Imager (13 page)

Love is both a name and an act; too often the name
triumphs.

On Solayi, the twenty-ninth, I struggled to get out of bed in time for breakfast. There was no requirement to go to breakfast—or any other meal, for that matter. But for me, there weren’t any alternatives. Even if I had been permitted to leave Imagisle, I’d earned something like four silvers since I’d been at the Collegium. That might have paid for two cheap meals off the isle—and neither would have been as good as what I was getting fed. At the noon and evening meals, we even had wine, a grade that was a good plonk.

At breakfast and dinner, even during the week, I seldom saw more than a few masters, and they were those who had various duties on that particular day, nor were there that many of the older thirds or seconds. On weekends there were even fewer, but that made sense, because even the junior imagers could leave Imagisle—except for primes in my position.

I was one of the older imagers there, except for Maitre Dichartyn. He was seated at the masters’ table with Maitre Chassendri, and she was the maitre of the day. I sat down at the primes’ table, less than half full, and a rather sleepy-eyed and groggy Lieryns staggered in and sat across from me.

“Too early,” he mumbled.

“But it’s a long time to lunch on an empty stomach.”

“Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

I glanced around the dining hall. There were only twenty or so at the seconds and thirds’ table, and perhaps fifteen at the primes’ table. “You don’t go anywhere on weekends?”

“Nowhere to go. My people live out near Rivages. Ironway only goes partway, and it’s nearly a day trip each way. Besides, they’re all foresters.”

“You don’t have much to talk to them about?” I asked, before pouring tea into my mug.

“Never did. Less now, and everyone else in town, they all look the other way if they see me coming. Oh, they’ll talk if you greet ’em, and they’re nicer to me than they ever were when I was just Leam’s youngest, but they all look so uncomfortable.”

“They respect you, then.”

“More like fear. You’ll see.” Lieryns looked down into his mug of tea, inhaling slightly and letting the warm vapor caress his face.

“How did you discover you were an imager?”

“My da had too many pitchers of plonk one night, and he came storming in, tried to beat up Callia, and he ran into a door that wasn’t there. Our cot never had doors, just curtains. Didn’t take him long to figure it out, seeing as only Callia and I were there. Ma and the others were at Aunt Nuela’s—she’d just had her third. Anyway, drunk as he was, that stopped him.”

“It did?”

“Oh, he wanted to flog me into ribbons, but the masters don’t like it, and there’s a finders’ fee for letting the Collegium know about imagers. It’s a gold most places, maybe more if we’re not beaten. Master Ghaend said that it was cheaper than holding hearings or trials for people who killed young imagers. My da was more than happy to claim it, and I usually bring them a silver or two when I visit.” Lieryns shrugged. “It’s easier that way. Besides, I’ve got a feeling that Llysira just might have the talent. She’s nine now.” He took a mouthful of the rubber-like omelet and chewed slowly. “Anyone else in your family show up as an imager?”

I shook my head. “Not that I know, and the way my mother’s family keeps track of the bloodlines, I think they’d know.”

“Maybe they do know. Maybe they don’t say. Some folks don’t want it known. They say it’s a mark of the Namer.”

Was Lieryns right? How could I know if people never talked and I’d never known enough to ask? “You’re cheerful this morning.”

He yawned, then shook his head. “You ever have a girlfriend?”

“Once or twice. The first married . . . someone. The other . . . I don’t know.” That wasn’t totally true. I’d enjoyed the company of a few over the years, and, for some reason, the only two I’d thought of in response to his question were Remaya and, surprisingly, Seliora, yet I’d only danced with Seliora on two or three of the Samedi get-togethers. “What about you?”

Lieryns shook his head. “The first time I went home, her mother met me at the door and said that she was . . . indisposed. She’s been indisposed ever since. For me, anyway. You’ll be fortunate if your former girlfriend will even look at you.”

That hadn’t been one of my greater concerns. Even so, I had to wonder if I’d have that problem . . . or if I’d even have another woman friend. That was something else I’d find out.

