Imager’s Intrigue

47

I was in my study before seventh glass on Mardi morning, to make sure that the duty primes had delivered the forms to every master of the Collegium at Imagisle by eighth glass. Then I read through the newsheets.

Veritum reported that the deaths from the abuse of the stronger elveweed had decreased, but that they were still occurring, especially among younger users, despite the burning of all the weed growing on former High Holder Ruelyr’s lands. Fresh elveweed continued to be sold, and in more cities across Solidar. That wasn’t about to change, I knew, now that the drug dealers had discovered that it could be grown in the south of Solidar, and provided more profit and less reliance on smuggled dried weed.

Both newsheets noted that the Ferran advances in Jariola had slowed because of winter storms. Tableta reported that desertions in the Jariolan army were rising, and that the Oligarch had authorized field executions of deserters. Both also had short follow-up reports on the explosions at Glendyl’s engine works, with the observations that neither the Naval Command nor the Council had issued any comments or statements.

I’d just finished considering the implications of the stories when, at a quint past eight, Heisbyl, who had been a Maitre D’Aspect when I’d first come to Imagisle and who still was only that, rapped on my half-open door.

“Come in.”

“Thank you.” He closed the door precisely and took the chair in front of the desk. Under his dull gray hair, carefully brushed and parted, was a high forehead and a pair of flat hazel eyes. He cleared his throat.

I smiled and waited.

He held up an envelope, one that looked precisely like one of those dispatched to every Maitre. “Maitre Rhennthyl…I must protest. This…this edict…may have Maitre Dyana’s name on it, but it bears your fingerprints.”

“Assuming that it does…what is the problem?”

“What is the problem? What is the problem? The problem is that you are trying to turn imagers into machines. You want every preceptor to assess each ability of every one of his charges, as if imaging could be measured with yardsticks or calipers or weighed with scales.”

I frowned. “Having the Collegium know what all junior imagers can do doesn’t make them machines.”

“Every imager has a different degree of skill. Machines are all alike.”

“I’m not asking you to treat them like machines. I’m certain there are great differences among the seconds and thirds you supervise in the armory workshops. All you need to do is to write out what each can do.”

“This is just the first step in turning them into machines, Maitre Rhennthyl. We won’t even have to fight the Ferrans because we’ll end up just like them.”

“Maitre Heisbyl, if we don’t change matters here, we won’t be able to fight them. You’re right. There won’t be a fight, because we’ll already have lost, and then the machines and those who use and build them will find us useless. Before long, there will be machines that make precision parts as well or better, and with far less effort, than our imagers. In Ferrum, there well may be such machines already. Once, a Maitre D’Esprit could stand against any weapon in all of Terahnar. A month ago, a set of bombards proved that is no longer true-and those were antiques, compared to the long guns on a dreadnought.”

My words, or something I did, must have affected him, because his defiance wilted, and he just looked old.

“You are destroying everything we stood for. You will regret it.” He stood. “I will return your form, under protest, to the Maitre. The Nameless save us all.” He stalked out without another word.

I almost didn’t have a chance to catch my breath and consider what Heisbyl had said before Ghaend slipped into my study.

“You’re not likely to be all that popular by noon.” He settled into the chair across from me.

“Then I’d best make an appearance at the dining hall.” I’d thought I would anyway, but it was a good line.

“You understand what you’ve done? Besides upsetting the older masters?”

“I have an idea, but I might well be wrong. Tell me, if you would.”

“Imagers have always been apart. Because of what we can do, we have to be. To compensate for that, the Collegium has created the sense that we’re special. There are not all that many of us, some five hundred in all Solidar. Each imager is somewhat different from any other. Unique, if you will. By requiring the newer imagers to be evaluated against a standard and categorized, you’re suggesting that we’re not unique. You’re going against a long tradition and very strong feelings.”

I nodded. “What else?”

“Does there have to be anything else?”

“No, I suppose not, but your tone suggests that there might be.”

“Well…what will happen if that information leaks out? Do we really want the Council or everyone in Solidar-or in Ferrum-to know what we can or can’t do?”

