Imager’s Intrigue

59

For the remainder of Mardi, I did my best to concentrate on duties that would not lead to greater consternation with the Council and the Collegium. That meant, among other things, that I read a number of reports, said little at the midday meal in the dining hall, and ended up going home through an ice fog more than a little dissatisfied.

Exercise on Meredi morning helped…somewhat.

I was still stewing and trying to determine what else I could do when Beleart knocked on my study door at a quint past eighth glass and carried in a large envelope, marked in the stripe that indicated urgent private delivery. He slipped away, closing the door.

I opened the envelope. Inside were a single sheet of paper, printed on both sides, and a folded note card. The document was also signed and sealed at the bottom. I read through it twice. It was a loan and a secondary lien on Glendyl’s engine works, executed by Viktor D’Banque D’Ouestan on behalf of the bank for 25,000 golds, and it was dated almost a year earlier, the thirty-second of Fevier. The provision that interested me most was the one allowing unannounced inspections of the subject property by designated agents of the lender.

I opened the note card and read the two lines written there.

“Obtaining this last year was far too easy. Be most careful.”

Under the words was an ornate “V.”

The package raised yet another question. How had Veblynt obtained it? For what purpose? And why had he sent it? What role was he playing in the swirl of intrigue? The warning suggested he’d been “allowed” to take or steal the document, but he’d obtained it before I’d left the Civic Patrol, and that suggested a different agenda. What that was, I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to do anything with the document until I knew why.

Instead of straining to figure out items about which I hadn’t enough information, I decided to try to tie up another loose end and go find Maitre Jhulian. He was in his study and welcomed me in.

“What can I do for you, Rhenn?”

“You’re the expert on law and water rights, and I’m hoping that you can clarify exactly what’s going on between the eastern High Holders and the freeholders around Piedryn.”

“The law is clear. Nothing else is.” His smile was wintry. “Precedence in water rights is based on seniority. The oldest right rights come first, regardless of where they are exercised on the watercourse. This creates a practical problem when a junior rights-holder is located upstream of a senior rights-holder and there is insufficient flow to satisfy both rights. The historic manner of resolving the claim has been through the courts, but courts do not move so fast as water does. So the justicers in the area have taken to issuing preemptive allocations based on flow levels.”

“And since the senior rights-holders are mainly High Holders, the allocations are considered as favoring them?”

“Exactly. There’s one complication. In peak flow years, or at times when water can’t be used, some can be diverted under ancillary rights. Broussard bought a single hectare-foot of absolute water-rights on the Piedra River, at a point just before it flows into the Chela, and then applied for ancillary rights. He was using those ancillary rights to fill a storage lake, and in dry years, he was irrigating crops from it.”

“At a time when others couldn’t and crop prices were high, I presume.”

Jhulian nodded. “So Haebyn applied for ancillary rights, which he’d never needed before, and Broussard brought the matter up to the Justiciary, pointing out that his ancillary rights preceded Haebyn’s, and, since excess water couldn’t be diverted near the headwaters without prejudicing other rights-holders, Haebyn shouldn’t be allowed to divert until Broussard had exercised his rights. The justicer upheld Broussard, pointing out that the law was clear on precedence and that precedence applied to ancillary rights as well.”

“That was probably the reason why Broussard’s impoundment dam ‘failed,’ then?”

“That was effective for this year, but Broussard still holds the rights and will doubtless have the dam repaired before the spring run-off.”

“What’s the situation before the Council? Will Haebyn attempt to change the law?”

“He’s been working hard to persuade Councilors. It’s a very bad idea, especially now, because what it would do is send the message that the law is only immutable when it benefits High Holders and will be changed if its precedents can be used against them.”

When I left Maitre Jhulian, I understood the political and legal implications of the water issues. To me, the question was whether the Ferrans had gotten involved there as well. Had Broussard borrowed from Vyktor to rebuild the dam and impoundment? Or to build grain ware houses? Or had he steered other freeholders to Vyktor? Would I ever know?

I was beginning to doubt that I’d ever find out everything about anything, and I still had nothing truly linking Cydarth to Vyktor or the Banque D’Ouestan-except Geuffryt’s note written by Juniae D’Shendael. Perhaps I would pay a courtesy call on Subcommander Cydarth. It might provoke a reaction of some sort. Then, too, I realized, it might make me more of a target. Yet, I probably was anyway…or, more properly, I still was.

