Imager (29 page)

There is a hidden advantage to imaging what appears
to be nothing.

Jeudi morning was damp, raw, and drizzling. I was back in Master Dichartyn’s study, more than a little curious about the imager techniques I would be learning. Instead of saying anything immediately, he looked at me and fingered his chin, a sign that a lecture, a question, or something else to make me think was about to be delivered.

“Rhennthyl . . . have you ever considered the governmental uniqueness of Solidar?”

“Compared to other governments?”

“Against what else did you have in mind in comparing Solidaran government?”

I winced. I hated asking stupid questions. “Solidar offers the greatest representation of crafters in its government.”

“With only three guild representatives?”

“Sir, you know far more than I do, but nowhere in anything I have read does it mention that other lands allow any craft participation.”

“Not as crafters. But in most lands, those who possess a certain amount of wealth do have a voice in government, and some of those are the more successful crafters.”

“There’s a difference. The wealthy individual represents his coins, while the crafters represent the interests of those to whom they must answer—other crafters. Also, there is an imager on the Council, and the councilors have to represent different parts of Solidar.”

“What does that mean, Rhenn?”

“The Council has to represent more than those in power in L’Excelsis.”

“Does that matter when the Council has power in and of itself?”

I forced myself to stop and think before replying. “A Council member has power because he is a member of the Council that governs Solidar. As a representative of a guild or as an imager, such a member may not have had power to influence government before being selected as such a representative and may not have such power after he ceases being a Council member. Those with wealth can almost always purchase influence in one fashion or another.”

“What does that mean for the average person in Solidar?”

“I would judge that the average person in Solidar has less to fear from government than in other lands, and more of them have a chance to voice their concerns without fear of retribution.”

“Most carefully worded, Rhenn, and generally accurate. Now . . . what government structure in the world has changed the least over the past four centuries?”

“Ours. You’re suggesting our power and stability rest on wider representation of power?”

“I’m trying to get you to make the connection. Why would this be so?”

“Because we have to spend fewer coins in things like putting down revolts and in having more patrollers in the cities?”

“Or in collecting tariffs and taxes,” added Master Dichartyn. “This creates a long-standing and real problem for the Council. Some both within Solidar and in other lands do not like the example that Solidar presents to the world. Those here feel that their own power is limited by such diversity. The outsiders understand that our power rests on the diversity of our political structure because it allows us to tax our people less and devote more of those taxes to maintaining and expanding our power. They have spent centuries trying to undo what the first Council began, both by external threats, such as attacks on our shipping and merchants, and by internal attacks, such as attempted assassinations of councilors and others in Solidar.

“If no organization in Solidar did what we do, Solidar would long since have returned to despotism or mercantile oligarchy centuries ago—or we would have been forced to spend tens of thousands more in golds every year on non-imager counterspies and secret patrollers and more, and that would have destroyed what Solidar is. If any group under the Council’s control—or anywhere in the government—did what we do, they would eventually control Solidar, with close to the same result. That is why the standards set for imagers are so high. That is another reason why you need to know the laws as well, if not better, than any city justice or civic patroller. Now . . . can you explain why we can do this without being corrupted by power—as an institution?”

That seemed direct enough. “Because the Collegium has a structure to minimize the dangers of corruption.”

Master Dichartyn nodded. “That is part of the answer. The second part is equally simple. We also can never hold power because the people would not stand for rule by imagers, and we weed out any imagers who do not understand that. Above all, you need to remember that. Sometimes . . . let us just say that once or twice in the past, certain masters failed to realize that basic truth, and disaster for both the Collegium and Solidar was narrowly averted.”

Conviction ran through every word Master Dichartyn had spoken. Even so, I wasn’t certain I would have been convinced had it not been for the events that had befallen me over the past months—from the total change in attitude by Rogaris and Sagaryn and even Staela to being shot by someone I didn’t know for reasons I also did not know.

“Now . . . you need to work on a particular imaging technique.” As he spoke, Master Dichartyn placed a bowl of water on the desk and then lifted a short glass tube from somewhere. He submerged the tube, covered the ends with his fingers, and then held up the water-filled tube. “You see the tube. I want you to image air, just a little of the air around you, into the middle of the tube. Not enough to fill the entire tube—that well might break it—but enough to create a bubble about one digit wide in the center.”

