Imager (34 page)

That was true enough, so far as it went. “What about the one who was alive?”

“He’s still alive, but he was just a hired blade. He’s already admitted that he’d been paid to kill the assassin if it looked like they’d be captured. His fee went to his wife. He claims she’s crippled, and he won’t say where he’s from. So far.” Baratyn studied me. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

He handed me a pasteboard. I took it. The name on it was Khatyn, Master D’Artisan, and the name and seal beneath were those of Councilor Sebatyon, a lumber factor from Mantes.

I walked back out to the gatehouse, at a deliberate pace, but not rushing.

Master Khatyn was a gray-haired man who only came to my shoulder, but he was wiry and moved with a spring in his step. Before all that long I was standing at the second door on the upper level in the west corridor announcing Master Khatyn. Despite my feelings that Khatyn was not a danger, I was more than ready as I opened the door and escorted him in.

“Honored councilor.” Khatyn inclined his head, although his eyes flicked toward me.

“The messenger stays. I prefer not to hear anything that cannot be said before him,” added Sebatyon. “What is your concern?”

“My family has made fine furniture for generations, but those who wish the finest also wish the finest in woods, and many of those woods do not grow in Solidar.”

“That’s true,” replied the councilor.

“Honored councilor, there is an embargo against any woods from Caenen.” Khatyn shrugged helplessly, as if his point were more than clear.

“This is also true. We prefer not to reward Caenen when the Caenenans fire upon our ships. They’ve sunk two merchanters.”

“Honored councilor, the wood itself costs but a fraction of what we make, and even of the taxes we pay. I would not wish our merchanters to be endangered, but what harm is there if I buy wood from an Abiertan trader, or from a Solidaran who bought it elsewhere? The timber is there. It is already cut. It will be sold somewhere. No additional golds go to Caena.”

“Can you not make fine furniture with other woods?”

“I can make fine furniture out of many woods, honored councilor, but without the finest of woods, I cannot expect it to sell, no matter how good the crafting.”

“You are asking me to seek an exception to the embargo?”

“Only for the rare fine woods, sir. Without those, much of our work will not sell, and we will not be able to purchase the fine woods from here in Solidar that go with imported woods.”

“You are telling me that there is no way . . .”

Khatyn shook his head. “There are smugglers, but the tariff agents of Solidar know that any rosewood or ebony comes from Caenen, and those fines and the years in prison would destroy me.”

“I understand your concerns, Master Khatyn, but if I support an exemption for you, how could I not support one for the spice merchants, or the essence traders, or satinrope makers? Before long, there would be no embargo, and Caenen would suffer nothing.”

“Honored councilor,” replied Khatyn, “they suffer little or nothing now. Those goods are still sold, and we must make do with less. We are the ones who suffer.”

“I can only promise that I will make sure your points about the suffering of the crafters of Solidar do come before the Council. That is all that I can offer now.”

“That is all that I will ask, then.” Khatyn’s smile was ironic. “I thank you for hearing me out, honored councilor.”

After I escorted Khatyn back to the main gate, I took an essence importer to Reyner. The councilor did not even acknowledge me, except by title. The second visit was far more like that of Khatyn to Sebatyon, with a written petition, this time against the embargo of tropical oils.

That was how the remainder of the day proceeded, escorting master crafters, traders, and factors to various councilors. Along the way, I got a quick lunch, and during a brief respite in midafternoon, Celista told me that a petitioner headed to see Councilor Glendyl had slipped outside the councilor’s study and cracked his skull on the stones. I wished I’d been that quick-thinking, and wondered whether Dartazn or Martyl had managed that.

When fourth glass rang, the Chateau was closed to petitioners and all outsiders, but it was a good half glass later before they had all been escorted from the Chateau, and close to fifth glass before Martyl, Dartazn, and I took the unmarked duty coach back to Imagisle.

“A little more action today,” said Martyl, “at least for you two.”

“Complaining or relieved?” asked Dartazn.

“Relieved. There’s always the chance that matters won’t go as they should.”

They certainly hadn’t with me, but I just nodded. “This will go on until Jeudi?”

“Tomorrow will be about the same,” replied Dartazn, “but Meredi will be slower.”

“That’s if it’s like the last few years,” added Martyl.

As soon as I got back to the Collegium, late that afternoon, I hurried to Master Dichartyn’s study and rapped on the door. There was no response. While that didn’t surprise me, I did want to talk to him. So I headed back to the reception foyer.

A young imager was at the desk, and he looked up as I neared. “Sir?”

