Imager’s Intrigue

7

Dinner on Vendrei night was warm, friendly, and notable and pleasant for the very fact that we discussed nothing of great worldly import, and nothing involving the Collegium or the Civic Patrol.

I didn’t get up before dawn on Samedi to join Clovyl’s exercise group, and that allowed us to have a comparatively more leisurely morning before I had to leave for Third District. I did stop by the dining hall to pick up Shault’s essay before I took the duty coach. Once I was inside the coach, I glanced from the newsheets to the essay, then decided I’d best read the newsheets first, just in case there was a story that might affect the Civic Patrol.

Neither newsheet carried anything directly affecting Third District, but there was a story in Tableta about the failure of an irrigation storage dam southwest of Montagne. The cause was unknown, and the dam was supposedly owned by a freeholders’ cooperative. I recalled something about water law, about being first in time being first in line…and if the dam weren’t there, then in the drier seasons, those with the older water rights would have priority. That meant High Holders disenfranchising the freeholders who had established their water rights later, at least until the dam was rebuilt.

Then I turned to Shault’s essay, not without trepidation, although I laughed as I realized that Master Dichartyn had probably often felt the same way about my essays. The first lines were straightforward enough.

The law sets rules for the people of Solidar. That is so that all of them know what to do. The Civic Patrol is required to enforce that law. Patrol Captains must make sure that their patrollers carry out the law. The law is not flexible, and there are times when applying the law would not be just. When a Patrol Captain comes across a case like this, he must find a way to apply the law without punishing too much the person who breaks the law. If possible, he should warn the person, but not charge them if they have not broken any laws before…

In essence, what young Shault was suggesting was letting the offender know that he’d broken the law and not charging him when possible, and then asking the courts for mercy when there was no way to avoid the charging the offender. Where he was weak in logic was explaining why, and we’d have to discuss that, because imagers needed both to understand and to able to explain the reasons for their actions.

Once I got to the station, I went over the logs with Huensyn, who had the duty desk, then checked the holding cells, which held two disorderlies, whom we’d forget to charge once they sobered up, since they hadn’t done much besides sing far too loudly in far too public a place, and a theft and assault case. He’d tried to take a knife to the patroller who’d arrested him, and had suffered broken fingers and a lump on the head from a Patrol truncheon as a result. The brand on his hip marked him as a previous offender, and that meant he’d be spending the rest of his life in the work house or on a penal road crew, and that life wasn’t likely to be all that long.

I was debating which patrollers I should accompany on their rounds when a patroller first hurried through the station doors. “Captain! We’ve got a problem over on Sleago!” The patroller was Yherlyt, a dark-skinned and seasoned veteran of nearly fifteen years, who was the son of Tiempran immigrants.

“Do we need reinforcements?”

“It’s not that kind of problem, sir.”

Translated loosely, they needed me, and Yherlyt didn’t want to explain in the station.

I grabbed my cloak and visored hat and hurried to join him. Outside the wind was brisk and chill. Occasional white puffy clouds scudded across a sky that might have been clear and crisp, except too many people in L’Excelsis had lit fires or stoves, and a low smoky haze hung over the city. I didn’t speak until we were headed down Fuosta toward Quierca and well away from anyone else.

“What is it?”

“A pair of elveweed runners, sir. One’s dead, and the other’s wounded. He’ll probably make it. There’s a young elver. He’s dead. There’s a woman, too. The mother of the dead elver. Her name is Ismelda. She’s cut up a bit. Maybe more than that.”

I had an idea, but I just said, “I’d like a little more detail, Yherlyt.”

“The runners came to deliver to the dead elver…or to collect. They didn’t know he was dead. The mother killed the collector with a big iron fry pan. She didn’t know he had a partner. The partner took a knife to her, but she broke his nose and jaw with the pan. He tried to run and came out of the house and dropped unconscious on the sidewalk. A pair of kids tried to drag the partner off the sidewalk, but Mhort has good eyes, and we caught them.”

“Do you know why all this happened?”

“The dead taudis-kid, the elver, couldn’t have been more than fourteen. He was still in school. I’m guessing he was a runner, too.”

“So he either stole or bought the elveweed, and smoked too much of the new stuff.”

“Yes, sir.”