After breakfast, I donned the heavy gray cloak and began to walk along the west side of the isle, on the gray stone walk just above the gray stone river walls. Council Hill was two and a half milles away, but the day was gray and hazy enough that I could barely make out the white walls of the Council Chateau, and they looked to be a lighter shade of gray in the distance. The gray everywhere was getting to me. I wondered how different it had looked in the days before Charyn, when L’Excelsis and Solidar had been ruled by a rex. Had any of the early rulers been imagers? None of the history books I’d read had said, only that the early imagers, especially those serving Rex Regis, had been a necessary adjunct to the power of the rex. But then, none of the books mentioned the Namer, either, or Rholan the Unnamer, or even the mark of the Namer.

I ambled north past the workrooms, the armory, and an area of dwellings, both large and small, seemingly placed with care in a park-like setting. North of the houses was a small park that covered the northern tip of the isle. Although it had benches and a small hedge maze, I saw only three people—a young woman with two small children, barely more than toddlers. I kept following the stone walk back down the east side of the isle. Just before I reached the Bridge of Hopes, I saw an imager, with broad shoulders and light brown hair, walking across the bridge. On the far side, waiting for him, was a magnificent black coach, trimmed in silver, with a matched pair of blacks. Standing beside the open door of the coach was a young woman, with long white-blond hair flowing out from a silver and black scarf. Even at that distance, I could tell that she was young and beautiful. I just stood and watched as the imager neared.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, but briefly, and with a certain stiffness. Then he helped her into the coach and followed. I couldn’t help but wonder not only who the imager was, but how he’d managed to have a lady friend so clearly wealthy. Perhaps there was more appeal to being an imager than I’d realized.

Those who do not understand imaging assume that
any rule of the world can be circumvented or changed
with enough skill; that is so erroneous that it cannot
even be termed wrong.

On Jeudi, the thirty-third of Maris, at the end of breakfast, when I’d been at the Collegium for over three weeks, Master Poincaryt stood and announced, “All members of the Collegium, except those with specific exceptions from me, will assemble in the gallery of the hearing room of the Justice Building at the eighth glass this morning.” Then he sat down.

“That’s trouble for someone,” murmured Etyen.

“More than trouble,” added Thenard.

According to the
Manual,
hearings were mandated only for serious offenses against the Council or the Collegium, but there was nothing written that indicated that the hearings were public and that all imagers were required to attend.

“Do you know who it is or what they did?” I asked.

“No,” said someone down the table. “We only find out at the hearing.”

If you did something against the Collegium, could someone just appear with guards or whatever and whisk you off to a cell and a hearing? Could they do that to me, for imaging the explosion that killed Master Caliostrus and Ostrius? I tried not to shiver, and instead looked down at the remnants of the egg-fried toast on my platter.

I slowly finished them, as well as my tea, then made my way to Master Dichartyn’s study, where I sat on the bench in the hall and began to leaf through the manual.

“Rhennthyl?” Gherard stood in the middle of the corridor. “Master Dichartyn is preparing for the hearing. He asked me to tell you to read the eighth section of
Natural Science
and the first section of
Practical Philosophy
. He will see you tomorrow morning.”

I went back to my room and struggled through five pages of the philosophy book before making my way out into the misty fog that covered the quadrangle and then to the Justice Building. The gallery consisted of wooden high-backed benches set on tiers that rose behind a low wall that separated the hearing area from the gallery. The benches flanked a central set of steps, coming down from the upper entry on the second level of the building. The lower level was very simple. At the east end was a dais a yard high, and from the middle rose a solid black desk with a high-backed chair behind it. The floor was of seamless stone, but a walkway of black stone, seemingly with no joins separating it from the gray stone around it, ran from the archway at the west end of the chamber to the foot of the dais. At the end of the dais, above where the black stone ended, was a black railing two yards long, supported at each end by black posts.

By the time all the imagers had filed in, the gallery was close to filled. From my best count, there were close to two hundred imagers there, ranging from primes just out of grammaire to graying masters.

“Is this most of the Collegium?” I looked toward Thenard, seated on my right.

He shrugged. “This is only the third hearing I’ve been to. That’s in two years. There have been about the same number at each hearing.”

Outside, the bells began to ring the glass.

“All rise.” The words came from a dark-haired master standing by the west-end archway facing the dais.

