Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (20 page)

“She still holds the deepest respect for you and your writing, Madame.”

A card appeared in the gloved hand of Juniae D’Shendael. “I’ve written the name of the latest book on the back. With fortune, it should be printed in the next month or so.”

I took the card. “Thank you. I’m certain she will get it. I will have to post the card and information to her, though. She is now running the Alusine Wool factorage in Kherseilles. She’s made it quite profitable, and as I told you years ago, she credits some of that to you.”

“You are both kind, but I’m certain it was mainly through her own ability. She’s a full factoria now, isn’t she?”

“That she is. One of the few.” I didn’t want to go into all the difficulties that had created.

“Good for her…and for your father in supporting her.” She smiled warmly, then inclined her head to the young-faced, but red-and-silver-haired man in the uniform of a Navy Sea-Marshal. “I did want you to meet Assistant Sea-Marshal Geuffryt. His official title is Director of Internal Operations.”

I inclined my head to the marshal. “I’m pleased to meet you. Might I present my wife Seliora?”

“Madame Rhennthyl, I’m delighted to meet you.” After bowing his head slightly to Seliora he straightened and said with a smile, “It’s always a pleasure to meet people who take their obligations seriously, but not themselves. You both have that reputation.”

“So does the Navy,” I replied.

“We try,” he replied with a laugh.

“If you will excuse us?” Juniae D’Shendael smiled again. “I see my husband beckoning.”

After she and the Sea-Marshal turned away, I read what she had written on the back of the card—“The Art of Conversation.” The writing looked familiar, near-perfect, so much so that it might have been calligraphy. I’d seen it before. I knew I had. Then I almost froze, realizing that the script well might be identical to the message I’d been given at the banque. I’d have to check, but I was certain that the writing was identical.

“What is it?” asked Seliora, leaning close to me and murmuring her words.

“Trouble…” The Assistant Sea-Marshal was clearly the head of Naval intelligence—spying, or the like, although I’d have to check with Dichartyn—and the entire purpose of the meeting and the card was obvious. What I didn’t understand was why Marshal Geuffryt couldn’t have acted on the information I’d been provided in the note at the banque. “I’ll have to tell you later.”

I half-turned and smiled as Iryela and Kandryl approached.

“There you are!” offered Iryela warmly. “We did want to join you, but Madame D’Shendael and that Navy officer were taking your time.”

“She was giving me a card with the title of her new book so that I could tell Khethila. It’s called ‘The Art of Conversation.’ I imagine it will be more than that. Her books go beyond the titles.”

Iryela smiled. “You’d never mentioned you’d read her books.”

“I haven’t read them all—just two, and not all of one of them,” I admitted. “It’s not that they’re not good…but…there’s never enough time.”

“With all that you two do, I’m not surprised.” Iryela’s eyes flicked to Kandryl.

Kandryl looked to Seliora. “I understand you’re a marvelous dancer. If you wouldn’t mind…” He looked to me.

Seliora offered a smile. “I’d love to, and Rhenn can’t tell me no.”

I shrugged helplessly, then turned to Iryela. “I fear you’re getting the worse of this, but might I have the dance?”

She smiled broadly. “That you may.”

As we slipped onto the dance floor, I murmured, “Nicely done. I take it you have a concern.”

“I do. It’s not something I’d want anyone else to know, except Seliora, of course. There are golds missing from a private contingency account, several thousand. It’s a coded account in the Banque D’Rivages. So far as I know, only my father had the codes until…. Mother didn’t even know about them, and she’s stayed on the lands ever since. They were always sealed, and the seals weren’t broken when…after things happened.”

“Can’t you change the codes?”

“Oh, we did, and that stopped the losses. We can handle a few thousand golds…but it’s still worrisome.”

A few thousand golds, and she could handle it? After five years as a Maitre D’Structure, I made three golds a week. That was more than all but a few people in a hundred made in L’Excelsis—and we did get a good-sized house as well. Even if I counted in the monetary value of the house, my annual earnings were probably less than four hundred golds a year. All that just illustrated the enormous gap in wealth between the High Holders and the rest of Solidar, except perhaps for a few handfuls of freeholders or factors like Broussard. “Maybe someone in one of the banques just guessed.”

“It’s possible, but we have our doubts. I thought you, in your present position, might keep an eye or ear open, just in case you find something that might shed some light on how it could have occurred.”

“I honestly don’t know of anything like that, but I’d be pleased to watch for anything bearing on it.” I could tell that the possibility of a lack of control bothered Iryela more than did the loss of the golds. That…I understood all too well.

“I do appreciate it, Rhenn.”

