Imager's challenge

6

Vendrei was no different from the rest of the week, starting with exercises, although I was still not participating in the hand-to-hand sparring, but doing solitary knife and truncheon routines, followed by cleaning up, eating, and a long walk to Civic Patrol headquarters, and another day at the charging desk. I did have to admit that the duty with Gulyart had given me a good indoctrination into the myriad forms of petty and mundane violence seldom seen by most citizens of L’Excelsis. But then, that was doubtless the point.

On Samedi, once more, I dragged myself up and to Clovyl’s training and running session. By the time we finished the last of the exercises, it was pouring. We still had to run through the slop and puddles. For the first time ever, I beat Dartazn. Did that mean anything besides I ran better through water? I doubted it.

After a cold shower and shaving, I dressed and headed to the dining hall for breakfast, glad that I could at least use an umbrella crossing the quadrangle. I still hadn’t figured out a practical way to use imaging shields against rain. Maybe there wasn’t one. Master Dichartyn used an umbrella, I’d noticed.

There were no other masters present for breakfast, except for Ferlyn and Maitre Chassendri, both of whom were Maitres D’Aspect. Ferlyn and I sat on either side of her, since she was far senior to each of us. I still remembered the chemistry laboratory studies under her and how she insisted on perfection every bit as much as did Master Dichartyn.

I passed her the platter of egg toast, then the berry syrup. While she served herself, I poured some tea. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

The egg toast was darker than I would have preferred, but not black-brown, and the sausages were perfect.

“You know, except for Maitre Dichartyn,” Maitre Chassendri observed, “you’re the youngest imager to become a maitre in centuries.”

“I had the advantage of having him as a preceptor,” I said, “and some fortune as well.”

“Misfortune,” she corrected. “Rapid advancement always comes from success in dealing with difficulties in hard times. We’re looking at harder times, I fear.”

“Because of the Ferran-Jariolan conflict?” asked Ferlyn.

“More than that,” she replied. “The free-holders in the west are harvesting more produce than are the High Holders, and they’re able to sell it for less. The same is true for timber holdings. Before long, the same may happen in the east, although the water control issues there make it harder.”

“Why should that-” Ferlyn broke off his words as he looked at Chassendri.

“The free-holders are making more golds on their harvests,” I said, “and the High Holders comparatively less. The only way the High Holders can compete is to impose stricter conditions on their lands. That will cause unrest, increase costs, and reduce their profits. If the High Holders sell land, the free-holders will buy it and use it to become wealthier-”

“All right, Rhenn . . . I see that.”

“Fighting wars is expensive, and that means higher taxes,” I pointed out. “The High Holders are pressing to support Jariola, and given the way the Ferrans have dealt with us, the Council doesn’t have much choice.”

“And tax levies are on land,” Ferlyn finished. “So the High Holders are going to be squeezed two ways.”

“Three,” suggested Chassendri. “Conditions will get worse on some of the holdings, not all, because most of the High Holders actually manage their lands well, but workers on the poorly managed lands will leave. They’ll either work for the free-holders or get conscripted. More High Holders will fall to debts, and their lands will be split between successful High Holders and free-holders, but in the end there will be more free-holders and fewer High Holders.”

I could see that, but I didn’t see it happening that quickly. “Won’t that take time?”

“There are at least fifty High Holders who are so land-poor that were they businesses, they’d be close to bankruptcy,” replied Chassendri.

“But they could sell their lands, or part of them, and besides,” Ferlyn pointed out, “there are hundreds of High Holders.”

“More than a thousand,” said Chassendri cheerfully, “one thousand and forty-one High Holdings, to be precise.”

Something . . . there was something. Then I had it, an obscure section of the compact that had created the Council. “The rebalancing provisions. The High Holders would lose a Council seat, probably to the factors, and the head of the Council would no longer be a High Holder.”

“But . . . the High Holders could just split a few holdings up, couldn’t they?” asked Ferlyn. “To keep the numbers above a thousand.”

“They could,” Chassendri pointed out.

Left unspoken was the point that few High Holders ever willingly let go of anything.

Those thoughts put a damper on matters, especially since we were close to being done with breakfast anyway, and I had another concern as well-Shault.

He looked so forlorn that as soon as I swallowed the last drops of my tea, I rose and walked over to the long table that held the primes and the seconds and said to him, “I’ll need a few moments with you after you’re done eating. I’ll meet you by the doors.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then I just stood there for a moment and let my eyes run down the table, face by face, before I turned and walked away, slowly, listening.

