Imager (28 page)

Achieving true excellence risks all that holds
happiness.

Well before third glass on Solayi afternoon, I was sitting waiting on the second graystone bench—the one shaded by the oak that was finally leafing out—near the Imagisle side of the Bridge of Hopes. I’d brought the science text, because Master Dichartyn had not been pleased with my lack of visualization of anatomy when we had met on Vendrei. While he had been slightly happier with my performance on Samedi morning, he’d asked more questions, and then pointedly suggested that I finish my essay for Master Jhulian in order to have my mind clear to finish the essay I owed him.

On Solayi morning, I had finished a draft of the essay on the Juristic Code’s applicability to imagers. Because the Code recognized the discretion granted to civic patrollers, anyone actually charged was presumed guilty. Since patrollers tended to defer to imagers, the Code provided for a review hearing on any matter involving an imager—provided the Council approved. That also explained why Master Jhulian and Master Dichartyn had emphasized that imagers should never be even remotely associated with the appearance of violence and murders. Such a petition to the Council, even if rejected, might well raise issues better left unexamined.

As I could feel the time nearing third glass, I finally closed the science text, because I was not reading it. My eyes were merely skipping over the page in front of me and then glancing toward the nearer end of the bridge. Just moments after the third bell rang, two figures came into view, walking casually, but not dawdling, along the south side of the bridge, Seliora and a taller figure—Odelia. Seliora wore a long flowing dress, a pale green, with a cream silk jacket. Odelia was in a brighter green.

I stood and stepped toward them.

Odelia smiled but dropped back to let her cousin move toward me alone. Seliora stepped forward and took my hands. She smiled, an expression of both concern and warmth. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I feel much better.”

She inclined her head toward the shaded bench I had just left. “You’re still pale, and you need to sit down.”

I didn’t argue, and we sat down in the shade. Odelia took the other bench, close enough to watch, but far enough not to hear, although I doubted she would have passed on anything.

“I’m glad you came.” I couldn’t help smiling at her.

“Should you be up?”

“Master Draffyd said that gentle movement would help, but I’m not supposed to lift anything heavy with my left arm or hand.”

“I told Mother where you were shot,” Seliora said slowly. “She said most people would have died right there.”

“I almost did. If you hadn’t gotten me to the infirmary that quickly, I would have.”

She looked directly at me. “You’re fated not to die young. That is what Mama said.” Then she smiled. “She told me to tell you that’s from the Pharsi side.”

I frowned. “I thought that was your father’s side.”

Seliora flushed. “Actually . . . there’s full Pharsi on both sides.”

I laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. Can you tell fortunes as well?” I wished I hadn’t asked the question, because, belatedly, I remembered that she’d already told me that she’d seen a vision of me in gray before I’d become an imager.

“I do better with people I don’t know.”

“People you don’t know or people you’re not . . . close to?” I hesitated over the words.

“Those I don’t care about. When you care, it’s difficult to separate what you want to see from what you do see.”

I wanted to put my arms around her. I didn’t. “Your parents weren’t upset?”

“Why would they be upset?”

“Because you were with someone who got shot. That could be upsetting.”

“Papa said he was happy you were going to be well and that . . .” She shook her head.

“What?” I spoke before I realized she had that glint in her eye.

“He didn’t want his daughter to be interested in a man who wasn’t worth shooting. Someone shot him when he was courting Mama. It was only in the arm, and it didn’t even break a bone.”

“Did he ever say what happened to the man?”

Seliora shook her head. “He did say that the fellow wouldn’t bother anyone again.”

“I thought it might have been something like that. I don’t think I’ll cross your father.”

“Be nice to me, and he won’t say a word.” She grinned. “But I think Grandmama had more to do with it. She didn’t like anyone interfering with her family. She still doesn’t.”

“Did you get the pistol from her?”

That brought a sheepish look to her face. “I bought it when I was fifteen. Grandmama knew before I took three steps into the house. She spent every day for a month teaching me to use it. She told me that you never bought anything you couldn’t use or didn’t learn to use.”

“I didn’t meet her,” I said.

