Imager's Challenge (37 page)

“How did you two meet, if I might ask?” Haelya looked from Seliora to me and then back to Seliora.

“It’s not that mysterious,” I offered. “I was a portraiturist before I became an imager, and Seliora and I attended the Samedi get-togethers at the Guild Hall. . . .”

“But I had to ask him to dance the first time.” The mischievous grin appeared. “And the second.”

“I was a slow learner.”

Haelya looked puzzled, once more. “But you’re a master imager.”

“A very junior master imager from a very conservative wool-factoring family. Seliora has taught me a great deal.”

Shomyr grinned.

Seliora raised her eyebrows.

Conversation for the rest of the evening revolved around such topics as Haelya’s family and siblings, the range of crafting handled by NordEste Design, the relative taste of the various dinner entrees, and the early coolness of autumn.

After a lengthy and good, but not exquisite, meal, I made a coachman for hire relatively happy by paying him to deliver Haelya to her home, on one of
the lanes on the lower slopes of Martradon, Shomyr and Seliora to their place, and me to the foot of the Bridge of Desires.

Once I reached my chambers and undressed, I was tired enough to fall into bed and find sleep quickly.

“Ryel will ruin my family, if not worse.” I looked across the study to where Master Dichartyn sat behind his desk. “And the Collegium will do nothing? When I was the one attacked by Johanyr?”

“Rhennthyl, you must understand. The Collegium simply cannot allow you to destroy a thousand years of hard-fought effort that has created the only protection for imagers anywhere in the world.” Master Dichartyn looked calmly at me.

“I’m supposed to sit by and watch this arrogant High Holder destroy my family one person at a time, while the Collegium does nothing?”

“We’re supposed to hazard the lives of hundreds who cannot protect themselves for the sake of a few people?” countered Dichartyn. “Do what you will, but do not involve the Collegium.”

“That’s fine for you to say.” I could feel my anger rising.

“You seem to think that you’re special, Rhenn, and that the world and the Collegium should accommodate to your view. You seem to think that good deeds are always rewarded, and that evildoers are always punished, and that there’s no price to be paid. . . .”

The sardonic belittling in his words touched something . . . somewhere . . . and from I knew not where flame exploded across the study. The entire study was enveloped in it.

Heat flared across my face.

I was lying in my bed . . . and the front of the armoire was aflame.

After a confused moment, I ran to the corridor and grabbed the bucket of damp sand—there were usually five on every corridor—and dashed back into my bedchamber. I immediately imaged a thin layer of sand across the armoire. Most of the flames died away.

I imaged the rest of the sand across the remaining patches of flame, until there were only a few embers. Then I used a towel wetted in the water pitcher to make sure all traces of embers and flame were gone.

Only then did I sit down for a moment, shivering and coughing.

My room stank of smoke, but I slowly rose and managed to open the louvered
windows wide enough so that when I imaged cold fresh air into the bedchamber several times, the odor was bearable.

Then I imaged all the ashes and sand into the waste bin and carried it out into the corridor and down to the main level and out to the enclosed rubbish area, where I dumped it all into one of the large waste-wagon beds.

All in all, it was a good two glasses before I got back to sleep. I didn’t sleep well, and I didn’t sleep all that late, and I woke up wondering if I was worrying so much that I’d have more nightmares that called up imaging. That brought a shudder.

I sat up and decided to read through the information gathered by Ailphens before breakfast, although I had to light my desk lamp because the heavy clouds hovering over L’Excelsis made it seem more like the glass before dawn, and I could still smell smoke. I concentrated on the papers Seliora had given me. I had to. The nightmare just added to my concerns.

Ryel’s main holding could only be described as massive—an expanse that stretched roughly some sixty milles east to west and forty north to south and included prime growing and grazing lands, more than a score of small towns, and two coal mines and one iron mine, not to mention the ironworks itself. He or his forebears had never sold any lands within the holding, and the leasehold rentals alone amounted to close to a quarter million golds annually. Based on the finance taxes paid on his earnings from the holdings in ten banques, his banking income was triple that. There was no way to calculate the revenues from the annual sales of grain and livestock, or the proceeds from the mines and ironworks, but the indications were that those exceeded the revenues from leasehold fees several times over. Ryel was also extremely conservative, with no known borrowings or debts.

Considering that an annual net income of a thousand golds a year was more than all but a few thousand people in L’Excelsis—out of more than two million—made, one obvious conclusion stood out: No one was going to be able to ruin High Holder Ryel commercially, not without destroying Solidar itself.

That didn’t leave me too many options, but I’d known that all along. I just hadn’t really wanted to deal with it. I kept thinking about the implications and the possibilities as I shaved, showered in water that was all too chill, and then dressed. I kept thinking all the way to the dining hall.

There, Maitre Dyana was the duty master, and since it was Solayi, she and I were the only masters at breakfast. So I sat beside her, and poured a healthy mug of steaming tea.

“I had a nightmare last night, and I awoke with the armoire on fire.”

“That happens . . . occasionally.” Her voice betrayed concern. “You obviously found a way to deal with it.”

“I did, but . . . I have a rather charred armoire.”

She laughed softly. “You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. Just tell Grandisyn, and they’ll replace it. That’s a contingency that the Collegium has anticipated.”

