Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (10 page)

Then I saw Shault and ushered him into the conference room.

Within moments of trying to discuss his essay, I got the feeling that the most trying aspect of the day might well be trying to emphasize to Shault the need for clarity in explaining matters. After what had happened already during the day, it shouldn’t have been. It was.

“Sir, it’s right, or it’s wrong. Why do I need to be able to explain it?”

For a moment, I wondered if he were being deliberately obtuse, but then realized he was serious. So I asked, “Is it right for a taudischef to kill a taudis-tough if the tough is a member of his gang, but goes off and steals something while wearing the colors of another gang?”

“He has to do that, or beat him up badly, or the whole gang would be in trouble.”

“Who else would know that?”

“Anyone in a taudis-gang knows that.”

“So you’re saying that it’s right for a taudischef to break the laws of Solidar and that everyone else should agree with what you think is right, because you think it’s right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t?”

“You’re twisting my words, sir.”

“Am I?”

“It’s different in the taudis, sir.” He paused. “Well…you’ve made it different in Third District, but the others are the old way.”

“What did you just say?”

He looked at me blankly, again.

“A moment ago,” I forced myself to speak quietly, “you said something was either right or it was wrong. Now you just said that it was different in the taudis. Aren’t you saying that what’s right in one place isn’t right in another? And if it’s different…”

I could tell it was going to be a long session.

It was indeed, and I barely got home in time to eat a little dinner before I had to go back down to the infirmary to meet with Master Draffyd.

He was waiting outside one of the surgery chambers.

“Here you go.” He handed me a gown to put over my grays. “I have a cadaver on the surgery table there. I’m going to dissect it, and you’re going to learn more about the major organs. You’re also going to practice some delicate imagery. If you’re going to attempt imagining medicine, you need to know this.”

I just nodded, then slipped into the gown, and followed him into the surgery.

“We’ll start with the esophagus.” Draffyd pointed to the throat of the male body on the table. “One of the most common problems is simple choking, and there are two physical methods that should be tried before you image anything. The first one you know—several sharp blows between the shoulders. If between five to ten don’t work, then you can try the other method—an abdominal thrust. Even if it doesn’t work—and it usually does—the method provides a good cover for imaging. That is useful. Now…I’m going to stand behind you and demonstrate on you…”

He clasped his arms around me, and then wrenched them upward in a way that forced me to exhale—whether I wanted to or not.

“Oooofff.”

“Exactly. Now…I didn’t apply full force. That can crack ribs, but you should get a sense of it. Try it on me…but gently and slowly. I’d prefer not to have bruised muscles or ribs if you don’t have your arms and hands in the right places.”

He made me do the procedure slowly three times before I used more force.

“If that doesn’t work…you can try imaging. Most objects are caught anywhere from the pharynx at the lower part of the back of the mouth.” He took a probe and opened the cadaver’s mouth, pointing with the probe. “They may be farther down and block the epiglottis…I’m going to place a hard roll there…”

After three glasses, Draffyd finally let me go, not that he was really through with what he wanted me to know about the more common human organs, but because my guts were having a hard time staying composed. The cool air blowing off the river from the north helped settle my system as I walked across the quadrangle and north to our house.

Seliora was waiting for me, propped up in her bed, reading.

“Diestrya asked for you…but she didn’t cry.” She looked at me. “Do you need something to settle your stomach?”

“I don’t think I could eat anything right now.”

“Was it as bad as you look?”

I managed to laugh. “I hope I don’t look that bad.”

“Just sit here and talk to me.”

I did, and it helped.

I didn’t sleep all that well on Jeudi night, but I didn’t image in my sleep as a result of a disturbing dreams. The morning routine—and breakfast—helped settle me. That was until I arrived at the station, where a dispatch from Subcommander Cydarth to all District Captains awaited me. I read it twice.

A separate elver death report? That the Commander was requesting such information on a regular basis suggested that the number of deaths from elveweed was exceptionally high throughout all of L’Excelsis. Such a tally would be lower than actual elveweed deaths, even if all such deaths in Third District that came to the attention of the Civic Patrol were listed diligently, because some deaths in the taudis would go unreported, with bodies being sneaked into waste wagons and otherwise being disposed of without Patrol notice. And some elver deaths, particularly among the well-off families in L’Excelsis, would doubtless be listed as deaths from illness. In a way, they doubtless were.

Still…we needed to do our best to comply, and I walked into the small study next to mine. Alsoran bolted to his feet. I’d tried to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but old reactions still overcame my words.

“Sir?”

I handed him the dispatch and waited for him to read it.

He looked up. “I wouldn’t want to be in Captain Kharles’s boots.”

“I’m more worried about our boots. The subcommander is going to notice that not nearly as many of our elvers are dying as there are in the taudis in either District Six or Four. He’ll take that as proof that I’ve got ties to the taudischefs and dealers.”

“You talk to the taudischefs. You always have. He knows that. It only makes sense,” Alsoran pointed out.