“Are you Beleart?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Rhennthyl, and I was looking for Master Dichartyn. I needed to convey some information to him.”

“Yes, sir. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”

“If you’d tell him. I’ll keep trying.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’d barely walked into my chambers and seated myself at the writing desk when there was a rap on the door. I decided on full shields before I opened it. A very frightened, very young fellow in imager gray looked up at me. “Sir . . . if you’d not . . . mind . . . Master Dichartyn is in his study and will be for a short time . . .”

“I’ll be right there.”

The young prime trailed me all the way back, then slipped away when Master Dichartyn opened his study door.

“Come in, Rhenn.”

Stacks of papers filled Master Dichartyn’s desktop. I couldn’t help looking. I’d never seen more than a paper or two.

“Yes?” His voice was curt, as he settled back behind the desk. He nodded toward the door. “You had something urgent?”

I leaned back and closed the door.

“Puzzling, sir, and you’ve always stressed caution. I was working on my other assignment over the weekend, sir . . .” I explained what I’d done and what I’d discovered, and described the man who trailed me. “. . . and you’d said that I should eliminate suspects as I could. I’d thought if I could meet this Thelal . . .”

“I’m glad you talked to me. We do have an arrangement with the patrollers for certain kinds of information. They may be able to locate Thelal more quickly than you can, especially if he indeed does have a weakness for the plonk. I’ll have them see what they can tell us.” He paused, and jotted down a few words on a sheet of paper. “Tell me what you’ve learned by trying to track down who shot you.”

What had I learned? “It’s not easy, and it takes time. And one thing leads to another.”

“Why do you think you’ve been assigned to look into your own shooting?”

“Because I’ll have a greater interest in it?”

“Partly. Also because if you don’t, that indicates a certain weakness in dealing with the unpleasant. When it’s your life that’s involved, you’re more likely to learn as much as you can. If you don’t, then you’re not meant to be a master. Even if you are, you don’t know enough yet. That’s not your fault. No one of your age does.”

After the experience at the Council Chateau, I was beginning to feel that I didn’t know enough about anything.

Then he nodded. “You weren’t with the morning exercise group, Clovyl told me.”

I swallowed. I’d totally forgotten about that addition to my schedule.

“Don’t forget it tomorrow.” Master Dichartyn smiled faintly. “It’s more for your protection than anyone else’s. Much more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“One more thing, Rhennthyl. You know that the world doesn’t stop when you leave the Council Chateau? There are still people in L’Excelsis, if you need to talk to them.” He held up a hand. “Not until I get word from the civic patrollers. I just don’t want you to get into the habit of thinking that Samedi is the only time you have to deal with other assignments.”

“Yes, sir.”

How long would it be before I fully understood what I needed to know, what was necessary, and how to do it?

Beware men in power who praise principles; they’re
either without them or lacking in perception.

Mardi and Meredi were much the same as Lundi . . . with the exception of getting up each morning a glass and a half earlier to join Martyl, Dartazn, Baratyn, and four other imagers I’d never seen before—as well as Master Dichartyn—for a vigorous two-thirds of a glass worth of exercises and sparring led by Clovyl. He followed that by sending us on a three-mille run. I didn’t finish last in the run, but I wasn’t anywhere close to being first. Dartazn left us all well behind.

Jeudi started the same way, but once I got to the Chateau, there was a considerable difference. For one thing, there were only a handful of petitioners waiting, and all of them actually had letters from councilors granting them appointments at specific times. They all were also far better dressed and groomed, which confirmed more than a few of my suspicions.

I’d no sooner arrived than Baratyn handed me a pasteboard. “Factor Alhazyr has an appointment at eighth glass with Councilor Caartyl.”

I nodded and headed for the visitors’ gatehouse. I had to wonder what a factor wanted in dealing with the representative of the masonry guilds, but it could have been that Caartyl was the only one of the executive councilors who would grant Alhazyr an appointment.

Alhazyr was waiting, smiling pleasantly. He stepped forward and through the gate when his name was called. He wore a thin silvery vest—open and without buttons—over a pale green linen shirt and carried a thin leather folder, tucked under his left arm.

“This way, sir,” I offered.

He nodded in reply and followed me. We had climbed the outer steps and were crossing the grand foyer before he said another word. “You’re new.” His statement was not a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s not much change in the staff, I understand.”

“No, sir.” I kept a quick pace, but managed to lead the factor by so little that we were close to abreast. Shields or no shields, the more I could see, the better I felt.

“That can be very good, or very bad.”

