“I wouldn’t be surprised, sir, if there were painters with small imaging abilities who have kept those abilities to themselves.”
He offered a lopsided smile. “Between us, neither would I. Didn’t you, for a time?”
“Yes, sir.” I decided against explaining that it was because I’d thought my abilities so modest. I gestured toward the chair. “If you wouldn’t mind sitting there, sir?” I smiled. “You won’t be portrayed as sitting in anything quite that severe.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t show me in one of those upholstered thrones.” He settled into the chair, then looked at me. “It feels strange to be sitting here.”
“Sir . . . I would think that you deserve a portrait.”
“I don’t, but the head of the Collegium does.” He smiled. “That’s what Dichartyn claims. He says that having portraits of the heads of the Collegium will reinforce tradition.”
That gave me an idea. “Sir, is there anything that might suggest the Collegium?”
“Only the star, and that doesn’t really suggest the Collegium by itself.”
The four-pointed star of Solidar was symbolic, with the points representing the High Holders, the factors, the artisans, and the Collegium. I’d work out something. I always did.
The first thing I did was sketch Master Poincaryt’s face. Rather, I did a series of quick rough sketches in pencil until I had the sense of what would be both accurate and flattering.
Those took almost the entire glass, and there wasn’t much point in asking him to stay longer, because I’d need to think about the entire portrait and set up the design before his presence would be necessary again. “That’s all I’ll need from you now, sir.”
“Could I look at the sketches, Rhennthyl, so I won’t be too shocked?” His voice was gently humorous.
“Certainly, sir. I would ask that you remember that these are very preliminary. They’re as much to enable me to set up a design that’s appropriate.” I brought over the sketches and began to go through them. “Your profile from the left . . . the right . . . full face here . . .”
After he’d looked at the them all, he stood. “The Collegium is fortunate to have you.” He smiled. “If we are to have portraits, they should be accurate. My family may not agree, however.” He paused. “Next Samedi at this time?”
“Yes, sir, if that is convenient.”
After he left, I put away the sketches and the pencils, closed the workroom, and walked back to my quarters. Then I headed out on what would probably be a long Samedi, walking across the quadrangle and then toward the Bridge of Hopes.
I’d thought at first that the easiest part of looking into who had targeted me would be talking to those I knew in the guild, but after the reception I’d gotten from Rogaris and Sagaryn, I didn’t want to start with them. But where could I start? I racked my brain before I remembered the old man who had liked my study-the former portraiture master. I finally recalled his name-or names-and what Master Estafen had said. Everyone called him Grisarius, but he was really Emanus and he had some rooms off the Boulevard D’Imagers.
Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to find him. People did notice odd characters, and Grisarius was anything but usual in appearance. I also could talk to Madame D’Caliostrus or Shienna.
As I crossed East River Road, at just after half past nine, I was glad there was a faint haze and a slight breeze. Even so, the day would be hot, and then some, by midafternoon. I wasn’t quite certain whether to walk up the Boulevard D’Imagers or take a hack to see Madame Caliostrus. I noticed a man talking to the flower seller, the same weathered woman who seemed to be there most every Samedi I’d crossed the bridge. I didn’t look in their direction, except for that first glance, but I did listen.
“. . . don’t some of the imagers buy your blooms?”
“Not many. Most of those who cross here are young, and they don’t have that many coins. They don’t understand the power of flowers.”
“Here comes one,” said the man in a low voice.
“Young sir . . . what about a bouquet or a flower? Just a few coppers . . . just a few . . .”
I couldn’t help thinking that I’d be perverse and buy some. I certainly had enough coppers for a few flowers, and it might be fun to take some to Khethila. Even if she wasn’t home, Nellica would be, and could arrange them- and they’d be a pleasant surprise. I stopped and stepped into the shade of the green and yellow, but slightly faded, umbrella that covered the flower seller’s small cart. “I just might. How much for the tulips-the red and yellow ones?”
“Three coppers a bunch, sir. Just three.”
“I’ll take them.”
As I handed her the coins, she didn’t conceal the surprise on her face-not so much that I had bought them, I thought, but that I hadn’t haggled over the price.
The man who had been talking to her eased away, but not before I caught a better glimpse. He wore a wash-blue workingman’s shirt and yellow-tan leather vest. His features were regular, and his brown hair was well trimmed. His beard was also neatly trimmed, but his eyebrows were bushy. The only distinguishing feature was the fact that the bottom of one ear was slightly shorter than the other, as if the lobe of his left had been removed.
“Thank you.” I inclined my head slightly to her.
Buying the flowers made a decision for me. I’d need to take them to Khethila first. So I hailed a hack. “West lane off of the circle at Plaza D’Este.”
The hacker, one of the few women drivers I’d seen, looked at the tulips, but said nothing beyond, “Plaza D’Este, west lane it is.”
When I finally reached my parents and knocked on the door, Nellica opened it. “Oh . . . Master Rhenn . . . there’s no one here but Mistress Khethila, and she wasn’t expecting anyone.”
I eased my way in, closing the door behind me so that the heat of the day didn’t flood into the foyer. “Just tell her that I’m here. I can’t stay long, but I wanted to see her.”
Before Nellica could even turn, I heard Khethila.
“Nellica? Is someone here?” She caught sight of me and rushed past Nellica. “Rhenn! How are you? How badly were you hurt? Did someone stab you or something?”
I extended the small bouquet. “I brought these for you.”
“For me? You shouldn’t have.”
“You’re the one who’s working while everyone else is holidaying in Kherseilles.”
Khethila took the tulips, then immediately handed them to Nellica “If you’d arrange them . . . in the middle pale green vase?”
“Yes, mistress.” Nellica smiled and headed for the kitchen.
“Tell me what happened.” Khethila motioned toward the parlor. “It’s cooler inside, right now.” She was wearing a severe straight dark blue dress with long sleeves.
“I see you’re dressed for bookkeeping.”
“I just got home.” She dropped into Father’s armchair. “Tell me what happened.”
“Actually, I got shot. I’m fine now. The masters didn’t want me leaving Imagisle until I was completely well. This is the first weekend I’ve been off the isle in almost two months.”
“Mother thinks you’re mad at us, at her, really, because you didn’t like that Zerlenya bitch.”
I couldn’t help laughing. She laughed, too.
“I didn’t know she was a bitch,” I finally said. “I just wasn’t interested. After I got shot, well, I wasn’t in shape to go anywhere for quite a while.”
“She is. At the grammaire, she was the High Holder of all holders, but she’d play sweet for any boy she was interested in, and when any parents or adults were around. None of us could understand why the boys didn’t see through her.”
“She’s attractive enough,” I said.
“The sweetest-scented roses have the sharpest thorns.”
Since Khethila and I agreed about Zerlenya, and there was little more to be said there, I asked, “How are you liking keeping the ledgers?”
“It’s much better than dealing with the people who want to buy the wool. They all want it for less than it cost and can’t understand why it costs what it does. The figures in the ledger, if they’re entered properly, remain
