Imager's challenge

36

On Lundi morning, I’d barely taken three steps into District Three station, carrying the bag that held the brown cloak, the plaid cap, and the smaller bag with the purple scrap of wool, when Captain Harraf appeared at his study door and summoned me with a peremptory gesture. He said nothing until he had closed the door behind me.

“You haven’t heard anything about the Navy conscription teams, have you?”

“I asked about them, but all I was told was that they’re likely to begin conscripting in L’Excelsis shortly. The Collegium hasn’t been informed when they might start in specific areas of the city.”

“Shortly? Is that weeks or days?”

“I got the impression that they would begin in L’Excelsis sooner rather than later, but no one could tell me an exact date.”

“Rather convenient. I suppose that even the liaison to the Civic Patrol isn’t exalted enough to be privy to such.”

“So far as I can tell, Captain, even the Collegium councilor doesn’t know.”

He looked hard at me.

I had no doubts that Rholyn didn’t know. Master Dichartyn might, but not Rholyn.

Finally, he said, “You expect me to believe that, Master Rhennthyl?”

“Captain, you can believe whatever you like, but the councilor told me that he didn’t know, and if he doesn’t, I don’t know when the conscription teams will be doing anything, or where-except that I do know they will be operating in L’Excelsis before long.”

“It appears that the Navy trusts the Collegium as little as I do.” He smiled coolly. “That was all I had for you, Master Rhennthyl. I imagine Lyonyt is waiting outside for you.”

“Do you know when you’ll have a replacement for Alsoran?”

“He’s not the kind of patroller to replace. A new man is scheduled to be here a week from today. It may be that you will be rotated to another station before long, as well, but no one has informed me.”

That was also understandable, from what I’d seen. Neither the subcommander nor the commander really knew what to do with me, and I’d gotten the impression that Artois didn’t want to talk to me and Cydarth didn’t want me in headquarters. “I’ll help as I can here, sir, until the commander decides.”

Harraf nodded. “You’d best find Lyonyt.”

I didn’t bother replying, but smiled, turned, opened the door, and departed, leaving the door open behind me. I stowed the bag in the cubby and went to look for Lyonyt.

“Master Rhennthyl?”

I turned.

“Lyonyt, sir.” He stood almost a head shorter than did I, with a wiry build, and brown eyes that never seemed to remain fixed on anything, even while he was looking at me.

“We’re to be patrolling together this week, I understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, but the captain had a question.” I looked toward the station door. “I suppose we’d better get moving.”

“Yes, sir.” Lyonyt seemed to bounce as he moved.

I didn’t say more until we were striding up Fuosta toward South Middle. “You’ve been on leave.”

“Yes, sir. I have to thank you. The captain said I only got it because you were available to help Alsoran.”

“I’m not sure he needed much help.”

“Could be, sir, but it meant a lot to me. Anacherie was so ill after little Marie was born, and then with my father dying right after that . . .”

And Harraf wouldn’t allow Lyonyt leave without a replacement? Was Third District that short of patrollers? “I’m glad it worked out.” I paused. “How long have you been with the Civic Patrol?”

“Be nine years next Ianus. Best thing I ever did, quit being a butcher’s apprentice and apply to the Patrol. Wasn’t the cutting. That was fine. Always have liked knives.” He drew a long shimmering blade from the sheath on his heavy belt, a sheath partly concealed by his short patroller’s cloak. “Times a knife’ll do you better than a truncheon.” The knife vanished. “Always got fidgety halfway through the day. Caymeyrl was always telling me to settle down. Said a good butcher had to be solid. . . .”

We kept walking, turning east on South Middle. I listened, but kept my eyes moving. For all his chatter, Lyonyt didn’t stop looking, either.

Just after we passed the Puryon Temple, I caught sight of another tough, this one some twenty yards up Weigand-the first through street to the south past the Temple. He watched us until we were out of sight. I didn’t look at him but once, but could feel his eyes on my back.

I didn’t see a purple jacket under the nondescript brown cloak, but I would have wagered he was wearing one.

“. . . Sansolt always listens, but he never says anything . . . gets to a fellow after a while. Now, Jaovyl, he’s a good man . . . got the round east of the Guild Hall this rotation. . . .”

Before long, we reached the Avenue D’Artisans, and after less than two quints with Lyonyt, I could see why he’d been paired with the quiet and solid Alsoran.