“She has a bad leg. She also told me that she didn’t want to meet anyone I thought much of in a crowd, and the family was definitely a crowd.” There was the faintest pause. “She knows about you, though.”

“Oh?” I wasn’t certain I liked that.

“I’ve told her. She said that if you were talented and honest, you’d never amount to anything as a portraiturist.”

Even as I winced, I had to admit that the grandmother I’d never met was right. “Does that apply to furniture and designs?”

“Absolutely! We’re talented, but we’re not totally honest. We cheat anyone who tries to cheat us . . . and we’re better at it.”

That also surprised me not in the least.

“Will you be able to come to dinner before long?”

“I want to, very much, but Master Dichartyn has confined me to Imagisle until I’m totally well and better able to take care of myself. That could be almost a month.” I smiled, if faintly. “He also said that I’m to listen to you.”

The last words did bring the faintest hint of that mischievous smile I liked so much.

“I’m glad they think I’m of worth to you.”

“Master Draffyd said I owe my life to you, but I already knew that.” I paused, then added, “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather owe it to.”

“Rhenn . . . I know what you’re doing must be dangerous. Please don’t take risks you don’t have to take.”

“That’s what they’re trying to teach me.” Among other things.

“Then listen to them.”

I smiled broadly at her. “Shall I tell Master Dichartyn you ordered me to listen to him.”

“If it pleases you.” The words were not quite coy, but there was a hint of chill.

“I’m sorry. I was teasing. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Teasing is fair,” she replied. “Condescension is not.”

I almost said I hadn’t been condescending, then thought better. “That’s fair, but I probably don’t recognize it all the time when I’m being condescending. If condescension isn’t fair, then you have to accept my apologies for inadvertent condescension.” I offered a mournful face.

Either the expression or the words brought a laugh, and I laughed with her, if very gently. Too many things hurt too much for enthusiastic laughter.

“Have you seen Rogaris or any of the others?”

“No. There’s no reason to, and we’ve been busy. I had to come up with an entire new design for High Holder Esquivyl. He decided that the rendition of the family crest that he approved two weeks ago wasn’t what he wanted after all. Or his new child bride decided that.”

“Did you meet her?”

“She simpers and bats her eyelashes, but she has more brains in the little finger she beckons to him with than he has in his skull.”

“Have you ever met High Holder Ryel?”

Seliora frowned, thinking. “No, but you never know. Why?”

“Just don’t mention my name. That’s all. His son attacked me.”

“What did you do?”

“I defended myself. Actually, there were two of them. They were both imagers who were senior to me. I partly blinded Johanyr—he’s Ryel’s son, and he was transferred to Mont D’Image to recover. He won’t be allowed to return to L’Excelsis. But I can’t imagine High Holder Ryel would look upon anyone connected to me in any way favorably.”

“Did the senior imagers try to stop them?”

“They did, but I didn’t know that they were trying to protect me. I didn’t know they were even around, and when it looked like Johanyr really meant to harm me, I tried to disable him. I disabled him a bit too much. That’s another reason why I can’t leave Imagisle for a while. I need to learn better control of what I do.”

“It isn’t just that, is it?”

I’d known that Seliora was perceptive, but her perception could make it hard for me. “No. The masters think that someone is hiring assassins to kill me, and they don’t want me to leave until I’m fully recovered and I’ve learned some more techniques.”

“High Holder Ryel?”

“They don’t know, and one doesn’t charge High Holders without a great deal of proof.”

Seliora nodded. “I won’t tell Papa and Mama. I’ll just tell them that all imagers run the risk of being targets at times . . . especially the good ones.”

“I’m just a junior imager third.”

“That’s like a journeyman imager, isn’t it?”

I supposed it was. I nodded.

“That makes you good. How many imagers become journeymen in less than half a year?”

Things had happened so fast I hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know, but you’re probably right. I just didn’t think of it that way.”

“You haven’t told your parents, either, have you?”

“No. I won’t say a thing unless I become a master.”

“You’re as proud as any Pharsi, Rhenn.” Her smile was warm, sympathetic, and sad, all at once. “There must be some of that blood somewhere in your background.”