Since he hadn’t asked anything close to resembling a question, and we weren’t supposed to volunteer information, I just said, “Yes, sir.” Then I gestured for him to walk between the guards—and the angelicas—at the foot of the grand staircase.

He laughed softly.

As one of the three executive councilors, Councilor Caartyl had his study in the northwest corner. When we reached the door, I rapped and announced Factor Alhazyr.

“Escort him in, messenger.”

I opened the door, watching Alhazyr the entire time. He held an amused smile on his face, as if to indicate he knew I was more than a mere messenger. Once Alhazyr was inside, I closed the door and took a position beside it, ready to depart if the councilor wanted that. I hadn’t brought any petitioners to see Caartyl before, and while I knew his face, I hadn’t been all that close to him. I was surprised to see that he had stood when the door opened and that he was a good ten years younger than my father and wiry, with jet-black hair and a hawk nose. He gave me a quick glance before his eyes settled on Alhazyr.

“Honored councilor.” The factor inclined his head respectfully, but kept his hands in plain view, the left one still holding the thin leather folder. “I have brought the proposal I had mentioned earlier. I trust it will satisfy the concerns which you raised.” He stepped forward and carefully laid the leather folder on the edge of the desk, then stepped back.

Caartyl smiled faintly. “They were not my concerns, Factor Alhazyr, but ones raised on behalf of those whom I represent.”

“That speaks well of you. Not all in power would put the concerns of others above their own.”

“Most in power in Solidar must do so if they wish to retain power.”

“That is true, but it does not make your position less admirable,” replied Alhazyr.

“Nor yours, when most factors think only of this year’s golds.” Caartyl paused, then asked, “How do most factors feel about the embargo on Caenenan goods?”

“Those who are affected complain. Few believe it is a good idea or effective. It only raises the costs of goods in Solidar without hurting Caenen.”

“And makes the Abiertan merchants wealthy?”

“That, too.”

Caartyl nodded at the folder he had not touched. “I will study that.”

“That is all we could ask.” Alhazyr bowed again. “By your leave, honored councilor.”

Alhazyr said nothing the entire trip back to the gatehouse. There, he turned to me. “Thank you.” Then he left.

I handed the pasteboard back to the receiving guard and hurried back to the messengers’ study. I had barely seated myself on one of the benches when Baratyn peered in.

“Rhenn . . . has Factor Alhazyr departed?”

“Yes, sir.” Baratyn hadn’t asked that all week. Who was Alhazyr? What had been in the leather folder? It could have contained anything from letters of credit to who knew what.

“Good. You take the post in the east corridor off the councilors’ lounge. That way, all of them will get familiar with your face. Martyl is already at the post in the west corridor. When the councilors break for midday meal, so do you two, but afterward, switch places. Remember, if a councilor offers you a message, you say you’ll take care of it, but you can’t be out of sight of your post. If it’s farther than that, use the speaking tube to summon me or one of the regular messengers. Most of the councilors won’t ask you because they know that, but sometimes they’re in a hurry, and they know we’ll get the message or package delivered. You only take messages from the councilors themselves. Their aides have to bring letters or packages to the clerk next to the messengers’ study.”

I’d barely reached the corridor doorway to the councilors’ lounge and turned so that I could watch the corridor in both directions when Councilor Reyner hurried up past and entered the lounge. He didn’t even look at me.

A short time after that, one of the councilors’ aides appeared—they all wore pale blue waistcoats with a silver triangle embroidered over the left breast. He hurried into the lounge, and perhaps a half glass later left carrying a short stack of papers. Two other aides came and went in the same period. Then Dartazn escorted a factor past me to Councilor Haestyr’s study.

For the rest of the morning, that was the pattern—an occasional councilor coming or going, and aides carrying papers and folders in and out, and a scattered petitioner or two. I didn’t see Caartyl, but since his study was on the other side of the Chateau, he doubtless entered the chamber by the west entrance.

During the lunch break, Martyl and I gulped down a rice and lamb dish, and some lager, and then hurried back up to the Council level, where I moved to the west corridor. During the rest of the afternoon, I saw a few more councilors and a few less aides. About a fifth of a glass before four, the Council adjourned for the day, and the councilors returned to their studies or left the Chateau. For the next glass we stood by to escort any visitors. There were only two, and Dartazn took both. Then each of us accompanied a pair of obdurate guards as they inspected and closed down all the public rooms and the outside gardens of the Chateau. After that, Martyl, Dartazn, and I caught the duty coach back to the Collegium.

Once we were headed back, I asked, “Do you know what the Council was doing today?”

