Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (50 page)

When he caught sight of me, for just the slightest moment, the subcommander looked stunned. Then he made his way toward the yellow cord, lifting it, and ducking underneath, before walking toward me and my escorts.

“Good afternoon, Subcommander,” I offered.

“Good afternoon, Maitre Rhennthyl. Might I ask what you were doing here?”

“Oh…that.” I did manage a smile. “I was tracking down the banque representative who might have created the means by which Ferran agents obtained access to the engine works of the late Councilor Glendyl. Before we could properly discuss matters, the building exploded. I had some difficulty in extricating myself.”

“I do believe you’re the only man I know who’s escaped having two buildings explode around him.”

“I didn’t exactly plan either one,” I said as dryly as I could. “I’d barely been inside half a quint when it exploded.”

“But you had some difficulty getting out, it appears.”

“The door was blocked, and the window in front was false. There was a bookcase wall behind it.”

Cydarth looked skeptical. I really didn’t care.

“That’s against the building codes.”

“It may be against the codes, but that’s the way it was. There’s enough left there that you can see it’s so.”

“Who else was in the building?”

“I don’t know. I knocked, and someone called down from the second level to enter and to wait in the front foyer. I did, and before anyone arrived, there was an explosion and the building came down around me.”

“You’re fortunate you’re an imager.”

I didn’t answer that.

“Out of the way…Out of the way!”

Both Cydarth and I turned to see Commander Artois move through the crowd and under the cord. He immediately turned toward us and strode stiffly toward me, but when he stopped, his eyes landed on Cydarth. “Excuse us, Subcommander.” Artois’s glance at Cydarth was cold enough to have frozen the entire River Aluse.

I limped slightly after the Commander until he stopped in front of the corner of the River Association Building, still inside the cordon line, but back from the crowd that was beginning to disperse, since nothing more seemed to be happening, I suspected.

“Maitre Rhennthyl…it was strongly suggested that I be here. Why, might I ask?”

“So that any papers that are recovered from the ruins go to your hands and not into the hands of the subcommander. If you are not here, that is not likely to happen.”

He looked at me, then back to where the fire brigade still pumped water from another tanker over the one smoking spot in the rubble. “What do you want?”

“To look at any papers or documents you find. It’s likely that they’ll show to whom Vyktor lent golds…and perhaps did more than that.”

“Vyktor?”

“Oh…he is—or was—the ostensible agent for the Banque D’Ouestan here in L’Excelsis. They should find a body in there. It might be his.”

“You think he was behind all the explosions in L’Excelsis?”

“That…I don’t know. It’s likely that he supplied the golds to various agents, and that he was receiving those funds through the Banque D’Ouestan. It’s also likely that he lent golds, most likely supplied by Ferrum, to various factors and others who opposed High Holders, some of whom are Councilors. I thought you might wish to see those papers first. I would like to see them, all of them, as well, but it’s been a very trying afternoon, and I have to confess that I’m not at my best.”

“I can understand the Collegium’s interest.” He looked at me. “Unless you have other reasons, I doubt you need to remain. Do you need a hack?”

“I hope not. I think I have a coach around the corner.”

He nodded, then gestured to a patroller.

“If you’d escort Maitre Rhennthyl to his coach.”

“Yes, sir.”

I inclined my head politely, then walked back along the cordon line, accompanied by the patroller, toward where I thought the coach might be. The stone was cold, and I walked awkwardly, trying to be careful where I placed my unbooted foot. Thankfully, I did find the duty coach nearby, and I limped up into it, with one foot clad only in a very soiled stocking. Lebryn did stare for a moment. I was glad that he hadn’t been able to wait in front of the building.

When we reached Imagisle, I had Lebryn drop me at the administration building, where I made my way to see Maitre Dyana—after sending the duty prime to get some rags or something I could wrap around my nearly bare foot.

Her door was ajar, and Gherard just nodded, as if he didn’t even want to ask why I wanted to see her.

“You look somewhat the worse for wear,” observed Maitre Dyana as I stepped into her study and closed the door behind me. “Only one boot?”

“Just one, and I am.” I sat down and proceeded to recount the salient events of the day, from my confirmation of Glendyl’s not-suicide to the explosion and what followed.