“Frydryk had a talk with his father.”

“He always does. That’s the burden of being the heir.”

“Kandryl should be thankful to you…in many ways.”

“He is most grateful…and attentive.” After the slightest pause, she added, “At times, things do turn out for the best. They have for both of us, I think.”

She wasn’t talking about herself and Kandryl, and I just said, “Yes, they do, and at times, they even lead to happiness amid the disruptions.” I paused. “I never thanked you for selling that land to Khethila.”

Her eyes sparkled for a moment. “I didn’t even know we had it. When I found out, I thought it was the right thing to do. So did Kandryl. We offered it for less than my father paid for it.”

I understood. Iryela had made the offer at fair market value. Her father had bought it at a premium so that he could use it against me and my family, but Iryela also knew that outright charity would rankle Khethila.

After a time of silence, she said, “You have improved since the first time we danced. That has to be your wife’s influence.”

“She’s been a good influence.”

As the music of that dance died away, I escorted Iryela back to the edge of the dance floor, where Kandryl and Seliora were already waiting.

“If you will excuse us…” offered Iryela.

“Of course,” Seliora replied.

I just nodded.

“What did she want?” asked Seliora with a smile.

“Besides a dance?” I grinned. “Did you think—”

“I carry the pistol everywhere,” she whispered.

“You’re a hard woman.”

“But I’m yours…if you behave.”

“As if I had any choice.” I laughed, then, after a moment, explained. “Someone withdrew funds from a coded account. She said the amount didn’t bother her so much as that no one else knew the codes. It was only several thousand golds.” A touch of irony crept into my voice.

“Who would have known the codes? Her mother? She and Johanyr are the only ones left alive besides Iryela.”

“According to Iryela, the codes were sealed and unbroken. Her mother didn’t even know they existed, and Johanyr hasn’t been in L’Excelsis in something like seven years. Besides, he’s nearly blind. I doubt if he could even read them.”

“I can see why she’s worried, then. But there must be a simple explanation.”

“There probably is, but I can’t think of it. Her mother could be pretending, but given how Ryel ran his holdings, and the way the older High Holders treat their wives, I doubt it.”

“I can see that.”

“Let’s enjoy the dancing before I have to leave.”

Her smile was worth that, and we danced…and danced—until just past ninth glass, when I left Seliora with the Dichartyns and hurried out of the Chateau, where I persuaded the duty coach driver—Elreyt, who usually drove evenings—to take me to Third District station.

As soon as the coach stopped on Fuosta, I stepped out and hurried into the station and to the duty desk.

“Any trouble yet?”

“No, sir, but…Sammyl said one of the taudis-kids warned us to watch the woodworks.”

“I’ll be heading there.”

Cemaryt glanced at the formal cloak and black formal wear.

I grinned. “I won’t be as easily seen.”

“Ah…yes, sir.”

I reached the woodworks, where I waited in the shadows close to South Middle for Sammyl and Rarydn. I stood there half a glass before they neared.

They both started when I appeared.

“Sir?”

“I understand we might have trouble here.”

“One of the taudis-kids—she was a girl—told me.” Rarydn glanced at the darkened building to his right, questioningly.

“If they destroy the building and kill patrollers…it hurts the taudis-dwellers and the Civic Patrol,” I pointed out. “Let’s head down toward the alley across from the south side.”

They exchanged glances, but followed me. We stopped short of the corner of the wall that circled the waste yard on the southeast side of the property.

“We’ll wait here,” I said in a low voice. “We’ll have some cover. You watch behind us, Rarydn.”

“Yes, sir.”

As I suspected, before long, less than a quarter of a glass, there were four figures coming up the alley, but they stopped short of the side street in front of us, and remained in the alley. All of them bore packs, which they eased off and set on the stones. I could see three other figures coming forward, past the four and stationing themselves on each side of the alley. The three wore the shiny leathers of taudis-toughs. The other four wore dark light-absorbing garb.

I was getting a very uneasy feeling about the entire situation, especially after I saw one of the men setting up something like a tripod pointing in our general direction, but likely at the woodworks building. Then another tripod went up, and a third, and a fourth. When the first man set a cylindrical tube on a tripod, I knew. But I waited until all four tubes were in place on their tripods…but not a moment more.

Then…I stepped around the corner, my back to the wall, and concentrated, imaging fire into all four cylinders and projecting my shields across the alley at an angle.

Light flared everywhere, and a wave of sound slammed me into the wall.

“Sir! Sir!”

Sammyl was helping me to my feet, but loud as he was speaking his words were barely a whisper.

