouldn’t show up until later.

Jaerdol and Zandyr just looked at me as I rejoined them.

“Sir? What did you do?”

“I tried to image some elveweed he ate out of his stomach. I hope it works.”

“He was about to die. He looks better now,” Jaerdol said.

“He might have gotten better anyway,” I pointed out.

The two looked at each other.

If the boy lived, there would be another story…and more problems. Either way, I needed to talk to Master Draffyd, the imager and doctor at the Collegium. If word got around Third District, who knew who else might come running, and for what. It was just another example of why Master Dichartyn and Maitre Poincaryt were always stressing the importance of doing things in a way that looked like you were doing something innocuous. What I really should have done was to have taken the boy, imaged out the elveweed fragments he’d chewed, probably because he wasn’t being fed enough, and then thumped him on the back and claimed that he’d just been choking.

But, again, I’d been caught short and hadn’t been able to think that quickly.

“You’d think that imagers can do anything.” I laughed. “We can’t.”

That brought dubious looks from both patrollers.

“Come on,” I said. “You have a round to cover, and I need you two to tell me what you’ve seen recently in each block.” I pointed to the second house ahead on the right. “What can you tell me about that one?” That was probably unfair, because I knew that the eldest boy was a quartermaster third in the Navy, because I’d gotten him to enlist before a conscription team drafted him, and that he sent a pay allotment home to his widowed mother. The younger brother was a bigger problem.

“She’s got one boy still at home,” said Zandyr, “and an aunt living with her. The boy’s a loose cannon. Horazt won’t even touch him…”

We continued on the round.

When I finally returned to the station, it was close to a quarter past second glass, and four patrollers were walking toward the duty desk from the holding cells.

“What happened?” I asked.

“A dray horse spooked and pulled a brick wagon into a spirit wagon,” offered Alsoran, who was following the four, “on South Middle just west of the Plaza.”

“Don’t tell me. In the mess, some of the taudis-kids tried to steal the spirits, and the two teamsters got into a fight, and then the avenue got clogged up, and the cutpurses showed up…”

I glanced from Alsoran to Smultyn, whose tunic was smeared in grime.

“Close enough, sir. One of the taudis-toughs caused the brick wagon’s dray horse to spook. We had to chase him, but we got him.”

“How old does he look?”

“Old enough that he can’t plead for the Army or Navy.”

“And the others?”

“Petty theft, except for one assault. The brick teamster’s in there, too. He tried to take a knife to the spirit wagon guard. Guard cold-cocked him.”

I couldn’t help frowning at that.

“It was a set-up,” suggested Smultyn. “He paid the tough to spook the horse, and he guided it so the brick wagon sideswiped the spirit wagon. That’s why all the kids were waiting. The guard accused him of that, and the knife came out.”

“Do we know if he’s the regular teamster? I’d wager he’s not.” I took a deep breath, because from the Patrol’s viewpoint, it didn’t matter.

“Oh…and there was one other thing,” Alsoran added, with a wry smile.

“Both wagons were overloaded for their axle types?”

He nodded. “We had to cite them both. The Patrol teamsters came out and drove them to the holding yards.”

That meant another complaint to the Council, because none of the traders and factors liked having to comply with the weight limits. The wagon owners would pay to get the wagons and teams back, but they knew Commander Artois wouldn’t ever relent. His niece had been killed by a runaway overloaded wagon. So they petitioned the Council, but the Council had refused to change the law.

The rest of the afternoon, what was left of it, was far less eventful.

Desalyt was the duty driver who picked me up outside the station. As I was about to enter the coach, he handed me an envelope. I didn’t open it until I was inside and headed toward NordEste Design.

The single line on the sheet read, “My study before dinner, please.” It was signed with a single “D.”

I didn’t even want to speculate. But…was it about the inevitable resumption of war between Ferrum and Jariola? Or some follow-up about the explosion? Or something else entirely? What ever it happened to be, it would complicate life.

I barely managed to get to the covered portico at NordEste Design before Seliora hurried out with Diestrya, closing the door behind her with a firmness just short of slamming it.

I decided against saying anything for a moment and took Diestrya’s hand so that we both walked her to the coach, unseen imager shields protecting all of us.

Once Desalyt had turned the coach off Nordroad and we were headed southwest on the Boulevard D’Ouest toward the Nord Bridge over the Aluse, I finally asked, “What happened?”

“Are you trying to soothe me?”

“No. I can see you’re upset about something. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

Seliora glanced down at Diestrya, then shook her head. “Later.”

After we’d covered another few blocks, I said, reluctantly, “I’m going to have to stop and see Master Dichartyn before dinner.”

“Again? You’ve had to…” Seliora broke off the sentence.

“He doesn’t ask unless it’s important.”

“Important to him.”

“I know.” I offered a helpless shrug. Maitre Dichartyn was my superior in the Collegium.

Once the duty coach came to a halt at its post on the west side of Imagisle, I did hurry down to the administration building.

