Conviction ran through every word Master Dichartyn had spoken. Even so, I wasn’t certain I would have been convinced had it not been for the events that had befallen me over the past months-from the total change in attitude by Rogaris and Sagaryn and even Staela to being shot by someone I didn’t know for reasons I also did not know.
“Now . . . you need to work on a particular imaging technique.” As he spoke, Master Dichartyn placed a bowl of water on the desk and then lifted a short glass tube from somewhere. He submerged the tube, covered the ends with his fingers, and then held up the water-filled tube. “You see the tube. I want you to image air, just a little of the air around you, into the middle of the tube. Not enough to fill the entire tube-that well might break it-but enough to create a bubble about one digit wide in the center.”
Image air into water? I’d had to image things into the middle of the air, unsupported, but the other way around? I wondered why, but I’d learned that I seldom got the explanations until after I mastered a technique.
It took me almost a glass to manage it consistently.
“That’s enough for now. We’ll work on doing it to a moving tube tomorrow.” At that point, Master Dichartyn set down the tube. “Now . . . besides studying the plans of the Council Chateau, you need to set up your portraiture studio. Grandisyn has cleared out a small workroom with northern light and moved all the equipment and supplies in there, but you need to arrange it so that it suits you. If you need other items, just tell him.”
I almost laughed. I’d worked for not quite ten years, trying to get to the point where I could become a master portraiturist and have my own studio, and now that I was an imager, I was being given a studio with all the equipment and pigments I would have had difficulty affording-almost as an aside and a cover.
45
The excellence of the cuisine is but half the meal.
In between some resting and meals, it took me the rest of Jeudi and all of Vendrei, besides the time with Master Dichartyn, to organize a studio in the workroom set aside for me. It was a good thing no one expected me to begin painting immediately, because a number of items were missing, including a grinder, a mortar and pestle, certain oils and waxes, and a burner and old pots, not to mention a chair for whoever would be sitting for me. Still, Grandisyn assured me the missing items would be there by Lundi. That was fine with me.
Samedi morning, after another session with Master Dichartyn, I spent poring over the plans of the Chateau and then trying to draw each floor from memory. I had lunch, but with some thirds I knew only slightly, before returning to my study. I tried to take a nap, but all I did was lie there. So I alternated studying anatomy and the Council Chateau. By the time the four bells rang, I couldn’t concentrate on plans or texts any longer. I washed up and walked down to the main level, and then out and across the quadrangle.
Two of the seconds headed toward me eased onto an adjoining path. I recognized the second behind them, who did not avoid me. “Shannyr, how are matters with you?”
“Well, thank you. I’m getting married in two months. Master Dichartyn has approved quarters for us on the north end. They’re small, but far better than either of us ever hoped.”
“That’s wonderful!” I was truly happy for him-and them. I’d always felt that Shannyr was a good and solid person. “Would I know the lady?”
“I don’t think so. Her name is Ciermya. She works as a drafter for a naval architect.”
“You’re a fortunate man.”
“I am that.” He paused. “Sir, some of the seconds asked me to convey their thanks if I saw you.”
“Diazt and Johanyr were that hard on them?”
“Word is . . . some of them had sisters . . . and Johanyr . . . he’d threaten the sisters . . . say that he couldn’t be responsible for what happened to their brothers.”
“The masters didn’t know this?”
“No, sir. I didn’t know it, not till last week. Johanyr and Diazt threatened to hurt the sisters if their brothers said anything.”
I hadn’t realized just how much of a bastard Johanyr had been . . . and how clever, because his schemes had all rested on threats, and the implication of force, and probably minimal use of imaging. I also realized how calculating Master Dichartyn had been. He’d made sure Johanyr couldn’t image, but would live, and the way events had transpired deprived High Holder Ryel of any official recourse. That just made it more likely, despite what Master Dichartyn had said, that the dead assassin had been sent after me by Ryel . . . or more unfortunately, that I had something worse to look forward to. “I’m glad I was able to do something about it, but I didn’t know that was happening. I just didn’t trust them.” I paused. “I hope no one is trying to take their place.”
“Not that I know.” He smiled. “But I won’t be worrying about such much longer.”
“That’s true, and you shouldn’t have to.” I thought for a moment. “Poor Gherard.”
Shannyr looked surprised.
“Who else is there right now?” Shannyr had kept as close a watch as he could on those imagers who would be seconds for most of their time and life at the Collegium. Master Dichartyn had rewarded him, and probably the same would be true of Gherard.
“There is that, I’d guess, sir.”
“You have my thanks, Shannyr, and give my best to Ciermya.”
“That I will.” He gave me a broad smile and continued on.
I turned eastward and made my way to the benches on the west side of the river, where I sat down on one shaded by the late-afternoon sun to wait for Seliora, Odelia, and Kolasyn.
Before that long, three figures appeared on the bridge. Each carried a wicker basket. Seliora was attired in a maroon skirt, a cream blouse, and a shimmering gray vest. As she neared, I realized that she was actually wearing split skirts, far more practical for a picnic.
I bounded to my feet, surprised that I had . . . and that nothing hurt.
Seliora hurried to meet me, setting down the basket she had carried. She gave me a gentle but brief embrace and a dazzling smile. “You’re looking much better.”
“That’s because you’re here.”
She blushed ever so slightly.
“I told you he was gallant,” Odelia murmured to Kolasyn.
“Oh . . .” Seliora half-turned. “You’ve never met Kolasyn, have you?”
“No, I have not. I’m pleased to have the opportunity.” I inclined my head to him. “Both Odelia and Seliora have spoken well of you.”
“You have the advantage, then.” Kolasyn laughed. “They refused to say anything about you.” He was clearly older than I was, but I doubted he was quite so old as Odelia, who I suspected was a good five to six years older than Seliora. Like Odelia, he was rangy and redheaded, slightly taller than she was, and he had a short and neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were dark brown, and his smile was pleasant. I couldn’t help liking him.
Seliora picked a shaded spot, but one that had been sun-warmed earlier in the day, so that, while the grass was cool, it was not damp, given the rain earlier in the week. Then, from her basket came a blanket and an oilcloth, along with four heavy glasses and two bottles of wine-a white grisio and a red Cambrisio. From Odelia’s basket came an array of covered wooden bowls and baskets, more than I believed could ever have fit into it. Then Seliora took the basket that Kolasyn held and laid out cutlery and utensils, and four enormous napkins.
When everything was set on the cloth, Seliora looked at me and smiled. “It is here for us to eat, you know?”