Image air into water? I’d had to image things into the middle of the air, unsupported, but the other way around? I wondered why, but I’d learned that I seldom got the explanations until after I mastered a technique.

It took me almost a glass to manage it consistently.

“That’s enough for now. We’ll work on doing it to a moving tube tomorrow.” At that point, Master Dichartyn set down the tube. “Now . . . besides studying the plans of the Council Chateau, you need to set up your portraiture studio. Grandisyn has cleared out a small workroom with northern light and moved all the equipment and supplies in there, but you need to arrange it so that it suits you. If you need other items, just tell him.”

I almost laughed. I’d worked for not quite ten years, trying to get to the point where I could become a master portraiturist and have my own studio, and now that I was an imager, I was being given a studio with all the equipment and pigments I would have had difficulty affording—almost as an aside and a cover.

The excellence of the cuisine is but half the meal.

In between some resting and meals, it took me the rest of Jeudi and all of Vendrei, besides the time with Master Dichartyn, to organize a studio in the workroom set aside for me. It was a good thing no one expected me to begin painting immediately, because a number of items were missing, including a grinder, a mortar and pestle, certain oils and waxes, and a burner and old pots, not to mention a chair for whoever would be sitting for me. Still, Grandisyn assured me the missing items would be there by Lundi. That was fine with me.

Samedi morning, after another session with Master Dichartyn, I spent poring over the plans of the Chateau and then trying to draw each floor from memory. I had lunch, but with some thirds I knew only slightly, before returning to my study. I tried to take a nap, but all I did was lie there. So I alternated studying anatomy and the Council Chateau. By the time the four bells rang, I couldn’t concentrate on plans or texts any longer. I washed up and walked down to the main level, and then out and across the quadrangle.

Two of the seconds headed toward me eased onto an adjoining path. I recognized the second behind them, who did not avoid me. “Shannyr, how are matters with you?”

“Well, thank you. I’m getting married in two months. Master Dichartyn has approved quarters for us on the north end. They’re small, but far better than either of us ever hoped.”

“That’s wonderful!” I was truly happy for him—and them. I’d always felt that Shannyr was a good and solid person. “Would I know the lady?”

“I don’t think so. Her name is Ciermya. She works as a drafter for a naval architect.”

“You’re a fortunate man.”

“I am that.” He paused. “Sir, some of the seconds asked me to convey their thanks if I saw you.”

“Diazt and Johanyr were that hard on them?”

“Word is . . . some of them had sisters . . . and Johanyr . . . he’d threaten the sisters . . . say that he couldn’t be responsible for what happened to their brothers.”

“The masters didn’t know this?”

“No, sir. I didn’t know it, not till last week. Johanyr and Diazt threatened to hurt the sisters if their brothers said anything.”

I hadn’t realized just how much of a bastard Johanyr had been . . . and how clever, because his schemes had all rested on threats, and the implication of force, and probably minimal use of imaging. I also realized how calculating Master Dichartyn had been. He’d made sure Johanyr couldn’t image, but would live, and the way events had transpired deprived High Holder Ryel of any official recourse. That just made it more likely, despite what Master Dichartyn had said, that the dead assassin had been sent after me by Ryel . . . or more unfortunately, that I had something worse to look forward to. “I’m glad I was able to do something about it, but I didn’t know that was happening. I just didn’t trust them.” I paused. “I hope no one is trying to take their place.”

“Not that I know.” He smiled. “But I won’t be worrying about such much longer.”

“That’s true, and you shouldn’t have to.” I thought for a moment. “Poor Gherard.”

Shannyr looked surprised.

“Who else is there right now?” Shannyr had kept as close a watch as he could on those imagers who would be seconds for most of their time and life at the Collegium. Master Dichartyn had rewarded him, and probably the same would be true of Gherard.

“There is that, I’d guess, sir.”

“You have my thanks, Shannyr, and give my best to Ciermya.”

“That I will.” He gave me a broad smile and continued on.