“I’m all right.” I thought I was. I was shaking…but I could see and walk, if a trace unsteadily. I felt weak, and I couldn’t raise any shields. I just hoped that there was no one else around who might want to take a shot at us. “We might as well see what happened.” I started across the side street, but I stopped short of the sidewalk on the other side.

The explosion, contained by my shields, had left a hole a yard deep and five across, and that was through the alley paving stones. There were bits of what had been men and gear strewn like leaves across the bottom of the hole, as well as scraps of twisted metal.

I swallowed and turned away.

Behind me, I could hear Rarydn retching.

I walked back to the other side of the cross street and leaned against the wall. A short time later, the two patrollers rejoined me.

“What happened?” Rarydn’s voice was unsteady.

“The first four had explosive rockets they were going to fire into the woodworks. Then when you and Sammyl came running, the three taudis-toughs would have shot you.”

Sammyl looked to me. “Wasn’t that something the Army should have handled?”

“Well…” I offered with a grin I didn’t feel, “if we’d waited for them…”

“Frig…” mumbled the older patroller, adding after a moment, “Pardon me, sir, but it doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s not, but how often do we get stuck dealing with what’s not right?”

“How do you want us to write it up?” asked Rarydn.

“Just the way it happened. We got a tip. We came to investigate. We must have startled them. Their rockets exploded all at once and dug a big hole and killed all of them.”

“How come—” Rarydn began.

“We don’t have to guess why it happened that way,” I said. “We’re just Civic Patrollers reporting on what happened.”

“That’s right.” Sammyl looked hard at Rarydn.

After a moment, the younger patroller nodded.

We turned and began to walk back to the station. Erion had just climbed above the roofs of the houses to the east, half-full and red-shaded. It might be the moon of the great hunter, but I had the feeling I was as much being hunted as hunter.

As tired and as cold as I was by the time I got home on Vendrei, I could raise shields, although it was painful. I wasn’t sleepy, not after all that had happened. That was probably good, because the moment Seliora saw me step inside the front foyer she asked, “How bad was it?”

“Bad enough. There were four military types with rockets and three taudis-toughs…” I began as I walked into the family parlor and dropped onto the settee in front of the stove. In between bits of explanation, Seliora offered me warm spiced wine. That warmed me and loosened my throat.

When I finished, she said, “The four with the rockets had to be Ferran agents, or something like that, didn’t they?”

“Ferran or Stakanaran, I’d guess, but I’m convinced they obtained the munitions here, and that’s even more troubling.”

“You think that the freeholders or factors like Broussard are involved?”

“They’re involved in something. Whether they’re just causing trouble for the High Holders right now because it’s opportune or because they have something else in mind…I don’t know enough to say.”

“What would they gain?”

“At the very least, they’d put the High Holders on notice that unethical or illegal commercial practices and backdoor discrimination can have a far higher price than the High Holders can afford. At most, they might be pushing for a change in the balance of power on the Council.”

“The Council can’t afford to give in to that kind of pressure.”

“The Council can’t, but the High Holders might have to. Already, they really can’t compete with the larger freeholders in the east in grain and other produce. Not on price. A factor like Glendyl might well be as wealthy as half the smaller High Holders, and more and more factors are getting into manufacturing. I also think the growing of the stronger elveweed represents more than we’re seeing.”

“More than others are seeing,” Seliora corrected me. “You wouldn’t say that if you didn’t have something in mind. What is it?”

“The deaths from the stronger weed are making more people unhappy because young people especially are dying outside the taudis. That’s affecting crafters, artisans, factors, probably even the families of High Holders, although they don’t matter to whoever’s behind this. The idea is to make people like Odelia and Kolasyn and their families unhappy with the Council and the Civic Patrol. There are probably already rumors circulating that it’s all the fault of Suyrien and the High Holders. It’s also to raise golds, possibly to fund things like last night, or all the attacks against the High Holders.”

Seliora frowned. “But…”

I shook my head. “I’m guessing again, but I think the attacks against the High Holders are designed to make them retaliate against the freeholders and factors, the way they’ve always done, except now some of the factors and freeholders have the resources and expertise to fight back.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know. I’m missing something.”

“You’re tired. Maybe you’ll think of it in the morning.”

I nodded. I was exhausted, and finally beginning to feel sleepy, but I had the feeling it was something so obvious I’d want to beat my head against a wall when I discovered what it was.

When I finally awakened, well after sunrise on Samedi, I seemed to have my ability to hold shields back, without pain, but I didn’t raise them then. The longer before I had to, the less strain I’d face in holding them. I showered and dressed, then ate, because I did have to go into the station. I also wanted to stop and talk to Master Dichartyn before I did.