As I was about to step into my study, Kahlasa came down the corridor. “Rhenn…do you have a moment?”

“For you, always.” That was true, because Kahlasa never wasted my time or anyone else’s, and she was always effective. I held the door for her, then followed her in and closed it.

She set a folder on the desk and sat down.

So did I. “What is it?”

“Most of the explosions in Solidar over the past months have been on piers or near water. Your questions about the tugs and the barges got me thinking. I’ve made more inquiries, and the regionals have helped. I’d like you to look at the charts there and tell me what you think.”

It didn’t take long to figure out what she’d determined. In more than half the cases, two transport factors were involved. One was Cholan Freight and Transport, and the other was Mahrun Barge and Cartage. “Did you find out anything about these two?”

“There aren’t any records of any contracts older than four years. They always paid in advance, and their funds were always transferred from the Banque D’Ouestan through another banque. They also never defaulted, and always returned leased equipment in good condition. According to Eslyana, the regional in Solis, Cholan Freight rented a building in Solis. It was largely a ware house with one clerk. He sent all invoices and remittances to a Vyktor D’Cleris.”

“How did she find that out?”

“From the very upset widow of the clerk.”

“He died in an accident, of course?” My tone was sardonic.

“Of course.”

“Did she find out where this Vyktor D’Cleris was located?”

“Only that he was in L’Excelsis. No address, nothing more.”

I nodded. “The address would have been useful.” I suspected I already had it. “What was the name of the Cholan clerk?”

“Ebslun.”

I wrote that down. “What else?”

“From the weights and packing, it’s likely that some of the explosives were sent by ironway under the name of Mahrun Barge and Cartage, but we haven’t yet located any actual address for Mahrun, except at the Mahrun Ironway Station. They’ve never leased space there, but at times, someone would pick up messages or packages there. Not often.”

“So they basically got accepted by sending or handling small shipments, always paid in advance, before they leased heavier equipment. That’s how they moved the Poudre B…” I looked to Kahlasa. “You’ve put together an outstanding report here.”

She actually smiled.

By the time we had finished going over the details, it was time to eat, and the two of us walked over to the dining hall. Maitre Dyana was there, sitting with Chassendri and Quaelyn, with Ferlyn peering past the older pattern-master, as if trying to make out Quaelyn’s words and Maitre Dyana’s responses.

After the meal, I went straight to the duty coach stand, and asked Desalyt to take me to Patrol headquarters. Once I arrived, the duty patroller-Cassan-just nodded as I walked past him and up the steps to the second level.

Cydarth’s clerk-patroller looked up from his desk in the anteroom. “Maitre Rhennthyl! Was the subcommander expecting you?”

“No. I just hoped to catch him. Is he here?”

“He’s somewhere here in headquarters. I’m sure he’ll want to see you. If you wouldn’t mind…I’ll go find him.”

“I’ll wait.”

The patroller hurried out.

I ended up waiting half a quint before the patroller returned. “He was inspecting the holding cells, sir, and it took me a bit to find him. I thought he was down in charging. He said he’d be here shortly.”

Shortly turned out to be another half-quint.

“Maitre Rhennthyl,” offered Cydarth with a smile as he entered the anteroom. “I do apologize. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“It happens when you arrive unannounced.” I followed him into his study.

The patroller shut the door behind us.

“Might I ask the reason for the visit?”

“I was passing by and thought I should stop in and see you.”

“Maitre Rhennthyl, that is most kind of you…although I must observe that you seldom act merely on the impetus of the instant.”

I smiled. “Seldom does not mean never, but you are correct. In addition to realizing that I had not stopped to see you when I last visited the Commander, a matter did come up of which I thought you should be apprised.”

“Please.” Cydarth gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

“As you may surmise, at times, the Collegium does receive information which can not be substantiated and whose origin cannot be traced. Recently, I did receive an unsigned missive that suggested you received significant funds through the Banque D’Ouestan. Knowing of your integrity, I did nothing with the missive, because such a report either had to be fallacious or something perfectly innocent, such as a bequest or an inheritance. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that I should let you know that someone was circulating this sort of information about you.”

