The boy nodded.
“For now, until she can come visit you, if you want anything taken to her, I’ll make sure it gets there. I’m working not that far away. If you give me her address, the one where she lives, and tell me what she looks like,” I added with a smile.
“If you would, sir. Can I give it to you tomorrow? She’s not much taller than me, sir. Her hair, it’s black. She always wears a chain with the crescent.”
“I can remember that.” I paused. “No imaged coins, Shault, and don’t image coppers and trade them for a half silver, either.”
“Yes, sir.”
I noted the slightly resigned tone behind the pleasant acquiescence. “Shault . . . don’t go against the rules. Every taudis-kid who tried that is dead-not because of the Collegium, either. They either broke laws and got caught or killed themselves because they didn’t understand the rules were to protect them as well as other imagers.”
I could tell that either my words or tone had reached him, because his eyes widened, but his body didn’t stiffen into resistance. So I added, “I want you to succeed. I wouldn’t watch you and tell you all this if I didn’t. I’m not your preceptor, remember?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll find you tomorrow night.”
“Good.” I smiled and watched as he hurried away. I could only do what I could and hope he didn’t end up like Diazt.
19
Mardi was much the same as Lundi, but when I arrived at the station on Meredi morning, Captain Harraf was waiting in the doorway to his study. “A moment, if you would, Master Rhennthyl.”
He gestured, and I followed him into his study, not closing the door. He didn’t ask me to, either. So I stood and waited for what he had to say.
“So much of what the Civic Patrol does happens at night, but I’ve been told that you are not available for night duties on a regular basis because of other imager commitments. Yet I am supposed to have you accompany some night patrols as your schedule permits. I had thought that this Jeudi evening might be a possibility . . . just the first two glasses.” He raised his eyebrows.
I didn’t know why Master Dichartyn-or the commander or subcommander-had indicated that I wouldn’t be available on all nights, but I was grateful for that, given Captain Harraf, because I had the feeling that I might have been pulling more than a few night patrols.
“I would be happy to accompany whoever you think would be best Jeudi evening.”
“Huerl and Koshal have a round on the north side of South Middle. It should give you a feel for night patrolling without being unduly . . . eventful.” He paused. “That’s all I had. You’ll finish your regular round at fourth glass, and they’ll meet you at the station at sixth glass, after they’ve completed one round. That will give you a little rest and time to get something to eat.”
“Yes, sir.” It also meant that I’d be doing the patrol after sunset, which was doubtless what the captain had in mind.
“That’s all, Master Rhennthyl.” Harraf’s smile was professionally polite.
Zellyn was waiting out in the open area when I stepped from the captain’s study, and we walked out of the station. He didn’t ask what the captain had said.
“I’ll be doing part of a night patrol with Huerl and Koshal later this week,” I offered. “I haven’t met them. What are they like?”
“They’re usually on the first night shift. From what I’ve heard they don’t seem to have many problems. Except for stupid drunks and elvers.”
“The smart drunks and elvers just avoid patrollers?”
“The smart drunks just drink and don’t bother anyone. There aren’t any smart elvers.”
“Do you think there are more elvers than there used to be?”
Zellyn snorted. “When I was your age, Master Rhennthyl, I might go three weeks without seeing an elver, and I was patrolling the center of the south taudis. Today, you can’t walk ten yards in any of the taudis without tripping over one.”
“Why do you think that’s so?”
“Golds. The taudischefs found out they could mint more coins with elveweed than with cheap plonk or their bawds. Then the Pharsis got into it, and all the darkies from Otelyrn, especially the Tiemprans . . .” He shook his head. “The stuff’s everywhere.”
“It’s illegal to import it, but not to use it,” I offered.
“How’d you stop people from using it? Make smoking it against the law and throw ’em in gaol and put ’em on the road crews where they’d be useless? The only time we pick up elvers is when they do something else, and we get too many of them as it is.”
Zellyn had a point, but then what about all of those who dragged friends and family down to support their habit?
The day, unlike some, was cool enough that wearing the patroller’s cloak over my grays didn’t leave me too hot. I was thankful I hadn’t been doing rounds in the heat of summer, but then I might have just had to wear a patroller’s summer tunic with the imager’s pin in some unobtrusive place.
As we neared the Midroad, a man in gray, with a darker gray stained leather apron, rushed from a shop on the far side of South Middle. “Patrollers!”
“Burglary last night, I’d wager,” Zellyn said quietly, even as he glanced both ways before hurrying across the avenue, after letting a collier’s wagon lumber past.
I followed, and when we neared the shop, I caught sight of the small sign-KANTROS amp; SON, SILVERSMITHS.
“What’s the matter, Kantros?” asked Zellyn calmly.
“You ask what the matter is? Come and see!” The silversmith turned and strode back toward the shop, his bald pate and the gray hair that bordered it glistening in the morning sun for a moment before he stepped into the shadows cast by the shops on the east side of South Middle. After he reached the front door, he held it open. “Go see for yourselves.”
Zellyn led the way, his truncheon out, through the door set between the still-shuttered glass display windows into the front of the shop, a narrow space with display shelves-empty-on the side walls and a counter less than two yards from the door which extended across from the right wall almost to the left wall, at which point where there was a gap a yard wide to permit access to the rear. Nothing had been touched in front of the counter, but behind it the doors had been ripped off both wall cabinets and hurled against the brick base of the small forge. Four large drawers had been yanked out of a chest and thrown on the floor, with various items that looked to be tools scattered across the ancient stone floor, unlike the polished ceramic tile in front of the counter. A tool case had been up-ended, and the pages from some sort of plan or drawing folder had been ripped and thrown in all directions. Even the glass of the two narrow high windows-too small for entry-had been smashed.
“How did he get in?” asked Zellyn in a matter-of-fact tone.
Kantros led us to the rear door, hanging at an angle by two chains above and below the door bolt. The heavy iron hinges had literally been pried out of the masonry, and there were gouges in the brick above the lower hinge and both above and below the upper one.
Zellyn looked at the dust near the door in the alleyway. “Boots about average size. No other marks. No blood anywhere. Means he didn’t cut himself breaking in.” Then he nodded and walked back to the counter, avoiding the debris. He looked at Kantros. “Early last night, was it?”
Kantros shrugged. “I don’t know. It was like this when I came down this morning.”
“What did the thief take?” asked Zellyn.
“Almost nothing. The silver goes upstairs behind all the locks every night. A half ingot of copper, a handful of coppers . . . There might be some small tools missing. Who could tell?” Kantros gestured around the back of the shop. “But look at this! The damage!”
“The thief was angry there were no coins and nothing he could take and sell. That’s what it looks like.” Zellyn glanced to me. “Has to be a young tough or an elver. Any good thief would know there’d be nothing for him down here.” He looked to Kantros. “You’re lucky he didn’t know that.”