“No,” replied Dartazn. “We seldom know until later, not unless something special is scheduled, and we have extra duties.”

“The head clerk’s office prints a digest at the end of each week. It lists any laws or rules that affect Solidar or other lands. There will be copies in the messengers’ study on Lundi. Copies go to the newsheets, too,” added Martyl.

“Most of it’s pretty dull, and even the exciting stuff sounds dull the way they report it,” said Dartazn.

When we stepped out of the coach at the Collegium, another prime was waiting. “Tertius Rhennthyl?” His voice quavered slightly.

“Yes?”

“Master Dichartyn would like to see you immediately, before you go to dinner.”

“Lucky you,” murmured Dartazn. But he did grin.

I walked quickly across the quadrangle, ignoring the looks from several primes and seconds, and made my way to Master Dichartyn’s study. The door was closed, but when I knocked, he opened it immediately and ushered me in.

I did sit down. I’d been on my feet most of the day.

Master Dichartyn did not. He stood by the open window in the light breeze that didn’t seem to cool the late-afternoon air at all. “Rhennthyl, we have several matters to discuss. First, how often did the councilors have you leave when you escorted a petitioner to their study?”

I had to think for a moment. “There’s only been one time so far.”

“What does that tell you?” His words were slightly sardonic.

“Their minds are already made up, and any considerations they might entertain have already been determined or will be somewhere besides the Chateau.”

“Did any petitioner state anything you thought would have been of value to Solidar?”

“One furniture maker pointed out that the embargo on rare timbers from Caenen did not make much sense because the value of the logs was low and the value added in furniture-making here in Solidar was much higher.”

“That’s probably true, but embargoes are not just about value. They’re also tools to allow our ships to board or even attack suspect merchanters . . . among other things. Were there any conversations that puzzled you?”

“There was one today. A factor named Alhazyr visited Caartyl and left a proposal. Both talked in generalities. . . .” I went on to explain, ending with, “. . . suddenly, they talked about the worthlessness of the trade embargo against Caenen, and then Caartyl dismissed Alhazyr.”

“Hmmm . . . I would have thought he’d have gone to see Haestyr. We’ll have to keep watch on that. I’ll have to talk to Baratyn about it.”

“About what, if I might ask, sir?”

“When politicians and factors congratulate each other on their principles, almost anything but principles are involved. Just keep your eyes open, and you’ll see in time.”

That didn’t answer my question, but that was Master Dichartyn’s way of indicating that he wouldn’t.

“More interestingly, your inquiries last Samedi stirred up something.”

“Sir?”

“The civic patrollers located Thelal. There was a brawl at Antipodes on Lundi night. Someone knifed him. He was dead when the patrollers got there. Even more intriguing is the fact that Emanus died in his sleep the same night of the day you visited him.”

“That couldn’t be natural.”

“It could be,” replied Master Dichartyn, “but it’s rather unlikely.”

“Could it have been another imager from somewhere else?”

“It’s very possible. If so, he must be very accomplished, and in the pay of, and probably attached to, some foreign embassy.”

I didn’t follow that logic at first, until I thought about it.

“What will you be doing on Samedi?” asked the head of security.

“I was going to have dinner with my family—a belated birthday dinner.”

“What time were you planning on leaving?”

“Not until about fourth glass.”

Master Dichartyn nodded. “I’d like you to depart earlier, say about third glass. You’ll walk across the Bridge of Hopes and up the Boulevard D’Imagers on the south side. You will be holding full shields. Someone will be following whoever’s following you.”

“What if someone isn’t?”

“Count yourself fortunate, but there will be. There couldn’t be two deaths and someone following you last week without someone being there this week.”

While I had my own ideas about what was happening, I wanted to see what Master Dichartyn might say. “Do you have any idea why all this is happening?”

“I have several. It could be that someone happened upon something and wants to link Caliostrus’s death to the Collegium. Or it could be that you were simply one of the imagers targeted by whoever is trying to kill imagers, and it’s a matter of pride. . . .” He shrugged.

“What about High Holder Ryel?”

“We can’t rule him out, but High Holders are usually more subtle and more vicious.”

I could hardly wait. People had tried to kill me already, and others were following me, and the only man I’d talked to who’d given me any useful information was dead—and the High Holder wasn’t even involved yet?

“I assume you don’t want me to talk to anyone else until after Samedi.”

“That would be best.” He gestured toward the door. “You need to change before dinner.”

As I hurried back to my quarters to change into imager grays, questions swarmed through my mind, and at the moment, I had answers for none of them.