The two guards half-urged, half-lifted Floryn from his chair and escorted him back to the bar, facing the justice. Then they retreated several paces and waited.
The justice stood.
“All rise!” ordered the bailiff.
I stood, feeling queasy as I did so.
“Floryn, Imager Tertius, this court finds as follows. First, the facts and testimony confirm that you did in fact commit the offenses with which you have been charged. Second, given your length of study at the Collegium, acceptance of a plea of For Mercy is not warranted. Third, the penalty for conviction on each of the three charges is death.”
Floryn winced, as if struck.
Silence filled the space, from the court area all the way up through the gallery.
Floryn shuddered, then collapsed on the black stone floor before the dais. He twitched several times. Then he was still. The two burly guards stepped forward and picked up the body, lifting it easily up and onto their shoulders, and then carried it out.
The robed master looked down from the dais. “The sentence of the Collegium has been enforced. Justice has been done. So be it.” After a moment, he turned and walked out through the smaller archway at the rear of the dais. Then, all of those below turned and departed.
I just stood there for a long moment, even as the imagers around me began to leave.
23
Guilt provides far more effective motivation than
greed, for greed can at times be satiated.
On Jeudi night, after too many glasses studying and worrying, I was particularly glad for my private quarters, because I did not sleep well, not with dreams of facing a hearing for the death of Master Caliostrus running through my nightmares. Not with the vision of the Collegium advocate reciting how I had imaged my portraiturist master to death because I hated his son. I also had visions of some master imaging poison or something like it into my body, and being unable to do anything at all against such an attack.
When I woke on Vendrei, far earlier than normal, with the early-spring light barely seeping from cloud- covered skies through leaded-glass windows, more questions rushed through my brain. Had in fact the justice imaged poison into Floryn as he had stood before the bar? Was that technique another reason for all the anatomy drawings in the
I shook my head. That technique could be applied to everything, if an imager happened to become strong and talented enough. But then, if that were so, of what use were obdurates?
Breakfast at the prime table was as quietly boisterous as usual. That bothered me as well, but I said nothing and did my best to enjoy the ham rashers that went with the omelet casserole. There were no letters in my box, not that I expected any, and I trudged through the misting drizzle that sifted down on the quadrangle as I made my way to Master Dichartyn’s study.
The door was open, and he was waiting for me. “Did Gherard deliver your assignments?”
That was a pleasant way of asking whether I’d read them.
“Yes, sir. The philosophy is hard.”
“If it weren’t hard, it wouldn’t be philosophy.” He closed the study door behind me. “You look tired. Are you all right?”
Rather than answer that, because I wasn’t certain how I was and didn’t want to say, I said, “Might I ask you about the hearing, sir?”
“You may ask. I may choose not to reply.”
“Why did Floryn not speak for himself? Is that forbidden?”
Master Dichartyn shook his head. “It is not, and most accused do speak for themselves. Floryn had a greater chance for mercy if he did not speak. It was not a great chance, but it was the only hope that he had.”
“Might I ask why?”
“I would deny that to most junior imagers, Rhennthyl, but I will answer you on two conditions. First, you are never to repeat my answer to anyone, and after this meeting, not even to me. Second, you will make an honest attempt to explain to me why I am allowing you this liberty.” He looked at me. “Do you accept those conditions?”
There was more there than I knew, but I also needed to know. “Yes, sir.”
“Floryn’s life was at stake, but what he did not understand is that his and every imager’s life is at stake every moment of every day. Now . . . it is not arrogant to believe in one’s true capabilities, but it is arrogant for an imager to declare those capabilities publicly, and it is unacceptably arrogant to overstate one’s capabilities, particularly when we exist on the sufferance of the people. Floryn was incapable of speaking without revealing his arrogance, and arrogance from junior imagers does not set well with masters, particularly not with Master Jhulian, who was serving as justice. I tried to coach Floryn as to how he should speak, but his anger was so great that anything he said would have ensured his death.”
“Was he a talented imager, sir?”
“Almost as talented as you may become, if you work hard at it.” He paused. “Why have I let you ask this?”
The answer was obvious. It was also painful. “Because I could become arrogant, as Floryn was.”
“Not quite. You would never be as blatantly, flagrantly stupid, and you are not the type to boast. You could be the type to boast to yourself and to act in anger, but in subtle and cool arrogance, when you feel yourself wronged or disregarded. How did you feel when you did not win the journeyman’s competition last Ianus?”
“Wronged,” I admitted, even as I wondered how he knew that, because I’d never mentioned it to anyone at the Collegium. “My work was better than those that won, and several masters admitted as much indirectly.”
“Then why did you not win?”
I wanted to blurt out that they had played favorites, but there was more behind it, and Master Dichartyn would not have asked the question if there had not been. “I would guess that part of the competition was to determine who would follow the traditions and the unspoken rules of their guild.”
“If that were so, then did you deserve to win?”
“I deserved to win on artistic merit, sir, but not if the prizes were to be given on blind compliance with unspoken rules.”
Master Dichartyn nodded. “You don’t like to admit that, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“What happened to you there is the same everywhere else. All groups, whether the guilds, the Council, the High Holders, or the Collegium, have both formal rules-and these can be spoken or written or both-and unspoken rules. The unspoken rules must be observed and deduced by each member of the group, and in large part, acceptance and success depend on recognition of and mastery of those unspoken rules. Young people usually understand that such rules exist within their own groups, but many have a harder time accepting that other groups have such rules and that at least some of those rules may differ greatly from the rules they have already learned. Often they get most angry when the rules of those older and more powerful do not follow their preconceptions.”
“Floryn didn’t like it?”
“He came from a part-taudis background where one has to boast and overstate to be respected. He could never overcome that early training.”
“What early training do I need to overcome?”
Master Dichartyn laughed, somewhat sadly. “I cannot say with certainty. I would judge that you need more to overcome your rebellion against early training. You may have become an artist because you disliked the