I could only shrug . . . slightly, and I still had to hide a wince.

She took my hands again. “I can’t stay long. Not today. We’re having a birthday dinner for Grandmama.” Another smile followed. “Could we have a picnic here next Samedi?”

“Are you sure you want to go to that trouble?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. You wouldn’t mind if Odelia brought Kolasyn, would you?”

“I can’t see that as a problem. I am allowed visitors when I’m free, and there’s no restriction, except common sense, I suppose.”

“Half past fourth bell?”

“I’ll be here.”

“So will I.” She leaned forward and brushed my cheek with her lips, squeezing my hands.

After a moment, we stood. Then we walked toward Odelia, who rose.

When they headed toward the bridge, I just sat down on the bench and watched the two of them walk back across the bridge to L’Excelsis, a reminder of sorts that the city I’d grown up in was now a foreign land, at least in some ways.

Seeking fame can be as deadly as poison.

On Lundi, I handed in the essay for Master Jhulian. He read it, then nodded. “It is acceptable, and that is all I could expect from an imager who is not a legal scholar.”

I knew the essay wasn’t outstanding, but just acceptable?

On Mardi, I handed in the essay on the qualities of a counterspy to Master Dichartyn. He took his time reading through the four pages. Then he set it down on the writing desk.

“You have noted in some detail the obvious points, that an imager counterspy should be accomplished in technique, be in excellent physical condition, and be able to anticipate what may happen.” The coolness of his words suggested that Master Dichartyn was less than pleased. “Tell me, Rhennthyl. Besides your need to recover, why are you being confined to Imagisle?”

“You had indicated, sir, that was to protect me until I learned enough to defend myself and until the Collegium and I could deal with the perpetrator of the attack.”

“That is true. Why is the perpetrator of the attack seeking you?”

“Because I did something that offended or upset him, or her.”

“That is also most probably true. In connection with your assignment, what conclusion should you draw?”

“Never let anyone know what you are doing, have done, or might do?”

“That is also true, but that is a behavior pattern, not a quality, if you will. I will give you a hint. How did your first meeting go with Maitre Dyana?”

I thought back. Her initial appraisal of me had been strange, because she’d said she could see why I was Master Dichartyn’s protégé. “She said I could be any number of things.”

“Rhennthyl! Think . . .”

“Oh . . . the quality of being anything except an imager agent?”

“Precisely.” He shook his head. “The last thing you want is to be noticed—or noticed for what you really are. Any time anyone notices you as excessively capable and bright, you endanger yourself, and sometimes the Collegium.”

That made sense. I wasn’t certain I liked the idea of being invisible, but I couldn’t argue.

“Do you want to be married someday—to the young lady who saved your life or someone like her?”

“I’d hope so, sir.”

“Do you want to have children and live for years with her? How could that happen if everyone in L’Excelsis knew that you were a feared counterspy? No matter how good you became as an imager, would you want to carry heavy shields all the time, never knowing who might be looking for you every time you set foot outside, or even every time you awoke? Or worry whether you would wake up?”

A cold jolt ran down my spine. In a way, I
had
been thinking of myself as becoming a feared and respected counterspy.

“Do you ever again want to see someone firing a pistol at you a moment too late for you to shield yourself?” pressed Master Dichartyn.

“No, sir.” My words there were firm and heartfelt.

“Then . . . you’d better think about how not to stand out.” He smiled wanly. “It’s not about slinking and slouching, either. That’s an even bigger sign of someone up to no good. The most feared counterspies are the ones no one knows, because they could be anyone in any place. You want to appear so perfectly in place that no thought of offense occurs. Call it first among seconds. Like the lesser moon.”

That made no sense to me.

“Erion was a feared hunter, at least mythologically, but who writes poems to the lesser hunter? Except in a deprecating fashion? Yet no one ever wished to offend Erion in person.” Master Dichartyn smiled. “Say you have three High Holders in a room, and three assistants. You want to be the assistant who’s both perfect and most deferentially confident, so much so that none of the other assistants would think about offending you, and none of the High Holders would either, because you’re deferential and an assistant.”

