“Bad enough. There were four military types with rockets and three taudis-toughs…” I began as I walked into the family parlor and dropped onto the settee in front of the stove. In between bits of explanation, Seliora offered me warm spiced wine. That warmed me and loosened my throat.
When I finished, she said, “The four with the rockets had to be Ferran agents, or something like that, didn’t they?”
“Ferran or Stakanaran, I’d guess, but I’m convinced they obtained the munitions here, and that’s even more troubling.”
“You think that the freeholders or factors like Broussard are involved?”
“They’re involved in something. Whether they’re just causing trouble for the High Holders right now because it’s opportune or because they have something else in mind…I don’t know enough to say.”
“What would they gain?”
“At the very least, they’d put the High Holders on notice that unethical or illegal commercial practices and backdoor discrimination can have a far higher price than the High Holders can afford. At most, they might be pushing for a change in the balance of power on the Council.”
“The Council can’t afford to give in to that kind of pressure.”
“The Council can’t, but the High Holders might have to. Already, they really can’t compete with the larger freeholders in the east in grain and other produce. Not on price. A factor like Glendyl might well be as wealthy as half the smaller High Holders, and more and more factors are getting into manufacturing. I also think the growing of the stronger elveweed represents more than we’re seeing.”
“More than others are seeing,” Seliora corrected me. “You wouldn’t say that if you didn’t have something in mind. What is it?”
“The deaths from the stronger weed are making more people unhappy because young people especially are dying outside the taudis. That’s affecting crafters, artisans, factors, probably even the families of High Holders, although they don’t matter to whoever’s behind this. The idea is to make people like Odelia and Kolasyn and their families unhappy with the Council and the Civic Patrol. There are probably already rumors circulating that it’s all the fault of Suyrien and the High Holders. It’s also to raise golds, possibly to fund things like last night, or all the attacks against the High Holders.”
Seliora frowned. “But…”
I shook my head. “I’m guessing again, but I think the attacks against the High Holders are designed to make them retaliate against the freeholders and factors, the way they’ve always done, except now some of the factors and freeholders have the resources and expertise to fight back.”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. I’m missing something.”
“You’re tired. Maybe you’ll think of it in the morning.”
I nodded. I was exhausted, and finally beginning to feel sleepy, but I had the feeling it was something so obvious I’d want to beat my head against a wall when I discovered what it was.
When I finally awakened, well after sunrise on Samedi, I seemed to have my ability to hold shields back, without pain, but I didn’t raise them then. The longer before I had to, the less strain I’d face in holding them. I showered and dressed, then ate, because I did have to go into the station. I also wanted to stop and talk to Master Dichartyn before I did.
So I found myself knocking on his door before I hurried off to find a duty coach.
He opened the door, barefoot and wearing only old trousers and an under-tunic. “Was the situation as bad as you thought it might be? I assume it wasn’t good, since you’re knocking on my front door rather early. Come on in.”
I stepped into the foyer and went through the events of the night before, ending with, “…the power of the explosives suggested to me military munitions. They’re most likely those stolen from the Army depot.”
“You’re sure they were that strong, Rhenn?”
I refrained from being as sarcastic as I might have been. “I can’t prove anything, but what ever it was pulverized paving stones and dug a hole a yard deep and five across.”
“Part of that had to be from the containment of your shields,” he pointed out.
“That might be, but…”
“I take your point. They have to be military. Schorzat needs to know, and so does Maitre Poincaryt.”
“You want me to report it to him personally?”
“No. The way you did it was the way it should be done. For the moment, I don’t want to tell Commander Artois anything more than is in your official patrol report.”
That alone told me he shared my view of Cydarth.
“Is there anything else?” he asked.
“Outside of the fact that four taudis-toughs tried to shoot two of my patrollers on Jeudi night? No. Or that two of the more honest District captains have been removed by an accident and a shooting? Or that Cydarth is suggesting that the lower number of deaths from elveweed in Third District has to do with my ties to unsavory elements?”
“I don’t believe you mentioned those,” he commented in a dry tone.
“I might not have.”
He nodded as if that confirmed something, then said, “They’ll only make it look like they’re trying to kill you.”
“So that I’ll be set up? I wouldn’t be surprised.” With the depth of intrigue that I’d seen since I’d come to Imagisle, and with what more I suspected, I wasn’t certain that anything wasn’t possible…and even so, I’d still probably end up being surprised by the depth of greed, avarice, and scheming that I’d find.
“You will be. We always are, no matter what we think. If that’s all…” He glanced toward the family parlor.
“That’s all.”
I returned to our house, kissed my wife and daughter, and then walked to the duty coach waiting area, where I had to stand for a quint before another coach appeared. It was still early enough that the ride to the station wasn’t hampered by Samedi traffic.
Zharyn had the weekend duty, and he bolted to his feet when he saw me enter the station.
“More problems?” I asked.
“Not in Third District, sir. At headquarters.”
“What sort of problems?”
“Those two we caught on Jeudi, Captain? They’re dead. Someone poisoned them in the main lockup.”
