Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (19 page)

Meredi followed the same pattern as had Mardi, but late as I stayed at the station that night, there was still no sign of any violence. That left me edgy, but I didn’t doubt that some form of attack would occur. I just didn’t know when, and I didn’t sleep that well on Meredi night.

Jeudi was bright, clear, and cold, even when I reached Third District station just past mid-day. To me, the chill foreshadowed a long and cold winter. Lyonyt looked up from the duty desk as I neared.

“Are there any severe problems this morning?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

“Any dispatches from headquarters?”

“No, sir.”

“Is the lieutenant in yet?”

“Yes, sir. He’s been here for a glass or so.”

I checked the duty logs. The number of elver deaths was about the same—two for the previous evening—but incidents and arrests remained low, and that was as good a sign as any that trouble wasn’t far away. Even though that made no logical sense, that was always the way it was. Then I walked into Alsoran’s study.

“Still too quiet,” I offered.

“It is.” He smiled, ruefully. “How long do you think before the druggers’ boys start trying to take out patrollers?”

“Tonight will be the second dry night. It looks like it will be clear. I’d say tonight or tomorrow.” I shrugged. “Then, it could be Samedi.”

“Not Solayi?”

“That’s unlikely. Even the Duodeans and the Puryons respect Solayi. Besides, fewer people are out, and that’s likely to call attention to strangers. They like to mingle in crowds once they’ve made a score.”

“You’re probably right about that. How long will they keep at it?”

“Until they kill at least five or six patrollers or until we stop them. That’s a guess, but there’s more at stake here than a crazy tiler killing expendable drug dealers.”

“You keep saying that, Captain, but you avoid saying what is.” Alsoran glanced toward the barred windows that fronted on Fuosta.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire future of Solidar isn’t.”

Alsoran looked at me for a long moment. “I don’t think you’re jesting. But…druggies shooting at patrollers affecting all of Solidar?”

“Oh…what happens here is only a small part of what’s happening. The stronger weed is hitting the five most important cities in Solidar. Elver deaths are higher than ever before, and half are hitting outside the taudis—among people with shops and golds. There’s almost a civil war going on in the eastern grain lands between the freeholders and the High Holders. War is about to break out between Jariola and Ferrum. And Cydarth is scheming to replace the Commander. But it’s all going to happen at once.”

“I can’t say as I’ve seen you this gloomy before.”

I forced a smile. “I could be wrong. All these things might be coincidence.”

The lieutenant snorted. “For a patroller, coincidence is a fair-weather friend. We both know that.”

After leaving Alsoran, I spent the next several glasses catching up on the various reports required by headquarters, mostly by Cydarth, who thought that more reports equated to more accountability and more effective patrolling. Beyond a certain point, I’d observed in my own experience, greater accountability resulted in less effectiveness because too much time and effort was spent on reports and documentation.

I made my first rounds with Deomyn and Zarcyl, around sixth glass. While they had to handle a drunken husband and catch and tie up a loose sway-backed dray, their round was calm. At a quarter past eighth glass I switched to accompanying Sammyl and Rarydn. Their round encompassed the east end of the district out to the Plaza SudEste, the same one I’d once patrolled with Alsoran years before, and the round I thought likely to see taudis-toughs or strong-arms from the Hellhole.

We’d made one complete circuit and were just two blocks in and a block east of the woodworks, when a taudis-kid gave a low whistle from the alleyway.

“Sir?” asked Sammyl.

“It’s for me.”

The two patrollers exchanged looks, but said nothing as I slipped away from them and walked up to the alleyway. I waited.

The slender figure studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Jadhyl says four outsiders are moving up the alley west of Fedre. They crossed Quierca by the old silversmith’s. They’re likely carrying pieces.”

“Give him my thanks.” I slipped a pair of coppers to the taudis-kid—a girl, I realized after the fact, as she vanished into the darkness.

I had a good idea where the four outsiders were headed, and that was to the forked alleyway west of Fedre just off North Middle, where the lighting offered a clear view of anyone on the south side of North Middle, and where two separate patroller rounds intersected. That section of the alley was also slightly higher, and afforded several escape routes.

Sammyl and Rarydn and I took two side alleys and zigzagged through the taudis until we reached the top of the alley two blocks south of North Middle, just short of the fork and only a block inside the taudis.

We waited less than a tenth of a glass before I could make out movement in the alleyway south of us. Despite the fact that Artiema hung barely over the houses behind me and was little more than a crescent, it wasn’t long until I could make out four figures in black jackets, not even moving all that quietly.