“. . . one you don’t want to cross . . .”

I wondered about that, because I’d never done anything harsh to any of the primes or seconds, except for Diazt and Johanyr. I didn’t have to wait long before Shault hurried out of the dining hall, his thin face pinched in worry.

“Sir?”

“I take it that there’s a second who’s giving everyone trouble, maybe from the taudis? More than likely, he’s even suggesting to you that you need to do what he wants, or something will happen to you or someone else.”

Shault’s mouth started to drop open, but he closed it with a snap.

“Have you ever heard of Diazt or Artazt?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Diazt was a second here. His brother Artazt was a taudischef in the hellhole. They’re both dead.” I paused. “Right now, there are two things you need to know. First, no one will rescue you from being pushed around unless you study and work hard and unless you do your best to learn everything you can about imaging. Second, in time, things happen to bullies here at the Collegium.” I paused. “Why do you think I’m telling you this?”

The poor prime shivered. I just waited.

“So I know it will get better? Sir . . . will it get better?”

I offered as gentle a smile as I could. “It will, but it won’t be easy. You have more imaging ability than most primes and even some seconds, but you haven’t had enough book education. Do you have someone helping you to read better?”

“Yes, sir. Mayra and Lieryns are helping me.”

“Good. That’s important.” I paused. “One other thing. No student imager is allowed to harm another. That doesn’t mean there won’t be threats, or other nasty things. No one has actually hurt you physically, have they?”

“No, sir.”

His response was firm enough and without hesitation that I believed him.

“Keep that in mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” As I left him, I wished I could do more for him, but that would only make matters worse. The way I’d approached him would certainly not have let the others think he was getting any favors. But Master Dichartyn had told me that I needed to talk to him at least twice a week, and he certainly had raw talent, more than I’d had at his age, and I couldn’t help but hope that he’d be able to become at least a third in time. I was also pleased that Lieryns was helping. I’d always liked Lieryns.

At eighth glass I was in my studio, after trudging through a rain that showed little sign of dissipating. While I was waiting, I’d checked the small storeroom that held an assortment of unused items and found a fairly solid and flat crate that I hoped no one would mind my borrowing. At slightly past the hour, in walked Master Rholyn.

“I apologize for being late, Rhennthyl, but Master Poincaryt wasn’t that precise in explaining where your studio was, especially for someone coming from the north quarters.”

I’d assumed that Master Rholyn was married and living in one of the separate gray stone dwellings for senior imagers situated on the north end of Imagisle, but I hadn’t known for certain. I smiled. “I barely knew whose portrait I’d be painting next. Master Poincaryt just indicated that I should be here.”

“He can be terse to the point of being cryptic,” replied Master Rholyn. “One reason Master Poincaryt decided you should paint my portrait is not only your present duty, but your past duty as well. Before we get into that, should I sit there?” He gestured to the chair.

“Not for a moment, sir. I’d like to ask a question. I didn’t often observe the Council. When you speak to the entire Council or to the Executive Council, do you remain seated at your desk or do you stand?”

“In open discussion, councilors remain seated. To offer a motion, one stands.”

“Then I will portray you standing.” I carried the low crate over next to the chair. “If you’d put one foot . . . the one you’d use if you stood that way . . .”

“Rhennthyl . . . you know the chamber floor is flat.”

“Yes, sir, but not if you were making a motion to the High Council.” I paused. “I realize that’s unlikely, but it’s perhaps more politic.”

He laughed. “Did Master Poincaryt suggest that?”

“No, sir, but if I didn’t do it that way, he might.”

Rholyn shook his head, then stepped forward and took the position.

“Look a touch to the right . . . please.” I began to draw in the details on the design I’d already started.

After a time, I had him sit down for a bit while I worked on some of the angles, but I couldn’t help asking, “Do you think the Council will actually declare war on Ferrum, sir?”

“No one really wants Solidar in a war, even the High Holders, but it’s looking less and less likely that we can avoid it. Ferrum will use any pretext to try to obtain the iron and coal mines near the Jariolan border, and their army is large and well trained and equipped enough that any attempt to invade by us would be a bloodbath on both sides. Even if Jariola put all its efforts into attacking Ferrum, and we were able to blockade the Ferran ports, it could devastate both Ferrum and Jariola.”

