Imager's challenge ip-2

by L. E. Modesitt

  I was afraid I did. I nodded.

  “Seliora is like you in that, too.”

  “Like him in what?” asked Mother, carrying in a teapot and mugs. “Who is?”

  “She was saying that Seliora and I were more alike that we might have realized.” I looked to Remaya. “That was what you said, wasn’t it?”

  “They’re both very determined,” Remaya confirmed.

  “It’s good Seliora is,” Mother replied. “If a woman doesn’t have a mind of her own with Rhenn, she won’t have any at all.”

  Those words surprised me. “Mother . . .”

  “You know that, dear. That’s why Khethila’s so strong. She had to be to argue with you.” She smiled and returned to the kitchen.

  “She knows you, Rhenn,” Remaya said.

  Moments later, Mother came back with a large platter filled with warmed items left over from the afternoon before-pastry crescents filled with spiced ground lamb or cheese, cheese and sausage slices, grape leaves stuffed with rice and lamb, and beef baolas. There was enough on the platter before us to feed the entire family and then some.

  “I think that’s more than enough,” I suggested.

  Remaya smiled.

  Still, I was hungry, and I didn’t talk much while I removed a fair share of what was on the platter.

  “This being with the Civic Patrol,” Mother said, “it sounds dangerous. How long will you be doing this?”

  “Usually, an assignment there is for a year, sometimes longer. But the conscription teams only visit an area every two to three years. It’s likely that the worst is over for now.”

  “I can’t say as I like it.”

  “Sometimes, it’s just fate,” Remaya interjected. “Rousel wasn’t . . . he wasn’t doing anything dangerous.” She shook her head, her eyes bright, again. “It doesn’t make sense . . .”

  “You mean that I can be standing close to an explosion,” I said, “and escape, while Rousel dies in a freak accident?”

  Remaya nodded.

  “Life’s never what we expect,” Mother said. “You’ll send yourself to the madhouse if you think it’s always going to work out or make sense. Chenkyr thought Rhenn here would be a factor. Rhenn thought he’d be a portraiturist. They were both wrong.”

  “I think he’s better off as an imager,” Remaya said, sniffing slightly.

  I stood. “I think I ate too much. I’d just like to walk around in the garden for a bit. I need to stretch my legs and think.” That wasn’t quite true. I needed to see if I could approach Ryel’s chateau in the way I’d planned.

  “It’s a bit chill out there,” Mother said.

  “I’ll be fine.” I made my way out onto the rear terrace, beyond which lay the garden, more to the north than directly back, a modest wall garden no more than twenty yards by ten, with a stone path making its winding oval way around the bushes and the flower beds, although the annuals had succumbed to the recent frosts.

  When I reached the northwest corner, I studied the small lily pond. It was partly dry, but that wouldn’t hinder my attempt. Where I stood also wasn’t visible from the kitchen or the parlor. I looked at the corner of the pond, then concentrated on imaging a narrow bridge along one side. I stepped on the imaged bridge, and it cracked, and I had to jump back. Clearly, I needed a stronger structure.

  It took me three tries before I managed to image what I required. In time, I made my way back to the parlor, where Remaya and Mother had gone from the breakfast room. Remaya was nursing Rheityr.

  “I see my nephew is awake.”

  “Awake and hungry,” Remaya replied dryly. “Very hungry.”

  “I’ll need to go.”

  “It was nice of you to come, dear. Will you be able to come for dinner tomorrow?” Mother asked.

  “I’m afraid not. I can’t make any plans until I find out what the Collegium has planned for me. They’re concerned that I was too visible because of the problems with the Temple.”

  “The newsheets were very complimentary,” Remaya said.

  “The Collegium tries to avoid being public, even in a positive way,” I replied.

  “Will we see you at all tomorrow?”

  “Like Father, we often work on Samedis. There are things I have to finish,” I pointed out, “and I’m the duty master on Solayi.”

  “It sounds so much like the Navy,” Remaya said.

  “In some ways, it’s much easier. In others, it’s much harder.” I inclined my head to her, and then to Mother, before she accompanied me to the front door.

  “You do take care, dear,” were her parting words.

  “I’ll certainly try.”

  I did have to walk out to Saenhelyn Road before I could find a hack, since Charlsyn wasn’t around. By the time I stepped out of the coach on Hagahl Lane it was two quints past fourth glass.

  Bhenyt was the one who opened the door. He grinned and called upstairs, “You were right, Aunt Seliora. It’s him!” He locked the door and raced up the stairs.

  I followed, more sedately, at least in comparison.

  Seliora was waiting, wearing what looked to be her working garb-the dark blue split skirts and a matching jacket over a beige blouse. She still looked wonderful.

  She felt wonderful, too, when I put my arms around her and kissed her.

  When we disengaged, she said, “It’s a good glass until dinner.”

  “We can talk, can’t we?”

  “Is that all you had in mind?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “No, but that’s all that will happen.”

  “It’s too cold to sit out on the terraces, and Father has some friends in the lower plaques room,” Seliora said.

  We ended up sitting on the settee in the main entry hall.

  “There were more assassins than the one yesterday,” Seliora said carefully.