“Stay close to me.” I kept my voice low.

Both patrollers moved shoulder to shoulder with me as I walked through the darkness toward the shadows, holding my shields around the three of us.

“Halt! Just stop where you are,” I called.

The four never said a word. Bullets slammed into my shields.

Two of the guns had muzzle flashes, and I imaged iron into the barrels. Both weapons exploded, and the toughs carrying them collapsed where they stood. The other two turned and started to run. I imaged a sheet of oil onto the pavement in front of them. They pitched onto the stone.

I kept walking toward them.

One of the two on the rough alley pavement didn’t move. The other one—the squatter figure—rolled onto his side and lifted a short-barreled, wide-muzzled weapon. He fired twice.

The force of the shells against my shields threw me back, and I nearly fell. I staggered, and, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

The squat figure started to run. I imaged more oil under his feet, and projected air and a partial shield. Under the combined attack, he went down hard.

“You all right, Captain?” asked Rarydn.

“A little winded, but I’ll be fine.” I might also be sore, but I wouldn’t know that until later.

Still holding my shields, I imaged away the oil, then moved toward the fallen figures. The two patrollers flanked me, truncheons ready to strike, but even the squat black-jacketed strong-arm was out cold.

We checked all four, but the two whose weapons had exploded were both dead. The other two had cuts and some shrapnel wounds, but they were breathing.

“Cuff the two who are still with us. Let’s get them both back to the station,” I ordered.

They were heavy enough that we ended up dragging all four figures to the nearest pick-up pole, where we waited half a glass for the wagon.

By the time we reached the station, our prisoners were awake, if groggy, and I immediately set the smaller tough in the small room used for interrogation, not that we did much of that, since usually we knew what had happened by the time prisoners were in the station. Most crimes in Third District were obvious. I did have him tied to the chair. He said his name was Grohar. It probably wasn’t.

Grohar looked at me. It was fair to say he was anything but friendly.

“You shot at us. Why?”

“Frig you, trolie! Frig you…”

I clamped shields around him and began to tighten them. He said nothing. I released them. “Care to tell me who sent you?”

“Frig you.”

I tried a number of other techniques, well short of physical coercion, but, needless to say, anything that I could immediately think of that would leave him in one piece and unmarked wasn’t going to persuade him to talk. So I had the station patrollers cart him back to the holding cell and bring in the other one, the one who’d given the name of Haddad and who had fired the stronger weapon, something like a twin-barreled blunderbuss.

I’d spent some moments thinking while he was being restrained.

Just because I couldn’t do something painful and obvious to them didn’t mean I couldn’t suggest the possibility. So I held up the belt knife we’d taken from Haddad, then tossed it into the air…and suspended it in my shields.

“It’s not that sharp a knife,” I said conversationally. “Rather dull. I imagine it’s going to hurt if I have to use it to find out what I need to know.”

“You can’t touch me…”

“I’m not going to touch you.” I glanced to Alsoran, standing beside me. “I’m not even close to you. And it is your knife, not mine. And…if we failed to find it, and you slashed your wrists because you didn’t like being caught…”

His eyes fixed on the knife, seemingly suspended in mid-air. I eased the shields, and the knife, toward him. “It would be a lot easier if you just told us who sent you.”

I edged the knife closer.

I could see the sweat beading on his forehead. It was amazing how a knife hanging in mid-air and edging toward him brought out the fear.

I waited, smiling.

“It was Costicyn…he was the one. He told us…be a gold for every patroller we brought down. Didn’t matter which ones, but had to be inside the streets he told us…”

“Which streets?”

“North Middle and Quierca, the part east of Fuosta, and west of Fedre…”

Basically, the streets were those that bordered the taudis. That made sense, in a way, because any patrol deaths would be blamed on the taudis-gangs and my inability to control the taudis in difficult times.

“Who was there besides Costicyn?”

“He was the only one…he was.”

“There had to be other dealers involved…” I eased the knife forward again.

“Honest…he was the one…know he works with Sadharyn…but he never said…”

After I finished getting what I could from him, I had them bring back in the first tough. I had the knife almost in his eyeball before he cracked.

Neither could offer anything beyond than what I’d gotten from the first, except that they had the idea that Third District was the only one being targeted so far. Whether that was just what they were told or whether it was true…that I couldn’t determine.

When I’d gotten what I could, Alsoran and I went back to the duty desk.

“Sir?” Cemaryt looked up.