“So the strategy is likely to stall and negotiate and try to avoid all-out war until the covert field operatives can find a way to persuade Ferrum not to attack?”

Master Rholyn shook his head sadly. “Even if your assumptions were correct, accomplishing a change in Ferran policy would still be difficult, because all those who have power in Ferrum think alike, and the number of illnesses, accidents, and deaths necessary to change the collective political mind of the Ferran Assembly would be so noticeable that it would unite everyone against us.”

That, unfortunately, made sense, and I had to wonder what the Collegium might be able to do against such a united opposition with a mere handful of talented covert field operatives.

By the time the anomen bells struck nine and Master Rholyn had left, I’d changed the design twice, but finally had one that would work while revealing-I hoped-something of the councilor’s wit and temperament.

I thought about taking a hack out to see my parents before going to Seliora’s, but with the rain splashing down everywhere, I decided against it. Instead, I stayed in the studio and set up the canvas. That took me far longer than I’d thought, and I worked through lunch.

What with one thing and another, and from changing from damp grays into better and drier ones, checking some aspects of the patroller procedures, and making sure that I had the “silver knot” card and envelope, it was after third glass when I set out. As always, I held full shields from the time I left my quarters. I allowed for extra time, but the rain had lightened into a drizzle, and the hack I took from the west side of the Bridge of Desires actually got me to the corner of Nordroad and Hagahl Lane well before fourth glass.

Seliora’s cousin Odelia was the one to open the door. “You’re early, Rhenn, but I don’t think Seliora will keep you waiting.”

“Can you tell me who’s coming for dinner this evening?” I asked as we walked up the staircase to the second-level formal entry hall.

“I could.”

“But you won’t because that’s Seliora’s privilege.”

“We don’t infringe on each other.” Odelia smiled. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

With so much of the extended family living together in the huge building that combined manufactory and lavish quarters, I could see that made good sense.

As I ambled around the entry hall, waiting for Seliora, I noticed a chair I hadn’t seen before. It looked new, and I walked over to study it. The seat was upholstered in what I had earlier learned was a Jacquard-loomed needle-point, a family crest of some sort. The design had to be Seliora’s.

I’d barely walked away from it when I heard footsteps coming down the side staircase from the private quarters on the third level. I turned to wait for her. She was wearing blue and silver, flowing dark blue trousers and a matching blouse, with a pale silver jacket trimmed in the dark blue. I couldn’t help smiling as we walked toward each other.

“You’re early. I’m glad.” She took my hands, then tilted her head and kissed my lips, gently but warmly. “You don’t mind if we just sit here? I told Mama that we’d greet everyone.”

“Who is ‘everyone’? Odelia wouldn’t tell me.”

“Good.” Seliora grinned, then turned and led me toward the settee closest to the archway at the top of the entry staircase. “She shouldn’t have. Papa’s sister Staelia and her husband, and Papa’s cousin Duerl and his wife. Staelia has a bistro not that far from the river. Odelia and Aunt Aegina and Grandmama Diestra will join Mama and Papa and us . . . and Shomyr and Methyr. It’s cool enough that you’ll finally get to eat in the dining chamber.”

We settled onto the settee.

“Is that a new chair?” I asked, gesturing to the one I’d looked over earlier.

“Unhappily.”

“Oh? Done for a client, and they didn’t like it?”

“High Holder Tierchyl. He did himself in with his favorite pistol last Mardi. Your ‘friend’ Ryel managed it. I don’t know the details, but Tierchyl was overextended. He arranged a huge timber harvest to pay the interest on his debts. Everything in the sawmill and in the drying barns, as well as the timber waiting to be stripped and milled, caught fire, including Tierchyl’s mill itself. The Banque D’Rivages refused to extend any more credit or to even extend the term of the notes.”

“But . . . a High Holder has to have tens of thousands of hectares.”

“Most of them will have to be sold, Mama said. He had almost no cash at all remaining, and supposedly all his lands were security for the notes at ninety percent. There will be more than enough golds for a comfortable life for his widow and children, but nothing like what a High Holder requires.” Seliora shrugged. “We’re out the cost of the chair, as well as a hundred yards of special fabric. The wood isn’t a problem, because most of it hadn’t been even rough-shaped and can be used for other commissions in the future. It’s still a loss of close to a hundred golds.”

