seat empty to the left of Shannyr so that he would be between me and Johanyr. Since Diazt was seated to Johanyr’s right, neither could press me at the table, and I wouldn’t be obviously avoiding them.
There was a momentary look of surprise on Shannyr’s face as I stood behind the chair next to him, waiting for the masters at the head table to seat themselves.
Once we were seated, I asked him, “How was your day?”
“Like any other. I went to work at the armory machine shop, had lunch, and went back to work.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that many of the seconds, perhaps most of them, had finished all their instruction and were working for the Collegium. It should have, but it hadn’t. “I suppose they’ll assign me somewhere once I get caught up on what I have to learn.”
“Could be worse than the armory. They had me in the engine room of one of the riverboats. Wet and cold most of the time.”
I shuddered at the thought of being cramped into a riverboat engine room. “What do you do in the armory? Can I ask? I mean . . .”
Shannyr laughed. “You can ask. I can even tell you. I image the special powder for the percussion caps that the four-digit naval guns use.”
“You image it right into the cap?”
“That’s right. There’s no metal touching metal, no chance of a spark, and no explosions.”
Another one of those special services provided to the Council by the Collegium, I realized. How many were there?
“What about you?” he asked. “When you’re not under instruction?”
“Making metal bars.”
He winced. “That’s work.”
“I can only do so many, and I have to rest a lot.” I paused. “You know I’m new here . . . I was thinking about girlfriends. I used to have one, and some imagers are married . . .”
“They’re the lucky ones.” Shannyr shook his head. “Lots of women will give you a fling, even married ones, but not many want to marry an imager.”
“Why is that?”
“We scare ’em a bit. That interests ’em, but they won’t marry someone who scares them.”
I could see that, but I had to wonder if that happened to be true with all imagers, or if that had just been Shannyr’s own experience.
“You want to have fun with the women, when you’re free, don’t stay around Imagisle. Take a hack out to Martradon or out to some of the bistros on Nordroad or Sudroad . . .”
I listened politely, although I could see that I knew far more about where the women were in L’Excelsis than he did.
That night, after dinner, I had another idea. I went outside and imaged rubber, a thin layer of it, along the inside of a small cloth bag. Then I poured some of the caustic I had left into the bag, which I tied shut. For a while, anyway, until I was more confident in my abilities, I could carry that with me.
Then I tried to practice shields-and shadows-until I was truly exhausted. The shadows weren’t very good, and I was more than ready to climb the stairs and collapse into my bed.
28
Those in a family may well share the same dwelling,
but not the same home.
Both Vendrei and Samedi mornings were hard because Master Dichartyn kept pressing me on my shields. No matter how much I improved, he kept insisting that my efforts were not adequate. Then he offered an onslaught of questions, not only on what I read, but on how it all related to the Collegium and its role in Solidar. I kept those questions to myself and told Johanyr and his group of seconds only a few of the easier and more purely academic or technical ones.
On Samedi afternoon, I was waiting on the east side of the Bridge of Hopes a good half glass before three. The day was sunny, with the faintest haze, but there was a hint of chill, and I wore my cloak. On the roughly triangular space where the boulevard intersected the East River Road stood a flower seller with a weathered face, but a pleasant expression.
“Flowers, sir imager? Flowers for a lady, a friend, or family?”
For a moment, I couldn’t help smiling. “No, thank you.”
The tempting aroma of fowl roasting over charcoal on a cart across the boulevard wafted around me. For all that, it might as well have been gray and gloomy, given the way I felt. I shouldn’t have. I was healthy and had a profession, if not what I’d expected, that earned decent coins. Mother and Rousel certainly wanted to see me, and probably Remaya did. Even Father did, I suspected, even if he’d never admit it.
Two women, one in bright green and the other in scarlet, eyed me speculatively as they neared, but I wasn’t in the mood for either of their favors, even if I could have afforded them. After they passed, a mother in a worn brown coat dragged two children toward the wall separating the sidewalk from the narrow boulevard gardens in order to put as much space between the three of them and me as possible. Was she a malleable, or did she just fear imagers?
As the time neared three, the coach, with its glistening brown body and polished brasswork, appeared on the Boulevard D’Imagers. Before long, Charlsyn pulled up next to the curb, but well short of the flower seller, easily reining in the two matched chestnuts.
“Good afternoon, Charlsyn.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
I climbed in and closed the coach door. Because of all the coaches and riders on the Boulevard D’Imagers, I surmised, Charlsyn took Marchand Avenue back to Sudroad, and then to the Midroad. It was close to half past the glass before the carriage pulled up at the side portico of the house, where Mother, Rousel, and Remaya were waiting as I stepped up under the portico.
“Good wool in that cloak and waistcoat,” observed Rousel, if with a grin.
“Mother already noticed that. Did she tell you?”
“She told me to look,” he admitted.
“You look dashing in that gray,” added Remaya with a smile. She had become rotund, and even chubby in the face, but her eyes sparkled, especially when she looked up at Rousel.
“Much more businesslike than when he was an artist,” added Father from the doorway where he stood. “Come on inside, all of you, especially you, young woman,” he added to Remaya. “The breeze isn’t good for my grandson.”
“She might be a granddaughter,” said Khethila from behind Father.
“Grandson!” yelled Culthyn from inside the family parlor.
Rousel just laughed. “He or she will be what he or she is.”
In moments, everyone was in the parlor, and Nellica was passing a tray with spiced wine, or chilled white or red. After slipping out of my cloak, I took the white.
Father had settled into his favorite chair. He didn’t wait for anyone else to sit down before he asked, “What can you tell us about this imager business?” As always, everything was business. Before I could answer, he added, “You know that last weekend a young graycoat was killed near the Nord Bridge.” He shook his head. “Shouldn’t have been there.”
I hadn’t seen that in either
“I would hope not.”
“The Collegium at Imagisle is like a guild for imagers.” I settled into the straight-backed chair across from