“That place there. It’s called Yualtyn’s. Don’t eat there. Wasn’t bad when it was Gosmyn’s. Hetyr fixed a good honest ragout. Yualtyn bought him out two-three years back. Now all they serve is that Tiempran shit that burns your mouth before you open it. Over there, Chapytoc-good bootmaker. Does good resoling, too. . . .”

Lyonyt did suggest a different place to eat at midday, a patisserie called Jehan’s, which served a folded fried flatbread filled with lamb and mint with a cucumber sauce. I didn’t know that I’d have wanted it every day, but it was tasty and filling and a definite change.

After we ate, we reversed the direction of the rounds, but outside of the increasing odor of elveweed, something that happened late every afternoon, the remaining rounds were without any major incidents.

Once I left Lyonyt at the station, I walked down Fuosta and north on Quierca until I could hail a hack. I had the driver drop me in front of Alouette-a patisserie on the Avenue D’Artisans not all that far southwest of Sudroad. If I were to wait for Mardoyt as long as I might have to, I needed something to eat. I settled for a heavy almond-filled croissant and a mug of tea. The tea was merely hot and adequate. The croissant was good enough that I’d come back, perhaps even pick up some to take to my parents and Khethila . . . and, of course, I’d have to make sure there were two for Culthyn.

I took my time walking down the avenue and then across it and wending my way to Saelio, raising concealment shields more than three blocks away from Mardoyt’s duplex. When I reached the vantage point from where I could observe the oak in front of the house, I settled into the lengthening shadows and prepared for a long wait. Most of the oaks’ leaves had turned, as had the leaves of the other seasonal trees along the street, and possibly a third had fallen onto the grass and the walks, but they were not dry enough yet to rustle that much when someone walked through them.

I took out the scrap of purple cloth and imaged a larger duplicate, concentrating on replicating the warp and weft of the weave, as well as the weight of the threads. Then I studied what I’d imaged. Even as someone who’d been raised to appraise wool, I could detect no noticeable difference between the smaller sample and the larger imaged section of cloth.

Then, I imaged out some sections of the selected oak limb, one that was already dead and hung over the walkway leading to the duplex, not enough that it would break, except in a storm, but enough to make the next step easier.

I kept waiting. I felt I had to, because I needed to resolve the problems Mardoyt was causing before the problems Ryel was causing got even worse. Sooner or later, Mardoyt had to come home, if not tonight, then on Mardi or Meredi, or even Jeudi. I was getting more than a little irritated that I was having to spend so much time dealing with a Patrol officer who was so corrupt, and about whom no one seemed to want to do anything. More than a few patrollers knew what he was doing, and I didn’t see how that helped the Civic Patrol maintain any sort of standards in the slightest.

I waited, but Mardoyt still did not appear.

The sun dropped low enough in the west that the entire street was in shadows. Then, roughly a quint after the bells of the nearby anomen rang out sixth glass, a figure in a blue cloak turned the corner and walked up Saelio. It was Mardoyt, his head down, clearly thinking, as if he was worried. He was so preoccupied that I doubted he would have seen me even if I had not been holding concealment shields.

I imaged away the remaining key sections of the oak limb before Mardoyt was even close to the walkway to his house. It took even more effort to use an extension of imaging shields to hold it in place while he neared.

Then, as he turned, I released those supports, and projected shields to hold him in place. The limb toppled, seemingly slowly, but it took all the imaging effort I could muster with extended shields to direct the limb so that the heavier end twisted and slammed into Mardoyt. Just before the limb hit, I released the shield around him, but he couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the limb’s impact as it smashed across his left shoulder and then crushed and pinned his left leg.

Still behind concealment shields, I slipped up to the unconscious officer and left the imaged scrap of purple in his hand. I also accomplished a last touch of imaging.

I stepped back, realizing that I was soaked in sweat. I could feel my control of my shields slipping away. So I retreated into the shadows and tried to move quietly down the street.

I’d made it less than five yards from the mass of limbs and foliage when I heard a scream from the front porch-that of Mardoyt’s daughter. The sound went through me like a knife-or more like the assassin’s bullet I’d taken. I kept moving, trying to keep in mind that the patroller whose death Mardoyt had arranged had certainly had those who loved him, and I hadn’t done anything to Mardoyt when Youdh’s toughs had started attempts on my life. That didn’t count the attempt with the granite stones.

Besides, I kept reminding myself on the long and chill walk back to the Collegium, I hadn’t killed Mardoyt. If . . . if things went as I’d planned, he’d live, and he’d receive a stipend. He just wouldn’t keep his position and be able to take bribes and arrange murders.

If . . .