The subcommander nodded slowly. “I would have expected nothing less of you, Maitre Rhennthyl. You have always been circumspect and scrupulously fair. Might I ask the context of the missive?”

“The context of the missive dealt with transactions from the Banque D’Ouestan that the writer considered suspicious, because there was an implied suggestion the Collegium look into the matter.”

“And did you?”

“The Collegium does not have access to banque records. That is a matter for the Council, and it’s certainly not proper to ask them to investigate on the basis of an anonymous note. For all I know, it could be a ploy to create problems for a banque that has a solid financial record, simply because that banque has a number of outland investors. Since I have not made such a request and do not intend to, I did think you should be informed.”

Cydarth smiled warmly, even with his eyes.

I didn’t trust either his mouth or eyes, but I smiled pleasantly and waited.

“You know, Master Rhennthyl, when you first came to the Civic Patrol, I had my doubts that you had the determination and the restraint to deal with the stresses of day-to-day patrolling without immediately resorting to some form of imaging, whether that imaging was warranted or not. I had my doubts when you became a District Captain. Yet…I must confess that your performance was outstanding. You turned Third District from a competent district into one where offenses of all sorts were minimal, especially for an area holding a taudis known for trouble. You accomplished this using the same patrollers…”

Cydarth went on for a quint, reiterating what I’d done as a District Captain. On the one hand, I was both amazed and flattered that he’d recalled it all so well and in such detail. On the other, I worried about it. Exactly why was he taking so much time, when usually he wanted to be rid of me as quickly as possible?

“…And, in the end, while you have created a standard that Third District is thus far maintaining, the Civic Patrol will miss you, possibly more than the Collegium will gain.” He smiled again, then laughed. “I apologize. I’ve taken far too much of your time, but over the years, we’ve seldom talked at any length.”

“That’s true, and I do appreciate your kind words.” I stood. “I hope what I conveyed will prove useful, and that the matter does not come up again, but I did want you to know.”

“You’re most kind, Maitre Rhennthyl.”

With that, I took my leave and headed downstairs and out of headquarters.

With the cold wind, gray skies, and occasional flakes of snow, I was glad that the duty coach was still waiting for me.

“You missed the row, sir,” offered Desalyt.

“Row?”

“Two fellows came out of the alleyway just up there. They starting fighting. One tried to smash the bistro windows over there. Patrollers came out from here. Stupid to start a fight across from a Patrol station. Always stupid folk.”

I nodded. “Sometimes you wonder.”

“That you do, sir. Where to?”

“Back to Imagisle.”

“Yes, sir.”

I climbed up into the coach.

Desalyt had waited with the coach headed away from the river on Fedre. So he drove up two blocks and turned right and went three blocks before he came back down Raegyr. I suspected that was so he didn’t have to handle the steep hill on Flaekan. As he turned onto the part of East River Road that ran almost due north, I glanced toward the river, and something struck me. The promenade between the road and the river wall was extremely narrow, no more than three yards, and the low retaining wall was little more than a yard. Could this have been the place where Kearyk drowned? A coach could have stopped, and he could have been carried that short distance and thrown into the river in instants. Late at night, it would have been unlikely that anyone would even have seen the coach stop-especially a black coach.

At that moment, the duty coach came to a halt. I glanced forward, but I couldn’t see what had blocked us.

“Wagon loose! Master Rhennthyl!”

I glanced to my right just in time to see a huge black wagon rumbling backward down Flaekan and across East River Road-right toward the duty coach. There was no way to get out of the coach in time. All I could do was strengthen my shields before the heavy wagon struck.

My shields held, but they didn’t stop the wagon from pushing the lighter coach right over the narrow river promenade to the low wall. Then, with another sickening crunch, the coach’s wheels ripped loose, and the remainder of the coach plunged down toward the gray water. I couldn’t help but brace for the impact. There wasn’t much of one, because the river below the wall was deep enough that once the coach struck the water it just kept descending, and icy water began to pour into the crumpled space around me. Both doors were jammed shut, and so were the window mechanisms.

I took a deep breath, then concentrated, imaging out the window glass from the door that seemed to be the one closest to the surface. More icy water poured over me, filling the entire inside of the coach, which seemed to be bobbing along under water or bouncing up from the bottom. I held my breath and grabbed the edges of the window fame, levering myself out, except my left boot became stuck and I found myself being caught and stretched as the current pulled me downstream and the sunken coach held me fast.

