Imager ip-1

by L. E. Modesitt

  “The Council won’t object?” I asked.

  “How can they?” Rousel grinned. “We’re not selling to Caenenans. We’re selling to Abiertans. We can’t control who they sell to.”

  “You can’t stop trade with laws,” added Father. “Even embargoes and warships aren’t effective. People want to buy what they want to buy, and they want to pay as little as possible.”

  “Unless it’s rare, and then they bid up the price.” I paused. “Is there a difference in the tariff rate between what you’d pay if wool went directly to Caenen and what it costs going through Abierto?”

  “You’re still sharp enough to be a factor,” said Rousel. “There’s only a one percent tariff between Solidar and the isles, and we have a reciprocal agreement.”

  “And the difference in shipping costs?”

  “The landed price per hundredweight is almost the same.”

  I had to wonder why the Council bothered with the embargo.

  “Can we talk about something else?” asked Mother. “Have you met anyone we know?”

  “Not that I know of. There aren’t all that many imagers in all of Solidar.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” demanded Culthyn.

  “It’s mathematics, stupid,” replied Khethila. “If there aren’t many imagers, then not many are born-”

  “That’s enough . . . I understand, and I’m not stupid.”

  I looked to Rousel and Remaya, sitting on the settee. “See what awaits you?”

  “We’ll manage,” he replied.

  “Are there any women imagers?” asked Remaya.

  “Only a few.” Forestalling the inevitable, I quickly added, “I haven’t met any my age, but there might be one or two.”

  “I hope you do.”

  Behind her smile and the kindness of her words, I could sense the pity. I’d never wanted her pity, and I quickly asked, “How are you finding Kherseilles?”

  “It’s charming,” she answered. “It is not too large, and we have a lovely small villa on the hills overlooking the harbor, with a pleasant breeze . . .”

  After more chatter, mostly about Kherseilles, Mother rose. “Dinner is ready.”

  As people began to move toward the dining chamber, Mother eased up beside me. “We’re going to have a dinner here on the thirty-fifth of Avryl. I think you’d like the people.”

  “Who is she?” I couldn’t help grinning.

  Mother did have the grace to blush. “She’s nice, and quite pretty, but very shy. You actually have met her younger cousin.”

  “I have?”

  “Quite a number of times.” Her face had a mischievous expression. “Aeylana D’Weidyn is her cousin. You painted her portrait. Her father is the renowned cabinetmaker, and his brother Tomaz is the largest produce factor in L’Excelsis. Tomaz is also a friend of your father, and we’ve invited them for dinner.”

  “And the shy young lady? What’s her name?”

  “Her name is Zerlenya.”

  I couldn’t say that I’d met or remembered anyone named Zerlenya, and that was probably good, because few of the girls or women I’d met over the years had impressed me. Only a handful had-Remaya, Kalyssa, Larguera, and Seliora-and I hadn’t heard anything about Kalyssa in years, and Larguera had married some heir to a brewery fortune or something like that.

  “I’ll be here, and I’ll be as charming as I can.”

  “More charming than that, please, dear.” Her smile was affectionate. “Now . . . enjoy the dinner. It’s one of your favorites-the apple-stuffed pork crown roast.”

  It was one of my favorites, and I did enjoy it. The conversation at dinner was pleasant. Even Father stopped being the businessman and told stories, including one I’d never heard about the time when he’d first been buying wool and didn’t know that sangora was coney hair.

  When I left and Charlsyn drove me back to the Collegium-or the east side of the Bridge of Hopes-it was close to the eighth glass of the evening. I did realize one thing when I stepped out of the carriage just short of the Bridge of Hopes that night. For some people, home is always there. For others, while the structure and the family may still be there, and they may all still care for you, it’s no longer home. I was one of those. Was it that I was an imager? Or had it been that way from the time I’d wanted to be an artist?

  I walked across the bridge quickly, alert for whatever or whoever might be around, but I saw no one, except a few figures in gray from a distance. Although Artiema was full, the faint haze dulled her luminous light. To the west the quarter disc of Erion seemed redder than usual, as if the lesser hunter were somehow lying in wait for the greater huntress. Was that because I felt that someone, or more than a single person, was watching? Yet no one appeared as I neared the quarters building.

  I had time to work on my shields, and that I could do safely in my chamber. I’d already done the reading assigned by Master Dichartyn.

  29

  The greatest curse is to inherit wealth or position

  without ability.

  There was nothing to keep me from leaving Imagisle on Solayi, except no one I wanted to see and no desire to spend my few silvers in L’Excelsis merely for the sake of spending them. Besides, I was still worried about my imaging shields, especially after having had the feeling of being watched the night before. So, after breakfast, which I ate near several thirds at a table with less than ten people scattered along a length that could hold close to a hundred, I walked back to my chamber and read my assignments, trying to think of the kind of questions Master Dichartyn might ask. After every few pages, I stopped and worked on my shields.

