Imager (33 page)

“You wouldn’t know anyone who might be able to tell me where she is now?”

“Might be someone at the Portraiture Guild. I don’t know anyone.”

“I see. Thank you.” I nodded and departed.

Because it was more than a little warm, I used more of my coin to take another hack, this one down to the Guild Square. From there I could walk down the Boulevard D’Imagers and make my inquiries. I had the hacker drop me on the east side of the square. As always in late summer, the sidewalks were less crowded than earlier or later in the year, partly because of the heat, and partly because those who could left L’Excelsis in the hottest weeks of the year.

After less than twenty yards, my forehead and shirt were damp, and I had the feeling that someone was looking at me. I turned as if to study the display items in the silversmith’s window, so that I could look at those around me, but I couldn’t see anyone clearly looking at me, or anyone that I knew. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t looking at me, only that I wasn’t skilled enough to pick them out.

I continued on, walking slowly toward Lapinina, coming abreast of the coppersmith’s, except that his shutters were closed. He was on holiday. As I passed the bistro, I glanced in through an open window. There were people at only two tables, and I didn’t know any of them. The cooper’s place was open, but there was no one in I could see there.

I crossed Sudroad and walked back toward the boulevard, slowly, looking down the two lanes I passed to see if there were any hidden boardinghouses or the like. I kept getting the feeling that someone was staring at me, but whenever I glanced around, I couldn’t detect who it might be—or whether it was just my imagination.

There was another bistro a block west of the square on the Boulevard D’Imagers. I knew some of the older artists went there, although I never had. The name on the signboard was Axotol. I had no idea what that meant, but I stepped in under the light green awning toward a serving girl.

She looked at me, her eyes wide. I could almost feel the fear. It had to be the imager uniform, because I’d never seen her before. “Yes . . . ah . . . sir?”

“I’m looking for an artist, white-haired, with a goatee. He’s usually called Grisarius.”

The girl just stared at me blankly, as if frozen.

An older woman hurried over. “Might I help you, sir?”

“An artist named Grisarius, or Emanus . . . white-haired with a goatee. I’m looking for him. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but he might know something.”

“He’s sometimes here. Not now. You might try Reynardyl, three blocks toward the river.”

“Do you know where he lives? It’s supposedly close by.”

“I couldn’t say. He doesn’t talk much.”

“Thank you.” I offered a smile.

As I stepped back out into the heat, I could hear the older woman talking to the younger.

“. . . won’t do anything to you here. Best to answer their questions and get them out. They stay, and people won’t come in. That’ll get Rastafyr in a black mood faster ’n any imager . . .”

Reynardyl was a long and hot three-block walk from Axotol, and I almost missed it, because it really wasn’t on the boulevard but down an unmarked lane off the main walk, with a signboard so faded that I couldn’t read it until I was almost under it. Although the place was twice the size of Lapinina, there was no one inside except a gray-haired server.

“Anywhere you want.” Her smile was tired.

“I’m looking for someone, an older artist named Grisarius. He has a white goatee—”

“He hasn’t been in today . . . probably won’t be. It’s the end of the month.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“You might find him in the public garden, you know, the one south of the Guild Square . . . lot of older types there.”

I had my doubts, but it was worth a try. “Thank you.” I paused. “If I don’t, I understand he has rooms near here. Do you know where they might be?”

She shook her head.

I waited a moment, still looking at her.

“Well . . . sir, I can’t say as I know, but he did mention going to Mama Lazara’s once.”

“Is that a boardinghouse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Not the street, but it’s somewhere south of Marchand not too far west of Sudroad. That’s what Makos told me.”

“Thank you.” I gave her a pair of coppers and headed out the door. Since I knew where the public garden was, and I didn’t know exactly where Mama Lazara’s boardinghouse was, I headed back up the boulevard toward the square.

