Imager's challenge

13

Lundi morning, Clovyl was relatively gentle with me in his hand-to-hand instruction, showing me ways to disarm someone with either knife or pistol. I refrained from pointing out that I could just image the weapons out of their hands. My caution was warranted, because he addressed that just before I was to actually try the moves on him.

“One of the reasons you need to learn this sort of thing, Rhennthyl, is because most imagers can’t image for a while if they get a stiff blow to their skull. The good assassins and spies know that.”

“It would have been nice to learn that earlier.”

“You would have, if you’d come to the Collegium a good bit younger than you did,” Clovyl replied mildly. “We teach that to the junior primes, but it would have taken years to go over everything with you, and it didn’t make sense to hold you back. You really would have done something stupid, then.”

“Thank you.” My words were not sarcastic. I meant them.

Clovyl looked puzzled.

“No one ever simply explained what you just did. A great deal of my frustration with the Collegium derives from the continual assumptions that I know things I don’t. If someone had just said what you did . . .”

“That’s probably true, Rhenn, but you have to realize that you’re also one of the oldest imagers ever to show up at the Collegium. No one, and I mean no one, has any experience with training a mostly developed imager. Most imagers who develop the skill as late as you did end up dead before the Collegium ever knows about them. That was why you ended up with Master Dichartyn as your preceptor. Usually, he only works with thirds and junior masters.”

That made me feel even more stupid, because I really should have noticed more. I’d known I was older than most of the primes, but before I’d had a chance to really think about it, I’d been made a second-and there were many seconds older than I was. There were even graying seconds.

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and concentrated on learning the moves better. Then I ran the customary four milles and hurried through the rest of the morning routine so that I wouldn’t be late to Patrol headquarters.

I wasn’t. In fact, I was waiting outside Mardoyt’s door when he arrived.

“Have you been here long?”

“No, sir. Just a fraction of a glass.”

“Good. Follow me. I’ll introduce you to the patroller clerks, and you can go with First Patroller Baluzt and the coach-wagon taking this morning’s lot to the courts. He can explain how the procedures work.” Mardoyt offered a generous and open smile. “Possibly better than I can.”

“You’re the one who has to make sure all the supporting documents get to the court?”

“I also have to make certain that witnesses appear for any major offense. Tracking them down isn’t always easy, and it often takes a lieutenant and two patrollers to make sure that they do show up. We have another coach-wagon for witnesses.” He turned. “This way.”

We only walked across the hall into a room twice as large as the commander’s anteroom, and far more crowded, with seven writing desks and an entire wall filled with file cases stacked one on top of another. Three of the desks were empty, with files stacked on them. The walls might once have been white, but were now more like a dingy beige.

Only one of the patrollers seated at the desks even looked up, and that was a stocky and balding patroller first. “Sir?”

“This is Imager Master Rhennthyl, Baluzt. He’s the new imager liaison to the Patrol, and the subcommander wants him to see how we work. He spent last week on the charging desk.”

“Welcome, Master Rhennthyl. We’re not the exciting part of the Patrol, but if we don’t do our job, offenders get back on the street to cause more trouble.”

“I’ll leave him in your hands, Baluzt.” With another warm smile, Mardoyt inclined his head and then gracefully turned and left.

I stood waiting.

“Good. Follow me. I’ll introduce you to the patroller clerks, and you can go with First Patroller Baluzt and the coach-wagon taking this morning’s lot to the courts. He can explain how the procedures work.” Mardoyt offered a generous and open smile. “Possibly better than I can.”

“You’re the one who has to make sure all the supporting documents get to the court?”

“I also have to make certain that witnesses appear for any major offense. Tracking them down isn’t always easy, and it often takes a lieutenant and two patrollers to make sure that they do show up. We have another coach-wagon for witnesses.” He turned. “This way.”

We only walked across the hall into a room twice as large as the commander’s anteroom, and far more crowded, with seven writing desks and an entire wall filled with file cases stacked one on top of another. Three of the desks were empty, with files stacked on them. The walls might once have been white, but were now more like a dingy beige.

