She had a point there.
Her eyes met mine, and she smiled, if briefly, before asking quietly, “After today, what will you do?”
“Keep trying to find out enough to know how to deal with an arrogant High Holder in a way that threatens no one else.” Or overtly involved the Collegium.
“If anything happens to Ryel, won’t his son . . . ?”
“And his nephew. The possibility that they might is part of the problem.”
“That’s like Pharsi revenge. Sometimes it never ends.” She looked at me. “Unless there’s no one left to carry on.”
“I hope it doesn’t have to go that far.” I didn’t want to think about that for the moment, or about Pharsi revenge . . . or even bring up the pistol incident. “The biscuits are good.” I paused. “Do you want to start on the portrait next Samedi? Can you?”
She nodded, her mouth full, then smiled.
I took another sip of hot tea.
18
Lundi morning was such a rush that even by taking a duty coach, doubtless stretching the rules, I barely reached the District Three station by seventh glass. The station was anything but impressive, a one-story building whose once-yellow bricks had turned a grayish tan under the impact of time and grime, an impression not helped by the narrow barred windows, or by the overcast and low clouds. I walked quickly through open double doors of the single entrance. They were battered and iron bound oak with equally ancient heavy iron inside hinges.
A young patroller with circles under his eyes looked up from the high and narrow desk set against the wall on the right, then stiffened. “Sir . . . you’re Master Rhennthyl? Captain Harraf is expecting you. The first door there.” He gestured.
“Thank you.”
Two other patrollers on the far side of the open space inside the doors that could have been called an anteroom made a show of checking their equipment, but I could feel their eyes on my back as I walked past the duty patroller, then pushed through the already half-open door and stepped into the small study, little more than three yards by four. Captain Harraf was a small man, not much more than to my shoulder, with bright black eyes that protruded slightly, and short jet-black hair. His pale blue uniform was spotless, as was the top of the desk he stood beside-with the exception of an oblong of folded heavy bluish gray cloth. “Master Rhennthyl.”
I inclined my head. “Captain Harraf.”
“I’m glad to see that you’re the kind who takes punctuality seriously.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
“We’ll see how you feel in a few weeks.”
A few weeks-with the implication of a longer time than that? That gave me a definitely uneasy feeling, because Third District was the most dangerous district in L’Excelsis.
“Before I offer you an assignment, I want to be clear on several points. You can’t arrest or detain anyone. Only the patroller with you can. You understand that?”
“Master Dichartyn and the commander and subcommander have made that clear.”
“Good. A few points about station rules. I’m obviously in command. When I’m not here, Lieutenant Warydt is in charge. Should neither of us be here, the senior patroller first takes command. You won’t see too much of the lieutenant in the next few weeks, because he’ll usually be here from the third glass of the afternoon until ninth glass, although it’s sometimes tenth glass. We switch off on the late shift.” He cleared his throat. “For your safety, but also for the safety of the patrollers you accompany, I’m also going to insist that you wear a standard patroller’s cloak over your grays. You’ll also learn more that way.” He picked up the folded gray-blue cloth that turned out to be a cloak, and a new one at that, and handed it to me. “Your cap is close enough that most people won’t notice it anyway.”
He was doubtless right. From a distance any imager’s visored cap didn’t look all that different from those worn by the patrollers, just a touch grayer, while theirs were more gray-blue. Both cap devices were pewter, but the patroller’s cap held a starburst, while mine held the circled four-pointed star.
“Your first patrol will be one of those less adventuresome. You’ll accompany Zellyn along the triangle-down South Middle to the Midroad, then back on Quierca and up Fuosta to the station. There’s usually not much happening, but there would be more if some patroller didn’t cover it.”
“I imagine that’s true everywhere in L’Excelsis, but more so in Third District.” I slipped on the patroller’s cloak.
“Very much more so.” Harraf turned toward the door. “Zellyn!”
A patroller hurried in and stopped. “Sir.” He was red-faced with a silvering brush mustache and bushy eyebrows above sad and pale brown eyes.
“This is Master Rhennthyl, and he’ll be accompanying you on your rounds for the week.”
“Yes, sir.” Zellyn turned to me. “Master Rhennthyl.”
I nodded. “Zellyn, I’m pleased to meet you.”
Captain Harraf cleared his throat. “You two had best be off.”
As I left the study with Zellyn, one thing was very clear. Captain Harraf didn’t want to spend much time with me.
“You ready for a long day on your feet, sir?”
“I think so, but the day will tell.”
Zellyn laughed. “That it will. That it will.”
We walked out of the station and headed right, up Fuosta toward South Middle, two and a half long blocks away.
“How long have you been with the Patrol?”
“Nearly fifteen years, sir, most of it right here in Third District.”
“Would you tell me about your round?”
“We rotate through two or three rounds a year, switch every three months, usually. Means we’re familiar with the areas, but that we don’t get too friendly, if you know what I mean. This round’s the best of the bunch I walk. Biggest problem is the taudis-kids near the shops on Quierca. They’ll lift anything that’s not chained down. The Pharsis and the Caenenans are the worse. Tiemprans aren’t much better.”
“How do you tell the difference between the Tiemprans and the Caenenans?”
“Doesn’t matter. The darker the tan, the more likely they’re trouble. Not all of ’em. Lot of good kids, but the bad ones are more likely to be dark.”
Was that because they were poorer? Or because they and their families had less respect for those who didn’t follow their beliefs? Or because the patrollers just watched them more closely? Or something else? Whatever the reason, I could tell there wasn’t any point in asking.
Small shops clustered on each side of the station, and then eating places-most so small and mean that I wouldn’t even have called them bistros, but perhaps taudiscafes. Only the small cafes were open. For a moment, I wondered why they were so close to the station, until I realized that there was a far smaller chance of robbery and theft.
When we turned onto South Middle, walking toward the Midroad, there were few people on the sidewalks, but more than a handful of coaches and wagons passing by, although the wagons were more prevalent, but then, South Middle was a thoroughfare.
“You ever have trouble with the wagons?”
“Only when they’re loading or unloading. Those times, it’s still not that often because most places have at least two fellows working the wagon. Not much that’s small and light, and that’s what quick-thieves are looking for.” Zellyn waved to a graying and trim man wearing a leather apron outside a shoemaker’s shop that could not have been more than five yards wide.
The cobbler smiled and returned the wave.
After we’d walked just a single block west, the buildings on both sides changed from low brick structures, with modest shops, to stone and brick or stone-faced edifices two and three stories high, with larger shops and lace-curtained windows gracing the living quarters above.
Zellyn pointed to one of the iron grates set at the base of the curb and the side of the road pavement. It covered the opening to the storm sewers below. “We’re supposed to report any time a grate’s been broken or blocked with crap. Sometimes, the penal crews even get them fixed the same week.” He snorted. “Usually not.”