  By late morning the overcast had lifted, and I decided to take a break from the indoor studying and try to work on fog and shadows. After leaving my room, I made my way down the steps to the main level and then across the quadrangle and southward to the grove north of the chapel. Once more, not only was someone watching me the entire way, I felt, but he or they kept watching while I struggled with concealment projections. Fog proved to be easier to create, but it tended not to last long, vanishing shortly after the sun struck it. It did linger in the shadows, but I had trouble making it thick enough to cloak me. What I created might work at night . . . maybe.

  Shadows were something else. After perhaps a quarter glass, I figured out how to create shadows-an imaging shield that blocked sunlight without being visible-but that didn’t help much, because in any light bright enough to create shadows, I’d still be visible, and that meant I needed another approach. Even after a long glass of experimentation, I couldn’t think of one.

  When I walked back north to the dining hall from the grove, just before the ten bells of noon began to strike, I saw Diazt and Johanyr talking some ten yards outside the main entrance. Johanyr’s voice was low and intent, but he stopped for a moment and glared at me, then snorted, before returning his attention to Diazt.

  What had I done to make him angry, except try to avoid him? Or had they been the ones observing me? If they were, there wasn’t much I could do about it. So I went inside and sat next to Shannyr, who, unlike Diazt and Johanyr, gave me a friendly smile.

  “Johanyr’s not in a very good mood,” I said quietly.

  Shannyr shook his head. “He’s not. Hasn’t been since Vendrei. Stewing in his own sweat. Master Ghaend told him that he’d never make tertius if he didn’t study. Also said that if he didn’t learn more, he’d have to go to work with the seconds like me.” Shannyr’s tone was totally without rancor or bitterness.

  “Master Ghaend said that?”

  “No. Master Ghaend told him he couldn’t play at being a student, and that he’d have to learn or go to work. I heard Johanyr telling Diazt that. He was so angry that anyone in ten yards could have heard.”

  “Why doesn’t he just study?” I had an idea why, but I wanted to hear what Shannyr said.

  “He was born Johanyr D’Ryel. Might have something to do with it.”

  “He comes from the High Holders, and h
e’s an imager?”

  “Doesn’t matter where you come from.” He laughed softly. “Me, I’m one of the fortunate ones. Till I came here, never knew when I’d eat next. Ma was happy to know I’d get fed and happier to get the gold.”

  “You don’t mind working in the armory?”

  “Why’d I mind? I’d be slaving for some factor, lugging barrels and the like, or I’d already have been press-ganged into the Navy or conscripted.” He smiled. “Much better to work as a common imager. Diazt doesn’t see that. He thinks he’s so much smarter than Floryn. He’s just the same, but not as smart.”

  “Did Diazt come from the taudis?”

  “The hellhole.”

  That was the worst slum in L’Excelsis, except that-unlike the taudis below South Middle-it wasn’t actually in the city, but off the highway that Sudroad turned into some five milles south of the Avenue D’Artisans. “He’s better off here.”

  “He doesn’t think so. He ran a ganglet-kids doing stuff for the elvers and stealing from the sansespoirs.”

  “He was in control, and he doesn’t like it when other people are.” I paused, then added, “It sounds like Johanyr doesn’t much like it, either.”

  “No matter who you are,” Shannyr said, “there’s always someone else tougher. Saw that growing up.”

  “Or brighter or better-connected . . . or whatever.”

  “You miss painting?” he asked.

  “Sometimes,” I admitted. “But, in a way, imaging’s like that. I don’t know that I’d have ever discovered I could image if I hadn’t been a portraiturist. Did you ever . . .” I wasn’t quite sure how to ask whether he’d worked at anything. “. . . want to do anything besides be an imager?”

  “Fieldwork or the mines-those were the choices out in Tacqueville. Didn’t care much for either, but I was working a ditch crew when I imaged a lousy copper for Ma. So bad that she knew I’d made it. Hadn’t seen that many.” Shannyr laughed. “Armory’s better any day.”

  Diazt was the type who’d rather run a gang in the hellholes of Solidar than answer to anyone in twice the comfort. But weren’t more than a few people like that?

  When I left the table and Shannyr, Diazt and Johanyr were standing beyond the archway. Neither looked at me as I passed, and I even offered a polite smile. Behind me, though, I could hear a few muttered words.

  “Stuff’s too easy for him . . .”

  “Rodie . . . got to be a rodie . . .”

  Me? A rodent, a snoop, reporting back to the senior imagers? That didn’t make sense. Why would I give up being a portraiturist to become an imager, and then an informer for Master Dichartyn or any other master? I almost turned and snapped back that they were imbeciles and master imagers didn’t need toadies, but my guts told me that would only make matters worse.

  Besides, if I didn’t react, they couldn’t be sure if I’d overheard them.

  30

  Arrogance makes a man stupid,

  and stupidity can make him even more arrogant.

  On Solayi evening and at breakfast on Lundi, Johanyr and Diazt stood outside the entrance to the dining hall and looked hard at me. I just smiled back. They didn’t return the smile, nor did they choose to sit anywhere near me. I sat with Shannyr. He was good company.

  After breakfast, when I was finally admitted to Master Dichartyn’s study, he didn’t test my shields at all. Instead, he concentrated on asking me questions about the Council and governing. Once he’d determined that I’d read the pages he’d assigned, he smiled.