I didn’t like the idea of being the best second . . . at anything.

“It takes a very confident and superior man to be an imager counterspy, because you have to be better than anyone else, except the few others in your group, and you can never let anyone know how good you are or show it. You have to be able to take pride internally, without needing the recognition of others. Most men can’t live without overt praise and recognition. Lack of praise and recognition can turn them into twisted angry souls, converts of the Namer, if you will, wanting a name and fame beyond anything.”

I had to think about that, and Master Dichartyn let me have time to consider his words.

“What if I said that I couldn’t do that?” I finally asked.

“I’d turn you over to Master Schorzat for field training. You’d make a good field imager. People suspect who field imagers might be, but they can’t ever trace how they do what they do.” He shrugged. “They do get more recognition, but more of them get killed.”

“You think I could be good as a counterspy?”

“If you work at it, you could be very good.” He paused. “There’s an advantage and a drawback.”

“Beside being . . . under-known?”

He laughed. “That’s a good way of putting it. Under-known.” The smile vanished. “Because what we do trains imager capabilities more deeply and widely, imager counterspies get advanced more quickly, and that includes field pay . . . but your public grade is left lower, at least in most cases, until later. If you work, you could become a Maitre D’Aspect fairly soon, but while you would get the pay, your rank wouldn’t be known beyond the maitres of the Collegium. You’d still be viewed as a third. When you master Maitre D’Structure, you will be listed as a Maitre D’Aspect. After that, you can be listed at whatever level of mastery you wish. Most have remained publicly as Maitres D’Aspect until they have left day-to-day countering duties.”

I could see that.

“What do you want to do?”

“Continue with you, sir, if that’s acceptable.”

“I’d hoped you would . . . but it is a matter of choice.” He fingered his chin. “Because of your injuries, and because we’re shorthanded, I’m going to change your training schedule. Starting next week, you’ll spend a glass with Clovyl, right at first afternoon bell, and he’ll give you just the right amount of exercise to help you heal. After that, you’ll report to Maitre Dyana. She will teach you how High Holders behave and some of their particular customs and mannerisms, and what they signify.”

“She was raised a High Holder, wasn’t she?”

“You noticed. Good.” He lifted a long rolled tube—rather large papers rolled to form a tube a yard long—and handed it to me. “These are the plans for the Council Chateau. By the end of next week, I expect you to be able to draw every floor from memory. Keep them out of sight in your room, and don’t take them out of it until you bring them back a week from Jeudi.” Then he stood. “I will see you this Jeudi morning. We will work on some imaging skills that will not take much strength. They’re a matter of technique and knowledge.”

After leaving his study, I carried the Chateau plans back to my quarters and began to study them. In less than a quarter glass, I understood why he’d given me a week. There were rooms and passages that no one could ever have guessed were even there.

I took my time getting to the dining hall, but Menyard and Reynol were the only ones I could see of the group with whom I usually ate.

“You’re looking healthier, Rhenn,” said Reynol.

“I’m feeling better.”

“Where’s Claustyn?”

Menyard shrugged “On assignment. Field imagers don’t say where, and we don’t ask. He left sometime yesterday.”

“You’ll say less than that,” observed Reynol.

“Even if I wanted to,” I replied, “I’ll have far less to say. How can one say anything about what never happens? That would be like writing a history of a place that never existed.”

Both of them laughed.

At that moment, one of the seconds sitting an empty space away from Reynol handed over a platter of chops, and I could see a dish of stewed and spiced apples following. “I haven’t picked up one of the newsheets. What’s happening in Caenen or Cloisera?”

Reynol shook his head. “We probably won’t hear until someone actually invades, and the news will be a good week late, if not two.”

“Who’s stronger, Ferrum or Jariola?”

Reynol frowned. “That’s hard to say. Ferrum has more heavy equipment, and they’ve even got something called a landcruiser—an armored thing powered by steam that can travel over land without rails. The Oligarch has more trained troops . . .”

As Reynol went on, I got the feeling that a war between the two would be long and bloody and in no one’s interest, but wasn’t that true of most wars?