Imager

17

As Master Dichartyn had intimated, I had to wait to see him on Mardi morning. I sat on a bench outside his study reading the thin volume on the Collegium. I’d made it through fifteen boring pages when he opened the study door and an older imager walked out, somewhat stiffly.

“You may come in, Rhenn.”

His study was small, not more than three yards by four, with a long narrow window, open just slightly. The space held two enormous bookcases, a small writing desk, two filing boxes stacked on top of each other, and two chairs, one with a cushion and arms and one straight-backed and not too comfortable. I sat in the straight-backed chair.

“Before we start, I’d like you to know that one of our messengers delivered your letter to your parents yesterday, late in the afternoon. They were relieved to know that you were safe.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mother was relieved at my safety; Father was more likely relieved I hadn’t embarrassed him or gotten into some difficulty that might have cost him in some fashion.

“Now . . . when was the first time you realized you might have imaging abilities?”

“Not until around the first of the year.” It was actually just a bit earlier, but not much. “I was working on a portrait, and I couldn’t get the area around the eyes right. I could almost see how it should be-and then it was right, even with my brushstrokes, as if I’d painted it just as I’d visualized it. I still wasn’t sure that it was imaging. I thought maybe I’d painted it and then imagined that I’d imaged it.”

“And . . .?”

“Maybe a month later, I was working on another portrait, and it happened again.”

“And you didn’t come to us then?”

“No, sir. I’d heard about how imagers had turned the alabaster walls of the Council Chateau into stone harder than granite, and how they could image parts of machines into being. All I could do was image just the slightest bit of oil paint.”

“All?” Dichartyn laughed. “There are some seconds that can’t do that and never will.”

“I didn’t know that, sir. It seemed very insignificant to me, and I was beginning to get commissions-the kind where patrons asked for me personally.”

He nodded. “What did your master say?”

“I never told him about the imaging. When he talked about the imagers, he was quite clear that I should never want to be one, that most died young, and most of the rest never amounted to anything.”

“He said that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can see where that might give you pause, Rhenn.” He leaned back in his chair and fingered his clean-shaven chin.

All the imagers were clean-shaven, I realized, unlike artists, most of whom had beards or mustaches, if not both. In that way, at least, I did fit in. I’d never liked beards.

“So why did you finally seek us out?”

“Master Caliostrus died in the fire. No one else would take me on. My father wanted me to become a wool factor. I thought that my small talents for imaging might gain me a place here.”

“At least you have no grandiose delusions about your ability.” Master Dichartyn laughed again, not totally unkindly, I thought. “It’s very good that you did. Before long, you would find yourself imaging in ways that could be most destructive. Perhaps you already have and do not even know it. Sooner or later, that imaging would have been noticed by others.”

“Not know it, sir?” I had an idea of what he meant, but I wasn’t about to say so.

He smiled, knowingly. “You know more than you reveal, Rhenn, but I will explain, because you don’t know as much as you think.”

I accepted the rebuke silently.

“All people have daydreams, or dreams or nightmares, or wishes. We wish that things would appear or disappear, but what happens if the person who wishes that is an imager?”

The lit lamp! I swallowed.

“Did that recall something, Rhenn?”

“Ah, yes, sir. Sometime after the first time I imaged the oils, I had a dream, and I dreamed that it was so dark that I could see nothing, and I wanted light. The lamp on the chest woke me, because it was lit, and I thought I’d wicked it off. I never believed that I’d imaged the light. I’d just thought I’d been so tired . . .”

“You are very fortunate you came here before any of the imaging you did came to light.” Master Dichartyn’s voice was stern. “You have quarters to yourself. Do you know why?”

“No, sir.”

“Every set of quarters in the Collegium is not only stone-walled but has a layer of very thin lead plate between the two courses of stone and under the floor tiles. The windows are all glazed with leaded glass, and those windows which open are designed with louvers so that there is no direct passage of air-or thought-in and out. Do you think that the Collegium went to that expense merely for your comfort?”

“No, sir.” I had a very uncomfortable feeling about where his words were leading.

“No imager ever sleeps with another person, even his wife, and I mean sleep, not lovemaking. The Collegium is here not only to educate and improve imagers, but to protect others from those very same imagers. Yes, we have privileges, and those who become masters can live quite comfortably, and those who do marry can live in pleasant dwellings on the north end of the isle, but never think that we do not pay a high price for those abilities and services that we provide. Imagers who must travel are accompanied by obdurates, and, if they cannot sleep within iron or lead, must take strong drugs of the type that do not permit dreaming when they sleep. Those who serve in the Navy have lead-lined cabins, very small cabins, because lead is heavy, and weight is critical on many vessels. Those who marry and live here have special separate sleeping chambers in their dwellings, and must indeed live here unless they have the wealth to build similar quarters elsewhere in L’Excelsis. You can never spend an entire night with a woman you love, or any lover, for that matter, not unless you remain totally awake, and when you are tired, even that could present a danger to her, especially if she has malleable tendencies.”

Master Dichartyn paused, letting me take in his words.

“One of the reasons for the initial restriction to Imagisle is so that you come to understand what damage even the least able of imagers can inflict upon others. A second reason is that you need to understand that we are so few that we could be wiped out to the last person. Yes, some of us do have the ability to kill or change others, and you are one of those who already possess that ability, whether you know it or not. But while we are individually powerful, for the most part, no one of us could face even a moderately large group of armed men and survive. We therefore do our best to show the Council our goodwill, our self-discipline, and our indispensability to Solidar. No imager can be allowed to jeopardize the others. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” It was more than clear; it was frightening. I wanted to ask about the imager who had lived in my quarters before me, but decided it would be best to wait on that.

“Good.” The smile returned. “I’m going over to the laboratories this morning. I’d like you to accompany me. Then, this afternoon, I will give you a short talk on the introductory aspects of chemistry, and you will begin to read that volume. Tonight, after dinner, you are to read the first section of the book on the government and history of Solidar. You will find it is not like any history book you have read before, and I will be asking you questions about what you have read in both volumes when we meet tomorrow morning.” He bounded out of his chair. “Now . . . let us go to the laboratories. . . .”

Already, I was beginning to wonder about the two sides to Master Dichartyn’s being-the stern and the cheerful. He seemed to switch from one to the other both quickly and comfortably, but the change was more than a little disconcerting to me.