I couldn’t help but wonder about Zharyn’s knowing that. We usually didn’t hear what happened to prisoners we’d sent for charging for a week, sometimes longer if justicing were delayed.
“We got a dispatch this morning by regular headquarters messenger, except…no one signed it.” Zharyn handed the single sheet to me.
There were only four short sentences.
The prisoners Grohar and Haddad died Vendrei. Poisoning is suspected. Headquarters is investigating. Send any information that might help in resolving the case.
No seal or signature appeared, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Buasytt had sent it. I’d always had the feeling he didn’t see exactly eye-to-eye with either the subcommander or Lieutenant Sarthyn. Then again, it could have been a veiled warning from Cydarth as well, and that might well be the more accurate assumption.
Four taudis-toughs had attacked Third District patrollers on Jeudi, and all of them were dead. So were those who’d attacked on Vendrei. Not only did the deaths leave no trail and no way to follow up, but they pointed out what might be construed as ruthless law enforcement in Third District, and that wasn’t likely to be terribly helpful to me…or to Commander Artois when he came up for review before the Council.
Fortunately, Samedi morning and afternoon were quiet in Third District, or relatively so for a Samedi in fall, with only petty crimes, and the report of but a single elver death.
I left the station a little early, around fourth glass, and took a hack back to Imagisle, but by a quint past fifth glass the three of us were in another hack headed back out to my parents. Seliora and I hadn’t had much time to talk, what with her getting ready and my dealing with Diestrya while she did so
.
“How did today go?” Seliora asked as the hack headed up the Boulevard D’Imagers.
“Quiet. A few snatch-and-grabs from shop-girls on the Avenue. There usually are on Samedi, and some of the girls never learn. Some of the patrollers are getting edgy, but I’d be surprised if there are problems tonight.”
“And tomorrow night?”
“I’d guess Mardi night, but…” I shrugged. “It could happen any time. Alsoran’s going to be there this evening for a while.”
“He should be. You’ve been there most nights.”
“I worry, but I can’t be there all the time.”
“No…you can’t. Can you just enjoy dinner tonight?”
“I’ll try.”
Seliora looked at Diestrya. “Your cousin Rheityr will be there. You will play nicely with him.”
“Yes, Mama.”
I caught a hint of a gleam in her eye. “Your mother means it, and so do I.”
Diestrya dropped her eyes and her lower lip began to protrude.
“None of that, young lady.” I tried to keep my voice matter-of-fact, and the lip quivered, but there was no procession into tears.
Seliora and I managed to stifle smiles, as Diestrya finally looked up and declared, “I like Rheityr.”
“That’s good. He is your cousin.” I added in a murmur, “I’m going to try to catch that expression in her portrait.” Not that I’d had much time to work on it lately, even with the studio now in our house.
“She’ll hate you for it until she has children,” Seliora whispered in return.
That was often the way with children, I’d decided.
It didn’t seem that long before the hack let us out at my parents’ house, and we joined my parents, Culthyn, and Remaya in the family parlor. Diestrya, of course, joined Rheityr in the nursery.
Before Father could ask me how either the Civic Patrol or imager “business” was, I asked him, “How is the wool business these days?”
He shook his head. “There have been times that have been worse, but not in any recent years. We’ve had problems in getting the raw wool to the carders and spinners. It’s not just in any one part of Solidar, either. The shipping delays are the worst in the northeast, and even in the north around Mont D’Glace, and that’s a straight ironway run to L’Excelsis.”
“You always have problems,” Mother said, extending the tray on which rested his goblet of Dhuensa.
“Not like these.” Father shook his head.
“The spice trade has almost stopped now,” added Remaya. “Father says that little or nothing’s arriving from any of the countries in Otelyrn.”
“Is someone else paying more for spices?” I asked.
“That couldn’t be the reason,” Remaya replied. “Father says that the Stakanaran gunboats are blockading the small river ports where the spices are collected. They’re fast enough to outrun larger vessels, and Tiempre and Caenen don’t want to tie up their warships for a trade that doesn’t benefit them that much.”
“How can it not benefit them?” asked Seliora.
My father cleared his throat, then looked at Remaya, who nodded. He cleared his throat again. “Spices are cheap in Otelyrn. They grow easily. The profit lies in transporting them to where they don’t grow—here. The traders don’t want to lose their vessels to the gunboats, and they—and traders like Remaya’s family—are the only ones who suffer.”
“Our cooking and food also suffers,” added my mother.
“So…Rhenn,” asked my father, “how is the Civic Patrol business?”
“About like the wool and spice businesses.” I tried to keep my tone light. “But we won’t solve it here, and I’d like to hear what Rheityr’s been up to lately.” I grinned. “Then, Seliora and I can talk about our wonderful daughter.”
Culthyn actually laughed.
After that, and through dinner, we talked about family and food, and children. Seliora and I—and a very sleepy Diestrya—left just after eighth glass.
The late nights all through the week took their toll on both Seliora and me, and we were asleep in our separate chambers in less than half a glass after Charlsyn dropped us off at the Collegium.
A dull rumbling shook me awake. But that was followed by another, and an explosion. The entire house shook. Even in the darkness, I could see stones falling around me—yet they hadn’t, not so far.
