He nodded, and I nodded, and we resumed our patrol round.
Lyonyt looked sideways at me, but did not speak for a time as we kept walking. Finally, he said, “Begging your pardon, Master Rhennthyl, but could I ask . . . ah . . . you’re a real master imager, and you’re doing patrols, like the lowest patroller.”
I managed a smile. “How would I know what you do if I don’t do it? Words . . . names . . . they don’t convey what it feels like when you have to watch every corner and every alley . . . or wonder if you’re going to walk down a street and find an old lady being strangled by an out-of-control elver, or find taudis-toughs attacking you.”
“Folks can’t hurt you.”
I laughed. “I’ve been shot in the chest and almost didn’t live through it. I’ve had my ribs broken in an explosion, and at one time or another just about every part of my body has been bruised. My skills just make it harder for people to hurt me, but it doesn’t mean they can’t and haven’t. Youdh was an imager, but we managed to subdue him.”
“A good thing, too.” He looked at me again, but I just smiled, and he didn’t ask any more questions about how I might get hurt.
When we walked down Mando, I noted that the wreckage of the large wagon had vanished totally, although there was sawdust in places in the gutters, as well as wood chips. The broken building stones and bricks had been placed in a single pile. There were no intact bricks or building stones left.
All in all the rounds of the day were most quiet, and when we finished the last round and returned to the district station, I didn’t see either the captain or the lieutenant.
I was more tired on Jeudi night when I got to the dining hall than I had been the night before. Thankfully, there were no red-striped letters in my box, but I had the sinking feeling that sooner or later there would be. Ryel was nothing if not thorough, and yet I was still flailing, and trying to work out how I could respond without overt traces back to me . . . and I feared that others would pay the price. Yet, without knowing more, I couldn’t take any action that would not be hasty and futile.
Belatedly, as I headed toward the masters’ table, I realized that it had been quite a while since I’d eaten two dinners in a row at the Collegium. Maitre Dyana beckoned to me in a quiet way that could not be denied, and I settled into the seat to her left. Ferlyn and Quaelyn were to her right, with Chassendri and Isola beyond them.
“Good evening, maitre.”
“Good evening, Rhenn. I understand that you have been rather dogged in ferreting out what many would prefer not to be ferreted out.”
“I imagine that’s a matter of opinion.”
“So it is. You’re going to the Autumn Ball tomorrow, are you not?” Maitre Dyana’s words were polite and mildly curious as she straightened the comparatively subdued black scarf, trimmed in gold.
“Unless Master Dichartyn changes his mind,” I replied with a smile. “Would you like the red or the white Grisio?”
“The white goes better with the veal. The cream sauce is usually a touch heavier than it should be. But then, cream applied heavily enough can sweeten anything.”
“That’s something I’ve observed with Maitre Poincaryt.” I chuckled wryly, after half filling her goblet. “He can deliver a reprimand with such gentleness that you almost don’t feel the welts-except they don’t go away. I suppose that’s just another reason why he’s the Collegium Maitre.” I could have been less direct, but I wasn’t as good at it as she was, and she had something in mind.
“A series of cuts delivered with a sharp knife has the same delayed effect, but there’s more bleeding. Poison in a dessert wine is also a favorite of some High Holders. It’s best to remember that the meal isn’t over until it’s thoroughly digested.”
I supposed that was the same as saying that the last laugh was the best, but since High Holders seldom laughed, not in honest enjoyment, anyway, they wouldn’t have said anything like that.
“Tell me, Rhennthyl. How long do you think that taudis imager had been imaging?”
“I have no way of knowing, but I’d judge at least ten years, if not longer.”
“Yet he revealed himself to you, if indirectly.”
“Not exactly,” I replied. “I discovered his abilities when he didn’t know who I was, and then, after he’d revealed those abilities, the attacks on me began.”
“I thought it might have been something like that. Even in games of plaques, when one must only keep track of cards, it’s a pity that often revealing one’s abilities leads to greater difficulties . . . unless, of course, one reveals limited abilities and holds greater capabilities in reserve.”
“The problem there, maitre, as I see it, is that one can do that only once, perhaps twice, even in plaques.”
“Precisely.” She smiled. “The seasoning on the pilaf is almost piquant.”
I’d definitely gotten a message. Whether I could translate the implications of her conversation was another question entirely, since I’d already revealed my abilities to a greater degree than was wise. I avoided frowning, though, as I realized that it was highly unlikely that High Holder Ryel knew the extent of what I could do-and Maitre Dyana’s comments had been prefaced with remarks about the Autumn Ball.
40
Between Youdh’s hearing and my required attendance at the Council’s Autumn Ball, I knew Vendrei would be a long day-a very long day-beginning with the strenuous exercises and sparring under Clovyl’s watchful eyes.
I was at the Collegium Justice Building at half before eighth glass, as Master Dichartyn had told me to be, and found myself sitting alone in the witness chamber adjoining the hearing area. Except for Youdh, who had not appeared, there were no other witnesses, because Master Dichartyn had taken their statements for the hearing record.
As I waited, I stood in the open door to the witness chamber and glanced through the archway up at the wooden high-backed gallery benches set on tiers that rose behind a low wall that separated the hearing area from the gallery. A central set of steps split the benches, rising from the wall to the upper entry on the second level. My eyes dropped to the justicing area. At the east end was a dais a yard high, with a black desk in the middle. The floor was entirely of gray seamless stone, except for a walkway of black stone that ran from the archway where I stood to the foot of the dais.
“Rhennthyl . . .” offered Master Dichartyn, gesturing toward the witness chamber.
“Yes, sir.” I edged back into the small room and sat down on the bench on the east side.
I’d been seated for only a moment, when two muscular obdurate guards in their black uniforms marched Youdh in and sat him on the other bench, blindfolded and manacled. The guards remained standing on each side of Youdh, who said nothing.
Outside, the bells began to ring the glass.
A few moments later, I could hear the voice of the bailiff, Master Ghaend, faintly through the now-closed door. “All rise.”
There was silence for what seemed to be a long time. Although I could not see what was happening, I knew that the justice, most likely Master Jhulian, walked to the dais and seated himself behind the desk.
“You may be seated,” announced Master Ghaend. The door to the witness chamber opened. “Youdh D’Estaudis, step forward to the bar.”
Youdh did not move. The two guards said nothing, but hoisted the taudischef to his feet. After that he did walk, in a fashion, out of the witness chamber. Master Ghaend closed the door, and I could hear nothing.
I knew he’d be charged with one count of attempted murder of a patroller, two counts of attempted murder of an imager, two counts of assault, and one count of failing to report to Imagisle as an imager. Since all of the charges, except failure to report, involved the use of imaging, each one of which he was convicted could carry a death sentence.
I felt that almost a full glass passed before the door to the witness chamber opened and Master Ghaend announced, “Master Rhennthyl to the bar.”