As we stood, the justice—or hearing officer—walked in and then settled himself behind the desk on the high dais. He wore a long gray robe, like the Council justices, except his was trimmed in both black and red, instead of just black.

“You may be seated,” announced the bailiff. “Floryn, Imager Tertius, step forward to the bar.”

Floryn didn’t have much choice about stepping forward. His hands were manacled behind him, and a thick black blindfold covered his eyes. Two large obdurates in black escorted him forward until he stood before the black railing. I wondered about the blindfold, but only for a moment. It would be hard to image anything if you couldn’t see, and the position of the manacles prevented him from lifting his hands to remove the blindfold.

“Who stands to defend the accused?” asked the justice.

“I do.” Master Dichartyn stepped forward and stood beside the small table on the right, facing the dais.

“Who presents the case for the Collegium against the accused?”

“I do.” The thin blond man who stepped up to the table on the left was a man I’d seen at meals, seated at the masters’ table, but whom I did not know.

“State the charges against the accused.”

“The accused faces three charges. The first charge is that of counterfeiting the coin of Solidar, to wit, by imaging a gold crown that was not pure gold and by attempting to use such to purchase goods. The second charge is that of employing imaging to obstruct a civic patroller in the course of his duties. The third charge is that of attempted murder in the use of imaging against a master of the Collegium.”

After the reading of the third charge, I could hear several indrawn breaths, particularly from a row of thirds seated below us.

“How does the accused plead? Guilty, Not Guilty, No Plea, or For Mercy?”

“For Mercy, Your Honor,” offered Master Dichartyn.

The justice looked directly at Floryn. “Floryn, your defender has offered a plea of For Mercy. Do you accept that plea?”

“Yes, sir.”

Even I could sense the defeat and resignation behind those two words.

“Seat the accused.”

The two guards led Floryn to the table on the right of the chamber, behind which were two chairs. After they seated him in the one away from the black stone walkway, they took position behind him, while Master Dichartyn seated himself in the other chair.

“Proceed, Advocate for the Collegium,” stated the justice.

The blond master nodded to the bailiff, who announced, “Sandyal, Imager Tertius, to the bar.”

A lanky and sandy-haired imager who looked to be close to my age walked from the west archway forward to the bar.

“Sandyal,” began the justice, “do you understand that you are required to tell the whole truth, and that your words must not deceive, either by elaboration or omission?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Proceed.”

“Sandyal,” began the Collegium advocate, “you had a conversation with Floryn on Solayi, the twenty-ninth of Maris. Would you please recount what Floryn said he was going to do?”

“Yes, sir. We had the afternoon off. We had to be back for chapel, but the afternoon was ours, and Floryn said that he wanted to have some spiced wine and pastries at Naranje. I told him that I didn’t have enough coin, and he said that he’d take care of whatever we bought. . . .”

Sandyal must have recounted every detail of the afternoon, and it took more than half a glass, but the gist was that Floryn didn’t have any coin and that he imaged a gold. The serving girl thought it felt wrong and put it in a water-tester. It came up false. She told the owner of the patisserie, and he summoned the patrollers. Because she had also said that it came from a young imager, they summoned the duty master. The summons didn’t reach the master before a patroller arrived. Floryn realized something was wrong and ran out of the patisserie. The patroller followed, and Floryn imaged something that tripped the patroller.”

“Did you see what happened after that?”

“No, sir, except that Floryn ran across the boulevard—the Boulevard D’Imagers, sir—and down an alleyway. I just waited there in the patisserie. I didn’t have any coins, and . . . I thought Floryn was going to pay. He said he would.”

“I have no further questions.” The advocate looked to Master Dichartyn.

“I have no questions.”

“You may leave the chamber for the anteroom, Imager Sandyal.”

Sandyal inclined his head, then turned.

“What will happen to Sandyal?” I whispered as he walked back down the black stone.

“He’s restricted to Imagisle for the next year, and then they’ll review it.”

I didn’t hear who said that, but it wasn’t Thenard.

“Master Ferlyn to the bar.”

The angular master who strode down the central black stoneway didn’t look all that much older than I was. He had dark mahogany hair and a sharp nose.