Subcommander Cydarth might well try to use that against me, but I only said, “We’re just beginning to get deaths outside the taudis in Third District, and with the taudischefs trying to pressure the runners, we might see a spike in outside deaths. We really have no way of controlling access to elveweed once it gets outside the taudis.” Not that we had that much control inside, but we did have a little influence with those who had some influence with the dealers and the runners.

“You think the number of outside deaths will increase that much?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

We didn’t have to wait long. After their second round, Zerbyn and Farran reported two more elver deaths, both on the non-taudis side of Quierca. While there weren’t any other elveweed deaths discovered for the rest of the day shift, I had no doubts that there would be more that night and over the weekend. The only question was how many.

It was fifth glass when I hailed a hack outside Third District station and took it to NordEste Design, where I got off. There wasn’t much point in our returning to Imagisle and then immediately leaving for my parents’ house for dinner.

Betara and Seliora met me at the top of the steps, while Hestya played with Diestrya on a settee near the door to the plaques room off to my right.

“We’ve gotten some word about the elveweed,” said Betara. “It sounds like the only places besides L’Excelsis where the fresher and stronger weed is being sold are Estisle, Westisle, Solis, and Kherseilles.”

“The capital and the major ports.” I paused. “Also, the same cities, except for L’Excelsis, where Pharsi men have been killed. It could be a coincidence…but…”

“You don’t think so,” replied Betara.

“I don’t, but I don’t have the faintest idea why the two would be connected, because, so far as I know, the Pharsi families don’t deal in elveweed.” Even as I spoke, another thought struck me. “Elveweed’s been around for a long time. From what I know, even when Mama Diestra was closer to the taudis, she didn’t deal with it. What’s the Pharsi attitude toward it? Is there one?”

“No true Pharsi likes it. It slows thought and takes away intelligence.”

“Did Mama Diestra lean on the dealers to keep it out or away from children or something like that?”

“She might have. That was when I was very young.” Betara’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think…?”

“I just wonder if the men who were killed were the types who dealt with the taudis…who had those kinds of connections and who felt the same way.”

Seliora looked to me. “Those are the most prosperous cities, aren’t they?”

“L’Excelsis is. The others are among the more prosperous, but places like Cloisonyt, Mantes, and Khelgror are just as well-off. Extela might be also.”

“The four others where the strong elveweed has appeared are ports, you said,” added Betara.

Why ports, I wondered, if the fresher weed was being grown in Solidar? It couldn’t be because it was coming off ships. “They are, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. If someone wanted to cause trouble in the port cities, giving stronger elveweed to taudis-dwellers and the comparative handfuls of others who smoke it certainly wouldn’t disrupt much.”

Betara and Seliora exchanged glances that suggested they didn’t know either.

I glanced around. “Odelia?”

“She’s gone,” Seliora said. “She’s not talking to me any more than she has to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Everyone has to make their own decisions. Haerasyn isn’t a child.” Betara paused. “I did overhear her telling Hanahra that Haerasyn thought that smoking elveweed would make him an imager, or something even better, and that was why the imagers wanted to stamp out elveweed.”

“That’s idiotic,” snapped Seliora. “Odelia knows better.”

“She does. So does Aegina. They both think he’s deluded, but…” She shrugged.

“That kind of rumor will tempt more young people to try it,” I said, “and that’s not good. More of them will die.”

We began to collect Diestrya and her things.

At half past five, Seliora, Diestrya, and I walked down to the hack Bhenyt had hailed for us and began the ride in along Nordroad to the Guild Square and then out the Midroad. We arrived just before sixth glass. After the hack pulled up and we stepped out and I paid the hacker, I couldn’t help comparing my parents’ house to that of Factor Roulet’s. The two looked similar in style, but the Roulet’s dwelling was perhaps a fifth smaller, with far narrower windows.

Even before we reached the front porch, Mother had opened the door. “Diestrya!”

Our daughter was bright enough to discern that grandmothers who received attention were far more likely to reward them with affection, and even more to the point, with treats. Diestrya hurried up the steps and threw both arms around Mother’s right leg. “Nana!”

We followed more sedately, allowing my mother her moment of full attention as she picked up Diestrya.

“Every time I see you,” Mother said to her granddaughter, “you’ve grown. You’re getting to be such a big girl. Now…Rheityr is waiting for you in the nursery, and there are treats for both of you.”

At the word “treats,” Diestrya smiled and hugged Mother again before Mother set her down and led her into the house.

Seliora and I exchanged a knowing glance. In that respect, it was a very good thing we didn’t see my parents too often.

Culthyn, Remaya, and Father were waiting in the family parlor, Father in his usual chair directly facing the stove, which emitted just enough heat for a chill autumn evening. Remaya turned from what ever she’d been discussing with Culthyn.

“What’s new with the Patrol business?” Father always referred to whatever I was doing as “business,” even when I’d been a journeyman artist.

“More of the usual,” I replied as Mother came back down the steps from the nursery.

“One moment, Chenkyr,” she interjected. “What would everyone like to drink before dinner? Seliora?”

“The Dhuensa, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“That’s what I’ll have,” replied Father, “as if you didn’t know already.”