Somehow, I managed to pull my boot free, but my lungs felt like they were bursting by the time my head finally broke above the water. After a moment, I located the river wall. Then I started to swim toward it. That didn’t do much good, because all that was there was a sheer expanse of icy smooth stone stretching upward some five or six yards, and the current was carrying me southward.

I must have been swept two hundred yards downstream before I managed to locate one of the ladders, even if there wasn’t a platform at the bottom. I lunged and grabbed it, then got my boots on the bottom rung. It didn’t get any easier. The iron ladder was icy and slippery, and after I’d climbed three or four rungs, my hands were numb. I kept forcing myself up. I finally pulled myself over the wall and took several steps away from the river. I was shuddering almost uncontrollably.

As I stood on the still narrow river promenade, a thought occurred to me. Could I image the water out of my garments? Then I shook my head. They needed some residual water, or they’d likely turn to dust, and, with the water on my skin, and my exhausted state, I might end up injuring myself.

“Sir! Sir!” A patroller came running toward me. “Are you all right?”

“For the moment. If I don’t get out of these clothes, I’ll turn into an icicle.”

“This way, sir!”

Less than half a quint later, I was wearing borrowed baggy brown wool trousers and a blanket, standing in the kitchen of Aelys’s-a bistro I’d never known even existed.

“Can you tell me what happened, sir?” asked the patroller.

“What happened to my driver?” I worried about Desalyt.

“We haven’t found him, sir. One of the women who saw it said he went into the river.”

“Why didn’t the horses go into the river?”

“The traces broke, we think, sir. We had to put one of them down. Could you tell me what happened, please, sir?”

Along with my questions, that took almost a glass, enough that my boots, set near the stove, were only damp, as opposed to soaked. Then, after I took a hack to Imagisle, I had to tell the duty second about the accident, and then meet with Ghaend, who was in charge of transportation, so that he could tell Desalyt’s family, and Reynol, who handled losses of property for the Collegium. I also left a brief note for Maitre Dyana, who was at the Council Chateau, presumably meeting with Chief Counselor Ramsael.

It was nearing a quint past fourth glass before I finally left the administration building and made my way across the quadrangle and northward. As I walked swiftly up the front walk to the house, I caught sight of the Maitre’s dwelling, where Maitre Dyana would eventually take residence, and realized that the exterior looked to be complete. Work had slowed considerably, given the imagers who had left Imagisle to accompany Dartazn, but there were still enough, obviously, to continue with the repair and rebuilding.

Klysia stepped into the hall and looked at me, wrapped in a patroller blanket and baggy trousers, and carrying soaked grays and my winter cloak. In escaping from the coach, I’d lost my visored cap.

“Master Rhennthyl!”

“I took an unplanned swim in the river.”

By the time I had handed off the soaked garments, washed up, and donned fresh garments and dry boots and sat down in front of the family parlor fire for a quint or so, Seliora and Diestrya arrived. I stood and went to the foyer.

“Rhenn…you’re home early.”

“That’s because I took an unplanned swim in the River Aluse.”

“What? How did that happen?”

“Dada went swimming?” asked my daughter.

“I did. The water was cold. It wasn’t a good idea.” I turned to Seliora. “Let’s get Diestyra settled in the kitchen for her dinner, and then I’ll tell you.”

Seliora understood.

Once the two of us were back in the parlor, I went through the whole thing, grateful that, by the end of my tale, the combination of hot tea and warmth from the stove finally lifted the last lingering chill from my bones.

Seliora said quietly, “Cydarth wanted you dead.”

“That’s likely, but the way it was set up will make it difficult, if not impossible, to prove it. There are also a number of people who might want me dead, and all of them would know enough to pick ways that would be hard for an imager to escape.”

“Most imagers wouldn’t be able to image away a widow under water and swim through an icy river.”

“Oh…all of those Clovyl trains could do that part.”

“What? All ten of you? And who knows that?”

“Very few,” I had to admit.

After a long silence, she asked, “Will it always be like this?”

“For a time,” I temporized. “Until it becomes clear there are other powerful imagers.”

“That could be a very long time, dearest.”

Unless I could do something about that…