It was too short a distance to take a hack, and there were few around, and too long for the walk to be comfortable under the now-sweltering afternoon sun. I wished I’d stopped for something to drink, but I marched onward. When I reached the public gardens, I strolled along every pathway, checking all the benches. There were perhaps fifty people there, and outside of two women with infants talking to each other, I don’t think that anyone else in the gardens was under thirty, and not a one bore the slightest resemblance to Grisarius. As I reached the north gates, where I had begun, I again had the feeling of being watched.

Since Grisarius wasn’t in the public garden, and since I felt the observer was on the boulevard somewhere, I turned and walked back through the gardens to the south gate. From there, I walked three blocks south to Marchand, crossed it, and came to the next street, much narrower and meaner. The faded letters on the corner wall read LEZENBLY. There was no boardinghouse or pension anywhere among the older and moderately well-kept stone dwellings situated on the two blocks that led north to Sudroad. So I retraced my steps and headed back southward on Lezenbly. At the end of the first block on Lezenbly south of where I’d started, I saw a white-haired figure sitting on a shaded side porch. So I opened the gate and walked around to the side.

“Grisarius? Or should I call you Emanus?”

The older man jerked in the chair. I hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been reading, but dozing, still holding the book. He just watched as I took the stone steps and then pulled up a straight-backed chair across from him. My feet ached, and I was more than a little hot.

The old man squinted at me. “Imager. Ought to know you, shouldn’t I?”

“Rhennthyl. I was a journeyman for Caliostrus before I became an imager. I did a study in the journeyman competition in Ianus that you liked. A chessboard.”

He frowned, then nodded slowly. “You’re the one.”

That suggested something. “Has someone been asking about me?”

“Not as such. Staela—the bitch at Lapinina—she was saying that some imager had stopped by a month or so ago, said he’d been an artist, but he scared off a bunch of people.”

“That was me.”

Grisarius nodded again.

“I went to see Madame D’Caliostrus. She’d sold the place and left. There was something about an annuity. The mason working on the walls said Elphens had bought it.”

“Ah, yes . . . young Elphens . . .”

“How could he afford to purchase it? How did he make master so quickly?”

A crooked smile appeared above the wispy goatee. “Might have to do with his father.”

“Who is his father?”

“A High Holder from Tilbora . . . Tillak or some such.”

“A son on the back side of the blanket?”

“Something like that.”

I shook my head. That figured. “That must have brought the guild a few golds.”

“The masters who voted on him, anyway.” Emanus snorted.

“I never knew Caliostrus had a patron who would have purchased an annuity on his life.”

“He probably didn’t. That’s always what they say when someone makes a settlement.”

“But who . . . why?”

“Rumor was that the fire wasn’t natural-like.” The old artisan shrugged. “It could be anyone. For any reason. That son of his was trouble all the way round. Could be that the fire was meant for Ostrius, and the settlement was because Caliostrus got caught accidentally. Or it could be that it was just easier to send the widow packing so that questions didn’t get asked. You’re young, for an imager. You’ll see.”

“You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” I hoped he’d say more.

“There’s much to be seen, if you only look. Most people don’t see things that are right before them because it goes against what they believe or what they want to believe.”

“You know that I could never find a master to take me on as a journeyman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Emanus offered a twisted smile. “I don’t think it happened that way, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if someone went after Caliostrus because you’d have made master if he’d lived, and half the portraiture masters in L’Excelsis don’t have your talent.”

“Were you forced out of the guild?”

“Let’s just say that it was better that I let it happen. Didn’t have much choice, but I got to watch the mess Estafen and Reayalt made when they took over.”

“You were the guildmaster?”

He nodded. “I prided myself on being fair. Most people don’t like that, and when they found out a few things . . . Like I said, it was better that I let them trump up a scandal than what might have happened.” There was a wry smile. “What might have happened remains my business, and I can at least take consolation that I wasn’t the cause of anyone getting hurt.”

“Except yourself, sir.”