“I can understand the concern there. I really can, but there’s another problem. Maitre Poincaryt and Maitre Dichartyn probably did know most of what I’ve asked masters to supply. When they died, that information died with them. We need that information now, and I can’t learn it all in time without doing something like this. Also, can we afford to keep losing information because we’re afraid to have a record except in the minds of one or two senior imagers? As I told Heisbyl a little while ago, once the most powerful imagers could stand against any weapon. Now we can’t. That changes matters.”

“For most Maitres, that doesn’t matter. You’re changing their world.”

I nodded. “You’re right about that. But I don’t see any choice if the Collegium is to survive in a way that will still protect imagers.”

“The older Maitres don’t see it that way, Rhenn.”

“Maitre Dyana does, and, I’d be surprised if Maitre Jhulian doesn’t as well. How do you see it?”

Ghaend shook his head. “I agree with you, but I don’t like it.”

“So…if we’re going to be honest about it, then, that only leaves something like four or five older Maitres who are unhappy.”

“And probably a hundred older seconds and thirds, when they find out.”

“What difference will it make to them, unless an older Maitre stirs them up and misrepresents things? I would hope…” I broke off the words. “Someone will. You’re right. No matter how much sense it makes, no matter how much times have changed, people, even imagers, want to believe in their traditional and special place in the world.” I shrugged. “But I can’t see any other way around this.”

“This is part of something much larger, isn’t it?”

“It is, and the longer before I have to reveal it, the better.”

“I don’t think I’d want to be in your boots, Maitre.” Ghaend smiled and rose. “I won’t press you. Dichartyn told me, years ago, that to press you was both useless and unwise. I trust that the Council sees it that way as well, for all of our sakes.”

I stood. I didn’t correct him, but only replied, “So do I.”

Once he left, I wondered who would spread the word. Certainly, Heisbyl would, and most probably Maitre Rholyn, if in a more indirect fashion.

The next visitor, surprisingly, was Quaelyn, and he was smiling broadly when he arrived after ninth glass and sat down across from me. “Congratulations to you and Maitre Dyana. It’s well past time for something like this.” He lifted the envelope.

“Not everyone thinks that way.”

“Of course they don’t. People have a pattern. If they’re comfortable, they want things to stay that way, and Imagisle has been comfortable for a long time.” He grinned. “Until you came along.”

“I can’t say I had anything to do with the attacks on Imagisle or Solidar.”

He raised his thin white eyebrows. “Don’t be so certain about that. People react to what they feel, not what they see or think. You’ve changed how people feel. It’s time for a change. Change for the better, especially, takes power and a crisis to change things. We’ve needed more systematic information on imagers for years. Now, you’ve taken the opportunity.”

“I heard you talking about the patterns of where imagers were born, years ago. I’d hoped there would be more in the records. There wasn’t.”

He smiled mischievously. “I’m gratified that you remembered. I tried for years to get Maitre Poincaryt to ask for more information about incoming imagers, but it never happened.”

“I think I know why.” And I did. I’d thought about it a great deal, even before Ghaend’s visit. “He and Maitre Dichartyn were always worried that such information could get out and be used against the Collegium…especially since there have always been so few imagers.”

Quaelyn snorted. “That’s handicapping yourself for no benefit. I told Poincaryt that then. People will always believe the worst when they want to. Facts that don’t agree with what they want to believe just get ignored. The only facts they want are those that support what they want to believe. Not having the information you need because other people might find it and use it is like burying your head in quicksand. They don’t need it to cause trouble. They never have.” He stood, abruptly. “That’s all I had. Don’t let them change your mind, Maitre Rhennthyl.”

After he left, I closed my door and tried to think through what I hadn’t done. In addition to determining how many and which imagers needed to go where for transport to the northern fleet, and working out the associated logistics, I still needed to discover-one way or another-a few other unresolved matters, such as how accurate Geuffryt’s information about payoffs to Caartyl and Cydarth had been, and what had been involved with that. Also…I couldn’t help but wonder about the dead young woman who hadn’t been an elveweed suicide…and the role the freeholder-High Holder water conflicts played…or why L’Excelsis Indemnity had been destroyed…or…