When we reached the dingy narrow house, the fourth up from Quierca on Sleago, two other patrollers waited on the front porch that was barely more than a stoop under wide and sagging eaves. They had cuffed the surviving runner. His entire face was bruised and bloody, and his jaw on the left side was crooked and turning purple.

“Sir?” asked Mhort.

“Take him in. Book him for elveweed running and attempted murder. Oh…and tell Huensyn to send a wagon here for the other bodies.”

“Yes, sir.”

The runner mumbled words through his ruined face. “…Attacked us…didn’t do…nothing…tried…knife…keep her…off me….”

That was doubtless true. It didn’t make any difference. There might not be much I could do about elveweed, but I wasn’t about to have school-age boys as runners. Besides, the injured runner would live far longer as a coal loader for the Navy or as a quarry apprentice or the like.

“Off with you, sow-scum,” ordered Mhort.

He and Deksyn marched the runner down the three crumbling brick steps and then toward Quierca.

I followed Yherlyt into the small front hall where two bodies lay on their backs. One’s face was contorted in agony. That had to be the elver boy. The other figure wore a black shirt and trousers, both washed so many times that their color was closer to dark gray than to true black. His face was burned by streaks of something, and the burns hadn’t even started to heal.

In the parlor sat a dark-haired and painfully thin woman. Someone had bandaged her arms with strips of cloth, but in places, some blood had soaked through the crude dressings. She looked at me, not questioningly, but not blankly.

“I’m Patrol Captain Rhennthyl.”

She nodded.

“Why did you kill the one runner?” I asked.

“Why?” Her voice rose. “He killed my son. He gave him that weed, and Nygeo smoked it, and he died. He died horribly. You saw his face. Then that scum runner came and demanded silvers for the elveweed. He said that terrible things would happen to me and Foyneo if I didn’t pay. I have few silvers, just what I earn from helping Ielsa. She is a seamstress on the other side of Quierca. We would not eat…and he killed my boy. He took out a knife, and I threw the grease in the pan in his face and then hit him with it…”

That explained the burns on the dead runner’s face.

“Don’t take me away!” she pleaded.

Yherlyt looked to me. I understood why I was there.

“I don’t see any reason to take you anywhere,” I said. “Two elveweed runners attacked you to collect silvers that they said your son owed them. You defended yourself. Self-defense is allowed.” I paused. “We will need to take Nygeo’s body.”

“He won’t need it…” Behind the stoic words was an edge, and her eyes were bright, but her voice did not break, nor did actual tears flow.

“I’m very sorry,” I said, inclining my head to her.

She just turned away.

Yherlyt and I carried both bodies out of the dwelling and to the sidewalk.

“Thank you, sir,” he said as we lowered Nygeo’s already stiff figure to the stone.

“You’re welcome. I just did what captains are here for. Write up the report the way she said it, but mention that he had a knife when the dead runner asked for the silvers.”

“Yes, sir. That’s the way Mhort and I heard it, too.”

“Is there anything else you need me for, Yherlyt?”

“No, sir.” He paused.

“I need to tell Deyalt. They’re not supposed to be using schoolboys for runners.”

“No, sir.” After a moment, he added, “I’d not speak poorly of the dead, but Nygeo was always a problem. Foyneo is a good boy.”

“We don’t want the dealers getting any ideas.” I didn’t like having any elveweed in the taudis, but there wasn’t any way I could stop the trade. I’d had to use every tool I knew to get the taudischefs to press for the ban on selling to schoolchildren and not using schoolchildren from the taudis as runners.

I spent more than a glass on the streets. I never did find Deyalt, but did run down one of his toughs in the green jackets. There were always a few around, keeping an eye on things.

“Captain, sir.”

“You know Ismelda on Sleago? She sometimes works for a seamstress. She has two boys. One of them might have been a runner.”

“That’d be Nygeo. Deyalt told him not to run.”

“He won’t run anymore. He smoked too much. He’s dead. Two other runners tried to collect from Ismelda. One’s dead, and we’re taking the other. I thought Deyalt ought to know.” I offered a pleasant smile.

He froze for a moment. “Deyalt told ‘em all…”

“I’m not blaming anyone. But…perhaps Deyalt might put out the word-again-that I don’t like elveweed at all. I especially don’t like schoolboys being sold to or used as runners.”

“He don’t either, Captain.”

“Then we’re all agreed, aren’t we?” I smiled again, before heading back to the station.