Only one of the patrollers seated at the desks even looked up, and that was a stocky and balding patroller first. “Sir?”

“This is Imager Master Rhennthyl, Baluzt. He’s the new imager liaison to the Patrol, and the subcommander wants him to see how we work. He spent last week on the charging desk.”

“Welcome, Master Rhennthyl. We’re not the exciting part of the Patrol, but if we don’t do our job, offenders get back on the street to cause more trouble.”

“I’ll leave him in your hands, Baluzt.” With another warm smile, Mardoyt inclined his head and then gracefully turned and left.

I stood waiting.

“What we do is simple, sir, and it’s the Namer’s pain in a sow’s rump.” Baluzt gestured at the piles of paper in front of him. “I get to make sure that we have all the papers on each prisoner, especially the charging slip, and Fagayn runs down the arresting patroller, the prisoner, and any witnesses that the lieutenant brings. Then I ride the coach-wagon over to the Square of Justice. Most times, we have two of them, one for prisoners, and one for patrollers and witnesses. If we’ve got a lot of prisoners, we’ll run a second load around noon. Then we sit in the chambers and produce prisoners, documents, patrollers, and witnesses when the presiding justice or the magistrate wants them. If we can’t, I get to explain to the justice why not. I don’t like that, and the lieutenant likes it less. Sereptyl handles the other chamber most days.”

“Do you ever deal with cases for districts other than in L’Excelsis?”

“Not unless we have a prisoner who’s a witness for them. That’s a pain, but it doesn’t happen often.” Baluzt stood. “You’ll ride with me, sir. We got to get this procession moving.”

I smiled. “I’ll try to stay out of the way.” I followed him down the corridor to another set of stairs that led down to the alleyway behind the Patrol building.

The two coach-wagons drawn up and waiting each took four horses. They were long enclosed wagons with but a single door and four rows of bench seats. On top, there was a seat for the driver-padded, if skimpily-and a seat behind the driver. After all the witnesses and prisoners were accounted for, I climbed up the first wagon to sit beside Baluzt behind the driver.

The patroller driver turned the coach-wagon onto East River Road, heading south, until we reached the Sud Bridge, then crossed the river and continued on the Avenue D’Commercia until it intersected the ring avenue around Council Hill. The Square of Justice, with the Hall of Justice and its various courts, was on the south end of the ring avenue. The trip took about three-fifths of a glass.

The patrollers escorted prisoners and witnesses in through a side door guarded by another patroller, and then up a back set of stairs into the justicing chambers. The one where Baluzt led me was not all that large, no more than fifteen yards by eight, with a dais at the north end. Upon the black dais was a wide and featureless black desk. Low-backed benches ran down the center of the chamber, facing the dais. They ended six or seven yards short of the dais. On each side of the open space were three shorter rows of benches.

Baluzt and I sat in the front row of the benches on the east side, with the three witnesses and the patrollers who would testify in the rows behind us. The prisoners, manacled with their hands behind their backs, sat in the benches on the west side facing us.

Shortly after we entered, several advocates appeared, and then the bailiff stepped forward and thumped a heavy oak staff, its uppermost part a bronze sheaf of some sort of grain. Everyone rose, and the presiding justice appeared, wearing a long gray robe, trimmed in black, unlike that of the Collegium justices, whose robes were trimmed in both black and red.

Another thump, and the bailiff intoned, “You may be seated. Bring forth the accused.”

Two patrollers marched forward a swarthy but graying older man until he stood before the dais.

“Sactedd D’Rien, you are charged with disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct. Who stands to defend the accused?” asked the justice.

“I do.” A man in a gray robe with white trim stepped forward and stood between the west benches and the dais.

“Who presents the case against the accused?”

“I do.” The angular prosecuting advocate was a brown-haired, clean-shaven man who didn’t look any older than I was.

“State the charges against the accused.”

“The accused faces a charge of disturbance and disorderly and using a weapon in refusing to desist in that behavior.”

The justice turned to the public defender. “How does the accused plead? Guilty, Not Guilty, No Plea, or For Mercy?”

“Guilty, Your Honor.”