I winced. While I knew her family could afford it, the loss of more than I’d make in two years wasn’t something to dismiss lightly. “Are you sure Ryel was involved?”

“Some of their lands adjoin, and Tierchyl had refused to sell certain properties to Ryel. That’s the rumor anyway.”

And Ryel had declared me his enemy. I glanced toward the chair. “It is beautiful.”

“The design is unique. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to use it as a model for someone else in the future.”

“If not, it makes a lovely addition here.”

“An expensive addition.”

Within a few moments and before anyone thumped the big brass knocker on the main door, I heard another set of footsteps, slower but lighter, coming down the steps.

Without thinking I said, “That’s your Grandmama Diestra. She wants a few moments with us before dinner.”

Seliora looked at me, then at the archway, where Grandmama Diestra emerged, glancing at Seliora.

Seliora shook her head. “I don’t care what your mother thinks. There has to be Pharsi in your background. You didn’t even think about it, did you?”

“No,” I admitted, somewhat sheepishly, before standing to welcome Seliora’s grandmother. “Good afternoon.”

Seliora rose and stood beside me.

“The same to you, Rhenn.”

Seliora just said, “He knew you were coming before he saw you, and he knew what you had in mind. I hadn’t said a word.”

“You’re surprised, granddaughter?” Grandmama Diestra chuckled.

I grinned, then gestured to the settee. While they settled themselves, I retrieved the chair I’d admired and set it down on the rich gold-green border of the magnificent maroon carpet that covered much of the parquet floor of the entry hall, then sat down facing them.

“Seliora tells me that you’re working with the patrollers now. Which senior patrollers have you met?” asked Grandmama Diestra.

“Except in passing, just the commander and subcommander-and a first patroller named Gulyart.”

“Do not trust Artois. He is not corrupt, but he would sacrifice his first-born son to preserve the honor of the Patrol.” She laughed softly. “Since it has no honor, there is no point in being sacrificed. Cydarth will do what he must, but there are rumors . . . I have heard nothing bad about Gulyart. Be most careful with Lieutenant Mardoyt or Captain Harraf. Neither is even honestly corrupt.”

“ ‘Honestly corrupt’?”

“They don’t stay bought,” was her dry response. “What are you doing now?”

“I’ve been observing the charging desk. I’m supposed to do that for another week.” Since she offered nothing else, I asked, “Do you know of a taudischef named Horazt?”

“He’s one of the new ones, grandson of Chorazt.” Diestra snorted. “I haven’t heard anything bad about him. Why?”

“He brought a boy to the Collegium. The boy’s named Shault. He’s a beginning imager. I was wondering if there were any way to learn if the mother got the gold she was supposed to. Her name is . . . Chelya.” I’d had to think a moment to call it up. “I think she’s a cousin of Horazt’s.”

“Chelya . . . she’s Mhyala’s daughter, or one of them.” She smiled, and a glint appeared in her eyes. “I’ll find out, and I’ll make sure that Horazt understands that you know. Might scare the little bastard. It won’t hurt you.” Her eyebrows lifted. “You have something else?”

I slipped the envelope I’d received on Jeudi out of the inside pocket of my gray wool imager’s waistcoat and handed it to Seliora. “Open it . . . both of you should see it.”

She deftly extracted the card. Both sets of black eyes-so alike were they-narrowed as they beheld the silver ribbon knot.

“Ryel . . .” murmured Seliora.

“As soon as he discovered I’d been made a master imager,” I said.

“That way he loses no prestige among the other High Holders,” added Grandmama Diestra. “Prestige is another form of power.”

“A master imager of twenty-five is a worthy foe?” My words came out sardonically as I reclaimed the card and envelope and tucked them inside my waistcoat.

“There are far fewer master imagers than High Holders,” Diestra said.

“There are far fewer total imagers.” By that standard, poor scared Shault was a worthy opponent. I didn’t like either of Ryel’s sons, and from what I’d experienced, his daughter was just as cutthroat-all of which confirmed that they took after their father.

The knocker thumped loudly.

Both Seliora and I stood immediately, and she headed for the steps down to the entry. I let her lead the way.

Once on the street level, Seliora glanced out the side window. “It’s Aunt Staelia and Uncle Clyenn.” She opened the heavy polished oak door. “Do come in!” Her voice and posture were warm and welcoming.

