Imager's challenge

58

Exhausted as I was, I didn’t dream on Samedi night, but on Solayi morning I still had to get up early as duty master. The numbness in my back and legs had passed, replaced by bruises and soreness. I could raise shields, but before long my head began to ache. So I went shieldless to the shower, so to speak, then returned to don another set of warm grays.

After breakfast, eaten early and alone, I made my way to the administrative building where, after telling the duty prime where I’d be, I settled into the conference room off the receiving hall, trying to gather a greater sense of how I should handle the repercussions from Samedi and hoping for a quiet day, while knowing that it was not likely to be so.

The one chilling thing that struck me as I sat there was that I felt no remorse or sadness for the deaths of Ryel, Dulyk, and Alynat. Had I become just like Master Dichartyn? Or was it that they had caused so many-not just me and my family, but countless others-so much loss and pain that any remorse would have been hypocritical? Or was any remorse I might have felt outweighed by my anger at having been forced into a situation where I had been left no choice at all if I and my family wanted to survive? Or was I still numb from all that had happened?

I wasn’t certain that I knew. Maybe I never would.

Sometime just after ninth glass, Master Dichartyn peered in. His face was stern. “You’ll be here for the next glass?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Then he was gone, striding down the corridor.

Less than a quint later, he returned, striding into the conference room, closing the door, and dropping into the chair nearest me.

“You know why I’m here.”

“I prefer not to guess, if you don’t mind.”

“Let me begin another way.” He sighed. “Chassendri mentioned to me that you looked absolutely shocked when she suggested that you were unpredictable. Why were you so surprised? It cannot have escaped your attention that we have often had to deal with unforeseen situations involving you.”

“I don’t see why any of them should have been unforeseen. I don’t believe in avoiding problems when they can be resolved. You instructed me that resolution was desirable in ways not calling public attention to the Collegium. That is what I have attempted to do.”

Dichartyn shook his head. “Maitre Poincaryt and I, as well as Maitre Schorzat, all understand that facet of your character. What was most unpredictable was not your desire to resolve matters, but the way in which you have repeatedly done so. High Councilor Suyrien sent an urgent messenger requesting that Maitre Poincaryt join him for dinner on Lundi night . . . I imagine you can guess the subject.”

“As I said before, sir, I’d rather not. I’ve had to guess at far too many things recently.”

“Then I will tell you. The terrace tower on High Holder Ryel’s estate collapsed suddenly yesterday during his annual fall foliage celebration. Besides his son, four other High Holders were killed. Interestingly enough, at about that same time half of Ryel’s gardens were destroyed by an unseasonable frost that struck only his estate and no other, and a sudden chill froze the stream beneath the gardens solid. The chill was so intense that it turned all the gardens to dust, and ice droplets rained from a cloudless sky.”

“That does seem strange.”

“Strange indeed,” Dichartyn said dryly. “Might I point out that in less than a year, the single greatest internal threat to the Collegium, in the presence of the late High Holder Ryel’s son, has been removed, that the head of the deadliest spy and foreign assassination conspiracy in centuries suffered a fatal fall, that an explosion destroyed all traces of the remaining conspirators, that the two most corrupt officers in the Civic Patrol have been stipended off, that disaster in the South Middle taudis was averted and the Tiemprans responsible apprehended, that the taudischefs who facilitated the Tiempran plot were both brought to hearings and executed, that the feared conscription team was given a warning that has resulted in the reduction in abusive behavior, that the most arrogant, dangerous, and powerful High Holder died in a tower collapse that was totally unforeseen, and that those High Holders most slavish in their support of that High Holder also perished.” Dichartyn paused, then added dryly, “It is a rather remarkable set of ‘coincidences,’ wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you honestly think that any right-minded master imager could possibly have predicted all those events, especially the collapse of a stone tower built to last centuries?”

“Sir, you made it absolutely clear on repeated occasions that you neither wished to hear of my personal difficulties with the late High Holder Ryel nor to have the Collegium involved in any fashion. I acceded to those wishes. High Holder Ryel also made it perfectly clear-after instances of arson in my family’s factorage, legal actions based on irrefutable but fraudulent records, numerous accidents and damages to equipment, and finally the death of my brother-that no accommodation was possible. Since none was possible, and since it was also made clear to me that any male heir would have to continue Ryel’s actions, the only course of action, assuming I wanted to save myself and my family, was to invoke the Nameless on my behalf. Obviously, the Nameless listened, because Ryel’s nephew was foolish enough to go racing on the highway with a defective trap, and Ryel and his son were unfortunate enough to stand on a tower hit by lightning or some such.” I shrugged. “Sometimes, fortune does favor those who are less powerful and wronged by the arrogantly powerful.”