“That’s a choice we sometimes have to make.” He shook his head. “That was a long time ago, and there’s nothing that anyone can do now.”

It might have been my thinking about Johanyr and the tactics he’d used, but I couldn’t help asking, “Was it someone in your family you had to protect?”

“Why would you ask that, young Rhennthyl?”

“I watched a High Holder’s son do something like that not too long ago.”

“What did you do?”

“Blinded him enough so that he’ll never image again.”

“And you’re still alive?”

“So far. I’ve been shot once.”

Emanus looked at me, then leaned back in the chair. “Why did you seek me?”

“I thought you might be able to tell me if someone was hiring bravos to go after me, or if I needed to look elsewhere.”

“You seem to think I know more than I do.”

“You’ve seen a great deal, and far more than I have.”

“You flatter me with my own words.” Emanus laughed. “Estafen, Reayalt, and Jacquerl wouldn’t go after you, not once you became an imager. Caliostrus’s and Ostrius’s deaths benefited them, and they’d not wish to have any cloud drawn to them.”

I frowned, but waited.

“Caliostrus had a brother. Thelal. He was a tilesetter, journeyman. Liked the plonk too much. Caliostrus gave him silvers. Madame Caliostrus didn’t like it. If I had to wager, I’d say Thelal was involved. Either him or that High Holder.” He frowned. “High Holder’s not likely. Most High Holders would make you suffer for years.”

“Do you know where I might find Thelal?”

“From what I’ve heard, I doubt Thelal knows where he’ll find himself tonight.”

After that, while Emanus was pleasant enough, I didn’t learn much more, and I began to have the feeling that someone was watching us. So, finally, I stood. “Thank you. I appreciate your talking to me.”

“Best of fortune.” His face quirked into a strange smile. “You might remember that truth has little to do with the acts and decisions of most folks.”

Rather than leave by the front gate, I went down the porch steps and then hurried to the alleyway behind the pension, making my way eastward. I was back on Marchand, almost to Sudroad, when I caught sight of a man almost a block behind me. I couldn’t make him out clearly, because he was on the shadowed side of the street. I turned northward on Sudroad toward the Guild Square, and kept checking. He was still following, holding to the shadows, but I could make out that he wore a light-colored vest. I stopped to look at a crystal decanter in the glassblower’s window. He halted to talk to a man selling kerchiefs and straw hats.

There had to be some way to separate him from the Samedi crowds around the Guild Square. I passed one alleyway, but it was a dead end. The second one ran clear through, if at an angle, to Carolis, and the entire alleyway was cloaked in shadow. I ducked into the alleyway, then hurried down the north side. I didn’t hide behind the first pile of broken crates, because that was obvious, but instead slipped into a niche where the rear walls of two buildings joined. Once there, I created a brownish shadow shield that matched the painted plaster walls.

Then I waited in the shadows behind the shield that I had imaged, as the man peered this way and that. I also raised shields against a bullet or a blade, but since the bravo—or possible assassin—hadn’t done anything but follow me, I really couldn’t do much more. Not yet. He kept moving and peering, but before long walked past me. As he passed, I got a good look at him. He was the same man in the yellowish tan vest and wash-blue shirt who had been talking to the flower seller, making small talk while he’d been waiting for me to leave Imagisle. He finally vanished into the orangish late-afternoon sunlight at the end of the alley.

Recalling the conversation that had drawn me to the flower seller, I did not follow him, but retraced my steps, still holding shields. I decided against staying or eating in L’Excelsis since I had no idea who had been following me, or why, and not when I really didn’t know what to do next. I wanted to talk to Master Reayalt and Master Estafen, but not until I talked to Master Dichartyn.

On the way back to Imagisle, I looked for the flower seller, thinking she might be able to tell me more about the man who had been tracking me, but the cart, the green and yellow umbrella, and the flower seller had all left. By the time I reached my quarters, I was tired, and my feet were sore . . . and I wasn’t sure that I knew that much more than when I’d left that morning.