“Red Cambrisio,” added Remaya.

“The same,” I said.

Mother slipped out to the kitchen, where I could hear Kiesela doing something with pots, but returned immediately.

“I ran across a Madame D’Roulet on Meredi,” I said. “She knew who I was. At least, she knew I was your son.”

Mother laughed, and Father looked puzzled.

“Don’t you remember, Chenkyr? It was years ago, when we went to that party of Dacastro’s. She was that awful nervous woman who dragged her husband over to try to sell you a pianoforte for Culthyn…”

Father frowned, his brow furrowed. “Why would I have done that?”

Culthyn looked at Mother, aghast. “You didn’t…?”

Mother ignored Culthyn. “Her name was Rachela or something like that.”

“Rauchelle,” I supplied.

“How did you come across her?” asked Mother.

“Her daughter died of an elveweed overdose. The mother didn’t really know what it was. She knew there was something like elveweed, but not much more. The patrollers called me in.”

“How terrible.” Mother shook her head. She looked to Culthyn.

“I wouldn’t try that.” His voice held the assurance all too common to well-off sixteen-year-olds, an assurance that reminded me of poor Rousel, who’d had assurance beyond his abilities. I had, too, but I’d been fortunate enough to survive it. Rousel hadn’t been fortunate enough to survive my un-warranted assurance, even though I’d had no idea that my acts would have led to his death.

Nellica appeared with a tray and tendered a goblet to each of us, then retreated to the kitchen or serving parlor.

“Do you know a factor named Broussard?” I asked my father, then took a sip of the Cambrisio.

“The one they thought had been killed in that explosion, except it was his assistant who’d taken his wife to the opera?” Father shook his head. “He’s from Piedryn, and we don’t sell much there…or buy wool. That’s grain land. He must be very well off…and well-connected. I couldn’t afford seats on the lower box row.” He laughed. “Even if I could, we couldn’t get them. Those are for High Holders…or their guests.”

“How do you know that, Chenkyr?” asked Mother.

“Veblynt told me that years ago. I doubt things have changed much. They never do where social matters are concerned.”

“I meant about where he was sitting.”

“Where his assistant was sitting, you mean. I read it somewhere. One of the newsheets, I think. I couldn’t make up something like that.”

About that, my father was absolutely correct. He couldn’t imagine much beyond the here and now, and the logical and direct consequences of the present. That trait made him the solid and prosperous wool factor that he was and had created a reputation for honesty and solidity for Alusine Wool.

“High Holders or not…” Mother paused. “Dinner is ready.”

Seliora and I carried wine goblets that we’d barely sipped from into the dining room.

After the blessing and after Father sliced and served the crisped roast lamb—always his favorite—conversation died into a lull.

“How is Khethila doing in Kherseilles?” asked Seliora.

“Fine,” replied Father. “I wouldn’t have thought it, not as a woman that young running a wool factorage, even with my name behind her.” He shook his head, as if still amused by the whole idea.

“You didn’t tell them!” Mother exclaimed. “She’s now a factoria; the factors accepted her as a full factor.”

“Oh…I thought they knew.”

“Chenkyr, who would have told them? Her letter only arrived on Mardi. She was very pleased.”

“That’s wonderful!” said Seliora. “Is she the only recognized wool factor who’s a woman?”

“I suppose so,” replied Father.

I didn’t say anything, but I was glad that Khethila was recognized as a factor in her own right, as Khethila D’Factoria, rather than just as Father’s daughter. I couldn’t help but understand her satisfaction, since she’d had to petition the association and face a real board of inquiry, rather than the mere formality that Rousel had gone through. But she’d succeeded. I did smile.

“She bought the adjoining property, too,” added Mother, looking at me. “She’s going to expand in time. She said you’d made it possible.”

“I hope she didn’t have to trade too hard on my name.”

“No…the Banque D’Kherseilles approached her, saying that the owner would like to sell the property at a reasonable price. She wrote that the Banque D’Rivages represented the owner and handled the sale through the Banque D’Kherseilles. She didn’t know the owner, but the banker who approached her asked if she was indeed the sister of Maitre D’Structure Rhennthyl. She said to thank you.”

“I’m certain that she managed it all on her own,” I replied, knowing that reasonable as the price might have been, the first payment had been made in blood by Rousel years before. But it had been thoughtful of Iryela, even if it made me suspicious, given the timing. Very suspicious.

Father cleared his throat, then said, “She did say that the factors in the Abierto Isles—the ones who ship to Cloisera—have cut back on their orders.”

“That suggests they think that war will break out and Ferrum will attack any shipping bound for Jariola.”

“They did before,” interjected Culthyn.

“They also lost much of their fleet,” Father replied.

“They’ve spent a great deal of golds and effort rebuilding the fleet with more modern vessels. They’ve also developed better land-cruisers. That says that they haven’t given up on obtaining the Jariolan coal fields.”

“And anything else they can grab,” asserted Culthyn.

“Can we talk about something other than war?” Mother smiled broadly and turned to Remaya. “How is Rheityr doing in the grammaire?”