  “In Jariola, the Oligarch rules absolutely, but the oligarchy votes every five years whether to replace him or not, and he can be replaced at any time if forty-six of the fifty members of the council vote to remove him. Forty-five members of the council are the wealthiest High Holders in the land and the other five are the high prophet of Khanahl and four others appointed by the ruling oligarch. The Abierto Isles are governed by an assembly, and the members are elected by a vote of all property holders, whether those holders are men or women, regardless of where they live or were born, and the assembly elects a speaker who makes day-to-day decisions. In Caenen, the high priest of their Duality is the ruler of the country. You know how we are governed. Which means do you think is more effective, and why?”

  My immediate reaction was to prefer our system, but to say so would just invite more questions. “I’d say that the Caenenan system is the worst, because they are governed by one man, and there is no effective way to remove him-”

  “Killing him would remove him effectively, but I don’t think that’s what you meant. Be more careful in your choice of words.”

  “There are no accepted rules for removing him in the event that he proves a bad ruler.”

  “That is true, but what is a bad ruler?” asked Master Dichartyn. “If taxes are high upon the crafters and low upon the landholders, is it not likely that the landholders will praise him and the crafters will declare him a bad ruler?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’d say that the Jariolan system is the next least desirable, because power is held in the hands of so few men, and that is not good-”

  “For all the rhetoric and common talk, government is not about good and bad, Rhennthyl. Nor was that what I asked. What is it about?”

  “Creating the laws and rules under which people live.”

  “Why is government necessary?”

  “Things don’t work well among people without some form of government.”

  “That’s true. Why not?”

  “People would try to do whatever they could get away with. Unless you had golds and power, you couldn’t trust anyone. Even then . . .”

  Master Dichartyn nodded slowly. “Effective governments set rules and limits on how power is used in a country. Now . . . that means some who have greater power must accept limits on their power. Why would they do so?”

  “Because, otherwise, those with less power will band together and restrain or eliminate them?”

  “That’s one possibility. Can you think of another?”

  At that moment, I couldn’t.

  “If you were High Holder Almeida, would you want to spend tens of thousands of golds on maintaining a private army to defend your lands or would you rather pay a few thousand golds in taxes to a government that generally protected them?”

  “If the government rules weren’t too burdensome, I’d prefer the taxes.”

  “So do most High Holders of Solidar. What does that tell you about government?”

  “It provides a balance of power at a lower cost for the wealthy and greater order and freedom for those with little power.”

  “An effective government does. If most people want effective government, why do governments vary so much from land to land?”

  “They have different ideas about what is effective and how to make things work?”

  “Do you think that a chorister of the Nameless and a priest of the Duality would think of power in the same way . . .”

  Master Dichartyn’s questions seemed endless. I was all too happy to leave when he finally dismissed me, despite his assignment of the additional reading.

  Again, at lunch, Johanyr had positioned himself where he could watch me, although I didn’t see Diazt. I walked over to him and asked, “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you around, except outside the dining hall.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, clearly taken aback by my addressing him. Then he replied, “I’m fine. There are some things that have to be settled.”

  I didn’t feel like saying anything to respond to the implied threat. “I’m sure things will settle out if you give them time.”

  “I’m not very patient, Rhenn.”

  “Most of us aren’t. I’m not, either, but I’ve learned that sometimes rushing things creates more problems than it solves.”

  “Don’t threaten me.”

  “I’m not threatening anyone,” I said, managing to smile. “It’s not wise, and
it’s not polite. I hope you feel better later.” I nodded courteously and turned toward the dining hall.

  I could still feel his eyes on my back, and I still didn’t understand why he was so angry. Was it just that he was angry and needed a target? I certainly hadn’t told anyone about what he thought or his nastiness to me, except telling Shannyr once that Johanyr didn’t seem happy.

  I took a chair between Gherard and Whaltar and across from Shannyr.

  Whaltar was speaking to Gherard. “. . . got Naquin Samedi night . . . warned him about the Nord quarter, but he said that was where the girls were . . .”

  “Did someone get hurt?” I asked.

  “Naquin. He was a third. They found his body on the street yesterday morning.” Whaltar shook his head. “Have to be twice as careful if you’re a graycoat.”

  I didn’t quite know what to add. I hadn’t known Naquin.

  “How is Master Dichartyn treating you?” asked Gherard, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Some of those assignments looked difficult.”

  “The reading isn’t too bad,” I admitted, “but the questions he asks about what I’ve read make the reading seem easy.”

  “Most of the thirds haven’t made it as far as you have,” Gherard said.

  “I’m sure that they’re doing better elsewhere.” I decided on tea, filled my mug, and took a long sip. “That’s why they’re thirds.” The longer I’d been at the Collegium, the more I wondered why Gherard was still a secondus. “If you don’t mind . . .”

  Gherard laughed. “I don’t. You’ve waited longer than most to ask. I have trouble reading. The letters don’t make sense to me, and I’ll never be a great imager. I can remember anything anyone tells me word for word, and Master Dichartyn tells me that I have a good feel for incoming imagers.”