Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio

by Modesitt, L. E. , Jr.

  “You make it sound very easy and simple,” I replied. “I doubt that it was either.” My eyes passed over the twin statues of angelias at the base of the steps, and I couldn’t help thinking of Father.

  “Good ideas are always simple. Making them work is the hard part. That’s like the Council. More than a few Councilors have ideas they think are good, but half the time they don’t think about the implications and effects for everyone else.” He paused, resting his hand on the curve of the balustrade, before marching toward the main foyer and the outer doors on the south side of the Chateau. “Your sister is hard-working and very practical. I’d rather have her on the Council than half the Councilors now serving, who think that everything should stay the way it’s always been. Things never stay the same. If Rex Charyn hadn’t had enough sense to see that the time of single hereditary rulers was past, why, we’d be in the same pickle as the Jariolans. He saw that trade was what counted, not lands and who could raise an army with bows and blades. Now and in the years ahead, engines and machines will count more than artisans and craft or trade in raw materials. Too many in Solidar don’t see that.”

  “Or that the Council needs to reflect that change?”

  “It’d be best if the Council led that change. It won’t. We’ll be fortunate if the Council even reflects that change in a generation. By then it may be too late. We’ll be buying goods from Ferrum, getting poorer by the year and wondering what happened.” He snorted as he walked through the central archway and toward the stone steps, angling his path toward the east gardens.

  “The idea of change doesn’t come easily,” I pointed out. “The thought of women on the Council upsets more than a few.”

  “That’s because they think of women like Madame D’Shendael, who is charming and writes and speaks well and never met a payroll or a production or delivery deadline. Give me a woman like your sister—”

  At that moment, as we were halfway down the main south steps, I heard the faintest crack. Beside me, Glendyl began to crumple, redness spreading across his chest.

  Instinctively, I imaged caustic back along the path the bullet had taken, even as I grabbed Glendyl. I didn’t want any more shots coming our way. Then after easing the Councilor onto a wide stone step and quickly studying the position of his wound, I imaged what I hoped was a block around the return vein to the heart.

  Nearly instantly, the spread of blood stopped…mostly. For a moment, I wondered if that was because I’d killed Glendyl. But he was still breathing, and I could feel a pulse.

  “Not supposed to happen,” mumbled the Councilor. “…Not that way.” His eyes fluttered and closed. He was still breathing.

  What wasn’t supposed to happen that way? Had Glendyl taken me for a walk to get me shot? He should have known better than that, and, besides, I hadn’t felt a thing. If a bullet had been aimed at me and had struck my shields, I certainly would have felt it.

  I heard boots on stone and glanced up.

  Dartazn sprinted down the side steps. “Rhenn! What happened?”

  “Someone shot the Councilor. I think I’ve stopped the worst of the bleeding, and I’ve got shields around us both. But we’ll need Maitre Draffyd as soon as possible. Use my duty coach! It’s by the security gate. If you can, tell Baratyn to get someone to look across the square, in the garden in front and to the side of the Hall of Justice.”

  “Yes, sir!” He was off, and for once I was very glad of those long legs.

  Glendyl’s eyes fluttered, then closed again, but he was still breathing, and only a little blood was seeping from the wound. I could only hope I’d done the chest imaging right. It seemed like the oozing blood was from the muscles in his chest.

  Before long, two obdurate guards in their dark uniforms appeared, and stationed themselves on each side of us.

  Even so, it was half a glass before Draffyd appeared, slipped in beside me.

  “What did you do?”

  “I put a block around the return vein. That’s all. I was afraid more would strain his heart.”

  “Good. You did just enough.” Draffyd knelt beside the fallen Councilor. “His pulse is still all right. It’s not as good as I’d like, but there’s not that much blood. With some luck, we’ll pull him through.”

  “Can I do anything else?”

  “No.”

  The curtness of his reply was a clear indication enough that I was superfluous now. I moved back. As I stood, I saw Baratyn standing a few yards away and walked toward him.

  “Will he make it?”

  “I don’t know, but Draffyd’s hopeful.”

  “I thought Draffyd was the only medical imager.”

  “He is, but I can do some things. Draffyd gave me some training.”

  “For that, Glendyl ought to be grateful.” Baratyn shook his head. “He won’t be.”

  I didn’t dispute that, but before I could have said more, a messenger hurried up.

  “Maitres! Martyl’s found the shooter. He’s over there.” The messenger pointed southward to where Martyl stood, waving, by the wall in front of the low garden to the east of the promenade leading to the Hall of Justice.

  “I need to look into that,” I told Baratyn, nodding before hurrying down the remaining steps and across the ring road to the front of the Justice gardens where Martyl stood waiting.

  “He didn’t get very far, sir,” Martyl said. “What did you do?”

  “Imaged caustic back along the track of the bullet.”

  The security imager tilted his head, quizzically, then pointed. “He’s just behind the wall. He was alone. There’s only one set of boot-prints.”

  The body was that of a muscular but slender man dressed in black garments under a tattered light brown cloak. His face, the part that wasn’t burned by the caustic, was contorted in agony. A long sniper’s rifle lay less than a yard away.