So I found myself knocking on his door before I hurried off to find a duty coach.

He opened the door, barefoot and wearing only old trousers and an under-tunic. “Was the situation as bad as you thought it might be? I assume it wasn’t good, since you’re knocking on my front door rather early. Come on in.”

I stepped into the foyer and went through the events of the night before, ending with, “…the power of the explosives suggested to me military munitions. They’re most likely those stolen from the Army depot.”

“You’re sure they were that strong, Rhenn?”

I refrained from being as sarcastic as I might have been. “I can’t
prove
anything, but what ever it was pulverized paving stones and dug a hole a yard deep and five across.”

“Part of that had to be from the containment of your shields,” he pointed out.

“That might be, but…”

“I take your point. They have to be military. Schorzat needs to know, and so does Maitre Poincaryt.”

“You want me to report it to him personally?”

“No. The way you did it was the way it should be done. For the moment, I don’t want to tell Commander Artois anything more than is in your official patrol report.”

That alone told me he shared my view of Cydarth.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Outside of the fact that four taudis-toughs tried to shoot two of my patrollers on Jeudi night? No. Or that two of the more honest District captains have been removed by an accident and a shooting? Or that Cydarth is suggesting that the lower number of deaths from elveweed in Third District has to do with my ties to unsavory elements?”

“I don’t believe you mentioned those,” he commented in a dry tone.

“I might not have.”

He nodded as if that confirmed something, then said, “They’ll only make it look like they’re trying to kill you.”

“So that I’ll be set up? I wouldn’t be surprised.” With the depth of intrigue that I’d seen since I’d come to Imagisle, and with what more I suspected, I wasn’t certain that anything wasn’t possible…and even so, I’d still probably end up being surprised by the depth of greed, avarice, and scheming that I’d find.

“You will be. We always are, no matter what we think. If that’s all…” He glanced toward the family parlor.

“That’s all.”

I returned to our house, kissed my wife and daughter, and then walked to the duty coach waiting area, where I had to stand for a quint before another coach appeared. It was still early enough that the ride to the station wasn’t hampered by Samedi traffic.

Zharyn had the weekend duty, and he bolted to his feet when he saw me enter the station.

“More problems?” I asked.

“Not in Third District, sir. At headquarters.”

“What sort of problems?”

“Those two we caught on Jeudi, Captain? They’re dead. Someone poisoned them in the main lockup.”

I couldn’t help but wonder about Zharyn’s knowing that. We usually didn’t hear what happened to prisoners we’d sent for charging for a week, sometimes longer if justicing were delayed.

“We got a dispatch this morning by regular headquarters messenger, except…no one signed it.” Zharyn handed the single sheet to me.

There were only four short sentences.

No seal or signature appeared, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Buasytt had sent it. I’d always had the feeling he didn’t see exactly eye-to-eye with either the subcommander or Lieutenant Sarthyn. Then again, it could have been a veiled warning from Cydarth as well, and that might well be the more accurate assumption.

Four taudis-toughs had attacked Third District patrollers on Jeudi, and all of them were dead. So were those who’d attacked on Vendrei. Not only did the deaths leave no trail and no way to follow up, but they pointed out what might be construed as ruthless law enforcement in Third District, and that wasn’t likely to be terribly helpful to me…or to Commander Artois when he came up for review before the Council.

Fortunately, Samedi morning and afternoon were quiet in Third District, or relatively so for a Samedi in fall, with only petty crimes, and the report of but a single elver death.

I left the station a little early, around fourth glass, and took a hack back to Imagisle, but by a quint past fifth glass the three of us were in another hack headed back out to my parents. Seliora and I hadn’t had much time to talk, what with her getting ready and my dealing with Diestrya while she did so.

“How did today go?” Seliora asked as the hack headed up the Boulevard D’Imagers.

“Quiet. A few snatch-and-grabs from shop-girls on the Avenue. There usually are on Samedi, and some of the girls never learn. Some of the patrollers are getting edgy, but I’d be surprised if there are problems tonight.”

“And tomorrow night?”

“I’d guess Mardi night, but…” I shrugged. “It could happen any time. Alsoran’s going to be there this evening for a while.”

“He should be. You’ve been there most nights.”

“I worry, but I can’t be there all the time.”

“No…you can’t. Can you just enjoy dinner tonight?”

“I’ll try.”

Seliora looked at Diestrya. “Your cousin Rheityr will be there. You
will
play nicely with him.”

“Yes, Mama.”

