“I had taken a friend-Seliora-to dinner at Felters . . .” I went through the entire story, including Seliora’s notice of the man in the brown cloak, and ended when I lost consciousness outside the infirmary.
“Did you ever see the man closely?”
“No, sir. Well . . . just for a moment. He didn’t look familiar.”
“Did the young woman know him? She saw him more clearly, didn’t she?”
“She didn’t know him. I teased her about him looking at her, not me, but she said she didn’t know him.”
“Rhennthyl, keep this in mind. No matter how pretty the woman at your side, if a man looks in your direction, the odds are that he’s looking at you or for you. Don’t ever forget that.”
His voice was firm, almost cold.
“No, sir. I won’t.”
“Did you say anything to the man?”
“No, sir. Seliora saw him and whispered that he was there, and I turned and saw him raise the pistol. That was when I tried to increase my own shields. But I never said anything.”
“Someone in the bistro saw it, and they summoned the civic patrollers. They had close to the same story.” He frowned. “You said you imaged caustic at him. He died in great agony. He might have been blinded, but that doesn’t usually kill someone. What exactly did you do?”
I started to answer, then coughed, and almost doubled over even more in pain before I could reply. “I guess I wasn’t clear, sir. I imaged caustic into his eyes and somewhere into his chest. At least, that was what I was trying to do.”
“You did it well enough to kill him.” Master Jhulian held up a long-fingered hand. “There’s no question that it was self-defense, and the man you killed was already being sought for two other murders, and is thought to have committed a number of others. The civic patrollers were happy not to have to keep looking for him. So is the Collegium.”
“He killed another imager?”
“A very junior one over a year ago. That is what we know. There have been two other killings of junior imagers over the past three months, and his act against you might raise several other questions, except for one thing. He was definitely looking for you. Do you know why?”
“The only thing I can think of is the business with High Holder Ryel-you know, with his son Johanyr?”
“Oh . . . that?” Master Jhulian frowned. “That is possible, but most unlikely. The High Holder would not wish there to be any traces to him, and that particular assassin was one . . . not suitable for someone like Ryel. Nor would Ryel act so quickly.”
“At the moment, sir, I really can’t think of anyone . . . well, except Diazt came from the taudis, I think, and I suppose it could have been some relative or friend of his.” I couldn’t think of any other possibilities, but that might have been because I was still most uncomfortable at best, and in some considerable pain at other times.
“That is more likely, but still unlikely.” He stood and closed the small black book in which he had been writing. “Once you can write, you will owe me that final paper.” He set a book on the chair. It was a copy of Jurisprudence. “I took the liberty of retrieving this from your desk. Your outlines are tucked inside. I would suggest that you consider that there are two meanings of’presumption.’ The legal definition is not the same as personal presumption, and your notes do not reflect that.”
“I’ll . . . keep that in mind, sir.”
“After you get some rest.” He nodded and slipped out of the room.
Obern entered immediately with a large mug of steaming tea. “The master said . . .”
“I know. I need to drink it.” I felt like there were so many things I needed to do . . . but I wasn’t feeling up to doing any of them.
40
Attempting to teach forethought is a thankless task.
Master Dichartyn did not appear until Lundi morning, since he’d been away. He showed up in my infirmary room after Master Draffyd’s ministrations and my breakfast.
“Good morning, Rhennthyl.” He settled onto the chair.
“Good morning, sir.”
“I have a letter for you.” He set the envelope on the bed, as his eyes took in the Jurisprudence book I’d laid aside when he had come in, although I’d only reread a few pages after eating. “Hard at work, I see.”
I hoped the letter was from Seliora, but I couldn’t tell from the writing. I’d never seen her hand, but the script looked feminine, and it wasn’t Khethila’s, or Mother’s. I wanted to pick it up, but I didn’t. “Master Jhulian reminded me that I still have an essay due to him. I’m not supposed to do anything like writing for another day or so, but I can read and think.”
“Thinking is always useful, especially if you do it before you get into difficulties.” He fingered his chin. “I’ve talked to both Master Jhulian and Master Draffyd.”
I winced slightly, even if his words had been delivered gently.
“Rhenn, because imagers work alone, of necessity, great necessity, we need to pay attention to what others say, what they see, and what they hear. Even someone who is trying to deceive you will reveal much that he does not intend. Those who favor us will do far more.”
“I should have listened to Seliora more closely.”
“You should have, and that is a lesson you will not forget.”
I knew. The lessons I remembered best were the ones that hurt, in one way or another.
“I have some other questions for you.”
After nodding to him, I waited.
“You were wounded, and in a great deal of pain, weren’t you? Yet you stood against two bullets and then imaged caustic into the attacker’s eyes and heart. Might I ask how?”
“I didn’t want him to hurt Seliora, and I wasn’t by the Nameless going to let the bastard escape, and I couldn’t have restrained him in the condition I was in.”
“Quite a lot to think about in a few moments, I’d say. Did you, really?”
“Not that logically, sir,” I admitted, “but I knew all that even as I was imaging at him.”