Master Dichartyn laughed. “Your explanation is better than many I’ve heard, and publicly, the less said the better. I have absolutely no doubt that the other High Holders will become remarkably less strident in the days ahead. Maitre Poincaryt has stated that he will point out to the High Councilor that Ryel’s actions were excessive, and resulted in excessive repayment. You should be hearing what results from that repayment in time. However, right now, we need to walk down the hall and meet with Maitre Poincaryt.”

I rose, trying not to show my stiffness and soreness, and walked to the staircase with Master Dichartyn and then up and to the southwest corner and straight into the maitre’s private study.

Maitre Poincaryt was wearing grays that were frayed and stained in places, doubtless those he wore around wherever he lived when he did not expect visitors. He offered a wry smile and gestured to the chairs across the desk from him.

We seated ourselves, and I waited.

“You realize, Master Rhennthyl, that neither Dichartyn nor I would prefer to be here on a Solayi.”

“I can understand that, sir. I’d prefer not to be here.” And that was absolutely true.

“You will come to understand that even more in years to come, provided you survive the current year. Some more unrealistic and impractical than I might suggest that you be put on trial. That will not occur.”

I was half relieved to know that I wasn’t about to be hauled up before the Collegium on charges . . . or not on serious ones.

“Nonetheless, you will be punished in another and more lasting fashion, as are all imagers who must work outside the formal structures of the Collegium and the Council.” Master Poincaryt smiled wanly.

I waited, not knowing what was to come.

“There is always a price, Rhennthyl. Always. Those who do not understand Solidar and the Collegium have no idea. From this day forward, you will never be able to leave Imagisle without carrying the heaviest possible shields. Even if you choose to marry, you will always sleep alone and wake alone in a lead-lined room, because your power is so great that a nightmare could kill all those you love. Everyone, save a handful who know you well, will shy away from you. So, in time, will your children. If you have any perception at all, you will have to weigh every request, every word that is addressed to you. If you do not, you will come to regret any such lapses more and more with each passing day.”

I swallowed. Some of that I had considered, but not the totality.

“Now, in regard to High Holder Ryel, unlike Dichartyn, I will not be indirect. Only a powerful master imager could have accomplished what happened at Ryel’s estates yesterday. Since I did not do it, nor did Dichartyn, you had to be the one. Given the situation facing you, and the strictures we placed on you, you had no choice but to confront Ryel. I would have preferred a more . . . indirect method, but you did not involve the Collegium, nor is there anything remotely resembling proof. In fact, there’s Namer-little of anything left within an arc of three hundred yards south of the tower ruins. When I meet with High Councilor Suyrien, I will make certain that he understands the dangers involved in placing any imager in a situation where his family is threatened and he has nothing to lose. I will also point out that, at the moment, High Holders are held in even lower esteem than the Collegium, in part due to your efforts in dealing with the South Middle taudis. This has created other problems, which I will address in a moment.” He smiled ruefully before continuing.

“There is also the matter of the four other High Holders who perished in the frost-storm. Their families will doubtless grieve, at least in public, but I will suggest that the Nameless repaid them in kind for consorting with a High Holder who was so ruthless that he could not foresee the inevitable consequences of seeking absolute power over anyone and anything that displeased him. Even High Councilor Suyrien will find that an appropriate message, and he will convey it to all High Holders . . . for his own reasons.”

The absolute certainty held in Maitre Poincaryt’s words was far more chilling than any reprimand could have been. He was telling me what would happen and how the Council would handle it-and that there would be no questions whatsoever. What was more chilling than that was the total lack of surprise in and behind his words.

“That brings us to your future. Commander Artois has made a request of the Collegium.” Master Poincaryt looked to Master Dichartyn and then to me.

That scarcely surprised me. If I hadn’t made every senior Patrol officer wary or unhappy, I’d doubtless come close, and I didn’t want to think how the Navy and naval marines felt.

