Imager’s Intrigue

64

I let myself sleep a little later on Mardi morning. It didn’t help that much. I dreamed of buildings exploding and falling down around me, feeling helpless in a lead casket, where I couldn’t breathe. I woke up less than a half glass later than I usually did. I was sore all over, although I didn’t find too many bruises. I wondered if I should have stayed and watched while the Civic Patrol went through the rubble of Vyktor’s place.

Given that I was still feeling exhausted, and that I was only able to hold very light shields without feeling dizzy, that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. Besides, events were conspiring to illustrate that I couldn’t do everything I wanted to do, much less everything that needed to be done. So I decided to trust Artois, at least so far as to what the Civic Patrol might find, and once I got to the administration building, I thought about how I might handle my problems with Valeun, Geuffryt, and the Naval Command. That wasn’t terribly useful, because I kept thinking about what Artois and the Civic Patrol might have found…or the fact that they might have found nothing useful at all.

I went through reports and then spent the remainder of the morning with Kahlasa and Schorzat, where we talked over how we could improve the reports we received from regionals and from all the Civic Patrol Commanders across Solidar. They had suggestions far better than mine about what we needed on the reports. None of us had very good ideas on how to get the Council to adopt requirements so that the various city Civic Patrol Commanders would actually be required to supply the information.

Just before noon, Schorzat went to meet his brother in the city, and Kahlasa headed off to eat with her daughter. I went to the dining hall and almost reached the masters’ table when I heard a cheerful voice from the other end.

“Rhenn…I heard that another building exploded around you,” Ferlyn offered cheerfully.

I sat down to the left of Chassendri before replying. “More on me than around me.” I shrugged. “What can I say?” Then I turned to Chassendri. “If you wouldn’t mind passing the carafe of the red wine?”

“I’d be delighted,” she said, almost impishly, for all that she was a good fifteen or twenty years older than me.

“You covert types…” Ferlyn laughed. “Never a straight or informative answer.”

“That is what covert means,” replied Chassendri.

“You’re always defending them.”

“That’s because they’re always defending us, Ferlyn. You might try the red wine. It is rather good for a midday meal.”

Chassendri and I talked about my junior imagers, particularly Haugyl and Marteon, who were having trouble grasping the concept that being an imager required continual work.

After I ate, I headed back to my study and fretted over how exactly to fit in all the changes we had discussed for the revised report forms, until, slightly before second glass, a young patroller arrived at the administration building looking for me.

“Maitre Rhennthyl, the Commander hoped you could join him at your earliest convenience.”

“I’d be happy to.”

With that, after I donned my lighter cloak-the heavier one was being fullered-I guided him out of the administration building and to the duty coach stand. We rode back to Civic Patrol headquarters in a Collegium coach. There, I went upstairs alone.

Artois was waiting in his study, but he didn’t speak until I closed the door. “You’re looking better today.”

“Thank you. I’m feeling better as well. I assume you found some items of interest.” I sat down across the desk from him.

“We did. There was only one body in the building. From what we can tell, it was Vyktor D’Banque D’Ouestan. He’d rigged the place with explosives, but there were two fuse systems, one above the front room…and one just inside the rear door to the alley.”

“So he could destroy the building and depart.”

“Most likely.” Artois looked at me. “We found two lockboxes. Do you have any idea what was in either?”

“There might be a note for 25,000 golds owed to the Banque D’Ouestan by Councilor Glendyl. There might be documents with other names on them. One of those names might be Mahrun Barge and Cartage. Another might be Cholan Freight and Transport.”

Artois nodded. “A fair number of golds were transferred to both of those names, and there were also remittances to the Banque D’Ouestan from them. I take it that you believe them to have been Ferran facades?”

“That appears likely. You will make those available, if it becomes necessary?”

“Of course.” After a slight hesitation, Artois added, “One of the other names was that of a Civic Patrol subcommander, but the documents involving him weren’t notes, but the record of a series of payments to one Vyktor D’Cleris from that subcommander. I thought you might wish to look at it.” He extended a small thin book across the desk.

I opened it and scanned the entries in the miniature ledger. Most of them were outlays to names I’d never heard of, but there were occasional receipts. The only regular entries were from “Cydarth D’P., in gold.”

“To Vyktor? Not to the banque? Can you check the amounts against withdrawals or transfers from his account at the Banque D’Excelsis?”

“I already did. The banque was cooperative, for once. For the most part, they match withdrawals, but the payments were made in actual golds, as you can see.” Artois offered a tight smile. “Although we cannot prove for what the payments were made, there is enough proof to dismiss the subcommander for improper behavior in transferring funds to the agent of a foreign power. He could contest the dismissal before the Justiciary, but that would make matters very public, and that would not be in his interests.”

I had a very good idea why Cydarth had paid Vyktor. There had been too many “accidental” deaths of Patrol officers who opposed Cydarth. Again, there wasn’t any way to prove that.

“Even more interesting,” continued Artois, “is the fact that the subcommander took the ironway somewhere last night. Do you know where?”

“It’s likely that he took an express straight to Ouestan, but that’s a guess.”

“He’ll be on a vessel outbound before we can get word there.” Artois reclaimed the ledger and extended a file holding loose papers. “I thought you might like to see this as well.”

I opened the folder and studied the sheets there. In addition to the original note to Glendyl, there was another note, marked paid, for ten thousand golds from one Broussard D’Factorius and yet another that extended fifty thousand golds to High Holder Ruelyr. The second showed no indication of having been paid. There was a small note card. I read it twice.

Mtre Rh. knows you. He will come after you sooner or later.

The letter underneath was an ornate “L.” In the bottom right hand corner, a different hand had added, “10/11/762.”

The later hand was doubtless Vyktor’s, but who would sign a note with a “L”? Abruptly, I knew, useless as it was, unless I could compare handwriting.

“Most interesting. I assume you have no objection to my retaining this for a time.”

“None whatsoever. None relates to offenses here in L’Excelsis.”

I’d hoped that there might have been something more directly involving or implicating Geuffryt, but…if there didn’t happen to be anything, then there wasn’t anything.

After a moment, Artois added, with a glint in his eye, “There was also a strongbox buried in the rear of the lower level. It held some four thousand golds.” He paused. “Nothing else. Just golds. Except they were Ferran minted golds.”

“If you wouldn’t mind sending Maitre Dyana a report of that?”

“I’d be pleased to do so.” He did not stand, but finally said, “You never trusted Cydarth, did you?”

“No. I never did.”

“Why?”

“There were too many little things that bothered me.”

Abruptly, Artois laughed. “That’s why you were a good Patrol officer, and why you’ll do well with what you’re doing.” He did stand. “We should meet often.”

“We will.” I stood as well.

The duty coach was waiting outside, with Lebryn ready to return me to Imagisle. And I while I had another piece of proof about Geuffryt, it was anything but conclusive.