What is seen can tell one what is not.

Predictably, on Samedi night, I had a nightmare about someone I couldn’t see clearly following me everywhere. After breakfast the next morning, I crossed the Bridge of Hopes, looking for the flower seller with the yellow and green cart and umbrella. I covered a fair area, both on the Boulevard D’Imagers and along the East River Road, but I saw no sign of her, or of any other flower seller. I even tried later, in midafternoon, with no better luck. Apparently, flower sellers didn’t find much trade on Solayi. I also didn’t see the man with the yellow vest, but in the afternoon I did see a number of families picnicking in the gardens off the boulevard.

Especially after what Emanus had revealed, I didn’t want to approach anyone else in the Portraiture Guild, not until I’d talked to Master Dichartyn, but he wasn’t around on Solayi, and I wasn’t about to track him to his dwelling.

On Lundi, I got up earlier because the duty coach to the Council Chateau left at a fifth past seventh glass. I climbed out of bed, washed, dressed, and managed to gulp down breakfast and stop by Master Dichartyn’s study. He wasn’t there. Even so, I was the first one to the duty coach, but Baratyn was but a few steps behind me, and then Dartazn and Martyl followed.

Once we were all in the coach, I asked, “What will happen today with the Council?”

“Almost nothing,” replied Martyl.

“That doesn’t mean we won’t be busy,” added Dartazn. “All sorts show up insisting that they need to see one of the councilors, and some of them do.”

“Others are junior guild members or merchants who claim that they have the right to visit their representatives.”

“It’s a long day because they want to see those people before anything happens?” I asked.

I knew that they had the right to request a meeting, that the regular messengers conveyed those requests to the councilor, and that, if the councilor agreed to see them, one of the three of us had to escort them and listen to the whole conversation, at least until we were dismissed by the councilor. But we still had to wait outside in the corridor to escort them out.

“That’s right,” said Baratyn. “That way, the councilors can claim they listened before they did what they were going to do anyway.”

Once the coach pulled up outside the Chateau, Baratyn led the way through the side gate and up the narrow steps. Harvest season it might well be, but early as it was, the morning air was as hot and close and damp as on any summer morning. I blotted my forehead with the back of my hand once I stepped into the comparative cool of the stone structure.

“Martyl . . . go get the visitors’ request sheet. Dartazn, if you’d get the night guards’ reports.” Baratyn turned to me. “Rhenn, for the moment, just wait in the messengers’ study.”

“Yes, sir.” The messengers’ study was a spare room with two benches and two writing desks and chairs adjoining Baratyn’s study. I hadn’t spent a half glass there in the past three weeks.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be more than a little busy. There’s already a queue outside, all with passes or claims.” With a nod he hurried off.

Martyl grinned at me, and Dartazn raised his eyebrows before they both left.

I walked to the messengers’ study. Boulyan and Celista—she was the only female regular messenger—were already there, sitting on one of the benches.

“. . . can’t believe the crowd out there, and only six of the councilors are even here yet. Councilor Etyenn probably won’t show until Meredi . . .”

“Or Jeudi. That’s when the first full Council meeting is.”

Both looked up at me. Then Boulyan spoke. “Palyar says the petitioners out there are already complaining. We’ve carried requests to everyone who’s here.”

“They’re mostly traders, I’d wager, worried about what all the tariffs and embargoes and blockades are doing to their business.” From what I’d seen at home and from what I’d heard and learned at the Collegium and the Chateau, that was as good a guess as any. “And they’re from nearby.” That wasn’t a guess. Most traders wouldn’t take a long ironway journey on the chance of seeing a councilor, and those that could would already have arranged appointments.

Celista grinned. “You have that right. The next two days are when they listen to all the complaints so that they can tell their guilds or the factors’ associations that they’ve heard from scores of good honest citizens. Councilor Haestyr is the worst. He’s a High Holder, but he likes to think he’s a friend to merchants and crafters, and he sees scores of them.”