Master Poincaryt offered a smile that looked ironic, but I wasn’t at all certain. “His letter and his subsequent conversation with me have left no doubt that certain aspects of the . . . situation with the South Middle taudis were not precisely to his liking. This has left him in a position where he feels, with some justification, I might agree, that the Collegium is obligated to assist him in resolving the situation. And since you were instrumental in creating this situation, Master Rhennthyl, it only seems fitting that you be part of the resolution.”

“Exactly how, sir? I can’t imagine that the commander would ever wish to see me again.” Except at my early funeral.

“I would agree. He does not wish to see you again, and certainly not soon. That is not the question. All of us with responsibility and power have to deal with situations and people we would rather not, and it is true that the commander does not particularly like you. It is equally true that he respects your abilities and your courage. More important than that is the fact that the majority of the taudischefs also respect you. Add to that the fact that they do not respect any other senior Patrol officer, and you can see the difficulty facing Commander Artois. Then there is the fact that Captain Harraf has requested that he be granted a full retirement stipend immediately. His wife has suffered ill health, and retiring on a stipend would allow them to move to Extela, which would benefit her health greatly. Given your actions, he may well feel that it will benefit his as well.”

Why would Captain Harraf do that? Was it my statement on the day of the Temple explosion about not always being able to protect him, and the implication that such lack of protection might be fatal?

“Rather unusually, but fittingly, he has indicated privately that Third District station might benefit from a new captain and perhaps one less traditional. We have consulted with the Council . . . so that there would be no misunderstanding, and the councilors were virtually unanimous in approving the solution reached by the Patrol and the Collegium.”

I waited for the ax to fall, or the gallows trap to spring.

“Effective immediately, you are now a Civic Patrol captain. You will take over command of Third District exactly one week from tomorrow. You are not to appear anywhere in Civic Patrol buildings until then. That will allow for an orderly transition. The term of appointment is for three years, renewable twice, if necessary. Oh . . . and in recognition of your considerable skills as an imager, you are also advanced to Maitre D’Structure. You will be paid by the Collegium, and of course, as a Maitre D’Structure, you are entitled to one of the larger family quarters at the north end of the isle, should you ever require such. I do suspect, given your . . . informal arrangements, that you will be needing it in the near future.” He stopped and looked at me.

I just sat there for a moment. “Surely . . . I don’t have enough experience . . .”

“You-and the family of your young lady friend-can certainly discover some trustworthy and experienced first patrollers and lieutenants and request them to assist you. I suspect some would even wish to do so. You have, like it or not, one quality that no one else in the Patrol can offer-a reputation for honesty and strength in dealing with the taudis-dwellers and taudischefs.”

Master Dichartyn was smiling, but the expression was sad and sympathetic before he added, “In addition, this will provide you with another form of valuable experience, Rhennthyl. This time, you will have to find the means to clean up the mess and consternation that you have created. Even with the aegis of the Collegium behind you, you will run into the problems of being short of patrollers or supplies, of having corrupt patrollers, and there will always be those, and you won’t be able to remove very many through ‘accidents’ or the entire district will fall apart under you.” Dichartyn’s smile turned almost gleeful. “I’m very much looking forward to watching how you handle this. Oh, and while you can occasionally skip the morning runs and exercises, it is strongly recommended that you keep such absences to a minimum.”

“Yes, sir.”

I already had some ideas about how to improve matters with the Civic Patrol, but now . . . ?

“If you’re thinking about a wedding . . . you only get a week’s leave, but you can take it whenever you want. I did insist on that. I know enough about women, families, and Pharsi traditions to understand it’s a rather significant event, involving more than merely running the most demanding Patrol district in L’Excelsis.”

“I will have to wait to make that public and formal, sir. Until High Holder Ryel’s heir has been determined.”

“Given the exigencies of the situation facing others, Rhennthyl, you may not have to wait that long at all. You have forced many hands in ways few foresaw.” Maitre Poincaryt took a deep breath, then stood. “Now . . . if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time with my granddaughter, and I’m certain Dichartyn has better things to do with what is left of his day off.”

“Yes, sir.”

In less than half a quint, I was back in the conference room, trying to puzzle out what lay behind what had just occurred. I still had a long and, hopefully, boring day as duty master.