Imager ip-1 Page 12

  This time I got a cold look. I just waited. I really did want to know.

  “Did you get a number of extra assignments in the grammaire, Rhennthyl?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can see why. Let me see if I can make this clear with a different example.” He frowned. “You’ve heard of the Cyella Ruby, haven’t you?”

  “The one that sits on the scepter of the Priest-Autarch of Caenen? Yes, sir.”

  “He’s the High Priest. What about the Storaci Emerald?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What if you imaged an exact, an absolutely perfect duplicate?”

  “Sir? How would I ever get close enough to see the originals?”

  He gave me an even colder look.

  “There’d be two,” I said slowly, trying to think what he wanted.

  “Yes, there would be.” He paused, then asked, “What makes them so valuable? What would happen if you imaged two . . . or three?”

  “Oh! They wouldn’t be so valuable because they wouldn’t be so rare.”

  “That’s one thing. How would the owners feel about being robbed of that value? And if the valuable object has some religious context or value . . . does the duplicate? Who could tell which one happened to be the one with that value? What might the Caenenans do?”

  “They could do . . . anything.” Of that, I knew enough to be sure.

  “You need to think about what the imagers of the Collegium image-you’ve seen some of what we do-and why we’re so careful about what we allow to be imaged. Also, not all things imaged turn out to be true duplicates. I trust you can see what difficulty that might create.”

  “Yes, sir.” I paused. “What laws would punish someone who could image who got caught by making a bad copy?”

  “If that person happened to be an adult, older than eighteen, and the crime was a major offense, he or she would be executed. Committing any major crime through the means of imaging is a capital offense. Younger than that and they’d be sent to us for training. Some of them don’t survive training, but imagers are rare enough that it’s worth the effort. Some of the young ones don’t know it’s a crime, and some don’t see that they have any choice.”

  I felt cold inside. I was older than eighteen, and I had been when the fire and explosion had killed Master Caliostrus.

  “That should give you enough to think about for now. Today, I’m going to take you over to the machine shop for some instruction. Then you can help with cleaning duties.”

  That sounded like an assignment I’d rather do without, not that I had any choice, especially after what I’d just learned.

  20

  Death always creates either guilt or fear, whether

  either is acknowledged or accepted.

  I’d been at the Collegium three weeks and three days, and on that Meredi morning, Maris eighteenth, I was shivering, even under my covers. I forced myself from bed and peered through the window. Outside, fat flakes of snow were drifting down from a dark gray sky, although not more than two or three digits’ worth of snow had piled up on the quadrangle. Spring was supposed to arrive in a week or so, but it felt like winter. I pulled on the robe that had come with the room and trudged out and down to the showers and bathing rooms. I did like being clean and clean-shaven. I just didn’t care much for the process, and not in winter-cold weather.

  On the way back from the shower, as I climbed the steps from the lower level, I heard heavy footsteps. When I stepped away from the landing, I saw two obdurate guards in their black uniforms carrying a stretcher. They headed down the hallway to an open door two doors before mine. Before I reached that doorway they had entered and then come out, carrying a figure covered with a blanket. One of them closed the door one-handed, bracing the stretcher on his knee for a moment, and then they strode toward me. I flattened myself against the stone wall of the corridor, not that I really needed to. Neither looked at me, but most obdurates ignored those of us who were still learning.

  Standing in the corridor between the now-closed door and mine were two imagers. Although they looked to be several years younger than I was, they were both seconds, and had said little to me. From what I could see, they were both upset and trying not to show it. The taller one’s cheeks were damp, as if he’d wiped away tears.

  “Who was that? What happened?” I asked.

  The two seconds looked at each other, then at me, before one replied, “Mhykal. On his way to the Bridge of Stones.”

  All I knew about Mhykal was that he was an imager secondus, that he was of average height, a few digits shorter than me, and that he hadn’t bothered to speak to me when we passed in the corridor or on paths of the quadrangle. People that young just didn’t die in their beds. When they didn’t answer, I asked again, “What happened?”

  “Who knows? It happens. Not often. We’re not allowed to say. Ask your preceptor.”

  Ask my preceptor? Before I could say more, one had retreated to his room, and the other was headed for the stairs.

  I returned to my room and dressed deliberately, trying to make sense out of what I had seen. An imager second was dead, and his body was carted off. No one acted as if it were strange. Sad, but not strange. I’d heard that more than a few would-be imagers died, but hearing that, and seeing it the way I just had-that was another thing.

  After finishing dressing, I stuffed my books in the canvas bag I’d been issued and then made my way downstairs and through the snow to the dining hall. I managed to find Etyen and sat across from him.

  “There were obs in the quarters this morning, and-”

  “I heard that. Mhykal, they said. I could have guessed he’d be one. He was always talking about what he could do.”

  “Like you?” quipped Lieryns.

  “No. More like you.”

  “Me?” Lieryns’s voice almost squeaked. “I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

  “Why would Mhykal be one?” I pressed.

  “You can get in real trouble imaging by yourself . . . least until you’re a third or a master. There are lots of things that can happen. Be best if you asked Master Dichartyn to explain.”