The justice looked directly at the manacled old man. “Sactedd, your defender has offered a plea of Guilty. Do you accept that plea?”

“Yes, sir.” The weariness behind the words suggested a man for whom a penal workhouse or even a road crew would be a blessing.

“Having pled Guilty, this being your second conviction, you are sentenced to the rest of your natural life at light duty in the penal workhouse at Stuerlt.”

The first case was over so quickly that I was still wondering how it had gone so fast when the bailiff thumped his staff. “Bring forth the accused.”

The same two patrollers marched forward another man, younger, but clearly not in full possession of all faculties. He swayed as he walked.

“Longtime elver,” murmured one of the patrollers behind me.

“Zolierma Aayo, you are charged with public incapacity and use of a banned substance. Who stands to defend the accused?”

“I do.” The second of the two public defenders stepped forward.

Zolierma, an outlander of some sort, by his name, also pled Guilty, although I wondered if he had any idea of what he pled, and was sentenced to a penal workhouse as well.

I took more interest in the third case, when the bailiff intoned, “Bring forth the accused,” and the two patrollers marched forward two much younger men.

“Hydrat D’Taudis and Chelam D’Whayan, you are charged with disturbance of the peace, disorderly conduct, and assaulting a patroller. Who stands to defend the accused?”

“I do.” Instead of the two public defenders, another advocate, older and more dark-skinned, stepped forward.

“How do you plead?”

“They both plead Not Guilty to all charges, Your Honor,” offered the advocate.

“Very well.” The justice turned. “You may proceed, Prosecuting Advocate.”

As I recalled, there had been three men charged with throwing the liquid from slop pots at the patrollers, but I saw only two.

The prosecuting advocate turned toward us. “Patroller Tyenat to the bar.”

A tall and muscular patroller stood and stepped forward until he stood below the dais.

“Patroller Tyenat,” began the justice, “do you understand that you are required to tell the whole truth, and that your words must not deceive, either by elaboration or omission?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Proceed.”

The prosecutor addressed the patroller. “Please recount what occurred on the night of Meredi, thirty-second Erntyn, as it relates to the charges against the prisoners.”

“Yes, sir. I was just about to start off on foot patrol, when Captain Harraf came into the marshaling room and announced that there was a big disturbance in the South Middle taudis and that everyone was to take the dispatch wagon there. . . .” Tyenat went on to describe how he and nine other patrollers had reached the area just west of the Puryon Temple. “. . . they’d brought in patrollers from all across the city, and there were about fifty of us. That included a half squad of mounted riot patrollers. Three of us were posted at a gap gate in the wall east of their temple . . . the prisoners, those over there, had buckets. They jumped up on the wall. One of them threw the slop in it at us, but it missed. Morgyn told them to go home. They thumbed us, and then threw more shit at us. We charged them. They tried to kick us. Hydrat-he’s the short one-pulled a slider knife, but I knocked it out of his hand with my truncheon. . . .”

The prosecutor patiently asked question after question, then stopped and looked to the justice. “That is all for this witness, Your Honor.”

“Do you have any questions for the patroller, Advocate?” asked the justice.

“Yes, Your Honor.” The defense advocate stepped forward slightly. “Patroller Tyenat, did either of the prisoners show a weapon before you charged them?”

“No, sir. They taunted us, and threw slops at us, and refused to return to their homes.”

“How large was this purported slider knife?”

“Your Honor”-Baluzt rose-“the knife was entered as evidence.”

“So noted.”

The defense advocate asked several more questions, all aimed at trying to establish that the prisoners had done nothing more than be disorderly until they perceived that they were being attacked. Finally, he said, “No more questions, Your Honor.”

The justice looked down. “You may return to your place in the court, Patroller Tyenat.

“Are there any more witnesses?”

“We would like to have the accused state their case, Your Honor.”

Both Hydrat and Chelam told their stories, which were similar to what Tyenat had said, except that they insisted that they had not assaulted or intended to assault anyone, and that Hydrat had only drawn the knife when he thought that he would be attacked and hurt.

No one else offered anything else, and there was no mention of a third man.

After the defense advocate finished, the justice spent less than a tenth of a glass before straightening and nodding to the bailiff.