I turned eastward and made my way to the benches on the west side of the river, where I sat down on one shaded by the late-afternoon sun to wait for Seliora, Odelia, and Kolasyn.

Before that long, three figures appeared on the bridge. Each carried a wicker basket. Seliora was attired in a maroon skirt, a cream blouse, and a shimmering gray vest. As she neared, I realized that she was actually wearing split skirts, far more practical for a picnic.

I bounded to my feet, surprised that I had . . . and that nothing hurt.

Seliora hurried to meet me, setting down the basket she had carried. She gave me a gentle but brief embrace and a dazzling smile. “You’re looking much better.”

“That’s because you’re here.”

She blushed ever so slightly.

“I told you he was gallant,” Odelia murmured to Kolasyn.

“Oh . . .” Seliora half-turned. “You’ve never met Kolasyn, have you?”

“No, I have not. I’m pleased to have the opportunity.” I inclined my head to him. “Both Odelia and Seliora have spoken well of you.”

“You have the advantage, then.” Kolasyn laughed. “They refused to say anything about you.” He was clearly older than I was, but I doubted he was quite so old as Odelia, who I suspected was a good five to six years older than Seliora. Like Odelia, he was rangy and redheaded, slightly taller than she was, and he had a short and neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were dark brown, and his smile was pleasant. I couldn’t help liking him.

Seliora picked a shaded spot, but one that had been sun-warmed earlier in the day, so that, while the grass was cool, it was not damp, given the rain earlier in the week. Then, from her basket came a blanket and an oilcloth, along with four heavy glasses and two bottles of wine—a white grisio and a red Cambrisio. From Odelia’s basket came an array of covered wooden bowls and baskets, more than I believed could ever have fit into it. Then Seliora took the basket that Kolasyn held and laid out cutlery and utensils, and four enormous napkins.

When everything was set on the cloth, Seliora looked at me and smiled. “It is here for us to eat, you know?”

Kolasyn was deft with a corkscrew, and I had a glass of the Cambrisio, as did Odelia, while he and Seliora had grisio. There was more than enough food, from crispy rice fries and almond-stuffed peppers to a honey-sour crispy baked chicken and apple and cheese strips, and a warm peach and berry cobbler.

“This is excellent.” I turned to Seliora, sitting not quite beside me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but Mother fixed most of it. I did the chicken, and Odelia did the rice fries. Mother did everything else.”

“I thank you and Odelia, and if you would convey my thanks to your mother?”

“We can do that.”

Everything was good, but the chicken and the cobbler were my favorites, and I did have a small second helping of the cobbler, but only after everyone else had eaten some.

“What are you studying now?” Seliora asked.

“More about the Council and about imaging. What about you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing changes. The people do, and the details do, but the work doesn’t. I just finished a design for the upholstery on a set of dining chairs for a High Holder near Mont D’Artewelle. It’s rather . . . bright.”

Odelia laughed. The design and colors had to be more than just bright.

“What are you working on, Kolasyn?”

“Ornamental bronze fire-screen castings, and the fire tools to go with them for a hunting lodge, as well as a number of garden bronzes.”

We talked for a while, or rather I asked about their projects, and then listened. As I did, it struck me that all of them were involved in creating things—as I once had been—and now I was being trained, in a way, to keep Solidar and others from being uncreated.

Odelia stood. “Is it all right if Kolasyn and I walk over to the river?”

“On this side, near the bridge,” I replied. They’d be safe anywhere, but I didn’t like the idea of their being too far away, although I couldn’t have said why. I turned to Seliora and lifted my glass, which held but a small remnant of wine. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“I enjoyed putting it together.”

“I’m looking forward to the time I can leave Imagisle,” I began, “but that is likely to be a good three weeks.” It was hard to believe that spring had departed and that it would be full summer by the seventh of Juyn.

Seliora nodded, but I could sense that there was more.

“What is it?”

“Father and Aunt Aegina are sending Shomyr and me with Grandmama on a trip to Kherseilles, Asseroiles, and then for a month at the beach near Pointe Neimon. The heat of the summers here is hard on Grandmama. Mama thinks that we can also visit a number of the textile mills we order from. They’re within an easy trip on the ironway from Pointe Neimon.”