“Every time I see you,” replied Clyenn, stepping into the small foyer at the base of the steps, “you’ve gotten more beautiful.” He turned to me. “You must be Rhennthyl. You’re a most fortunate man.”

“I am, indeed,” I replied, keeping a smile on my face. I couldn’t say that I disliked Clyenn on sight, but I would not have trusted him any farther than I had Johanyr. I didn’t wonder that he had a scar that ran from below his left earlobe almost to the corner of his mouth.

Staelia was statuesque, more like Odelia and Aegina, but not so attractive, just tall, plain, and graying, but she had a radiant smile, bestowed primarily on Seliora.

“Aunt Staelia,” Seliora said, “this is Rhenn. I didn’t have a chance to tell you, but he’s been made a master imager.”

Staelia looked me over-our eyes were close to level-and smiled again, not quite so radiantly, but certainly warmly. “You two suit each other, I think.”

Seliora led the way up to the main foyer.

Seliora’s parents must have heard the knocker or the greetings, or been watching the lane from the third floor . . . or Bhenyt had told them. The possibilities were numerous, but Shelim and Betara moved to join us within moments of the time that Seliora and I had escorted Staelia and Clyenn up to the entry hall. In that short time, various servants had appeared, and a sideboard with wines had been opened. Shomyr-Seliora’s older brother-brought out several bottles of wine. He was followed by Methyr, her younger brother.

“I see you’ve met Rhenn,” said Betara, her voice and expressions so much like Seliora’s that mother and daughter looked like sisters.

“We have indeed,” boomed Clyenn. “Yes, indeed.”

“Indeed,” said Staelia. “Clyenn . . . if you wouldn’t mind getting me a white Cambrisio.”

“I can do that.” He turned and started for the sideboard.

“You’re one of the younger master imagers, I’d imagine,” Staelia said.

“Yes, madame.”

“Staelia, please.” An amused smile appeared. “Save the ‘madame’ for Betara or Grandmama. Perhaps one of the youngest master imagers ever?”

“One of the younger ones,” I admitted. “Not the youngest ever.”

“Polite and modest, too. Dangerous, as well. I’ve seen that with the patrollers. The most deadly ones are the most courteous.”

The instant assessments by Seliora’s family-or by the women in the family-were both amusing as well as unsettling. I inclined my head. “And I believe no one is ever disorderly in your establishment.”

Both Staelia and Betara laughed.

“A point to you. With Taelia and Sartan running it tonight, I hope it stays orderly.” The last words combined dryness and worry.

Another series of thumps issued from below.

“That must be Duerl and Aesthya,” offered Betara. “I’ll greet them.”

Shelim, who had said nothing, departed with his wife, leaving Seliora and me with Staelia.

“You must come and eat lunch or dinner at the bistro with us when you can.”

“I’d like to, but it might be a while. I’m still learning my way around headquarters.”

“It won’t take you long,” she predicted. “But don’t order the baked pastry sausages. They’re the one thing that Clyenn does that aren’t that good-but people don’t want them good. They want them soft and slathered with greasy white gravy.” She shrugged. “So that’s the way we fix them.”

Betara and Shelim reappeared with another couple, guiding them toward us.

“Aesthya, Duerl, this is Rhenn.”

“Ah, yes,” offered the slightly plump but still sprightly Aesthya. “We have heard so much about you, and”-she looked to Seliora-“learned so little . . . other than you’re a master imager.”

“Very recently, I must confess,” I replied. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

After that, there were goblets of wine in everyone’s hands, and many pleasantries, and a few more questions about what I’d done. Before long, a set of chimes rang, and we all repaired to the dining chamber, through the recessed doors at the end of the foyer that the serving girls began to open as the sound of the chimes died away.

The dining chamber held a table set for eleven, but I could tell that the long cherry table could have taken leaves enough to seat twice that many, and the unused chairs set against the walls at the sides of the china cabinets and sideboards reinforced that impression. The chamber was illuminated by wall lamps set in polished bronze sconces with reflectors, as well as by three sets of candelabra on the table itself. The cutlery was all silver, and the porcelain chargers were gold rimmed with the NordEste design in the center.

Seliora offered the grace, and then we all took our seats. She and I had been placed in the middle of the table, with Shelim at one end and Betara at the other. I was flanked by Aesthya on my right, and Staelia on my left, with Seliora across the table-sort of, because with four on her side and five on mine, I was actually across from the space between her and Clyenn.