  Lieryns and another prime nodded.

  I ate slowly, but good as the fried ham, hot biscuits, and white gravy were, I had trouble finishing what I’d served myself. After breakfast, I had to wait almost a full glass for Master Dichartyn. I read the newsheet I’d picked up, glancing over the top story that mentioned the recall of the Solidaran ambassador to Caenen, and then took out the history text and started rereading the pages I’d already read three times.

  “You look worried, Rhennthyl. Trouble with the assignment?”

  “No, sir.” I straightened. “Sir . . . before we start . . . might I ask a question?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Sir . . . I was coming back to my room after my shower, and two obdurate guards had a stretcher coming out of a room . . . and there was a body under the blanket. The two seconds there wouldn’t tell me what happened. They said that they couldn’t and that I should ask you.”

  “That’s something you’ll probably see again . . . unfortunately.” Master Dichartyn looked across the desk at me. “About a third of the imagers who arrive here as primes die before they complete their secondus training. Close to forty percent of the more talented ones die.”

  Forty percent, and he’d already told me I was talented?

  “Would you like to guess why?”

  That was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “There’s a saying about imagers. There are bold imagers, and there are old imagers. There are no old bold imagers. While it’s not totally true, it’s close enough. Tell me why.”

  When he put it that way, I did have an idea. “Imagers who are bold try things that are different, or in different ways, and too many things can go wrong?”

  “We all occasionally have to try to accomplish different things. It’s a matter of approach. The Collegium believes a graduated and cautious approach is the best one. We try to bu
ild on what you already know or have been taught. Some young imagers think they know better. Sometimes they do, but most of the time they don’t. If they keep trying things without enough knowledge and supervision, sooner or later something will go wrong, often very badly, in one of two ways. They either kill themselves doing what they’ve been told not to do, or they get killed when they go out in L’Excelsis and start boasting or carrying on.”

  “Can’t you do something?”

  “What else would you suggest? We caution you. We try to show you how to do things in the proper ways. Are you saying we should have a tertius or a master spend every moment of every day with those of you who are talented? Or accompany you every time you leave Imagisle? We don’t have enough masters or thirds for that. Besides, anyone who really wants to do something boldly stupid will find a way, and, frankly, we can’t afford to have imagers who are stupid or publicly arrogant. There’s too much at stake.”

  Master Dichartyn felt that way about the Collegium, but that wasn’t much help to me personally.

  “Now . . . tell me how the founding of the Collegium changed the history of Solidar.”

  I pushed away my anger at his near-indifference and tried to think. According to the history book, because imagers could create certain chemical compounds and metals, the Collegium gained greater and greater power by supporting the emerging merchant class, until the last absolute ruler and rex of Solidar, Charyn, ceded power to the Council once he realized that the imagers no longer supported him and were prepared to back a violent change in government, if necessary. So, being wiser than most rulers, Charyn requested a position as head of the Council for life, as a “transition,” and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Now, the book didn’t put it quite like that, and I had the feeling it had been nowhere near that neat and sanitary. “The Collegium allowed a growth of collective power of the imagers . . .”

  I just hoped that Master Dichartyn wouldn’t be too critical, but I was still worried about what happened to Mhykal. I’d lit a lamp through imaging in my sleep and killed two men while not really trying to do so. Could I do something stupid enough to kill myself . . . and not even know it?

  21

  Love is both a name and an act; too often the name

  triumphs.

  On Solayi, the twenty-ninth, I struggled to get out of bed in time for breakfast. There was no requirement to go to breakfast-or any other meal, for that matter. But for me, there weren’t any alternatives. Even if I had been permitted to leave Imagisle, I’d earned something like four silvers since I’d been at the Collegium. That might have paid for two cheap meals off the isle-and neither would have been as good as what I was getting fed. At the noon and evening meals, we even had wine, a grade that was a good plonk.

  At breakfast and dinner, even during the week, I seldom saw more than a few masters, and they were those who had various duties on that particular day, nor were there that many of the older thirds or seconds. On weekends there were even fewer, but that made sense, because even the junior imagers could leave Imagisle-except for primes in my position.

  I was one of the older imagers there, except for Maitre Dichartyn. He was seated at the masters’ table with Maitre Chassendri, and she was the maitre of the day. I sat down at the primes’ table, less than half full, and a rather sleepy-eyed and groggy Lieryns staggered in and sat across from me.

  “Too early,” he mumbled.

  “But it’s a long time to lunch on an empty stomach.”

  “Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  I glanced around the dining hall. There were only twenty or so at the seconds and thirds’ table, and perhaps fifteen at the primes’ table. “You don’t go anywhere on weekends?”

  “Nowhere to go. My people live out near Rivages. Ironway only goes partway, and it’s nearly a day trip each way. Besides, they’re all foresters.”

  “You don’t have much to talk to them about?” I asked, before pouring tea into my mug.

  “Never did. Less now, and everyone else in town, they all look the other way if they see me coming. Oh, they’ll talk if you greet ’em, and they’re nicer to me than they ever were when I was just Leam’s youngest, but they all look so uncomfortable.”