“An easy trip?” Even I knew that wasn’t so. “Compared to what?”

“The trip to Asseroiles and Kherseilles.” Her smile was half wry, half mischievous.

“When are you leaving?”

She smiled faintly. “We depart next Jeudi. Father was able to arrange a compartment on the Express.”

Somehow I had the feeling that there was more to it than that. “I’m not Pharsi, but I have a feeling about this trip.”

“So does Grandmama. She says that it will be better this way.”

Better for whom?

“She also says that you’re more Pharsi than you think.”

“So are you,” I replied dryly.

For the briefest of instants, Seliora looked stunned. Not hurt, but truly surprised. “Why did you say that?”

“Because you are. You see things. How many Pharsis would have sensed enough to look out the window at Felters? You didn’t see the assassin. You felt him first. Isn’t that right?”

For a moment Seliora didn’t say anything. “When did you notice?”

I smiled, although I didn’t feel much like it. “In a way, I saw it then, but I didn’t realize or understand what I’d seen.”

“They’re not trying to separate us, Rhenn. Mama had planned to have you for dinner this week. She did most of this.” Seliora gestured at all the dishes and bowls on the oilcloth. “That’s because she likes you. As soon as we return, and you can leave Imagisle, Mama wants you to come for dinner. She said a real dinner.”

I could tell that Seliora meant every word, but still . . . “What do they—or you—see?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Is it that bad?”

She shook her head. “I’m trying to keep it from being bad. You have to understand, Rhenn. There’s a . . . it’s a curse of sorts that comes with the sight. Too often, we’ve found, if things are bad, but not too bad, and we warn someone, especially someone we care about, in their efforts to avoid what we saw might happen, they make it worse.”

I didn’t like what she said, especially about things being bad, but I could see how that could happen. If I’d been warned about Johanyr, I might well have tried to be less harsh, and I might have been the one headed to Mont D’Glace. “You didn’t know about the assassin?”

“It’s harder with you. I told you why. Mama just told me to be very careful.” She paused. “You have to understand. I wouldn’t be telling you this now if you weren’t an imager.”

“Because people think of Pharsis and imagers in the same way?”

She nodded. “People don’t like those who do things they can’t understand.”

I’d already seen that. “Does having the sight help in your business?”

“Sometimes. At times, I can see someone who’s pleased and even get a glimpse of the design. Mother and Grandmama are better at sensing what people like.”

“Between all three of you, that gives you a great advantage.”

“Only because Papa and Shomyr are fine crafters. The craft of the furniture and the design together . . .”

“Are all the most sighted Pharsis women?”

Seliora smiled and tilted her head. “Mostly, but that’s because you have to trust your feelings. Most men think too much.”

I took her hand in mine.

“That’s the one area where they don’t think enough.” But she was smiling, and her words were soft and warm.

“And women do?” I grinned at her.

“When we find what we know and feel is right, we don’t keep looking. Any woman who does hasn’t found what’s right.” Her lips quirked. “There’s always the problem that the right man won’t recognize that she’s the right woman.”

Her words shivered through me, because they made me think of Remaya, who had seen Rousel and never let go. What if Rousel hadn’t seen? Was Seliora the right woman for me? Or was I merely the right man for her? The two weren’t necessarily the same thing. I’d certainly wanted to be with her, but . . . how would I know? Really know? And was I thinking too much?

“Yes. You are thinking too much.” She laughed.

“Do you read thoughts as well?”

“Only when they’re written on your face.”

I laughed. We might be close to the same age, but in one area, at least, she was far older and wiser. So I said just that.

“It’s a good thing you know your weaknesses, Rhenn,” she replied. “You don’t have many, and that can make you most vulnerable. Too many men with few weaknesses delude themselves into believing they have none.”

“Oh . . . I have weaknesses, and you’re definitely one of them.”

We talked for a long time, not saying all that much, but enjoying the banter and the early evening, and it was well past the seventh bell when I finished helping Seliora and Odelia pack everything back into their wicker baskets and then walked to the bridge with them.

There, on the edge of the bridge, Seliora turned to me and slipped her arms around me, then lifted her head and lips. We did kiss, and it was anything but brief.