Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (17 page)

“You’ve handled them well,” said Iryela casually, looking to Frydryk, who ignored her glance while not seeming to do so.

“I’ve had the value of good counsel…and luck, but still…it’s always better when you can deal with those of good manners, whether crafters, factors, or High Holders. Seliora’s found that as well.” I inclined my head toward the loveliest woman in the room.

“I suppose you do deal with all sorts,” said Frydryk, not quite pointedly.

“Who was it,” I interjected quickly, “that was so easy for you to deal with, but whose fiance…the bride…” I knew very well who it was, but I wanted Seliora to bring up her name.

“Oh…Dhelora D’Zaerlyn-Alte…she’s very bright and quite pleasant.” Seliora smiled.

“I’ve never heard of High Holder Zaerlyn,” I said, not that such was surprising, given that there were more than a thousand spread across Solidar.

“The family’s been very reclusive,” replied Iryela. “Their lands aren’t far from ours, and I don’t think we’ve met, even socially, on more than five or six occasions. They have a number of gold and silver properties, and one of the largest porcelain works in Solidar.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” suggested Frydryk. “They’ve produced…shall we say…bathing and other facilities for generations.”

“His name never comes up for the Council or anything else,” I said.

“His influence is very subtle,” said Kandryl. “He has contacts in surprising places, and Father has often consulted with him.”

For several long moments, there was silence, before Frydryk spoke up again. “I’ve often wondered why there are no imager High Holders. Oh, I know, the law is very strict about that, but I’d think that someone like you, Rhenn, would do as well as the average High Holder.” After the slightest pause, he added, “If not better.”

Seliora offered a pleasant smile, but I could sense the cold iron behind it.

Even Iryela stiffened just the tiniest bit, for all of her upbringing as a High Holder.

I laughed. “I suppose I could, Frydryk, I suppose I could; but if we allowed that, why, all too many imagers would think they could do it, and then what would happen to all the old High Holders?”

Frydryk actually looked puzzled.

I smiled again, then imaged a bullet into his crystal goblet. It appeared in the middle of the white Grisio and then dropped against the crystal with a dull ring. “I can do that. I could image that anywhere…perhaps into a heart…an artery…a return vein to the heart. Some imagers can do that. Some can’t. It’s a bit like High Holders. Some understand. Some don’t. Just like your father has to remind High Holders of their duties and responsibilities, so there are imagers who remind other imagers of theirs. Even so, the combination of a High Holder and an imager wouldn’t be good for Solidar.”

Frydryk was still looking at the bullet. He swallowed. “I’ve never seen that.”

I imaged it out of the glass and onto the side table. “I can also remove things. As a matter of fact, some years ago, when your father was giving a toast, I imaged an entire glass of poisoned wine out of his goblet, and the liquid only trembled.”

“He never mentioned that.”

“I don’t know if he was even told. That’s part of the security detail that protects Council members while they’re at the Council Chateau. I was only on that detail for a season or so, but I stopped several attempted assassinations. So did others, far more quietly. Much of the time, the Councilors don’t even see that. Occasionally, they do. It’s a very cooperative system. The Collegium protects the Council, and the Council protects the Collegium. It works.”

“Why did you leave that duty?” asked Iryela.

I laughed again, with more humor. “Both the Collegium and I discovered that, among other things, I lacked the requisite talent for remaining unnoticed. I have trouble not doing things like that.” I gestured to the bullet I’d imaged out of nowhere. “Civic Patrollers don’t have to remain invisible.” I paused. “I don’t mean literally invisible. I mean that a good imager security type always looks like he or she belongs wherever he or she happens to be, so much so that no one ever questions their presence.”

“Was that what you were doing when you requested a dance from me the first time?” asked Alynkya.

“Yes,” I replied. “That was part of it. Even there, I wasn’t very good at being unnoticed. You not only remembered me, but had your father track down who I was. Had I been truly good at it, you only would have vaguely remembered a pleasant young man who was polite and a good but not outstanding dancer.”

“There were some…” Alynkya mused.

“Exactly.”

She smiled, somehow wistfully and warmly, and at that moment, I truly wished that she had found someone else to marry besides Frydryk. Strong as I suspected she was, she was still far too sweet for him, but there was nothing I could do about that.

From there the conversation drifted into talk of wine vintages, about which my knowledge was limited, and into how Iryela and Kandryl had finally finished rebuilding the gardens after the “great freeze,” an indirect reference to my actions that had led to Iryela inheriting Ryel and marrying Kandryl, who only used his holding title—Ryel D’Alte—when absolutely necessary.

A glass later, we repaired to the “small” dining room. The food was exquisite, and even Frydryk stopped sneering once he started eating.

