“You had a farsight flash?”
“Is that what you call it? I feel so stupid. I didn’t even recognize what I was seeing, I mean, where it was. But it’s been a good ten years, if not longer since I’ve really looked at the back of the factorage, on the north end away from the loading docks. There’s nothing there, just plain old grimy bricks.”
She shook her head. “Rhenn . . . you may be an imager master, but you need help. What do you plan on doing?”
“Nothing . . . not until I learn enough to know what I can do and how. For the moment, I need at least a rough map to High Holder Ryel’s estate-the one here, north of L’Excelsis, and a way to get there. According to what Maitre Dyana has said, Ryel won’t do anything for a while now. He’ll drag it out so that he can be sure that I’ll suffer and yet not be able to do anything. That’s the way they work. Also, if something happens too soon . . .” I shook my head. “I’m just guessing. If I act too soon, I’ll end up in trouble I can’t escape, and if I wait too long, I’ll run out of time.”
She nodded. “He’ll be expecting you.”
“I’m certain he will be, but he can’t very well stop everyone passing by his grounds and gates, and I may find a better approach, but I need to look.”
“We can take you there in one of the wagons. We’ve often delivered things on Solayi.”
“Not to Ryel?”
“No, but no one cares what tradespeople do, especially if we look to be working.” She looked at me more intently. “You’re pale. Have you eaten?”
“No,” I admitted. “Not since breakfast.”
“We can go over to Terraza. They’re open all afternoon on Samedi. It will be quiet. Then we can come back here and discuss what you need and how we can help.”
That was fine with me.
17
I arrived at NordEste Design at half before noon on Solayi. I carried a bag inside which were exercise clothes and the field boots that went with them, as well as more than a few sheets of drafting paper, some marker pencils, and a small drawing board.
Seliora was the one to greet me. She wore faded heavy blue trousers and a jacket of similar material. Her hair was up and covered by a dark blue scarf. She looked at the bag. “Working clothes?”
“Such as I have. Exercise clothes and field boots. I need somewhere to change.”
“Methyr can show you one of the guest chambers. It’s likely to be one of the few times you’ll see one.” Her smile was sad.
I understood her feelings, because she’d learned early on that imagers could sleep only in lead-lined rooms-or in places well away from anyone else-not for their own health, but for the safety of others.
“Oh . . . I have some good news,” I announced, thinking it might cheer her up. “I’ve worked it out so that I can paint your portrait. We can even do it in my studio at Imagisle.”
“You’re not placating me, are you?”
“No. I just managed to get approval on Vendrei, and with everything that happened yesterday . . . I forgot to tell you. We could start next Samedi afternoon, and then go out to dinner . . .” Was she upset at coming to Imagisle? “Odelia can come, if . . .” I flushed slightly.
Seliora laughed. “I wouldn’t need her in the studio.” A more pensive expression followed. “It might be best if we traveled together, at least on those occasions when you aren’t with me.”
“You think Ryel . . . ?”
“Not yet, but . . .”
I understood that, as well. I was also getting even angrier. Ryel’s eldest son Johanyr had been a total bastard, and exactly what right did his mightiness High Holder Ryel have to attack someone who had stopped his son from continuing abusive ways? My lips curled. I knew the answer-the right of power. And the only way to stop such abuse was to remove that power in a way that did not lead back to me . . . and the Collegium.
“That was a rather cruel smile, Rhenn.”
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about Ryel.” I shook my head. “Thoughts don’t count. Actions do.”
The sad smile returned to her face. “There’s more Pharsi in your background than your mother could ever know.”
“And it’s the side you don’t like,” I said gently.
“It’s necessary,” was all she said.
Necessary? That was a bit cruel. What choice was I being given by either Ryel or the Collegium? If I did nothing, my family would likely be destroyed, and eventually I’d end up dead. I wanted to bring up what Mardoyt had said about Seliora . . . but now wasn’t the time. I was too angry to be objective.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m angry. Not at you. I feel like I’m being pushed into doing things I’d rather not do because the alternatives are worse.”
“Sometimes, that’s life.”
“I know.” But I didn’t have to like it.
“We’d better get going,” she said, turning to beckon Methyr from where he was sitting reading on a settee near the back of the hall.
I followed Methyr up the side staircase to the third level and to a chamber next to the passageway leading to the east terrace, where Seliora and I had often sat and talked over the late summer and harvest. I changed quickly and hurried back downstairs, carrying the drafting paper, markers, and drawing board.
Seliora was waiting. “You look less like an imager.”
“My wardrobe is rather limited, since all my work clothes got burned in the fire at Caliostrus’s place.”
“No one will look that closely. Shomyr’s in the courtyard getting the wagon ready. I’ll be with you in a bit.”
I had to look embarrassed. “How do I get there?”
Seliora laughed. “I forgot. You’ve never gone that way. Methyr!”
Once again, Methyr led me to my destination, although it wasn’t that difficult-to the south end of the foyer and down a set of steps hidden behind a false panel, then along a narrow corridor with doors every so often.
“Those lead to the different workrooms,” Methyr said casually.
“Which one do you work in?”
“I like the woodworking best, but I’m supposed to learn something about them all.”
At the end of the narrow corridor was another door, which he unlocked and opened.
I stepped out onto a narrow stoop at the top of a set of five steps leading down to the narrow northern end of the courtyard opposite the stables, outside of which Shomyr was checking harnesses on the two mules hitched to the wagon, a simple oblong box, with a frame above, covered with oilcloth that had once been a dark brown, but now appeared mottled with various shades of brown.
After I crossed the paved courtyard and neared the wagon, Shomyr turned from the mules and their traces and surveyed me. “You look more like a factor’s son playing at being a workman.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? So long as I don’t look like an imager?”
He smiled, then walked to the back of the wagon, reached inside, and tossed me a worn, stained, and patched leather jacket. “That should help. Boots are boots, and yours are well worn, and no one looks at trousers.”
I set the drawing board on the wagon seat, on top of the paper, and pulled on the jacket, a trace snug, but I didn’t need to fasten it.
“You’re broader than you look,” Shomyr said.
I had Clovyl and Master Dichartyn to thank for that. I glanced into the interior of the wagon, empty except for a single chair, wrapped heavily in cloth.
“One of the sample chairs,” explained Seliora, coming up behind me. “In case anyone asks. That’s unlikely.”
A temporary bench seat had been wedged in place inside the wagon, but just behind the driver’s seat. That was for me.
“We might as well get rolling.”
Shomyr vaulted up onto the driver’s place, and I clambered up and inside, settling onto the bench, in the middle, where I’d be able to look out between Seliora and Shomyr. I set the drawing materials beside me as Seliora vaulted up into her seat with grace.