“All of whom want to fill their strongboxes without a care about their competitors, or how many sailors will die in keeping trade open.”

“Very true.” Baratyn’s voice came from the open door. “But we all play our part in the process.” He looked to me, extending a pasteboard square. “You get the second lot. They want to see Reyner. Martyl is already escorting some factors to see Councilor Glendyl.”

Glendyl was the factorius on the Executive Council, and his business produced most of the steam engines for the ironway and the Navy.

I took the pasteboard and looked at the neat script—Tuolon D’Spice and Karmeryn D’Essence. Under them was the name and seal of Councilor Reyner.

“When you’ve finished, return here immediately,” Baratyn said. “You’ll likely be running all day. There’s a long line out there.”

“Yes, sir.”

I headed out along the east corridor and through the grand foyer, out the main entrance past the guards stationed there, down the two sets of steps, and then along the main side stone walkway. The mixed mutterings of the petitioners carried over the wall, suggesting a long queue. When I reached the visitors’ gatehouse, through the grillwork of the heavy iron gate I could see a line stretching a good hundred yards. I concealed the frown I felt beneath a pleasant smile. With only three of us acting as escorts, even if each meeting took less than a quarter glass, we’d only be able to escort half—or less—of those waiting. Given the deliberation I’d seen from Master Dichartyn and his experience, he had to have known that.

While I could see two guards stationed outside the gates, there were three just inside, and another four in the shaded alcove behind the gatehouse. Basyl was leaving with a white pasteboard in hand, presumably another request to meet with a councilor. He nodded.

Once he passed me, I stepped forward and handed the pasteboard with the two names and Councilor Reyner’s name and seal on it to the receiving guard.

He took it, studied it, and turned toward the gate, calling out, “Tuolon D’Spice and Karmeryn D’Essence, to see Councilor Reyner.”

Two men stepped up to the gate. The taller and black-bearded one brandished a letter or sheet of something. “Here we are. It’s about time.”

The guards opened the gate and let them step through, as each wrote his name on the entry ledger. I studied the pair, watching the ledger as well. The taller one signed as Tuolon D’Spice, the shorter and younger as Karmeryn D’Essence.

“The messenger will escort you there and back.” The guard’s voice was even and firm, but carried a note of boredom, as if he’d made the same statement time after time.

“This way, honored traders,” I offered, gesturing to the side walkway.

“About time,” muttered Tuolon.

Because I had to lead them, I carried back trigger shields, ones that would spring full if either moved too close to me. Baratyn had assured me that there was minimal danger to me on the walk to the councilor’s study, because all unescorted strangers were suspect and detained. Once we were inside the Chateau and out of the already uncomfortably warm sunlight, I led them through the foyer and up the grand staircase past the two winged angelias of Pierryl the Younger. I still thought their proportions were ridiculous, especially after several months of anatomy studies. When we reached the top of the staircase, I paused to check over the two traders.

The younger one had come up the steps quietly, and that bothered me. So did the fact that neither was breathing any faster. I edged to one side, and gestured. “To the right, traders.”

“Go on!” snapped Toulon. “We’re not here to admire empty stone walls.”

I raised full shields before I led them down the east corridor to the fourth doorway, where I stopped and stepped aside. I rapped on Councilor Reyner’s study door. “Messenger Rhennthyl announcing Tuolon D’Spice and Trader Karmeryn D’Essence to see Councilor Reyner.”

“You may escort them in, messenger.”

“You can go now, fellow,” said the heavyset and dark-bearded factor.

“I’m to stay with you until you leave.” I smiled politely.

“My golds pay for whatever you make, fellow, and I say that—”

At that moment, I turned slightly and did my best to image-project absolute strength.

The other trader’s elbow went into the bigger man’s ribs, and he said quietly. “They’re guards, Tuolon. To protect the councilors.”