Comparatively speaking, the rest of the afternoon was calm, and I caught a hack on South Middle a little after fifth glass. I couldn’t help thinking about poor stupid dead Nygeo, and the devastation I’d felt in his mother. It didn’t help that, when I arrived at NordEste Design, I was as worried as I always was when Seliora left Imagisle without me, even if she always carried her pistol and even if she was a very good shot. I hurried up the steps to the covered portico.

The door opened before I could lift the well-polished and shining but battered knocker that was shaped like a stylized upholsterer’s hammer.

The twins-Hanahra and Hestya, Odelia’s younger sisters-stood there.

“She’s already here, Uncle Rhenn.” They both smiled slyly, enjoying calling me ‘uncle’ even though I was married to their cousin, not their aunt; but then, they’d always thought of Seliora as an aunt, and now that she had a child, the age difference seemed even greater, although the twins were seventeen and looked older.

“And you’re not with Diestyra?” I stepped into the foyer, and Hanahra closed the door.

“Bhenyt is. She wanted ‘Uncle Bhenyt,’” Hestya said dryly. “She’s already flirting. She’s good at it.”

That was something else I’d have to worry about in years to come.

Since the sole inside exit to the foyer was the polished oak staircase, I followed them up the steps. The ample staircase, with its gleaming brass fixtures and elaborately carved balustrades, opened out at the top into a large entry hall, a good ten yards deep and eight wide. Light golden oak comprised the paneled walls. A lush carpet of deep maroon, with a border of intertwined golden chains and brilliant green leafy vines, largely covered an intricately patterned parquet floor. Set around the foyer were chairs and settees of dark wood, upholstered in various fabric designs. There were, however, far fewer than there once had been, because many of the pieces, which had been samples of the work of NordEste Design, had found their way to our house on Imagisle. At the south end of the hall was a pianoforte, well-kept, if seldom played, I had discovered.

Bhenyt sat in a chair on the left side of the hall, several yards away, his legs crossed, with Diestrya riding on his boot while he held her hands. My daughter never glanced in my direction, although Seliora, wearing a light green dress with a dark gray jacket, certainly did, and she smiled. Standing beside her were her father, Shelim, and her brother Shomyr, broad-shouldered, black-bearded, and half a head shorter than I was. Shomyr’s wife, Haelya, with short orange-flame hair, was turned facing Seliora. She was expecting their second child in Avryl.

From the far side of the group, Betara walked toward me. Dark-haired and wiry, wearing blue silk trousers and a matching jacket, at a distance she could easily have been Seliora’s older sister, rather than her mother. Her smile was identical to Seliora’s. “How was your day?”

“Not terrible,” I replied, “but I have to say that I’ve had better.” I didn’t see several members of the family. “Where’s Methyr?” I asked.

“He’s upstairs with a fever,” replied Seliora as she joined us. “Father just checked on him and Grandmama Diestra.”

With her words, I realized I hadn’t seen Grandmama. Betara, understandably, often called her Mama Diestra. I didn’t see Odelia and Kolasyn, nor Odelia’s mother Aegina, but Aegina was often in the kitchen when we arrived. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Odelia.

“Mama Diestra would like a word with you, Rhenn,” Betara said. “She’s upstairs in the plaques room.”

“She won’t be joining us for dinner?”

“Her legs are bothering her more than usual.”

I looked to Seliora and Betara. “You two should come.” I knew Betara would, but Seliora should know what ever Diestra had to say as well.

I followed Betara and Seliora up the stairs, which had a large landing halfway up, and then across the upper hall. As the three of us entered the upstairs plaques room, Diestra looked up from where she sat in front of an array of plaques, then swept them up, shuffled, and stacked them with a fluidity that remained amazing. As I well knew, for all her age, she was a master player of both life and plaques. “You’re looking well, Rhenn.”

“And so are you.”

“The flattery is transparent, but it is welcome, as is your presence.” She smiled and waited for us to sit down around the circular table. Her hair had turned from a heavy gray to a silvery sheen over the years since Seliora and I had been married, but it was still thick and well-brushed, and her eyes were bright, if circled by a blackness that suggested increasing frailty.

“The greener or fresher elveweed is appearing all over L’Excelsis,” Diestra finally said. “It’s stronger than the dried weed from Caenen and Tiempre. One of my contacts said it was like the weed that came from Stakanar years back, before the Stakanarans rooted it all out.”