“Put it in the orders book that when those two we brought in are transported to headquarters tomorrow, I want four patrollers from here to accompany the wagon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want them to get to headquarters alive,” I added, although I had my doubts how long they’d last, given my suspicions. I just didn’t want their deaths to occur while they were in Third District custody. “And I don’t want anything to happen to them here.” I looked hard at the duty desk patroller.

“Neither the captain nor I would want anything to happen,” added Alsoran.

Cemaryt swallowed.

We walked back to my study, and I closed the door.

“I don’t like doing that, you know.”

Alsoran nodded. “I know, but they don’t. That’s what they’d expect, and they’d get worse in most stations.” After a moment, he added, “It won’t stop with them.”

“I’ll be working late most nights, but I won’t be here until after ninth glass tomorrow. I have to make a command appearance at the Council’s Autumn Ball.”

“Command?”

“We were asked by the Chief Councilor himself.”

“That’s command,” Alsoran affirmed.

My night duty didn’t even end then, because it was so late that I had to walk all the way to the Guild Square to find a hack to take me back to Imagisle. At least, I didn’t have to walk the whole way. Even so, my feet were aching when I finally stepped into the foyer, but Seliora was waiting with warm mulled wine.

Because I knew it was likely I’d be facing a very long night, on Vendrei morning I took my time getting up, although no one without a small child would have considered it late when I rose and greeted my wife and very active daughter. Before all that long, we were off to our various duties.

The newsheets both noted that Ferran forces had moved to positions less than a mille from the border in the areas closest to the Jariolan coal fields. Another grain freighter had caught fire, this time in Kherseilles. I could only hope that the fire had been contained on the pier and not spread, because I worried about Khethila. The Alusine Wool factorage wasn’t all that far from the piers.

As soon as I’d checked the daily reports and duty logs at the station, I headed out to see if I could find Jadhyl. I finally spotted one of his boy lookouts near the corner of Fedre and South Middle, and asked if he’d carry a message—for the promise of two coppers—that I needed a few moments with the taudischef.

While I waited for the message to be delivered, I walked up to the Plaza SudEste and studied the flow of carriages and wagons, as well as the people walking along the Avenue D’Artisans. I thought the traffic and the number of pedestrians was lighter than usual on a Vendrei, but not that much. Then I walked back toward Fedre, where I waited for another quarter-glass before the green-jacketed taudischef arrived with his lookout, who promptly vanished with the two coppers that I tendered.

Jadhyl addressed me, as usual, with his excessively precise intonation. “Master Rhennthyl.”

“Jadhyl, you may recall that I passed word about outsiders creating trouble.”

“I heard something of the sort, but I had also understood that they were looking for patrollers. Why might I be interested?”

“Because we caught two of them last night. It took a little persuasion, but they decided to tell us why they were attacking patrollers. They were promised a gold apiece for every dead patroller shot within the Third District taudis…by someone named Costicyn. Their instructions were very clear. Only to shoot patrollers within the taudis.”

“There were some shots last night, not far from here.” A faint smile creased his lips.

“I was with some patrollers. The assassins were not successful. Two of them died. The other two named this Costicyn…and someone named Sadharyn.”

“I have never heard either name. The last sounds Stakanaran.” Jadhyl tilted his head. “They wish to prove you cannot control your taudischefs, it appears.”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

“What do you wish from me, Master Captain?”

“Just send word if you see taudis-types that don’t belong here. It seems to me that would be in your interests as well as mine.”

Jadhyl smiled, coolly. “Would that others saw matters so clearly. We will see what is possible.”

That was as much as he’d ever say, but if his lookouts saw more assassins, we’d likely be told. “I’d appreciate it.”

I walked the long way back to the station, back out to the Avenue D’Artisans and southwest on it until I reached Quierca, then along Quierca back to Fuosta and up to the station. I studied every block, but didn’t see or sense anything out of the ordinary. One of Horazt’s taudis-kids did give me a half-wave from an alley just short of Fuosta.

Again, the afternoon was the same as every other afternoon, if just slightly quieter, and without any major disturbances. Right after fifth glass, I caught the duty coach back to NordEste Design to pick up Seliora and Diestrya, and then to Imagisle. Because the Council’s Autumn Ball was on a Vendrei and not a Samedi we could leave Diestrya with Klysia, but we still had to feed our daughter and give her a story, if earlier than usual, before dressing.

I wore the black formal wear of a Maitre, with the only adornment the four-pointed open silver star of the Collegium, an adornment required when imagers weren’t wearing their distinctive grays. Seliora had arranged for a gown in black with thin panels of a brilliant crimson, and her formal cloak was also lined in crimson silk. I also wore a black formal cloak, not that I necessarily needed it for the short coach ride to the Council Chateau.