  “That’s what you hinted,” I replied.

  “Mama and Grandmama are still looking into it.”

  “We should talk about it,” I said, “but can it wait? I’d rather not until after tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? What will you do?” Seliora asked, her voice calm enough that I knew she knew that I intended to act.

  I forced a smile. “First, there’s something I won’t be able to do. That’s the sitting for your portrait tomorrow.”

  “I thought as much after what Factor Veblynt said.”

  “I’d also like to borrow the mare tomorrow afternoon, say around second glass.” I paused. “It’s an imposition, but I hope it’s the last one.”

  Seliora raised her eyebrows.

  “Not in the same way,” I amended my statement. “I’ll probably always be imposing.”

  She did offer that mischievous grin, the one I hadn’t seen in a while, and had missed. I tried to concentrate on that and not what Samedi might bring.

  57

  After completing my normal early-morning schedule on Samedi, I put on my heavier winter grays and headed along the quadrangle to the dining hall and breakfast. The few masters who did eat at the dining hall must have slept in or gone somewhere for the weekend because Chassendri was the only one at the masters’ table.

  “You’re dressed for winter,” she said cheerfully.

  “I was cold after my shower.”

  She laughed. “That’s right. You covert types practice masochism.” She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll take my smelly laboratory any day.”

  “What do you do besides give grief to primes and seconds?” I could still recall my earlier sessions with her.

  “I try to work out chemical formulations that can be imaged into being.”

  “If they can be imaged . . .”

  “Think about it, Rhenn. Would any imagers be able to image metals or the like if they didn’t know what they were imaging? And for some things, like gun cotton, the manufacturing process is very dangerous, but the end product is less dangerous. So it makes sense.”

  She was telling me yet another aspect of imaging I hadn’t even considere
d. So I listened carefully.

  After finishing breakfast, I hurried to my studio. Once there, I checked over Master Rholyn’s portrait carefully, both in shadow and in half-light, and in full light, trying to make sure that there wasn’t anything that appeared untoward in differing lighting. So far as I could tell, there wasn’t. I set it up on the easel, angled so that it was in good light from the north windows, and then went to work on Seliora’s portrait. I couldn’t do much else, anyway, and I did want to finish it before too long.

  Rholyn arrived a few moments after the last bell of eighth glass, wearing the imager’s standard heavy gray winter cloak, and shaking himself as he stepped into the studio. His face was red. “It’s too much like winter out there.”

  “It is cold,” I agreed, refraining from pointing out that he hadn’t had to take a cold shower after running four milles in the chill.

  “Is it finished?”

  “I’d like to think so, sir, but I’d appreciate your looking it over.” I pointed toward the easel.

  Rholyn stepped toward the portrait, warily, seemingly as if he expected some unpleasant surprise. Then he stood and studied it. Finally, he looked to me. “It will do.” Then he grinned, the first time I’d ever seen him do so, so far as I could recall. “I have to admit, Rhenn, it’s very good. Not as flattering as I might like, but Mharrie will be very pleased when she sees it.” He paused. “What happens next?”

  “I’ve made arrangements for it to be framed, and Maitre Poincaryt will determine where it will be hung. I’d judge that might be either in the receiving hall or possibly in the public corridor outside the dining hall. He has not told me, however.”

  Rholyn turned away from the portrait. “Master Dichartyn told me about your accomplishments with the Civic Patrol. You were fortunate in finding the Tiempran priests.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Except it wasn’t fortune at all, was it? You had someone watching for them for days, I’d wager.”

  “I asked someone. I didn’t know if they would.”

  “You know, Rhenn, you’re the kind of imager that every maitre of the Collegium wishes for . . . and then regrets wishing for when he arrives.”

  “I’m going to have to request a little clarification of that, if you wouldn’t mind, sir.”

  “Often, I’m requested to clarify. I will, for you, but I’m not certain it will be at all helpful.” Rholyn chuckled. “You have powerful shields and untapped abilities. You’re intelligent, moderately good-looking, but not excessively so, and generally deferential. You continue to work and learn. You quietly, and sometimes not so quietly, question why the Collegium and the Council operate in the fashion that they do. I imagine you do the same with the Civic Patrol. You’re always seeking a better way to do something. The problem is that you are already sometimes correct, and you’re likely to become more so as you learn more. Very few people really want better ways to do things. They want easier ways, and seldom is better easier. Better also means change, and no matter what they say, people resist change. You have the power to change things. When someone has that power, it disturbs people. When someone actually forces change, it disturbs them even more. You’ll have to determine where you go from here, but I would suggest that you limit your suggestions and acts to those that are most valuable to the Collegium.” He smiled. “But I do appreciate the artistry in the portrait. Thank you.”

  He was still smiling, as if at a private jest, when he left.

  I couldn’t give the portrait to Grandison until Lundi. So I set it where it wouldn’t be disturbed and went back to work on Seliora’s portrait until slightly before noon, when I headed back to the dining hall. Since I was the only master at lunch, I ate quickly and then returned to my quarters.