Master Dichartyn was standing by the window of his study when I entered, but he did not speak until I closed the door.

“You’ve seen the newsheets, have you not?”

“I have. To which problem are you going to direct my attention?” I didn’t feel like guessing.

“Grain ware houses. You might recall that I mentioned a High Holder Haebyn. The two ware houses that were destroyed and damaged were his.”

“So we now have a subterranean conflict between eastern High Holders and freeholders? I assume the grain factors are on the side of the freeholders. Are they?”

“Wouldn’t you rather deal with a freeholder than a High Holder?”

“Is this because river flows are down, and the freeholders have bought out water rights? Or is it because grain production is up and the freeholders can underprice the High Holders?”

“Something along those lines,” Dichartyn replied. “In dry years, the High Holders have more water, but in good water years the freeholders can underprice the High Holders to the point where the High Holders lose golds.”

“That’s very interesting, but what’s the connection between that and the Collegium and one Civic Patrol Captain?”

“Nothing…yet. Except for one thing: the report of Broussart’s death was in error. He was apparently called away and let one of his assistants take his wife and daughter to the opera.”

“You’re suggesting that he planned the explosion to implicate Haebyn? And he killed his own wife and daughter to do it?”

“He and his wife were not on the best of terms. Apparently, his wife and the assistant were.”

I could see that Dichartyn had been busy. “You won’t find much in the way of proof. Captain Jacquet won’t, either.”

“No. I don’t expect anyone will. I just thought you’d like to know.” He smiled. “One other thing, Rhenn. I don’t believe your wife has ever been to a Council Ball, has she?”

“No, sir.”

“It’s time we remedied that.” He handed me a heavy parchment envelope. “That’s an invitation for you and your wife as a guest of High Councilor Suyrien. You do have formal wear, and I’m certain Seliora will be radiant.”

“What am I supposed to be looking for?” I asked dryly.

“If Suyrien and I knew, Rhenn, both you and Seliora wouldn’t be there.”

“What should I tell her…besides that?”

“That’s all.”

“There’s one thing you should know, sir, if you don’t. Some of the elveweed coming into L’Excelsis is tainted or poisoned…” I gave him a short explanation, but not what I’d asked Seliora’s family to find out. Then I left and hurried to see if I could find Draffyd, but he’d already left the infirmary.

When I reached the house, Seliora met me in the front foyer. “Dinner’s not quite ready. Klysia said it won’t be long. There’s an envelope on the receiving tray, but I didn’t know who it was for. I thought I’d wait to open it until you got here.”

I glanced down to see Diestrya clinging to Seliora’s trousers. I reached down and scooped her up. “There! Dada’s got you.”

She giggled.

Seliora lifted the envelope from the silver tray on the sideboy, then opened it.

I moved closer to Seliora and looked over her shoulder, trying to read the words while maintaining a hold on a very active and squirming Diestrya.

“Dada…want to see.”

“In a moment, dear…” I tried to offer a placating tone as I struggled to catch the words of the note.

Kandryl and I would very much appreciate it if you would join us for a private dinner on Samedi, the twenty-eighth of Feuillyt, with just one other couple, his brother and Mistress Alynkya D’Ramsael…

“That’s sweet of her,” offered Seliora, lowering the note. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out to her estate.”

“Two busy weekends…” I mused.

“Oh…?”

“The following Vendrei we’re expected to be at the Council’s Autumn Ball,” I said, extracting the envelope that Master Dichartyn had given me from my imager grays.

Seliora looked at the envelope and the seal, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m told that’s the seal of High Councilor Suyrien. That was why Master Dichartyn wanted to see me.”

With only the slightest frown, Seliora opened the envelope, breaking the seal, and extracting the heavy card.

“We’re invited as guests of the High Councilor? That’s only three weeks away! I don’t have anything to wear…”

I managed not to choke openly. My darling wife had a dozen outfits that would out-dazzle any that I’d seen at previous balls.

“Why this year?” asked Seliora. “We haven’t been asked before. You, but not us.”

“Master Dichartyn handed me the invitation when I met with him to-night, and I asked him the same thing. He only said that both High Councilor Suyrien and he wanted us both there. Even when I pressed him, he wouldn’t say.”

“So now I’m supposed to help the Collegium?” Her words were tart.

“You have all along,” I pointed out.

“Do you think he wanted us to have the Ball invitation on the same day as Iryela’s invitation…or at least no later than that? But how would he know? Oh…he got the invitation from Suyrien, and the Councilor must have known what his sons were doing.”

“He doesn’t do much without a purpose. It could be that he didn’t want to give it to us tomorrow at his house.”

“You don’t really think that, do you?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Mother will be pleased. Especially if I don’t tell her it’s to help the Collegium.”

“I suspect your grandmother will be even more so. She won’t say anything, though.”

“No…she won’t.”

A small bell chimed, Klysia’s way of reminding us that dinner was ready, and I’d still have to talk to Seliora about what had upset her…after Diestrya was in bed.