“Do we . . . lose imagers?”

“Seldom. Those who are strong enough to do such damage are usually strong enough to contain it once their imaging wakes them.” She paused. “It is a reminder of why we always sleep alone and behind leaden walls—or with the help of drugs.”

I’d almost forgotten why all the quarters had lead sheets behind the walls. Almost.

I took a sip of tea, but only a sip because steam was still rising from the mug.

“How are you finding Third District, Rhenn?”

“About as I expected, maitre, with an exception or two.”

“Oh?” She adjusted the silver and crimson silk scarf, almost not looking at me.

“I met one of the taudischefs—Jadhyl. He was extremely well spoken and had the air of education.”

“You expected stupidity in a taudischef?”

“Hardly.” I laughed. “I expected a combination of strength, cunning, and intelligence . . . and the ability to inspire others, but not refinement.”

She actually paused, waiting for me to say more.

So I did. “The part of the taudis he controls looks better than the others, and some of the people actually talk to the patrollers.” I thought about the enforcers in green, but didn’t mention them.

“A mailed fist in a velvet glove?”

“More like a reluctant mailed fist, I think.”

“He won’t last long, then.”

“Why not?”

“If your description is accurate, he has judgment and cares. That approach will gain him support and followers. Support and followers will make him a threat, for differing reasons, to both the Patrol and the other taudischefs.”

“Are you suggesting an unspoken agenda to keep the taudis disorganized and poor?”

“I don’t believe I suggested anything at all. Were I into suggestions, however,
why on earth would I suggest something like that to the Collegium’s liaison to the Civic Patrol?”

Keeping a polite face, rather than laughing outright, was difficult. The alternative would have been anger. Neither would have been productive, I was learning. I took refuge in another sip of tea before replying. “I beg your pardon. It was foolish of me to think that the guilds, the factors, and the High Holders would even consider measures, particularly covert measures, that effectively keep the cost of day labor lower for those without contacts or guilds. I cannot imagine that I might have thought that someone without an association with the guilds or factors might marshal political and organizing skills in a way to unsettle a political system that has worked so well for so long.”

“Ill-timed imagination can be more deadly than gunpowder, or imaging,” she replied dryly. “Your fancies about this taudischef might well amuse us, and in a calmer time, they might indeed entertain Master Rholyn and most members of the Council.”

“Not to mention High Councilor Suyrien.”

“Indeed.” She served herself an omelet from the platter held by a server. “I understand these mushroom and cheese omelets are quite excellent. They’re not something my cook does well.”

“Nor mine,” I quipped, since I had no cook and was unlikely to have one anytime soon.

“The bacon is also good.”

I got the message and concentrated on eating.

Once I finished breakfast and took my leave of Maitre Dyana, I made my way back to my chambers, where I considered the difficulties facing me and which steps I should take to deal with each. Part of my problem was that I had too many separate difficulties. Could I address that multiplicity? I was beginning to do so, but I needed to speed up my efforts.

By the time I stepped out of the hack on Hagahl Lane at two quints before ninth glass, I had a better idea of what I needed to do.

As soon as I stepped to the door and dropped the polished knocker, young Bhenyt opened the door. A blast of chill wind almost pulled the heavy oak door out of his hand before he grabbed the brass lever with both hands. “Come in, Master Rhennthyl.”

I hurried inside, and he closed the door quickly and shot the bolt. We walked up the stairs, but I only had to wait a few moments in the main second-level foyer before Seliora appeared. She wore a red sweater-vest over a black long-sleeved silk blouse whose shade and hue matched her black trousers and boots.

“You’re not dressed for riding in this weather.” Those were her first words.

I almost missed the glint in her eyes, but managed to reply, “Neither are you, not in silk, and I fear I still need instruction.”

She laughed, then stepped forward and hugged me. I held on longer than I should have, but she felt so good against me, especially after the way the day—or the very early morning glasses—had gone.

When she stepped back, she said, “I was serious, if not about today.”

“You foresaw me riding in the rain?”

“In bad weather,” she admitted.

“It could come to that. If you and your family will agree, I may have to borrow a horse.”

“I’m glad you mentioned me.” The smile I loved appeared. “The mare is mine.”

“I do love propertied women.” I grinned.

“Just for that, you can sit next to Methyr . . . or the twins.”

“If you sit across from me . . .”

She didn’t carry out on the threat, thankfully, but I did end up between Aegina and Betara, both of whom were most interested in the portrait of Seliora. I really didn’t like discussing unfinished work, but I didn’t want to be rude.

“When will it be done?” asked Betara.

“Several months,” I replied.

“What do you think about it, Seliora?” asked Aegina.

“I haven’t looked at it yet,” Seliora replied. “I don’t like people looking at my designs until they’re done, and Rhenn deserves the same courtesy.”

My only serious question to Seliora’s mother was about the taudis. “Do you know anything about two taudischefs—Youdh and Jadhyl?”

“No one knows much about Youdh. They say that few have ever crossed him and lived. He’s been taudischef for close to ten years now. Jadhyl . . .” She frowned. “He’s an outlander, but Mama Diestra says he’s the most trustworthy of the taudischefs. He won’t tell us much, though, but he’s planning to be taudischef for a long time.”