Master Dichartyn nodded. “Admirable . . . and effective. How did you know that caustic would cause his heart to swell and stop?”
“I didn’t know. I just thought it would, or that if it didn’t, he’d be blind and in so much pain he wouldn’t be going anywhere.” Besides, I hadn’t known any other quick way to react, because I hadn’t practiced any kinds of imager attacks-just defenses. “Will this keep me from being a field imager?”
“If you’d been trained for that, no . . . but that’s not what your position is likely to be. This incident will help you understand just how important what you’ll be doing is, and it will also give you a feel for the dangers and consequences that no amount of training will. For you, since you’ve survived it, that’s probably for the best, but we certainly didn’t intend for anything like this to happen.” He frowned. “There’s been a bit too much of this sort of thing recently, but as Master Jhulian and I discussed, this assassin was after you and no one else.”
As sore as my shoulder was, I was still irritated that Master Dichartyn hadn’t said what I was being trained for. “So what will I be? An imager who tracks down those in L’Excelsis who might harm the Council and the Collegium? One who kills as necessary?”
“Only if ordered to-or in self-defense,” he agreed. “We work as what you might call counterspies, although our group has no name and does not officially exist in the records of the Collegium. We’re all technically assigned as part of Council security. There are only around ten of us who work as counterspies. There’s no limit on the number, but imagers who meet the requirements are extremely hard to find. They show up only every few years, and we lose close to a third of them before they become masters.”
“What made you decide on me?”
“A number of things.” He smiled. “I will tell you. That I promise you, but not now. Since it’s your left shoulder, and you’re right-handed, you can write while you’re recovering. Write me an essay explaining what
qualities you think an imager counterspy should have.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take your time. Not forever, but say, a week.” He paused. “Oh . . . by the way . . . all the paints and oils and canvases arrived this morning . . . as well as all the other things you’ll need. Once we have a studio set up in the workshop area and you’re up to it, I’ll have Master Poincaryt sit for you. If anyone deserves a portrait, he does.”
“Is it also that it’s safer to have an imager do it?”
“That certainly is something that makes it easier, but there’s never been an imager trained as a portraiturist, and we’re vain enough that we’d like an accurate resemblance.”
That was a compliment of sorts. “I can see that.”
“Keep following Master Draffyd’s instructions. He says that if all goes well, by Jeudi or Vendrei, you can return to your own quarters. You’ll still have to see him every morning, but I trust you’d rather not be here.”
“That’s true, sir.”
He smiled, then turned to go. After he left, I realized that he hadn’t even asked me if being a counterspy was what I wanted to do. I also realized that he hadn’t needed to.
Only then did I pick up the cream-colored envelope and look at it closely. On the front was my name-Rhennthyl D’Imager-and below it, simply Imagisle. I turned it over. Even though I knew from whom it had come, I couldn’t help but smile as I saw the name-M. Seliora D’Shelim, NordEste Design, Nordroad.
I opened it carefully, but the wax seal still broke and sprayed wax across the blanket. I read slowly, taking in each word.
My dear Rhenn,
I trust that you are recovering. I hope that you will be well before long. Can you have visitors? If you can, and if you can let me know, I would like to see you.
Until the last moments, I enjoyed dinner so much. I have never had a dinner so exciting. You will understand if I say that I hope never to have another. The next time, you must come to our house and have one of Mother’s special dinners.
I look forward to hearing from you.
The signature was a simple “Seliora.”
I couldn’t help but smile. The letter was so like Seliora-direct and warm. I certainly could have visitors, if only after I could leave the infirmary. As soon as I could, I would write her to suggest Solayi afternoon.
My eyes dropped to the Jurisprudence book. I would have more than a little other writing as well, and that would not be nearly so enjoyable.
41
Some men change their principles as frequently as
their linens, and others never do; both are in error.
The next several days were slow, long, and tedious. Master Dichartyn checked on me briefly each morning, as did Master Draffyd. Besides that, all I did was some walking, with Obern accompanying and watching me, some reading, some eating, and more than a little dozing and sleeping. On Jeudi morning Master Draffyd and Master Dichartyn both arrived at the same time. That could not have been coincidence.
First, Master Draffyd examined me and changed the dressing on my upper chest and shoulder. “It’s already healing well. You can leave here, but stay on Imagisle and keep the dressing dry. No strenuous exercise, only walking, and no exercise with that arm except for light things. Don’t pick up anything heavy . . .”
The way my shoulder felt, I wasn’t about to lift anything more than a pen. Certainly not anything as heavy as the Jurisprudence text.
“. . . If there’s any sudden pain or soreness, or redness or swelling, come back here immediately. If I’m not here, Obern or one of the others will find me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Master Dichartyn waited until Master Draffyd left.
“You’re very fortunate. I need to make one thing very clear. Until you’re fully healed, and I do mean fully, you are not to leave Imagisle. Do you understand why?”
“Anyone with enough coin and desire to hire someone to kill me won’t likely stop at losing one bravo.”