We didn’t get back to Imagisle until midnight on Samedi, and I paid Charlsyn two full silvers. Doubtless Mother had already paid him extra, but there was never any point in being cheap when you asked for special service, and he was appreciative. We did sleep late on Solayi morning, as late as Diestrya would let us, which wasn’t quite until half-past sixth glass, but since I was usually up before fifth glass, it was a luxury of sorts.

We had a half-leisurely breakfast—hurried until Diestrya was fed—and then relaxed more afterwards while she played on the kitchen floor. We sat in the adjoining breakfast room, where we could watch her through the archway, and sipped a second cup of tea.

“I like Alynkya.” Seliora smiled sweetly. “Even if you did dance with her when you were courting me.”

“It was my duty. Besides, the first time, her mother was dying, and the second time, her mother had just died.” I quickly added, “You dance far better.”

“You didn’t mention the second time,” Seliora said.

“That was because that was the ball when Iryela was setting me up, and I was much more worried about that…if you recall?”

“I seem to recall something…” She laughed, but a frown followed. “Last night Frydryk was baiting both you and Iryela. She didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t happy. He’s not the High Holder yet, and he isn’t the Chief Councilor. His father is.”

“He was trying to find out something. I don’t think he did, but I did. The question is whether he was meant to reveal what he did or not. If he intended to reveal that, does it mean that he’s not being all that dutiful a son, or that Suyrien wanted him to?”

“Or he’s being stupid?” Seliora raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think so. He meant to let on all that about High Holder Ruelyr.”

“To protect his father? If so, that suggests—”

“Do you think Ruelyr is involved in growing or supplying the stronger elveweed?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised at anything; but if Frydryk had to mention it to me, that suggests that Suyrien is having trouble with the High Holders, and that more than a few of them want to take more direct action against the factors and the freeholders.” I paused. “It was also a warning to Iryela. She’s close to Madame D’Shendael, and others who want more legal rights for women.”

“They want women on the Council,” added Seliora. “The Nameless forbid.”

“More like a scheme of the Namer, I suspect, according to most High Holders.”

“Have you noticed that all the scheming in politics is done by the same men who claim women are the devious ones?”

“Men? You have to be jesting.” I tried to keep a straight face, but I couldn’t help grinning the tiniest bit.

Seliora just shook her head.

After we finished breakfast, I thought about telling Dichartyn, but, with his network, he had to know where Councilor Suyrien had been. Besides, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

Later in the day, Seliora was kind enough to write a note to Mother, confirming that we would join them for dinner on Samedi. I’d send it by private courier on Lundi.

We had an otherwise quiet and generally restful Solayi, for which Seliora and I were both grateful, especially when Lundi dawned blustery, with mist-drizzle that froze on my exercise clothes while I was running. I let the long-legged Dartazn, who always finished before anyone else, finish even farther ahead. I was more concerned about not slipping on the icy grass and walks.

Even the inside of the duty coach was still freezing by the time I dropped off Seliora and Diestrya at NordEste Design, and I read the newsheets wearing gloves, awkward though it was.

Most of the articles were insignificant or what amounted to status reports, such as the uneasy situation between Ferrum and Jariola. One story was not. The
Rovaria
—a merchanter loading grain at Estisle—had caught fire and been totally gutted, sinking pierside. The fire had raged across the main cargo pier where it had been tied up, threatening several other vessels before it was put out. The story noted that the
Rovaria
had been bound for Jariola, but didn’t mention the ownership or registry of the vessel. There was also a brief story in
Tableta
about the cost of grain production on freeheld lands being cheaper because freeholders didn’t have the responsibilities to tenant farmers that High Holders did. Had High Holder Haebyn “encouraged” that story?

Matters didn’t get any better after I reached Third District. The ice-rain had resulted in several wagon accidents and two fires, most likely because people hadn’t had their chimneys cleaned since last winter, and the Fire Brigade hadn’t been able to save one of the houses. There were more smash-and-grabs because it was harder to chase the thieves. And, to add to my concerns, I got a communiqué from headquarters. I read it twice.

The communiqué was signed by Cydarth. The last words were a strong indication that Kharles was not likely to survive, and that, if he did, he would not be able to continue as District Six Captain. The wording also suggested that Walthyr would not succeed Kharles. That didn’t surprise me. Although I’d only met Walthyr a handful of times, he’d impressed me as a tough, no-nonsense, straight-talking, rough-edged patroller who’d come up the hard way. That meant that Artois wouldn’t want to deal with him and Cydarth couldn’t corrupt him.

I left the communiqué on Alsoran’s desk and pulled on my winter cloak and gloves. Much as I didn’t really want to walk a round, I needed to, both to get out of the station and to let the patrollers know that I wasn’t a fair-weather captain.