I ran from my sleeping chamber and across the main bedchamber. “Seliora!” I kept moving, snatching Diestrya from her small railed bed and hurrying back toward Seliora’s sleeping chamber, where I sat on the edge of the bed beside her, raising my shields. “Stay close to me.”
Seliora didn’t question me, but she wouldn’t have had time, because a gigantic unseen hammer slammed the north side of the house. Stones toppled into the house, with some fragments and chunks of masonry and stone and tiles sliding off and around my shields, even as all manner of rubble built up in the hallway and rolled into the bedchamber. Glass sprayed against the shields like grapeshot. The house, solidly built as it was, groaned and shifted.
I could sense something—two somethings, I thought—hurtling toward us, toward my shields and in a fit of anger, image-shifted them back to the point from where they had come. At that moment, my entire body felt like it had been squeezed in a vice. That feeling passed, but my eyes blurred, and I felt dizzy.
The house shifted again…and more rubble settled.
Then came the sound of another massive explosion, followed by others, right in a row, somewhere to the north.
At that moment, I was so exhausted I could barely move, and my whole body ached, but I knew I had to hold the shields to protect Seliora and Diestrya until we could get out of the house and the rubble around us. I closed my eyes and concentrated for a time longer.
After everything settled, I turned to Seliora. “I’m holding shields. I don’t know what will collapse. We’ll move to where we can get clothes and boots and then make our way out. I think the south side of the house isn’t as badly damaged.”
We just grabbed clothing and boots before making our way down the rubble-filled staircase, more like sliding down the balustrade, but the dwelling had been so solidly built that the main level was clear, if dusty.
My head was pounding, and my whole body ached. Donning the basic grays quickly in the front foyer was difficult, and my eyes kept blurring, from the dust, I supposed. When we finally stepped out of the house, I was struck by the diffuse light filling the northern sky, as if something were burning brightly on the River Aluse, and yet droplets of ice fell out of the sky.
Fire and ice? How could that be?
Yet that light, already fading, allowed me to see the devastation around me. Master Dichartyn’s house was rubble. So was Maitre Dyana’s, as was the larger dwelling that had been Maitre Poincaryt’s. I turned, and my entire body twinged, and a wave a blackness swept toward me, but receded, although I could feel that it had not retreated that far. Out of the smoky haze, I could see Maitre Dyana walking toward me, dressed in working grays.
Behind me, Seliora was saying something, but I couldn’t hear the words. I felt light-headed, and dizzy, and my entire body tingled, but I pushed that away. I had to know what had happened, what Maitre Dyana knew.
Maitre Dyana stopped in front of me, then said, “Sit down. Now!”
I almost made it before the blackness slammed me down.
26
The next time I woke up was with gray walls around me, but my eyes wouldn’t focus, and I couldn’t talk. Someone fed me something soft, and I drank something, and the blackness rose up again. That sort of thing must have happened for a while, because I thought I saw people around, but nothing made much sense.
Then, I finally swam out of that hazy blackness and could actually see, and feed myself, although my entire body remained a mass of soreness and aches. One of the obdurate attendants watched closely, then took the empty tray away. That I’d been watched by an ob all the time suggested I’d been in
a bad way.
I took stock of my physical situation. From what I could see, there were purplish-yellow bruises on my arms and my upper chest, and probably on my thighs, from the way they felt. How had all that happened? I’d held my shields and even angled and slipped them the way Maitre Dyana had drilled into me years earlier. Or had it been when I’d imaged back the shells or bombs or what ever had been aimed at the Collegium?
Draffyd appeared, and his eyes were ringed with black. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore and aching all over,” I admitted. “But I can see without everything blurring.”
“Your eyes were so bloodshot that they were more red than white. You’re fortunate to be alive.” He paused. “You were imaging behind shields, weren’t you?”
“Ah…not exactly. I was imaging beyond them.”
His eyes widened, but he only nodded. “Maitre Dyana needs to see you, but I’ve asked her to be brief. You aren’t ready to do much right now.”
“Seliora?”
“She and Diestrya have been staying in one of the empty rooms here. You can see her after Maitre Dyana.”
Draffyd hadn’t been gone more than a tenth of a glass before Maitre Dyana walked in—without one of her colored scarves.
She looked tired, but her words were as crisp and cutting as ever. “Some finesse would have made it easier on you, Rhenn, not that finesse comes that easily in the middle of the night when someone is dropping shells on you and your family.”
I just looked at her. “The shields and the finesse were the easy part. Imaging those shells back to their firing points was what hurt.”
For the only time in the seven years I’d known her, Maitre Dyana didn’t seem to have words. She studied me. Finally, she said, “From all the ice on the river, I wondered about that. How did you manage it?”
“I don’t know what happened, but, yes, I imaged some shells, two, I think, back to their starting point.”
“You never saw them.”
“I can do that. I’ve always been able to. I’ve done it with bullets before. I never tried it with anything that big. Just ask Draffyd or…What happened to Master Dichartyn?”
Imager’s Intrigue Page 22