“Master Ferlyn,” asked the justice, “do you understand that you are required to tell the whole truth, and that your words must not deceive, either by elaboration or omission?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Ferlyn’s answers to the advocate’s questions paralleled what Sandyal had said.

“Did you see what happened to the civic patroller?”

“Yes, sir. Floryn imaged a timber right before his knees. The patroller wasn’t threatening Floryn. He was trying to keep him in sight until I arrived . . .”

That also made sense to me.

“. . . when I caught sight of him in Milliners’ Lane, Floryn tried to use imagery to block my vision of what was happening as well as making a personal attack on me. The details are in the documentation presented to the court. I request that those details not be stated in open court.”

The justice looked to Master Dichartyn, but Master Dichartyn did not object to that request. For an instant, I wondered why, but then realized that there was a greater disadvantage to Floryn in having the details made public.

After Master Ferlyn’s testimony, statements were read from the serving girl and from the patroller, and the patisserie owner.

Then the bailiff called out, “Vanjhant, Imager Secondus.”

In moments, the chubby and blond young imager was standing before the bar, having been exhorted to tell the truth.

“Vanjhant, you listened to something that Floryn said several weeks ago. I would like you to recount what you heard.”

“Yes, sir.” Vanjhant licked his lips. Then he swallowed. “We were leaving the dining hall, and it wasn’t that good that day. Least we didn’t think so. Morryset was wishing that he could have a real pastry, and Floryn said that was no problem, that all you had to do was image a few silvers or a gold, whenever you wanted to, and go out across the bridge and buy one. . . . Chastyn said it wasn’t that easy. Floryn said that so long as the gold was on the outside and it was heavy enough, anyone would take it . . .”

The advocate asked several more questions, then dismissed Vanjhant. After that, three more junior imagers were called, and all confirmed that Floryn had made similar statements.

“Are there any additional witnesses?” asked the justice.

“No, Your Honor.” The words from both masters were nearly simultaneous.

“Your statement, master defender.”

Master Dichartyn stood. “I cannot contest the facts in this case. Floryn did in fact image a gold that did not contain the proper gold content. Had the coin been of the proper weight, at most he would face a disciplinary hearing, assuming that his duplication of a coin would ever have been noticed. His life is at stake because his abilities were not equal to his self-confidence. As with many young people who realize that they have made a terrible mistake, he panicked. He attempted to stop a patroller from following him, but he did not use imaging in a fashion intended to do any permanent harm to the patroller. The same is true of his use of imaging against Master Ferlyn. Because his actions were based on poor judgment, and because his actions showed clearly his desire not to create permanent harm or injury to anyone, I request that he receive mercy, and that he be sentenced to five years in the duplication section of the machine works, and that he be restricted to Imagisle for ten years, and that any violation of either condition result in immediate execution of the sentence that would otherwise be imposed.”

The way Master Dichartyn put it, the request for mercy seemed fair enough. Certainly Floryn would not be getting off lightly, but it was clear that the alternative was his death.

“Your statement, Advocate for the Collegium.”

The blond master stood. “My colleague has presented an eloquent argument, and one that, in other circumstances, I would in fact endorse and support. Were Floryn an Imager Primus or Secondus, with perhaps a year or so at the Collegium, I would not hesitate to do so. Had he been here even two, or perhaps three years, I would probably support a plea of For Mercy. But Floryn has been at the Collegium for over five years, and his actions, as shown by the statements he made to all levels of young imagers, embody a thoughtlessness and a recklessness that, in time, could threaten the very Collegium itself. This was not the impetuous and isolated act of a young imager, excited over new abilities and unaware of the consequences. These acts were those of an arrogant and self-centered man who could only consider his own pleasure, and who created disruption and brought discredit upon the Collegium—all for a few mugs of spiced wine and two pastries. For those reasons, I must ask that the plea of For Mercy be rejected, that Floryn be found guilty of the charges levied against him, and that the appropriate sentence be carried out.” The Collegium advocate inclined his head, first to Master Dichartyn, then to the justice.

“Floryn, Imager Tertius, to the bar.”

The two guards half-urged, half-lifted Floryn from his chair and escorted him back to the bar, facing the justice. Then they retreated several paces and waited.

The justice stood.