The meal began with a light red wine I didn’t recognize and a cream of gourd soup with wild mushrooms, followed by sweet and bitter greens with vinegar and nuts, and then by what I could only have called a Pharsi ragout in flaky pastry.

The entire time the conversation varied from topic to topic, but never touched on any form of business.

“. . . people fleeing here from everywhere . . . causes problems and unrest in taudis, especially in the hellhole.”

“. . . hasn’t been this bad since the troubles years back . . .”

“Mama Diestra . . . she has fewer connections there . . . or in the south . . .”

“Capolito is bringing back the traditional Pharsi singers to sing . . .”

“. . . won’t draw diners . . . people want to eat and talk . . .”

“. . . factors, maybe, they only talk about business anyway.”

“. . . wager it’ll be less than three weeks before Stakanar and Tiempre are inside Caenen.”

“. . . couldn’t believe that a high factor’s wife would wear pink after the end of harvest . . .”

I ate sparingly, but I still took in more than I should have, and that was before dessert, which was a pastry tart with jelled and sweetened lime glaze over apples.

There was more conversation over dessert, and over the tiny goblets of warm brandy that followed, and it was approaching ninth glass before people began to drift away, although Grandmama Diestra had slipped out before dessert.

In the end, Seliora and I found ourselves sitting in the dim light of a single lamp, back on the same settee as where we had started, seemingly alone in the entry foyer.

“What did you think of the rest of the family?” asked Seliora.

“I like Duerl and Aesthya, and I really enjoyed meeting Staelia.”

“Your feelings are much like everyone else’s.”

“What does Clyenn do?”

“You know Staelia runs a small bistro. It’s only about two blocks from the Patrol headquarters. It’s east of there and a half block off Fedre on Pousaint. Clyenn isn’t too bad a cook, and he does exactly what Staelia tells him to. He’s only strayed once.”

“The scar?”

“The second one will be across his throat . . . not that anyone would find his body.” Seliora’s words were absolutely matter-of-fact.

“Pharsi treatment of infidelity?”

She shook her head. “Stealing of funds. You don’t steal from family, ever. Infidelity can happen. It’s frowned on, but people are people. Theft is deliberate. You have to think it out, and that’s betrayal.”

Put that way, I definitely understood. I also realized that I didn’t understand Seliora’s family quite so well as I’d thought I did. I smiled wryly.

“Why the smile?” Curiosity and worry lay behind her question.

“I was thinking of Rousel, and how it’s a good thing he’s operating a factorage for my family, rather than a spice brokerage for Remaya’s family.”

“They don’t hold the Pharsi traditions as strongly,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know.”

She smiled, slightly possessively, I thought. “I’m glad.”

I thought about saying something about how she was so much more than Remaya, but decided against it, because the words would have implied the comparison, and comparisons are always odious, especially to a beautiful woman who loved me.

“You should stop by Staelia’s. It’s called Chaelia.”

We talked a bit more, and I could see her yawning. “I should go.”

Abruptly she straightened. “There’s someone outside.”

“We should go down and look.”

Arm in arm, we did, and I looked through the small window to the left of the door casement. “I don’t see anyone, but there’s a hack there.”

“Mother paid him to wait for you.”

“I shouldn’t keep him waiting, then. I’ll be very careful.” I raised my shields even before Seliora opened the door.

The muffled crack of a weapon and the impact against my shields were almost simultaneous, and I couldn’t help but stagger back into Seliora.

“Namer-damned . . .” Who could have been shooting at me? Straight assassination wasn’t what High Holder Ryel would have done. At least, I didn’t think so.

In the distance, I could hear footsteps. Much as I was tempted to give chase, the shooter had too much of a head start, and it could also have been a trap.

“They’ve gone,” Seliora said.

The hacker was looking around.

“I’ll be right there!” I called.

I wasn’t right there, because Seliora and I did need a little time to say good night and good-bye, but the hacker did wait. Betara had obviously paid him well, for which I was glad.

On the drive back to the Bridge of Hopes, I couldn’t help but wonder if High Holder Ryel had changed his mind . . . or if I’d become someone else’s enemy. But whose? I hadn’t done anything to anyone at the Civic Patrol, and all the Ferrans had been taken care of . . . hadn’t they?

Yet whoever it had been had known exactly where I’d be. I frowned. It couldn’t be Ryel. He would have known I had shields. But who?