“They’re still getting the dried weed in Rivages and Touryl,” Betara added.

“That means the supply of the stronger weed is limited,” I mused.

“They can charge more in L’Excelsis,” Diestra said dryly. “It’s a question of golds.”

“Can you find out if any other city is getting the fresh weed?” I asked.

“You have an idea?”

“I have several,” I temporized. “More information might help.”

“There is one other matter,” offered Diestra.

I tried not to stiffen. Whenever Mama Diestra brought up something, it was important.

“Several Pharsi families in Solis, Kherseilles, Estisle, and Westisle have had their eldest sons killed over the past month. The men were all married and had children.” She looked to me.

“Do you have any idea how many?”

“We know of fourteen.”

“I haven’t heard about that. It sounds like the killers don’t understand Pharsi ways. Someone who’s not Pharsi is trying to make trouble.”

“That’s what we think, but…it hasn’t happened here.”

“Because I’m a Patrol Captain?”

“Can you think of another reason?” countered Diestra.

“The Collegium and the Council are here.”

“There are smaller collegia in both Estisle and Westisle,” Betara said.

“Every city you named is a port,” I pointed out. “L’Excelsis isn’t.”

Betara and Diestra exchanged glances. Clearly, they hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t either. The idea had just popped into my head.

“Do you know if any of the families have businesses or factorages that supply the Navy? Or deal with grain?”

“We’ll have to see.” Diestra picked up the deck of plaques and shuffled them, then began to lay out a pattern of cards on the felt surface of the table.

The three of us rose and left the chamber.

“I need to check on dinner.” Betara hurried down the stairs ahead of Seliora and me.

As we walked down the last few steps and then moved from the staircase to the main hall, Odelia appeared. “You were talking about elveweed with Grandmama?”

“We were,” I said. “There seems to be a stronger version that’s causing deaths.”

“Can’t you do something about it, Rhenn?”

I could sense a tightness behind her words.

“I’ve suggested to the taudischefs in my district that they warn people against using it.”

“Suggested? Warned?”

Seliora shot a glance at Odelia that I wouldn’t have wanted to receive.

Odelia ignored it and stared at me.

“Odelia…I have slightly fewer than four hundred patrollers assigned to Third District. Third District comprises roughly four square milles. It’s the eastern quarter of the old city of L’Excelsis, plus the newer areas to the north. If the blocks were regular, and they’re not, but it’s close enough to calculate that there are somewhere over 1,000 blocks in Third District. At any one time, I have no more than 150 patrollers on the streets. That’s one patroller for every seven or eight blocks. Now, we know we don’t have to patrol some areas heavily, and we don’t. But even in the taudis, which is heavily patrolled, especially in the late afternoon and evening, we can’t do better than having a patroller for every third or fourth block on average at any one time. I have managed to keep the dealers out of Third District, but I can’t catch all their runners, and runners are a penny a score. We brought in two this afternoon, one dead.”

“With all that explaining, I’m surprised you have time to catch anyone.” Her tone was scathing.

“We catch people because the people come to us and tell us, and because the taudischefs let me know things. We also catch people because we vary patrol times and routes, so that common criminals don’t know when a patroller might be around. We also catch people because many aren’t too bright. The elveweed dealers are not common. They’re traders in illegal goods, and those who survive are anything but stupid. That’s why they don’t get anywhere near me, and I can’t patrol everyone else’s districts, either practically or legally.” I paused, then asked, “What do you suggest that I do, Odelia?”

“Stop the trade. It kills people.”

“How? I can find the taudis-kids the dealers use as runners. I can put them in work houses or send them to the Navy as coal loaders. And if I catch them twice, they can die after working themselves to death on the road gangs before they’re thirty. And the day after I send each one away, there’s another one in his place. The dealers haven’t even entered Third District in years. These days, we’ve got fewer elvers and no dealers there, but your family and I can’t build paper mills and woodworks in every taudis in L’Excelsis, and there aren’t enough imagers around to do what I do-and even if there were, the people in the city wouldn’t accept that many imagers in the Civic Patrol.”

“My…how eloquent you are. It doesn’t change things. People still die, and more are dying.”

“Odelia,” I said slowly, deliberately, “I know Kolasyn’s brother is an elver. I know you’re both worried. But he’s the one who chooses to smoke it. No one put a blade to his throat and told him to.”