Just as I caught up with Kemantyl and Clursyn just east of the corner of Fuosta and Quierca, I got a glimpse of a taudis-kid running down the alley away from the three of us. To which taudischef was he reporting?

“Captain…” offered Kemantyl, the swarthy and squat senior patroller.

“Just keep walking and tell me what you’ve seen recently.”

“Yes, sir.” He glanced down the alley. “I can’t say as I know the taudis-kid, but he just watched us.”

“We’re in Horazt’s territory. He won’t do anything.”

They both shook their heads.

“He won’t, but…” offered Kemantyl.

“He’s got a problem,” I finished, “and that means one for us. Until he shows up, we’ll just follow your round.”

I started walking, and they stepped up, flanking me.

“Yes, sir.” Kemantyl coughed, then spat to the side. “Hate this weather. You remember Sostrys, the crazy tiler?”

“The one whose head got bashed?” As I recalled Sostrys, he’d been calm, but he was one of the few men in L’Excelsis who stood close to a head and a half taller than I did, and I was far from short. Sostrys also had shoulders to match his height. “Has he had one of those fits where he—”

“No, sir. He’s gone. No one’s seen him around here. But…my cousin Elhyr, he’s in Sixth District, and he thinks Sostrys went after the druggers.”

“The drug runners?”

“No, sir. The dealers in the Hellhole.”

“Why would he do that?”

“There was a girl…the one we found last Meredi…she was his niece.”

That meant she was either his daughter or his niece. “Elver?”

“Not that long. She wasn’t scrawny and yellow-gray when we brought in her body. Anyways…well…we heard about Captain Kharles…and there was trouble…and everyone knows how you feel about the dealers.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Kemantyl glanced around, then spat again. “Elhyr says…well…the word is that Sostrys killed one and banged up another one before they shot him and dumped his body in the east sewers.”

That was all I needed—elveweed dealers coming into Third District. My patrollers didn’t need to take them on as well, either. “I appreciate knowing that. I didn’t have anything to do with it, but things are getting hot with the dealers. Someone outside L’Excelsis is supplying them with the stronger weed, and it could be they’re getting more guns as well.” That was speculation on my part, but I had the strong feeling that was the way it was. “Just be careful when you see taudis-types you don’t know.”

“We’ve been thinking that way, sir,” added Clursyn.

Almost no one was outside in the ice-rain, but we covered three blocks, with me listening to their observations on what had been happening on their rounds, before I saw Horazt, standing under a narrow porch roof just outside the doorway of a house he frequented.

“Looks like someone’d like a word with you, sir.” Clursyn’s tone was deferential, but worried.

“I’ll have to see what he has to say.” I walked up to the small porch and out of the icy rain, if barely.

“Master Rhennthyl.”

“Horazt.”

“I’ve heard a few things.”

“Would they have anything to do with the elveweed dealers?”

“They might.” He paused. “How is Shault?”

“He’s doing well. I expect he’ll become an Imager Tertius before too long. He’s bright and talented. He is a bit stubborn.”

The taudischef nodded. “Sostrys…you know him?”

“The big crazy tiler?”

“He left. He won’t be coming back. Some others might be. Word is that some of your patrollers might be in for some long sleeps.”

“I heard Sostrys got pretty upset.”

“He did. Word is that he put a tiling trowel through Dimanche, the dealer in the Hellhole. That was after they shot him four times. Coddyl may never walk straight again, either. Won’t be able to sign his name, either. If he ever could.”

I’d never known the names of any dealers. No one had, so far as I knew. That Horazt was telling me…in that sense, I wished he weren’t. “Do you know when we might see visitors? I’ll be accompanying the patrols at night, and any word might be helpful…for both of us.”

“I’ll have my eyes and ears watch.” He paused, then flashed a brief smile. “But the druggers’ strong-arms don’t like ice-rain much.” He stepped back. “Thought you’d like to know.”

The door opened, and he slipped inside.

I walked back to the two patrollers.

My winter cloak was soaked through and coated in ice by the time I got back to the station. So was my visored cap, and my ears burned as they thawed out. Alsoran was waiting in his study, standing by his desk.

“Captain…”

“It’s worse than that.” I told him what I’d learned.

“When do you think?”

“That depends on the weather.”

“Why would anyone tell Horazt?”

“I’m sure the dealers didn’t. Probably one of the drug runners into Third District. They’d be afraid that they’d get swept up into the work houses. They’re so dependent on the weed that the withdrawal would kill them.”

“They’d just find others. That’s why we don’t try to throw them in the work houses now, unless they cause other trouble.”

“But they know we could.”

“What do you plan, sir?”

“Spending some nights here. What else?”

Seliora would understand. She wouldn’t like it, but she’d understand.