After I finished, she looked at me for a time before asking, “Exactly what has all this accomplished, do you think?”

“We’ve temporarily removed one source of funding for Ferran operations here in Solidar. It’s fair to say that we have more evidence to bring before the Council on the larger danger Ferrum represents, and possibly on the need to modernize the fleet…as well as to undertake a few other changes. Artois may find more.”

“Summoning him was a deft touch. The fact that he found Cydarth already there may result in more disclosures. If he does find evidence, it will be his doing, not the Collegium’s.”

We talked a bit longer and then I left. Rather than search for boots or try to image one that fit, which would have required more effort than I thought I should make, I just wrapped rags and cloth around my unbooted foot and clumped out across the quadrangle and north to our house.

I’d barely stepped inside and shut the door when Diestrya ran toward me, saying, “Dada!” I scooped her up and held her tight. I found my eyes burning when I finally put her down.

Seliora stood in the archway from the parlor. “Your grays and cloak are dusty, and there are smears and smudges on your cheeks, and your foot is wrapped in rags. Is it hurt? What happened?”

“The rags are because my other boot was caught inside the building that another Ferran agent exploded around me.”

“Rhenn…” Her mouth opened.

“It’s all right. He’s dead.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Why don’t you get me some hot tea, and we’ll all sit down in the parlor, and I’ll tell you. It’s been a very long day, and I’m very glad to be home. I can’t tell you how glad.”

I let myself sleep a little later on Mardi morning. It didn’t help that much. I dreamed of buildings exploding and falling down around me, feeling helpless in a lead casket, where I couldn’t breathe. I woke up less than a half glass later than I usually did. I was sore all over, although I didn’t find too many bruises. I wondered if I should have stayed and watched while the Civic Patrol went through the rubble of Vyktor’s place.

Given that I was still feeling exhausted, and that I was only able to hold very light shields without feeling dizzy, that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. Besides, events were conspiring to illustrate that I couldn’t do everything I wanted to do, much less everything that needed to be done. So I decided to trust Artois, at least so far as to what the Civic Patrol might find, and once I got to the administration building, I thought about how I might handle my problems with Valeun, Geuffryt, and the Naval Command. That wasn’t terribly useful, because I kept thinking about what Artois and the Civic Patrol might have found…or the fact that they might have found nothing useful at all.

I went through reports and then spent the remainder of the morning with Kahlasa and Schorzat, where we talked over how we could improve the reports we received from regionals and from all the Civic Patrol Commanders across Solidar. They had suggestions far better than mine about what we needed on the reports. None of us had very good ideas on how to get the Council to adopt requirements so that the various city Civic Patrol Commanders would actually be required to supply the information.

Just before noon, Schorzat went to meet his brother in the city, and Kahlasa headed off to eat with her daughter. I went to the dining hall and almost reached the masters’ table when I heard a cheerful voice from the other end.

“Rhenn…I heard that another building exploded around you,” Ferlyn offered cheerfully.

I sat down to the left of Chassendri before replying. “More on me than around me.” I shrugged. “What can I say?” Then I turned to Chassendri. “If you wouldn’t mind passing the carafe of the red wine?”

“I’d be delighted,” she said, almost impishly, for all that she was a good fifteen or twenty years older than me.

“You covert types…” Ferlyn laughed. “Never a straight or informative answer.”

“That is what covert means,” replied Chassendri.

“You’re always defending them.”

“That’s because they’re always defending us, Ferlyn. You might try the red wine. It is rather good for a midday meal.”

Chassendri and I talked about my junior imagers, particularly Haugyl and Marteon, who were having trouble grasping the concept that being an imager required continual work.

After I ate, I headed back to my study and fretted over how exactly to fit in all the changes we had discussed for the revised report forms, until, slightly before second glass, a young patroller arrived at the administration building looking for me.

“Maitre Rhennthyl, the Commander hoped you could join him at your earliest convenience.”

“I’d be happy to.”

With that, after I donned my lighter cloak—the heavier one was being fullered—I guided him out of the administration building and to the duty coach stand. We rode back to Civic Patrol headquarters in a Collegium coach. There, I went upstairs alone.