As we walked from the house to the duty coach stop where we were to meet the Dichartyns, I cleared my throat. “You didn’t say anything about the memorial service for Haerasyn.”

Seliora smiled ruefully. “Kolasyn put his foot down. He said they’d have a small service after the viewing at Elysor Memorials. He said there was no point in conducting a public service that would be a charade.”

I nodded. That was certainly for the best, whether Odelia thought so or not. “I’m going to have to leave the Ball early tonight.”

“I thought you might.” Seliora frowned, but only for a moment. “Because you think the drug dealers know you’ll be at the Chateau?”

“That’s what I’m wagering.” I also thought they’d strike later on a Vendrei, assuming that fewer patrollers would be alert, and that I might well have had too much wine, even if I did hurry back to Third District. “None of this is accidental. It’s all planned.”

Seliora raised her eyebrows.

“Not that way,” I said. “The drug dealers aren’t taking directions from whoever is involved with one side or the other on the grain civil war, or from the Ferrans or the Stakanarans, whoever’s responsible for growing the stronger elveweed in southern Solidar. The drug dealers will plan the best way to attack Third District, and whoever’s behind the elveweed is counting on that, just as the Ferrans are counting on the freeholders to create problems with the High Holders and the Council.”

“It sounds like the Ferrans are trying to stir up trouble in Solidar before they attack Jariola.”

“I’d wager on it, even on their involving Stakanar or Tiempre, although I think it’s Stakanar.”

“There’s not too much you can do about it, except in handling matters in Third District.”

“No, there isn’t.” And there wasn’t, except I had the feeling that matters went well beyond Third District. I also still worried about the Pharsi foresight flash that showed me struggling from beneath or around piles of gray stone, because that didn’t seem to fit anywhere. Had it really been a true foresight flash?

We only waited for a few moments at the coach stop before the Dichartyns appeared. Master Dichartyn wore the same imager formal blacks as did I. Under a dark gray formal cloak, Aelys looked to be wearing a pale gold and russet gown, colors that suited her complexion and thin frame.

“Good evening,” I offered.

“The same,” returned Master Dichartyn with a smile.

Once we were all seated, Aelys smiled at Seliora. “The girls said that Diestrya was very well-behaved the other evening.”

“That’s because your daughters are firm and because Diestrya likes them. She’s still at the age where she’ll test limits if she senses any lack of firmness.”

“Some youngsters retain that for a long time,” added Dichartyn blandly.

“You should know, dearest,” replied Aelys sweetly.

I managed not to grin before I looked as Dichartyn. “I’d like to ask for a favor, sir.”

“Ask away.”

“I’m faced with the likelihood of a difficult situation in my district later this evening, but I’d like to allow Seliora to enjoy the entire ball.”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Don’t make it so formal, dearest,” added Aelys. “You can dance with a young and beautiful woman.”

“So long as I don’t enjoy it too much?”

His ironic tone had us all smiling.

Our carriage arrived at the Council Chateau slightly before eighth glass, and was perhaps tenth in the line leading up to the steps. I was glad that the weather was clear, if chill, because there was no portico or rotunda, just the stone steps leading up to the main floor Grand Foyer. Once the coach reached the steps, and we disembarked, Seliora and I led the way, because Maitre Dichartyn was still senior to me. Once inside we crossed the foyer and passed the ceremonial guards, then ascended the Grand Staircase, past the winged angelia statues. I recalled them all too well and how angry I’d made my father as a boy when I’d commented on the inaccuracies captured in stone.

When we reached the doorway to the Great Receiving Hall, we stepped up to the same balding man who announced all arrivals at every Ball with a deep bass voice so at odds with his stature.

“Captain and Maitre Rhennthyl and Madame Rhennthyl.”

“I still don’t feel like I should be announced as Madame,” murmured Seliora as we stepped toward the three Councilors on the Executive Council, who formed a receiving line of sorts.

“You’re young and beautiful enough to be a mistress, but you’d better not…except with me,” I teased her.

“Rhennthyl,” she said in a low voice, “you’re impossible.”

Beyond the Councilors, I caught sight of the security imagers, Baratyn standing against the east wall of the Hall and Dartazn and Martyl along the west wall.

Behind us came the announcement of “Maitre Dichartyn and Madame Dichartyn.”

The first of the Executive Councilors was Glendyl D’Factorius, the manufacturer of various machinery that included everything from steam engines and mining pumps to full-sized ironway locomotives. As a Councilor from the regions around L’Excelsis, he represented the factors from Solis to Rivages. He inclined his head politely. “It’s good to see you, Master Rhennthyl, Madame.”