  The only items in his wallet were coins, some eight golds, four silvers, and three coppers.

  When we finished searching him, I straightened and looked at Martyl. “If you’d take care of the body.”

  “Yes, sir.” He paused. “Do you think he’s another Ferran agent?”

  “Most likely, but proving it might be difficult.” Since he was dead, we didn’t have to, and I took my leave of Martyl. I did have to take a hack, since Draffyd had doubtless used the duty coach to convey Glendyl to the infirmary.

  When I returned to the Collegium, I gave Schorzat and Kahlasa a quick summary of what had happened and then went upstairs, glad that Maitre Dyana was in her study.

  She motioned for me to close the door, not that she needed to, since I was already doing just that. I took the chair on the end, the one closest to her and the one not in the sunlight.

  “I hear that someone shot Glendyl. How did that come about, and what, exactly, were you doing at the Council Chateau?”

  “It came about because everything that I’ve discovered doesn’t make much sense, and I wanted to see Glendyl’s reaction. I also wanted him to see me. First, I asked him about his concerns about the Naval Command’s efficiency…” I went on to tell her exactly what had happened.

  When I finished, she nodded slowly. “Glendyl thought you’d be the target, and he’d been assured that what ever weapon was used would penetrate your shields. But that was never their intention. What haven’t you told me about the shooter?”

  “Under a tattered brown cloak, he was wearing the same black, light-absorbing clothes that the agents killed in Third District wore. Most likely all were Ferrans, and Glendyl had to have known something.”

  “Even if that’s true, we can’t make a charge like that without proof.”

  “I’m not charging anyone,” I pointed out. “I’m merely observing.”

  “You can’t say a word about the implications involved there, not without actual proof.”

  “I know.” I smiled. “But if Glendyl gets better, he won’t be able to avoid my questions, not since he’s in our infirmary. He should stay there until he’s
better, don’t you think?”

  “I would agree to that, but you can’t question him until Maitre Draffyd says he’s up to it.”

  “Does this make Caartyl acting head of the Executive Council?”

  “In theory. After what’s happened to Suyrien and Glendyl, he may not be so anxious.”

  “If he is, that might say something.”

  “He’s too politically astute to show enthusiasm,” Dyana replied.

  “But it’s a month before the Council is scheduled to convene.”

  “I’ve asked Maitre Rholyn to have Caartyl issue a call for a special meeting of the Council a week from today. Caartyl declined, unless the meeting could be two weeks from now.”

  “The thirtieth?”

  “I would have liked it to be earlier, but he felt that they couldn’t get a quorum with a week’s notice. The call should be on its way tonight.” Her eyes hardened. “None of this explains who was behind the bombardment of the Collegium. What else have you found out about that?”

  “The barges didn’t come from this section of the river. We should know where they did come from in the next few days.” I hope.

  “You aren’t telling me everything.”

  “No, Maitre. I’m only telling you what I know and what I can reasonably suspect.”

  “You still don’t do finesse as well as you should, Rhenn.”

  “I probably never will, Maitre.”

  She shook her head. “Let me know whenever you find out anything.”

  I stood and made my way back to my study.

  I was still trying to sort out matters when, at just after half past the second glass of the afternoon, Kahlasa and Schorzat appeared at my study door.

  “Come in. You both look grim.”

  They did, and Kahlasa closed the door. They sat down.

  “We have a very good regional in Solis,” Schorzat said.

  I concentrated to recall who the regional was, then nodded. “Eslyana. She’s even a Maitre D’Aspect. I take it that she sent some information on barges.”

  Schorzat looked to Kahlasa.

  She put several sheets on my desk. “Here’s her report. There are only three barges and a tug that can’t be accounted for. That’s of the ones large enough to carry the weight of a bombard. It’s not just the weight, but the deck and hold strength for that much weight concentrated in a single spot. They were leased from one Leavytt, a transport factor in Solis. They never returned. Leavytt put in a claim with L’Excelsis Indemnity. They’re still investigating, but…”

  “They have a problem since someone blew up their main building here?” I suggested.

  “No…” Kahlasa said slowly. “They’ll have to pay, but Eslyana managed to find out a bit more. The lease contract was forged. That is, it was a standard Naval Command contract. It was on the right paper and with the correct watermarks, and with the correct names and seals, and the signatures were also apparently by the right people—except they don’t match the real signatures. They’re close, unless you examine them carefully.”

  “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “It’s a real contract, and all the formalities and procedures were perfect. Leavytt’s been through this for years. He did say that he didn’t recognize any of the crew who took the tug and barges, except for the tug captain. He’d seen him before, but he doesn’t recall the man’s name. Leavytt didn’t know the subcommander who handled it for the Naval Command, but the subcommander knew everyone. He even mentioned the last lease and the Commander who had handled it. He said that the Commander was his superior. The contract deposit cleared before they took possession of the tug and barges. It was a draft on the Banque D’Rivages for five thousand golds. Leavytt said lease drafts were usually drawn on the Banque D’Excelsis, but he’d had one or two over the years on the Banque D’Rivages.”

  “Whoever leased the tug and barges had considerable background in setting up this sort of thing,” I said blandly.

