From the top of the rise south of the Ryel estate, I could see gardeners in the garden, someone sweeping or washing the south terrace between the end of the chateau and the tower that would feature prominently in Ryel’s so-called Foliage Festival, and several workers picking late apples from the small orchard to the east of the formal gardens. When I reached the depression between the two rises and was shielded by the wall from the sight of anyone in the chateau or grounds, I created full concealment shields. Absently, as I rode past the culvert, I noted that the water level in the stream was lower.
Then, some hundred yards uphill, I dismounted and again tied the mare to the trunk of one of the tree bushes and settled in to wait.
I’d only been in position along the side of the wall for less than half a glass, and three wagons and a post rider had passed, when, from the north, I heard a rumbling and rattling suggestive of a lighter vehicle being driven at high speeds. I turned and watched the road. For a time, only the sound increased, but I saw nothing. Then a black horse appeared, cresting the hill and pulling a trap bearing the black and silver of Ryel House.
I anchored my shields to the wall behind me, and prepared to do what was necessary, waiting as the black trap hurtled downhill, southward toward L’Excelsis. The single black horse was larger than a riding horse, but smaller than a dray, and was already heavily lathered.
I waited until I could see Alynat’s face, hard and intent, and focused on the road and the horse. His eyes didn’t even flicker in my direction, as if it wouldn’t have mattered even if I had not been hidden behind concealment shields.
Then I imaged steel fragments into the wheel bearings, and what amounted to a shield directly in front of the wheels, if but for an instant or so, anchored to the wall. Everything seemed to freeze. For that moment, I was shaken and jolted, thrown back against the rough-smooth stone of the wall, not that hard, but as though I’d been shoved, indifferently.
The trap’s wheels froze, but the body of the trap lurched forward with a terrible creaking and splintering sound, pivoting forward over the wheels. The traces and harness snapped, or partly so. Alynat flew from the driver’s seat over the now-screaming and lathered horse and slammed headfirst into the stone pavement, then skidded along the stones. One arm was twisted back into an unnatural angle, the reins still wrapped around that wrist.
Still behind concealment shields, I eased forward, looking at the limp and now-frail body. His left temple was horribly smashed in, and his form was silent.
The trap horse struggled and kept screaming. I wanted to put it out of its misery, but I didn’t dare, because that would leave too much evidence that someone had been there. I hurried back to the mare. She snorted and stepped sideways, but I managed to gentle her. Then I untied her and walked her back downhill on the edge of the road. Near the culvert I mounted and rode slowly southward, up the next rise and then back toward L’Excelsis.
Behind me, I could hear the screams of the trap horse. Those screams echoed in my head all the way back to NordEste Design. For a moment, I wondered why I felt more about the horse than Alynat. When I thought about that, though, I understood. Ryel’s family had hardly shown that much concern about Johanyr, except as a symbol of the High Holder. That had certainly been true of Iryela. And Alynat, as shown by his attitude and words at the Autumn Ball, was merely an extension of all that placed me in an impossible situation. Effectively, Ryel, Dulyk, and Alynat were the same. Because they were all Ryel House, in effect, they had all set the fire that had killed the watchman at Alusine Wool. They had all arranged for the difficulties that faced my father, and they all had been part of causing Rousel’s terrible “accident.” The trap horse, on the other hand, had been truly innocent and without choice in the matter.
Methyr came running to meet me as I rode into the courtyard. “Master Rhennthyl.”
“Yes?”
“Oh . . . they’ve all gone, but you’re not to groom the mare. Seliora said to stall her, and they’ll be back soon. She said it was important for you to get back to the Patrol.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
Given Methyr’s seriousness, I dismounted and led the mare into the stable. After I settled her in the stall and closed the stall door, I turned to him. “You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give her my thanks.” I hurried back out of the stable and across the courtyard, taking the south entrance onto Nordroad.
I did have to wait for a bit, but less than a quint before getting a hack, one of the older and more dilapidated coaches, but I wasn’t feeling that choosy at the moment. After I got out of the hack at the Plaza Sudeste, I wasn’t as fortunate at finding Lyonyt and Fuast as I had been on Mardi, and it was two quints before second glass when I finally caught up with them as they were coming up Saelio.
“Little earlier today, sir,” offered Lyonyt.
“It is, and I won’t have to be ducking out for the rest of the week. I finally finished what was required.” Before he could comment, although I doubted he would, I asked, “Is it still quiet on the rounds?”
“Except for a grab-and-run on the avenue, sir, it’s been real quiet.”
“That’s good for us.”
“You still think the scripties are coming?”
“Yes. I just don’t know when.”
“Won’t be long,” murmured Fuast.
He was doubtless right about that.
We finished two more rounds through quiet streets of the taudis, streets that were never that quiet. Even the odor of elveweed was less pervasive, and that suggested that those who sold it didn’t want to lose any of it to the conscription teams.
When we walked back into the station just after fourth glass, Lieutenant Warydt beckoned to me from outside his study. I walked back to join him.
“We haven’t seen any conscription teams yet, Master Rhennthyl,” said the lieutenant. “Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing more than before, that they’ve been operating in the west of L’Excelsis.”
Warydt smiled warmly and nodded. “If you do hear . . .”
“I’ll certainly let you know, sir.”
“That would be helpful.”
As I left the Third District station, I had the feeling that the entire conversation was really to point out how little I knew that was really helpful to the Civic Patrol.
It might have been my imagination, but it seemed as though there were fewer hacks on South Middle near the taudis. I walked all the way to the Midroad before I could hail one, and the ride down the Midroad, around the Guild Square, and along the Boulevard D’Imagers seemed interminable.
When I finally left the hack and crossed the Bridge of Hopes to Imagisle, carrying the blue-gray patroller’s cloak because the afternoon had gotten uncomfortably warm, even though the gray clouds loomed closer in the west, I kept looking to see if some junior prime might be looking for me, but no one was. I reached my quarters and hung up the cloak, then went down to the main level and washed up. While it was still a good half glass before the time for dinner, I decided to walk over to the dining hall and see if I had any letters or messages. I didn’t want to, because, sooner or later, I feared, there would be one.
As I walked into the dining hall, I made the point of looking up at the plaques that held the names of past imagers who had died serving the Collegium. There was a new plaque, one for Thenard, right below the one for Claustyn. Getting shot by Ferran assassins was serving the Collegium, even if the Collegium did frown upon my doing in one of the envoys who’d authorized those assassinations.
In that respect, I didn’t agree with Collegium policies. I still thought that those who created evil should pay, even if it happened to be politically “inconvenient.” I did agree that any action taken should not be traceable to the Collegium, at least not through proof. People would still speculate. Then . . . there might be times when others would know, but could prove and do nothing. That was dangerous, but I could see that there would be times when that was unavoidable.