Artois was waiting in his study, but he didn’t speak until I closed the door. “You’re looking better today.”

“Thank you. I’m feeling better as well. I assume you found some items of interest.” I sat down across the desk from him.

“We did. There was only one body in the building. From what we can tell, it was Vyktor D’Banque D’Ouestan. He’d rigged the place with explosives, but there were two fuse systems, one above the front room…and one just inside the rear door to the alley.”

“So he could destroy the building and depart.”

“Most likely.” Artois looked at me. “We found two lockboxes. Do you have any idea what was in either?”

“There might be a note for 25,000 golds owed to the Banque D’Ouestan by Councilor Glendyl. There might be documents with other names on them. One of those names might be Mahrun Barge and Cartage. Another might be Cholan Freight and Transport.”

Artois nodded. “A fair number of golds were transferred to both of those names, and there were also remittances to the Banque D’Ouestan from them. I take it that you believe them to have been Ferran facades?”

“That appears likely. You will make those available, if it becomes necessary?”

“Of course.” After a slight hesitation, Artois added, “One of the other names was that of a Civic Patrol subcommander, but the documents involving him weren’t notes, but the record of a series of payments to one Vyktor D’Cleris from that subcommander. I thought you might wish to look at it.” He extended a small thin book across the desk.

I opened it and scanned the entries in the miniature ledger. Most of them were outlays to names I’d never heard of, but there were occasional receipts. The only regular entries were from “Cydarth D’P., in gold.”

“To Vyktor? Not to the banque? Can you check the amounts against withdrawals or transfers from his account at the Banque D’Excelsis?”

“I already did. The banque was cooperative, for once. For the most part, they match withdrawals, but the payments were made in actual golds, as you can see.” Artois offered a tight smile. “Although we cannot prove for what the payments were made, there is enough proof to dismiss the subcommander for improper behavior in transferring funds to the agent of a foreign power. He could contest the dismissal before the Justiciary, but that would make matters very public, and that would not be in his interests.”

I had a very good idea why Cydarth had paid Vyktor. There had been too many “accidental” deaths of Patrol officers who opposed Cydarth. Again, there wasn’t any way to prove that.

“Even more interesting,” continued Artois, “is the fact that the subcommander took the ironway somewhere last night. Do you know where?”

“It’s likely that he took an express straight to Ouestan, but that’s a guess.”

“He’ll be on a vessel outbound before we can get word there.” Artois reclaimed the ledger and extended a file holding loose papers. “I thought you might like to see this as well.”

I opened the folder and studied the sheets there. In addition to the original note to Glendyl, there was another note, marked paid, for ten thousand golds from one Broussard D’Factorius and yet another that extended fifty thousand golds to High Holder Ruelyr. The second showed no indication of having been paid. There was a small note card. I read it twice.

The letter underneath was an ornate “L.” In the bottom right hand corner, a different hand had added, “10/11/762.”

The later hand was doubtless Vyktor’s, but who would sign a note with a “L”? Abruptly, I knew, useless as it was, unless I could compare handwriting.

“Most interesting. I assume you have no objection to my retaining this for a time.”

“None whatsoever. None relates to offenses here in L’Excelsis.”

I’d hoped that there might have been something more directly involving or implicating Geuffryt, but…if there didn’t happen to be anything, then there wasn’t anything.

After a moment, Artois added, with a glint in his eye, “There was also a strongbox buried in the rear of the lower level. It held some four thousand golds.” He paused. “Nothing else. Just golds. Except they were Ferran minted golds.”

“If you wouldn’t mind sending Maitre Dyana a report of that?”

“I’d be pleased to do so.” He did not stand, but finally said, “You never trusted Cydarth, did you?”

“No. I never did.”

“Why?”

“There were too many little things that bothered me.”

Abruptly, Artois laughed. “That’s why you were a good Patrol officer, and why you’ll do well with what you’re doing.” He did stand. “We should meet often.”

“We will.” I stood as well.

The duty coach was waiting outside, with Lebryn ready to return me to Imagisle. And I while I had another piece of proof about Geuffryt, it was anything but conclusive.