Master Dichartyn nodded. “We-you, actually-will put a stop to it, but since you will not be able until you’re well, and that is likely to be at least a month, according to Master Draffyd.”
“A month?”
“The outward wounds and the worst of the damage will heal in another week, two weeks at the outside. Then you’ll have to regain strength in that arm and shoulder, and you’ll work with Clovyl on that-he knows what happened. He’ll be the one working with you to rebuild your strength and conditioning. Maitre Dyana and I will teach you a few more techniques when the time comes. For now, you are not to do any imaging-except in emergencies, and I do hope you can see your way to avoiding those. I’ll see you tomorrow at eighth glass. I won’t need your essay, but I want you to review the anatomy section of your science text, especially the section on the human chest and heart.”
I did force myself to walk back to my own quarters slowly, and I carried the Jurisprudence book in my right arm. I couldn’t help but worry over his words about my being the one to put a stop to matters.
When the time approached tenth glass and lunch, I made my way to the dining hall slowly and deliberately. Even so, I saw that Claustyn had gotten there earlier. He waved for me to join him at one end of the long table. When I reached him, so had Menyard and Reynol.
I was more than happy to sit down.
“We haven’t seen you for almost a week,” said Claustyn. “Word is that some assassin attacked two imagers, and killed one. Was that why we haven’t seen you?”
Two imagers? “I don’t know about anyone else. I did get shot-right outside Felters. Do you know who the other imager was?”
“Some are saying it was Jacques,” Reynol replied. “No one’s seen him, either, but you never know for a while when these things happen. The Collegium doesn’t like to acknowledge publicly that any imager was attacked-or killed, especially.”
“Did he get away?” asked Menyard.
What could I say to that? After a moment, I laughed, gently. “I managed to disable him, or that was what I tried. He died, though.”
“If I might ask,” ventured Reynol, “how badly . . .?”
“Two shots. Here and here.” I pointed with my good hand.
Claustyn and Menyard looked at each other.
“You imaged him after you were hit?” asked Claustyn.
“I didn’t know he was shooting at me until I got hit.” That wasn’t quite true, but close enough.
Claustyn nodded and said to Menyard, “That’s why.”
“Why what?” I asked.
“Why Master Dichartyn is your preceptor. He only takes imagers who have that kind of reaction. None of us can figure out how he knows that, but he seems to sense it whenever a new imager who has that ability arrives. Do you have a duty assignment?”
“I know what it will be, once I recover and finish my training.”
“Did you like the dinner at Felters-before what happened?” Claustyn asked. “Was it as good as people say?”
Obviously, some questions were pursued only so far-another of the unspoken rules. “I had a marinated flank steak stuffed with buttered parsley and mushrooms. It was excellent, and they had a Cambrisio that was very good.”
“Was it that expensive?”
“It wasn’t bad . . . four silvers, I think, but we had salads, and dessert and wine.”
“That’s not too dear,” reflected Reynol, “if you don’t do it too often.” He grinned. “Was she worth it?”
“How would he know?” asked Menyard. “He got shot before he could find out.”
I smiled. “She was very worth it. She was the one who got me to the infirmary in time.”
“That’s very worth it,” said Claustyn, “if not exactly what Reynol had in mind.” He laughed.
So did we all.
“Where’s Kahlasa?” I asked after several bites of a fowl casserole.
“She got called back to field duty early,” said Reynol. “She didn’t say why, but a Caenenan cruiser san
k one of our merchanters on the high seas-more than fifty milles off the Caenenan coast. The Council ordered a blockade of Caena, and the Fourth and Fifth Fleets are steaming south now. That’s what they say, anyway.”
“What are the Jariolans going to do?”
“The Council sent a strong message suggesting that they keep out of it,” Menyard added. “But their Oligarch-Khasis III, I think, is his name-is supposedly massing forces on their border with Ferrum. That’s because Ferrum has been arming Caenen, and has been receiving favored trade.”
“So we’re looking at war in Cloisera and in Otelyrn?” I asked.
Claustyn shrugged. “It’s possible. We control the seas, but we don’t have an army big enough to fight in both places.”
“Couldn’t we help Ferrum and just blockade Caena?”
“That’s up to the Council, but . . .” Reynol drew out the words: “Ferrum doesn’t like Solidar, and particularly the Collegium, much more than Jariola does, and if we blockade Caena, the High Priest is likely to turn on Tiempre to get some of the resources he needs because he knows we don’t want to invade Caenen . . . or any country in Otelyrn.”
Why Tiempre? I almost asked, but then realized why. Tiempre had banned imagers almost a century earlier. That had ended up driving out many of the wealthier and more creative types. More than a few had come to Solidar. I doubted that Tiempre could stand up to Caenen and the High Priest’s religious hordes, and I couldn’t see the Council sending troops to Otelyrn.
“So . . . if we blockade Caena . . . we’ll start a war between Tiempre and Caenen, and if we don’t, the Caenenans will feel free to keep firing on our merchant ships?”
“I’d venture to say that about sums it all up,” said Claustyn cheerfully. “Unless the High Priest changes his mind.”
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