  After cleaning up and making a few preparations, I left my rooms and crossed the quadrangle on my way to the Bridge of Hopes and East River Road. From what I’d garnered from Iryela and Veblynt, Ryel’s foliage event was a late-afternoon and early-evening celebration. It might even last into evening, but to see the trees from the tower required daylight.

  With the blustery afternoon wind, there were fewer hacks about, and it was slightly after first glass when I arrived at NordEste Design. Seliora was the one who let me in, and since no one else was in the lower foyer, we did enjoy a few moments with each other before walking up to the main entry hall.

  “I’ve already saddled the mare.” She paused. “How long . . . ?”

  “I don’t know. I might not be back until after dark.”

  She nodded.

  I appreciated her not asking for details. “I’ll tell you everything when I return.”

  She squeezed my hand. “We’d better get you on your way.”

  We walked to the back of the hall and then through the maze of narrow passageways that led to the staircase down to the rear courtyard. The courtyard was empty, and the wind swirled dust this way and that.

  “It’s going to be a cold ride,” Seliora said.

  “I’m wearing my heaviest woolens, and I brought my gloves.”

  “Good. I left the mare in the stable.”

  We crossed the courtyard, and I slid open the stable doors.

  “You will be careful?” she said.

  “As careful as I can be.”

  I unlatched the stall half door and swung it back, and she untied the mare and led her out. I walked beside Seliora out to the courtyard.

  As I was about to mount the mare, Seliora handed me a long leather case. “Take this. It might help.”

  I eased off the hardened leather cap at one end. Inside was a polished brass spyglass. I closed the case and looked at her. “Thank you. It will.”

  “I know.” She paused, then embraced me, murmuring as she did, “Please be as careful as you can.”

  “I will.” I let go of her and climbed into the saddle, if not gracefully, at least not so awkwardly as had been the case weeks earlier. Then I flicked the reins, gently, and the mare began what could be a long journey, a very long journey, and one I hoped I survived.

  The Boulevard D’Este wasn’t that heavily traveled, and before long I’d ridden around the Plaza D’Nord and was headed north toward destiny, whatever it might be. Once I was away from the plaza, I set up the blurring shields, the ones that didn’t hide me, but made me look less distinct, so that passersby would see a rider but not recall details.

  I was less than a mille from Ryel’s estate when a stylish bronze and silver coach, drawn by a matched pair of grays, swept past me. Then, when I neared the top of the rise south of the Ryel estate, I could see another coach, decorated in blue and bronze, slow before turning and passing through the estate gates.

  I kept riding downhill, but once I had ridden into the depression short of where the stream left the estate and where I could not be seen directly, I extended full concealment shields. Then I rode the mare along the road over the culvert and into the brushy space between the wall and the road. I dismounted and tied the mare to the base of a bushy tree, or a treelike bush, where she was largely out of sight from the road, although I did “tie” a blurring screen to her.

  Then I slipped the spyglass inside my waistcoat and walked downhill until I stood next to the stone walls that channeled the rushing stream toward the stone culvert under the road. I concentrated on imaging a narrow stone bridge affixed to the wall on the north side. A dark, ledgelike structure appeared.

  I swallowed, then put one boot on the ledge. It seemed firm. I put my full weight on the structure, then moved forward, staying close to the wall. Once I was past the extension of the stone walls and off my imaged ledge bridge, I imaged it out of existence, because I didn’t need anyone to see it.

  Standing where I was, at the bottom of a gradual slope that ended with the stream to my right, Ryel’s chateau, and especially the tower off the low-walled terrace beyond the south wing, loomed into the pale blue sky. The edge of the stream was marked with perfect pale white gravel that ended at a stone coping at the top of the st
ream bank. Neatly cropped grass covered the three yards between the coping and the waist-high boxwood hedge that bordered the stream. Uphill from the hedge was another swathe of grass with curving stone walks winding around flower beds already mulched and banked for the winter, topiary representing various animals, and perfectly trimmed trees of all sorts, both deciduous and evergreens. Varying patterns of grass and walks and trimmed vegetation filled the entire space between the stream and the gray stone wall that formed the base of the south wing of the chateau, the terrace, and the lower part of the tower. Earlier, I had judged the square tower to be five yards on a side, but it seemed smaller, perhaps because the chateau and terrace base seemed larger from below. From the middle of the terrace, a wide stone staircase descended to a landing halfway down the wall, and from each end of the landing, staircases circled back to rejoin and descend to the gardens.

  A low howl issued from somewhere uphill, and I immediately glanced to the north, my eyes trying to pick out the kennels that held the guard dogs. I thought I could see the grayish tile roof of the kennel building over the garden foliage, but I wasn’t completely certain. Another low howl followed. I waited, but there were no more howls, not for the moment.

  I returned my attention to the terrace. It appeared empty.

  Because I needed to get closer to the chateau and especially to the tower, behind my concealment shields I edged along the stone walkway leading toward the northeast. Some hundred yards farther into the gardens, I stationed myself beside a narrow evergreen, on the downhill side, but where I had an angle to see who was on the terrace or tower, at least near the southern side of each. After slipping the spyglass case out I used the telescope to study the open top of the tower. No one was there.