“My business is with the councilor, not for everyone to hear.”

“That is for the councilor to decide, honored trader,” I replied.

Because I didn’t like Tuolon, I was prepared with two possible imagings as I opened the study door. As taught, I stepped half inside, but to one side, my eyes on the two traders.

“I’d appreciate it if you would remain, messenger.” Reyner’s light brown hair was shot with gray, and he wore the pale blue stole-vest of a councilor over a thin but fine cotton short jacket. His eyes never looked in my direction, but at the tall spice trader.

Tuolon bowed, and his hands went to his waist.

I imaged an invisible shield between the two and the councilor. Even angled as it was, a lesson from Maitre Dyana, I was jerked off balance by the impact of the bullet on the shield.

The smaller man had not even looked at Reyner but was lunging at me with a knife. I wasn’t quite fast enough, and the blade hit my shields. That stopped him short, and the hesitation was enough for me to image caustic into his eyes and the lower part of his heart. He doubled over in agony.

Tuolon had turned the pistol in my direction, but I imaged iron into the barrel, and my shields channeled the metal of the explosion across his chest. He toppled forward.

“Guards to Councilor Reyner’s chamber! Guards!”

I didn’t move toward the taller figure or the shorter one, who was still writhing on the floor, but just held my shields to separate them from me and the councilor.

Reyner took out a cloth and blotted his forehead. He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

The shorter figure stopped twitching, but he was still breathing.

“The taller one looks like Tuolon. He even acted as obnoxious as Tuolon did.”

Two huge black-clad obdurate guards burst through the door, followed by Baratyn. He glanced at the councilor, then at me, then at the pair on the floor. “Take them below.”

In instants, both figures were trussed and carted away.

The councilor blotted his forehead again. “I’d heard . . . but never . . .” He shook his head.

“By your leave, Councilor.”

“You have my leave.”

Baratyn said nothing until we were out in the hall. “You sensed something, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir . . . but they didn’t do anything until the door was open.”

He nodded. “Professionals. We’ll be seeing more of them.” He studied me. “What you did takes strength, and I’d wager you didn’t eat enough breakfast. Go down to the kitchen and get something to eat. Otherwise you’ll be shaking all over in a glass.”

I didn’t argue. I already felt unsteady.

“When you feel stronger, come find me.”

“Yes, sir.” I headed down to the kitchen, by the northeast circular staircase.

As I entered, one of the servers looked at me. “Sir . . . you can sit over there. I’ll get something for you right away.”

I could hear her as she said to another server. “Must be trouble upstairs . . . come down here that pale . . . has to be the new security . . .”

“. . . times when the Council comes back, something happens . . . don’t say anything . . .”

In moments, there was a platter before me, with a slice of beef, an end cut already cooked enough to eat, with bread and cheese, and a mug of ale. “Sorry there’s not more hot, sir.”

“I understand, and I thank you.”

After she left, I began to eat, and within a few mouthfuls the shakiness vanished. Even so, I ate everything on the platter and finished the ale. By then, I felt normal, and I made my way back up the stairs to the main level. I knocked on Baratyn’s door, but he didn’t reply. So I went to the messengers’ study. It was empty, and I was glad for that, since I didn’t want to explain what had happened.

Basyl was the first to return, and he sat down on the other bench and nodded. “Busy out there . . . and hot.”

I nodded back. “Warmer than I’d like, especially outside.”

I couldn’t have been sitting there more than a tenth of a glass when Baratyn peered in. “Rhenn . . . good.” He gestured.

I followed him to his study, where he closed the door and turned to me. “Don’t worry about it. There’s an attempt like that about every other time the Council returns from recess.”

“I don’t know that I handled it that well. I thought I was ready.”

“You were ready enough. You kept the councilor from being hurt, and no one knows what really happened. If anyone asks, the story is simple. You knocked one assassin into the other and when he fired, his pistol exploded.”