  “There’s no way to prove it, but someone well-placed in the Naval Command or the Naval Bureau had to be involved,” suggested Kahlasa. “It’s more likely to be the Naval Bureau, because they handle supplies and leases and transport.”

  Or someone who knows the Naval Bureau well.

  “They also had access to five thousand golds, and we’d know if five thousand golds had been recently transferred from Ferrum or elsewhere or converted to a draft by someone…unusual…” observed Schorzat.

  “You mean by someone who isn’t a High Holder or a wealthy factorius?” I asked.

  “All large fund deposits from foreign sources have to be reported in time of war.”

  “They could have done it years before.”

  “That’s possible.”

  After they finished, we all trooped back up to see Maitre Dyana, where I let Kahlasa and Schorzat report what they’d told me. Then she excused them and, after her study door was closed, looked to me. “The Naval Command will deny any involvement.”

  “I know. I don’t plan to talk to them yet, not before I look into other aspects of it first.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “As long as it takes.” I offered a smile. “You know I’ve never been one to dawdle, even when I should.”

  Once I was back in my study, I just sat at my desk, thinking. If the Naval Command happened to be involved, would Valeun have taken such pains to avoid Glendyl so obviously at a time when it was clear that Solidar needed more ships? Or was the avoidance merely to buy time before something else happened? Or had the Ferrans infiltrated the Naval Command at a lower level years before and transferred those funds equally early?

  There was another possibility, and I wrote a quick note to Iryela asking to call on her. She was one source who might be able to answer some questions I didn’t want others knowing I was asking, and she wouldn’t say a word. I had Beleart send it by special messenger.

  After that, I decided there was little enough more I could do, and I left the study.

  As I walked back across the quadrangle and turned toward the house, and Seliora, I couldn’t help but think about Seliora’s words. The ones closest to you are the ones who hurt you the most. But…closest in what ways? That was another question.

  39

  First thing on Mardi morning, I was at the infirmary, looking for Draffyd.

  As soon as I walked toward him, before I could speak, the medical imager said, “Clovyl said you’re exercising. That’s fine, but don’t push.”

  “That’s not why—”

  “I know. Yes, it’s likely he’ll recover. No, you can’t talk to him. Maybe late tomorrow. Maybe.” He paused, then asked, “Is it that urgent?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly.

  “If you, of all imagers, aren’t certain, it can wait. Besides, he’s not awake, and waking him to talk to you would put too much of a strain on him. It would on anyone.”

  “You’re not going to let him leave?”

  “Maitre Rhennthyl,” Draffyd drew out my name and title, “the most honorable Councilor Glendyl isn’t in any shape to go anywhere and won’t be for weeks. If you hadn’t been beside him and acted in instants, he would have died on the Chateau steps. I will make certain he knows that, when he’s awake enough to understand…which he is not at present.”

  After that, I went back to my study, looking to see if I’d received any more reports. There were only two. One was from the Collegium at Mont D’Glace, and that merely confirmed that they knew nothing more about Johanyr’s disappearance. The other was from the Civic Patrol Commander in Alkyra, reporting that a grain freighter scheduled to leave for the Abierto Isles had burned at the pier. Unfortunately, there were no details about what had caused the fire or who owned the vessel.

  That led me into thinking about the lack of information, especially the lack of consistent information. The Council and the Collegium received reports from all over Solidar, but they varied greatly in the quality and even the types of information. Both t
he Council and I, and presumably Maitre Dichartyn before me, had to guess and fill in with estimates. Both the Council and the Collegium needed better information. I doubted that the Ferrans had that problem.

  And, as for the Ferrans, why, for the sake of the Nameless, would Glendyl have gotten involved with them? He was influential and wealthy, possibly wealthier than even some High Holders. What could they possibly have offered him? That didn’t make any sense, either.

  A knock on my study door interrupted my pondering.

  “A message for you, Maitre,” announced a young voice, most likely the duty prime.

  “Come in.”

  “Yes, Maitre.” The youngster, perhaps all of ten and looking most serious in his grays, scurried in, bowed his head, slipped a striped envelope onto my desk, bowed again, and hurried out. I only knew that his name was Petrion from the duty roster.

  Inside the outer envelope was another envelope with a note card inside. Iryela had written simply that she would be available to see me any day of the present week at any time before the first glass of the afternoon, except on Jeudi, when she would be unavailable after midday.

  Since I wasn’t getting anywhere by sitting in the study and waiting for inspiration to strike me and since I had no idea where else I might go to find out more information, I immediately pulled on my winter cloak and headed for the duty coach station, stopping only briefly to let the duty secondus know where I was headed.

  I crossed the quadrangle against a bitter biting wind from the northwest. Although the sky was clear, I had the feeling we might have snow by evening—or sometime during the night. The inside of the coach was only chill, but I felt sorry for Lebryn, although he was well bundled up. The roads were clear, but it took almost a glass to reach the Ryel estate north of L’Excelsis.

  The footman who greeted me at Iryela’s estate bowed and said, “Maitre Rhennthyl…if you’ll be long, there’s a place in the carriage house for your coach and driver.”