“People shouldn’t be tempted like that. Not by something that changes the way they think after smoking it once or twice.”

I really wanted to tell Odelia that she couldn’t save Haerasyn from himself. “The world is filled with temptations that lead to great danger, Odelia. Neither you nor I can prevent even a small fraction of them. You and Kolasyn do what you can. I do what I can.”

“That’s easy for you to say…”

“Odelia.” Seliora’s voice cut like an ice knife.

The redhead closed her mouth, but I could sense the rage, and that angered me. Odelia wanted to blame everyone except Haerasyn.

“Don’t ever do that again.” I could feel my own cold steel fury slam into Odelia, for all that I did not raise my voice or move.

Odelia stepped back involuntarily, shrinking away, even though she was nearly my height. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” She backed away, then ran up the stairs.

Seliora smiled sadly at me and shook her head. “We’ll talk later.”

I understood, and we walked back to rejoin the group gathered near the pianoforte.

Dinner was delicious, and, in the Pharsi tradition, no one talked about business or about troubles, but about the good things in life. Odelia’s place at the table was empty, and poor Kolasyn just looked bewildered.

Sometime after eighth glass, Bhenyt went out and hailed a hack for us, as he often did, and we left.

“Odelia thinks you can do anything, and that you didn’t really want to help Haerasyn,” Seliora offered in the darkness of the cab as we headed down the Boulevard D’Ouest.

“I may be a powerful imager, but that doesn’t mean I can save people from their own weaknesses and stupidity. I have enough trouble trying not to do stupid things myself.”

“She won’t ever approach you again,” Seliora said. “She’ll avoid you for months. It could be longer.”

“I tried to be polite, but when she looked at you like that…”

“Every bit of you that is the Pharsi heritage that your mother denies came forward. It joined with the part that is imager, and for that moment, dearest, you were truly terrible. Odelia is strong, but no one could have stood against that.”

“You could have.”

She shook her head. “Why do you think Iryela begged you to be a friend?”

“She asked…”

“For a High Holder, what she did was equivalent to groveling. It was bearable to her because she knew you respected her, and because you saved her life, but she knows you could destroy everything she has. She saw what Odelia just saw. Grandmama sensed that in you from the beginning. Why do you think you’ve been able to turn Third District around.”

“It’s not turned that far-”

“Rhenn.”

“I’d like to think good ideas, and some golds from your family, have helped change things.”

“Exactly. They helped. But the real difference is that the taudischefs don’t want to cross you, and the patrollers feel more secure. Even the conscription teams are very well-mannered in your district, and they aren’t in most.”

“Yes, dear.” I wasn’t about to argue with her.

She still mock-slapped me, her fingers barely touching my cheek.

I would have liked to have held her, but Diestrya was dozing in my lap, and the last thing I wanted to do was to wake a sleeping three-year-old.

Once we got home, we immediately went upstairs and put our daughter to bed, although she never quite woke up. I waited and watched her for a bit, to make sure that she slipped into a deeper sleep. She was sleeping easily when I finally walked back into the main bedchamber to talk to Seliora. At that moment, an image flashed before me.

In the darkness, I was climbing out of a pile of stone and rubble, under the cold grayish-red light of Erion, dust and ashes sifted around me. Then, as suddenly as it had come, before I could make out more details, the image was gone.

It wasn’t a daydream, but a Pharsi foresight flash. Seliora had flashes more often than did I, but I’d had one or two, enough to recognize it for what it was, but not enough to be able to seize on key details. For me, unlike Seliora, they tended to foreshadow troubles. Seliora had seen us being married as a foresight flash, as Remaya had seen being married to Rousel, and my dear wife had known I’d become a Patrol officer before I did-except that she’d only seen me standing amid patrollers, not knowing what it foreshadowed. That was unfortunately often the case when it came to understanding foresight flashes.

“What is it?” she asked. “You looked stunned.”

“A flash.”

She nodded slowly. “Should you tell me?”

“I don’t think so.” That was another problem with the flashes. Often, Seliora and her family had discovered, trying to change circumstances only made matters worse. The best strategy was to plan for what might happen in the unglimpsed moments that followed a flash.

But…surrounded by stones and rubble? I managed to keep from shivering as I began to undress for bed.