“How can I avoid . . .” I paused. “Should I practice imaging rain or shadows or fog or mist?”
“I’d try it at night in secluded corners of Imagisle. You’ll get a splitting headache if you try rain, fog, or mist in your room, and you won’t see the shadows right inside. For those efforts, you have my permission, but only when no one is nearby.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’ll face other trials, as well, Rhenn. I can’t say what they are or where they’ll come from, and it’s best that I don’t try to guess, because those trials are different for every imager and if I give you details, then . . . it’s like naming-you’ll fixate on those. I can only say that if your life is truly threatened, no matter where you are, you have the right to use any imaging ability to defend yourself. Obviously, it’s better not to kill attackers unless absolutely necessary, and every situation facing you has a weakness that can be exploited-if you think quickly enough.”
The implication was that I well might be injured or dead if I did not think swiftly.
“Now . . . off to the laboratories.” He gestured toward the door.
I picked up my bag and books and slipped out, closing the door behind me. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard him mutter under his breath. It might have been “. . . Nameless save me . . .”
In reflection, as I walked down the corridor toward the door onto the quadrangle, I pondered one phrase Master Dichartyn had said. Why had he said “no matter where you are”? Did he mean that absolutely?
How could you disable someone effectively and reliably-using imaging? You would need something so painful and yet so small that it would be easy to image. And it would need to be comprised of substances common everywhere. On the way across the quadrangle toward the building that held the laboratories, it came to me. Common lye-imaged into someone’s eyes. They certainly wouldn’t be able to see or easily move, and it was made of relatively common substances.
With that revelation, I’d hoped to visit the kitchen and scullery before lunch, but Maitre Chassendri was in the laboratory, and, for some reason, she decided to personally instruct me. If I’d thought that Master Dichartyn had been picky, his strictness was lenient compared to hers.
“No! Do not ever place the beaker in any position where the fumes can rise to touch you or your skin . . .”
“The glass must be absolutely dry!”
I wouldn’t have said that I was shaking by the time I escaped from Maitre Chassendri’s tender instruction, but I felt that way when I walked into the dining hall for lunch.
Johanyr waved, and I walked over and took the seat across from him and Diazt.
I usually drank something cool at lunch, but I was more than ready for tea, as much to settle my stomach as to warm me. The beef ragout helped as well.
“What was your morning like?” Diazt asked Johanyr.
“Master Ghaend was pounding away at the structural differences of materials.”
I managed to keep from saying anything, but merely nodded. Master Dichartyn had moved me past that, and Johanyr had been at the Collegium far longer than had I.
“Old Schorzat wasn’t even around,” offered Diazt, “but he left word that I still didn’t understand section five of the science book well enough. I’ll have to go back over that.”
“What sort of questions does Master Dichartyn ask you?” Johanyr’s tone was idle, but he watched closely.
“This morning he was asking about the Council and why it was structured the way it was. He wasn’t happy that I hadn’t memorized the actual structure.”
A faint smile crossed Diazt’s face.
“What about science?”
“He sent me to the laboratories to learn some basics. I got some very direct instruction and too many warnings about handling beakers and how to clean equipment.” I shook my head. “What about you?”
“I didn’t have to go to the laboratories.” Johanyr laughed. “That’s always good. Sometimes the stenches there turn my guts.”
“Has Master Dichartyn said anything more about what happened in Westisle?” asked Diazt.
“He was gone for two days, but he hasn’t said anything.”
“You ask him?”
“I’ve already learned that, when he says he doesn’t want to talk about something, he gets unpleasant if you bring it up again. I don’t think I can afford to make him angry.”
“No . . . I wouldn’t think so,” said Johanyr in a musing tone. “There are more than a few you don’t want to anger, and it’s sometimes hard to tell who’s really important to your getting along and staying at the Collegium.”
“I’m working at understanding that.”
“We’re certain you are.” Johanyr smiled, then stood. “I need to get to the workshops.”
“Me, too,” added Diazt.
I’d definitely gotten their message, and I really would have liked to visit the scullery after lunch, but there wasn’t time. I had to get to the workroom to see if I could work out an even less exhausting way to image those aluminum bars.
The workroom was empty, except for the barrels, but it looked to me that most of them had been replaced with other barrels. So I sat down on the stool and thought about imaging, and began to try yet another way of doing it. A half glass or so later, Grandisyn barely looked in, then just nodded and ducked out.
Right after the Collegium bells struck the fourth glass, I headed for the scullery on the level below the main dining hall. The steps leading down were the same gray granite, and just as clean as any other staircase or corridor I’d seen on Imagisle. I’d taken no more than ten steps down the lower hallway when an older woman, an obdurate from her muted black shirt and trousers, appeared.
“Sir, you can’t be looking for anyone down here. Nobody here but us ob sculls.”
“Then, you’re the ones I’m looking for. My master gave me a project, and I need a little common caustic.”
She just looked at me.
“Lye, the soda you clean with. I only need a little, a half cup?”
After a moment, she nodded. “We could spare that little, but best you be careful. It burns fearful when it’s wet. You just wait here, sir.”
I stood in the underground hallway, half-wondering if she’d return with a master.
When she returned, alone, she handed me a battered and chipped crockery mug a little more than half filled with off-white lumpy caustic. “Here you are, sir.”
“Thank you.” I inclined my head. “Where would you like me to return the cup?”
“You can keep it. There are enough that get broke or chipped that we got plenty.”
“I appreciate it.” With a nod, I turned and headed back upstairs, and then outside.
While trying not to look over my shoulder, because I worried that someone might follow me, I walked to the west river wall, and then south across the causeway leading to the Bridge of Stones, and to the park-like grove of ancient oaks between the causeway and the grounds of the Anomen D’Imagisle. The oaks were showing traces of green and had not leafed out, but the trunks were massive enough that I felt largely concealed, at least from casual observers.
Then I got to work. Imaging the caustic wasn’t all that difficult. Imaging it in small quantities was harder, and image-projecting some of what was in the cup was even harder. Image-projecting it head-high on the oak trunks was yet more difficult. But I persevered . . . because I knew I had no real choices.
It was close to six before I was confident that I had mastered what I could with the caustic, but that was only half of what was necessary. I needed to work on shields more. I wouldn’t be in much shape to image lye into someone’s eyes after I’d been hit with a bullet or bashed with a cudgel or run through with a stiletto. According to Master Dichartyn’s rules, effectively I had to be able to withstand an attack in order to prove self-defense. After what I’d seen with Floryn, I definitely wanted to be sure it was self-defense. That meant far better shields.
At the same time, I was exhausted by the time I took the rest of the cup of lye to my room. That left just enough time to wash up and hurry back to the hall for dinner. When I walked in, I could see Diazt and Johanyr. I didn’t really want to sit near them, but I didn’t want to create the impression I was avoiding them. There was a