I caught a hint of a gleam in her eye. “Your mother means it, and so do I.”

Diestrya dropped her eyes and her lower lip began to protrude.

“None of that, young lady.” I tried to keep my voice matter-of-fact, and the lip quivered, but there was no procession into tears.

Seliora and I managed to stifle smiles, as Diestrya finally looked up and declared, “I like Rheityr.”

“That’s good. He is your cousin.” I added in a murmur, “I’m going to try to catch that expression in her portrait.” Not that I’d had much time to work on it lately, even with the studio now in our house.

“She’ll hate you for it until she has children,” Seliora whispered in return.

That was often the way with children, I’d decided.

It didn’t seem that long before the hack let us out at my parents’ house, and we joined my parents, Culthyn, and Remaya in the family parlor. Diestrya, of course, joined Rheityr in the nursery.

Before Father could ask me how either the Civic Patrol or imager “business” was, I asked him, “How is the wool business these days?”

He shook his head. “There have been times that have been worse, but not in any recent years. We’ve had problems in getting the raw wool to the carders and spinners. It’s not just in any one part of Solidar, either. The shipping delays are the worst in the northeast, and even in the north around Mont D’Glace, and that’s a straight ironway run to L’Excelsis.”

“You always have problems,” Mother said, extending the tray on which rested his goblet of Dhuensa.

“Not like these.” Father shook his head.

“The spice trade has almost stopped now,” added Remaya. “Father says that little or nothing’s arriving from any of the countries in Otelyrn.”

“Is someone else paying more for spices?” I asked.

“That couldn’t be the reason,” Remaya replied. “Father says that the Stakanaran gunboats are blockading the small river ports where the spices are collected. They’re fast enough to outrun larger vessels, and Tiempre and Caenen don’t want to tie up their warships for a trade that doesn’t benefit them that much.”

“How can it not benefit them?” asked Seliora.

My father cleared his throat, then looked at Remaya, who nodded. He cleared his throat again. “Spices are cheap in Otelyrn. They grow easily. The profit lies in transporting them to where they don’t grow—here. The traders don’t want to lose their vessels to the gunboats, and they—and traders like Remaya’s family—are the only ones who suffer.”

“Our cooking and food also suffers,” added my mother.

“So…Rhenn,” asked my father, “how is the Civic Patrol business?”

“About like the wool and spice businesses.” I tried to keep my tone light. “But we won’t solve it here, and I’d like to hear what Rheityr’s been up to lately.” I grinned. “Then, Seliora and I can talk about our wonderful daughter.”

Culthyn actually laughed.

After that, and through dinner, we talked about family and food, and children. Seliora and I—and a very sleepy Diestrya—left just after eighth glass.

The late nights all through the week took their toll on both Seliora and me, and we were asleep in our separate chambers in less than half a glass after Charlsyn dropped us off at the Collegium.

A dull rumbling shook me awake. But that was followed by another, and an explosion. The entire house shook. Even in the darkness, I could see stones falling around me—yet they hadn’t, not so far.

I ran from my sleeping chamber and across the main bedchamber. “Seliora!” I kept moving, snatching Diestrya from her small railed bed and hurrying back toward Seliora’s sleeping chamber, where I sat on the edge of the bed beside her, raising my shields. “Stay close to me.”

Seliora didn’t question me, but she wouldn’t have had time, because a gigantic unseen hammer slammed the north side of the house. Stones toppled into the house, with some fragments and chunks of masonry and stone and tiles sliding off and around my shields, even as all manner of rubble built up in the hallway and rolled into the bedchamber. Glass sprayed against the shields like grapeshot. The house, solidly built as it was, groaned and shifted.

I could sense something—two somethings, I thought—hurtling toward us, toward my shields and in a fit of anger, image-shifted them back to the point from where they had come. At that moment, my entire body felt like it had been squeezed in a vice. That feeling passed, but my eyes blurred, and I felt dizzy.

The house shifted again…and more rubble settled.

Then came the sound of another massive explosion, followed by others, right in a row, somewhere to the north.

At that moment, I was so exhausted I could barely move, and my whole body ached, but I knew I had to hold the shields to protect Seliora and Diestrya until we could get out of the house and the rubble around us. I closed my eyes and concentrated for a time longer.

After everything settled, I turned to Seliora. “I’m holding shields. I don’t know what will collapse. We’ll move to where we can get clothes and boots and then make our way out. I think the south side of the house isn’t as badly damaged.”

We just grabbed clothing and boots before making our way down the rubble-filled staircase, more like sliding down the balustrade, but the dwelling had been so solidly built that the main level was clear, if dusty.