“We’re glad to be here,” I replied.

Next was the hawk-nosed, black-haired Caartyl, the Councilor from Eshtora representing the various artisans’ guilds across northwest Solidar. “Greetings, Master Rhennthyl. It’s always a pleasure to see an imager from a guild background. And your beauty, Madame Seliora, even exceeds your family’s reputation and artistry.”

Seliora inclined her head in response. “You’re most kind.”

Suyrien D’Alte was only slightly above average in height, several digits shorter than I, with thinning brown hair and a receding hairline. The only physical aspect that suggested why he was the Chief Councilor was the intensity in his pale green eyes, an intensity not entirely masked by his warm smile and pleasant voice. “Rhenn, Seliora, I’m so glad that you were able to come. Both Kandryl and Frydryk have told me how much they enjoyed spending the evening with you last Samedi. They and their ladies should be here shortly.”

“We’re very pleased to be here,” I replied. “We wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

“According to Frydryk…I owe you more than I realized.”

“Only to the Collegium, sir. If I hadn’t been there, doubtless someone else would have been.” I truly doubted that, but the Collegium needed the credit more than I did.

“I have my doubts, but I appreciate your efforts and those of the Collegium.”

“As we appreciate yours and those of the Council.”

“Enjoy the ball.” Suyrien smiled again.

As we moved out into the hall, and toward the music and those dancing, I thought the Councilor’s smile was more than professional, but with a good politician, one could never be certain. Behind us, the announcements continued.

“Councilor Alucion D’Artisan and Madame D’Alucion!”

“Councilor Reyner D’Factorius and Madame D’Reyner…”

We stopped short of the dance floor and to one side, not that far from the sideboards that held various vintages, where uniformed servers already provided goblets to those who wished them.

“Would you like something?”

“Not yet.” Without seeming to, Seliora studied the dancers and those around us.

She didn’t need to. She was by far the most beautiful. I glanced toward the temporary dais at the south end of the Hall, where orchestra played music for a slower dance, muted enough for both dancing and conversation, although I didn’t recognize the melody. But then, music in any fashion had never been my gift.

“Shendael D’Alte and Madame D’Shendael.”

“Marshal Geuffryt D’Mer…”

I turned slightly to watch as Juniae D’Shendael smiled at each of the High Councilors, her expression gracious and her short-cut mahogany hair without a strand out of place.

“So that’s what she looks like,” murmured Seliora. “Khethila might be disappointed.”

“She’s seen etchings and paintings, and she looks like them.”

“The Honorable Dharios Harnen, Envoy of the Abierto Isles, and Madame Harnen.”

At past Balls, the envoy had brought his daughter, and the much younger woman with him looked more her age, suggesting that he’d recently remarried.

“Ryel D’Alte and Madame Ryel.” That announcement seemed wrong, perhaps because the first time I’d heard it had been for Iryela’s parents.

“Frydryk D’Suyrien-Alte and Mistress Alynkya D’Ramsael-Alte.”

I watched as the Ryels made their way into the Hall and over to the three Councilors. Iryela wore a gown of shimmering blue and silver, the same colors she’d worn at the first Ball where I’d met her—although Kandryl wore the Ryel colors of black and silver.

“Don’t move to them,” murmured Seliora. “They can join us. They will.”

I didn’t argue. If they did, it showed one thing, and if they didn’t, it showed another.

Matters didn’t turn out quite that way, because I could see Juniae D’Shendael was headed in our direction, accompanied not by her husband, but by the Naval officer who had followed her through the receiving line.

“You’re going to get Khethila’s wish,” I said in a low voice.

“I’ll make the best of it for her.”

Madame D’Shendael’s smile was warm as she inclined her head to us. “Maitre Rhennthyl…I do prefer that to ‘Captain.’ I hope you don’t mind.” Madame D’Shendael smiled and looked to Seliora. “Being a Maitre D’Structure is more distinguished. There are but six in all the world, and there are six Civic Patrol Captains just in L’Excelsis itself.”

I didn’t correct her, but just murmured, “You’re most gracious.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Madame D’Shendael,” offered Seliora.

“Juniae, please…”

“I heard so much about your books from Rhenn’s sister, and she would be so pleased to know that you are as gracious—and imposing—as your writings.”

Juniae D’Shendael laughed. “Imposing? That sounds like a statue. I hope I’m not quite that stiff and formal.” She looked to me. “Does your sister still retain her affection for my work, Maitre Rhennthyl, or was that a passing fashion of youth?”