The bailiff thumped a heavy staff twice. “The accused will rise and step forward.”

The two patrollers escorted the two taudis-men forward until they stood below the dais.

“Hydrat D’Taudis and Chelam D’Whayan, the court finds you Not Guilty on the count of deliberate assault on a patroller, but Guilty of a lesser charge of negligent assault, and Guilty of disturbance and disorderly conduct. The court hereby sentences each of you to one year of service on the road crews of Solidar.” The justice looked to the bailiff.

The bailiff rapped his staff twice, and the gaol patrollers escorted the two men away.

Neither taudis-man looked particularly upset.

The rest of the day went on like that, without even a break for lunch, then ended at third glass. In no case were the charges dropped. By the time we gathered everyone together, another quarter glass had passed.

On the ride back, I asked Baluzt, “How soon do prisoners get sent to the penal workhouses or the road crew?”

“Could be as soon as tomorrow. Could be a week. They get sent once a week, usually the same day every week for each place. Tomorrow’s the day for Poignard-that’s where the dangerous ones go, or those who’ll be executed. Meredi’s for the two road crews-they’re housed in the south at the Iron Piers gaol or north at Sieuplier.”

I didn’t have much to say, but I kept thinking about the missing prisoner.

Once the wagons were unloaded, I made my way back up to the justicing preparatory study. Four patrollers were still there.

“Tomorrow’s schedule,” Baluzt said.

I heard steps and turned to see Mardoyt entering. “Lieutenant.”

“How was your day watching the justice proceedings, Master Rhennthyl?”

“Interesting, but long, I must confess.”

“It almost always is. It can be much longer if there’s an elaborate trial. If that happens, they’ll try that case with a senior justice, and cram all the minor cases into the two small court chambers with the junior justices. Means twice as much work for us with three chambers to cover. Fortunately for us, there’s nothing like that on the docket this week.” He half turned. “Is tomorrow’s schedule ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

I watched from the side as Mardoyt reviewed the cases scheduled for Mardi and as he and Baluzt discussed the arrangements and patroller assignments.

Before he left, Mardoyt turned to me. “I’ll see you in the morning, Master Rhennthyl, but you’ll be going with Baluzt again.”

After I left Baluzt, I made my way back down to the charging desk.

“Master Rhennthyl.”

“Gulyart . . . would you mind if I checked the ledger? I’m trying to recall a case we saw today.”

He laughed and pushed the charging ledger over to me.

As I’d thought, there were three names associated with the piss-bucket case-Hydrat D’Taudis, Chelam D’Whayan, and Chardyn D’Steinyn. Once I checked the names in the ledger, I went to the files in the cases behind Gulyart.

There was no sheet on Chardyn. The other two had sheets listing the charges, but not him. As I remembered, he’d been the quiet one of Pharsi-Caenenan heritage. He’d given his name and nothing else.

“Gulyart, when does a record sheet get put in here?”

“Once we charge them, the patrollers working for Mardoyt send down the sheets with the convictions and sentences. Once in a while the charges are dropped. After the trial, they send lists with the names, and when I can, I update the records.”

“Do the sheets with the charges arrive here before the trial?”

“They’re supposed to, but they don’t always.”

“Thank you.” I had the feeling that the sheet on Chardyn would never show up, but I’d still have to check later. “Good evening. I’ll see you later.”

Gulyart nodded pleasantly as I left.

I was still pondering the missing records sheet when I got back to my room and found a package wrapped in brown paper had been set inside my door. There was a note on the top.

This arrived late this afternoon.

Beleart

The envelope on top had my name, but was unsealed with nothing inside. I had to cut the heavy cord before I could unfasten the heavy gray paper wrapping. Inside were another envelope, still sealed, and a tattered long brown cloak and a frayed black-and-brown plaid cap whose brown did not match the cloak. I had to smile at that, clearly a touch of Seliora’s, but a subtlety I would not have considered.

I opened the envelope to find a plain white card with just a few words.

South Middle at Dugalle, sixth and a half, Meredi.

So now I could meet with Horazt and learn something-if I happened to be fortunate.