  “They respect you, then.”

  “More like fear. You’ll see.” Lieryns looked down into his mug of tea, inhaling slightly and letting the warm vapor caress his face.

  “How did you discover you were an imager?”

  “My da had too many pitchers of plonk one night, and he came storming in, tried to beat up Callia, and he ran into a door that wasn’t there. Our cot never had doors, just curtains. Didn’t take him long to figure it out, seeing as only Callia and I were there. Ma and the others were at Aunt Nuela’s-she’d just had her third. Anyway, drunk as he was, that stopped him.”

  “It did?”

  “Oh, he wanted to flog me into ribbons, but the masters don’t like it, and there’s a finders’ fee for letting the Collegium know about imagers. It’s a gold most places, maybe more if we’re not beaten. Master Ghaend said that it was cheaper than holding hearings or trials for people who killed young imagers. My da was more than happy to claim it, and I usually bring them a silver or two when I visit.” Lieryns shrugged. “It’s easier that way. Besides, I’ve got a feeling that Llysira just might have the talent. She’s nine now.” He took a mouthful of the rubber-like omelet and chewed slowly. “Anyone else in your family show up as an imager?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I know, and the way my mother’s family keeps track of the bloodlines, I think they’d know.”

  “Maybe they do know. Maybe they don’t say. Some folks don’t want it known. They say it’s a mark of the Namer.”

  Was Lieryns right? How could I know if people never talked and I’d never known enough to ask? “You’re cheerful this morning.”

  He yawned, then shook his head. “You ever have a girlfriend?”

  “Once or twice. The first married . . . someone. The other . . . I don’t know.” That wasn’t totally true. I’d enjoyed the company of a few over the years, and, for some reason, the only two I’d thought of in response to his question were Remaya and, surprisingly, Seliora, yet I’d only danced with Seliora on two or three of the Samedi get-togethers. “What about you?”

  Lieryns shook his head. “The first time I went home, her mother met me at the door and said that she was . . . indisposed. She’s been indisposed ever since. For me, anyway. You’ll be fortunate if your former girlfriend will even look at you.”

  That hadn’t been one of my greater concerns. Even so, I had to wonder if I’d have that problem . . . or if I’d even have another woman friend. That was something else I’d find out.

  After breakfast, I donned the heavy gray cloak and began to walk along the west side of the isle, on the gray stone walk just above the gray stone river walls. Council Hill was two and a half milles away, but the day was gray and hazy enough that I could barely make out the white walls of the Council Chateau, and they looked to be a lighter shade of gray in the distance. The gray everywhere was getting to me. I wondered how different it had looked in the days before Charyn, when L’Excelsis and Solidar had been ruled by a rex. Had any of the early rulers been imagers? None of the history books I’d read had said, only that the early imagers, especially those serving Rex Regis, had been a necessary adjunct to the power of the rex. But then, none of the books mentioned the Namer, either, or Rholan the Unnamer, or even the mark of the Namer.

  I ambled north past the workrooms, the armory, and an area of dwellings, both large and small, seemingly placed with care in a park-like setting. North of the houses was a small park that covered the northern tip of the isle. Although it had benches and a small hedge maze, I saw only three people-a young woman with two small children, barely more than toddlers. I kept following the stone walk back down the east side of the isle. Just before I reached the Bridge of Hopes, I saw an imager, with broad shoulders and light brown hair, walking across the bridge. On
the far side, waiting for him, was a magnificent black coach, trimmed in silver, with a matched pair of blacks. Standing beside the open door of the coach was a young woman, with long white-blond hair flowing out from a silver and black scarf. Even at that distance, I could tell that she was young and beautiful. I just stood and watched as the imager neared.

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, but briefly, and with a certain stiffness. Then he helped her into the coach and followed. I couldn’t help but wonder not only who the imager was, but how he’d managed to have a lady friend so clearly wealthy. Perhaps there was more appeal to being an imager than I’d realized.

  22

  Those who do not understand imaging assume that

  any rule of the world can be circumvented or changed

  with enough skill; that is so erroneous that it cannot

  even be termed wrong.

  On Jeudi, the thirty-third of Maris, at the end of breakfast, when I’d been at the Collegium for over three weeks, Master Poincaryt stood and announced, “All members of the Collegium, except those with specific exceptions from me, will assemble in the gallery of the hearing room of the Justice Building at the eighth glass this morning.” Then he sat down.

  “That’s trouble for someone,” murmured Etyen.

  “More than trouble,” added Thenard.

  According to the Manual, hearings were mandated only for serious offenses against the Council or the Collegium, but there was nothing written that indicated that the hearings were public and that all imagers were required to attend.

  “Do you know who it is or what they did?” I asked.

  “No,” said someone down the table. “We only find out at the hearing.”

  If you did something against the Collegium, could someone just appear with guards or whatever and whisk you off to a cell and a hearing? Could they do that to me, for imaging the explosion that killed Master Caliostrus and Ostrius? I tried not to shiver, and instead looked down at the remnants of the egg-fried toast on my platter.