“Many people feel that way. They don’t try to kill a councilor.”
“Either blood or golds or both are involved.”
“Better. Think about this. You’ve read the newsheets, have you not, with the stories about more hostilities between Ferrum and Jariola-and the skirmish between one of our flotillas that was positioned to keep Ferran warships from attacking Jariolan merchanters?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There is the possibility of war between Ferrum and Jariola. Which land is less popular in Solidar?”
“Jariola, I’d say. The Oligarch makes people think of an overbearing rex.”
“What about among the factors and merchanters?”
I thought about my father’s reactions. “They’re probably even more in favor of Ferrum, and they’re not happy that the Council’s attempt at evenhandedness is costing them.”
“Now, while it has not been made that public,” Master Dichartyn went on, “Councilor Suyrien has suggested that Solidar may have to support Jariola, given the belligerent stance of Ferrum. He has also stated that he fears the dangers of a nation whose policy is ruled only by profits. Can you see a possible link to the assassin, at least in terms of views?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now . . . have you considered what I asked of you on Lundi?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then summarize your conclusions.” He sat back and waited.
“Well, sir . . . I’ve thought about this for a long time, but the only significant strengths I seem to have are very strong shields for someone of my level and the ability to combine what I know with what I feel to come to a conclusion that usually seems to be right-often long before I could have actually proved the correctness of that conclusion. The implication behind that is probably what Maitre Dyana keeps saying, and that’s that I need to be more patient. At least, in most cases.” I couldn’t help adding, “I don’t think I’m the single-handed hero type who can charge into the taudis and capture scores.”
“What about your portraiture ability?”
“That’s a strength, and it probably added to my imaging ability, but, outside of providing portraits for the Collegium . . .”
He nodded. “Those probably are among your strongest points, and the implications are correct so far as you have carried them. We also don’t train, as you put it, single-handed heroes. We often act alone, but it’s far more effective, and far safer, to act from the shadows . . . or in direct sunlight with everyone watching in a fashion where no one realizes what you’ve done, and even when they do, where no one connects it to you or the Collegium.” He smiled. “Next week, at the Council’s Harvest Ball, above all, observe. Observe and try to correlate what you see with what you know and what you feel. It may surprise you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Taking the young lady who saved my life to meet my parents.”
He fingered his chin, then nodded. “For all of our sakes, use your shields and be careful . . . and observant.”
After I left, I had, more than ever, the feeling that I was the lure for a much larger predator than I’d first imagined.
67
Professional interrogators should study mothers.
Fortunately, Samedi morning was clear, cool, and with a light breeze that made the long run that followed Clovyl’s exercises and the session in physical self-defense seem almost pleasant. I finished somewhat closer to Dartazn, but not much. I hurried through cleaning up and eating, so that I could get to the studio and get some work done on some of the details of the portrait that didn’t require Master Poincaryt before he arrived.
He was as punctual as always, settling into the chair. “Good day, Rhennthyl.” He settled into the chair. “I apologize for my absence last week. There were some matters to deal with.”
“Beyond the infiltrators in the taudis, sir?”
A smile crossed his face. “You know, Rhennthyl, I find these sessions most useful. They provide a time when I am awake, relatively rested, and without people and details clamoring for actions and solutions.” He turned his head. “This way?”
“A touch away from me, just a little.” I paused. “Good.”
I had to admire the way he’d handled my question. Just a smile, and warm words on another subject, hinting that he wasn’t about to deal with my query. Before I lifted my brush, I just studied him again, looking from the canvas and back to him. Then I caught it. The way I’d painted his left temple was as though in a different light setting than the cheekbone below. I concentrated, trying to visualize it just so . . . and then it was just that way on the canvas. I had to smile. In a way, it was ironic.
I worked steadily for a good quarter glass before he spoke again.
“Master Dichartyn has briefed me on the situation in which you find yourself. How would you describe it? Honestly, but as dispassionately as possible.”
“The Collegium has been good to me, sir. That I cannot deny, and I’ve learned a great deal. At the moment, though, I do feel more like the lure for a large and unknown predator lurking somewhere out beyond the Collegium.”
“That’s a fair description of the situation. I would point out, however, as I am certain Master Dichartyn has already told you, that all imagers are in a sense lures. Our duty and responsibility is to draw such predators in order that they do not prey on Solidar itself.”
“He has said that, sir.”
“Good. I felt sure he had. You’ll be at the Council’s Harvest Ball next Vendrei, I trust?”
“Yes, sir. Won’t you?”
“No. On such social occasions, my presence would have, shall we say, a dampening effect on the atmosphere. The chief maitre of the Collegium must take care never to put himself in a position where he might be seen to challenge or dim the authority of the Council.”
I realized I’d already understood that without actually having thought it through. I just hadn’t applied it to the Ball.
“The Ball is one of those occasions when you have a chance to observe and learn without being observed that much yourself. If someone is observing you, of course, it is significant, and something to consider.” He paused. “How long before I might see the portrait?”
“You can look at it anytime, sir. I have your face mostly done, and the garments.”
“After we’re done today. I dislike surprises, especially those I can prevent.”
He said nothing more for the rest of the session, clearly lost in his own thoughts and concerns. When the first bell of ninth glass struck, he looked to me.
“Yes, sir. I have more than enough to work on before the next session.”
Master Poincaryt stood, stretched, and then walked toward the easel, circling it and then studying the unfinished work. After a moment, he nodded. “They were right. You’re as good as many of the master portraiturists.” A wry smile followed. “It’s accurate, and lifelike, but you’re an imager, and it’s not as flattering as those of Master Estafen. More accurate, but not so flattering.”
“Master Dichartyn has always stressed accuracy, sir.”
The chief maitre laughed. “Master Dichartyn also informed me that you have a certain . . . shall we say . . . way of reducing egos. I would suggest you not employ it at the Ball.” He stepped back from the unfinished portrait, looked at it once more, then turned. “Next week?”
