the figures in the ledger. I like making sure everything balances.” For an instant, her expression changed.
“You’re far better at that than I’d be, or than Rousel will ever be.”
This time she frowned, if briefly.
“Is Rousel having trouble with his bookkeeping?” That was a guess, but not a wild one.
“I think so.” She shook her head. “I hated telling Father, but some of the accounts didn’t work out. They couldn’t. That’s one reason why he went with Mother. He hadn’t planned to.”
“It’s also why he could leave. He knows you’ll keep the accounts here straight.”
“Old Chelink did fine, but when he died . . .”
“He died? When did that happen?”
“In late Maris . . .”
We talked for a glass or so before I stood and excused myself, telling her that I had some imager tasks to do. I managed to catch a hack two blocks short of the Plaza D’Este and had him drop me off at the corner of North Middle and Bakers’ Lane, about two blocks from Master Caliostrus’s place. There were some people along the lane, about what I’d have expected on a summer afternoon. Several looked at me, then looked away. Most didn’t pay much attention.
Even before I reached the gate to the place where I’d spent nearly ten years, I could hear the clink of stonework and chisels, and the murmurs of workmen.
“Mortar! Up on the top course . . .”
The gate had been removed. Inside the walls, a larger version of Master Caliostrus’s dwelling had mostly risen on the foundations of the old, and this one was entirely of stone. The shed against the rear wall had been demolished, and there was no sign of the garden.
I eased toward the gray-bearded man in charge of the masons. “Pardon me.”
He turned, his mouth open, as if to upbraid me-until he took in the gray. “Imager . . . what can I do for you?”
“I was looking for Madame D’Caliostrus . . .” I offered. “I knew her husband had died.”
“You won’t find her here. She sold the place to Master Elphens . . .”
Elphens had made master? Even as a representational artist? I wanted to shudder and scream at the same time. My study had been far superior to his mist-covered gardens with all the wrong lighting, and he was now a master-and I hadn’t been able to get a journeyman’s position. And where had he gotten the coin to purchase the place, let alone rebuild such a dwelling?
“. . . Even with all the damage, I hear, she didn’t do badly. Plot this large is hard to come by here in the Martradon district.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“Word is that she went back to where her parents came from.” He frowned. “Little place near Rivages, don’t recall the name. She got some money from an annuity or something from a patron of Caliostrus. She said there was no reason to stay here and plenty to leave.”
“You wouldn’t know anyone who might be able to tell me where she is now?”
“Might be someone at the Portraiture Guild. I don’t know anyone.”
“I see. Thank you.” I nodded and departed.
Because it was more than a little warm, I used more of my coin to take another hack, this one down to the Guild Square. From there I could walk down the Boulevard D’Imagers and make my inquiries. I had the hacker drop me on the east side of the square. As always in late summer, the sidewalks were less crowded than earlier or later in the year, partly because of the heat, and partly because those who could left L’Excelsis in the hottest weeks of the year.
After less than twenty yards, my forehead and shirt were damp, and I had the feeling that someone was looking at me. I turned as if to study the display items in the silversmith’s window, so that I could look at those around me, but I couldn’t see anyone clearly looking at me, or anyone that I knew. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t looking at me, only that I wasn’t skilled enough to pick them out.
I continued on, walking slowly toward Lapinina, coming abreast of the coppersmith’s, except that his shutters were closed. He was on holiday. As I passed the bistro, I glanced in through an open window. There were people at only two tables, and I didn’t know any of them. The cooper’s place was open, but there was no one in I could see there.
I crossed Sudroad and walked back toward the boulevard, slowly, looking down the two lanes I passed to see if there were any hidden boardinghouses or the like. I kept getting the feeling that someone was staring at me, but whenever I glanced around, I couldn’t detect who it might be-or whether it was just my imagination.
There was another bistro a block west of the square on the Boulevard D’Imagers. I knew some of the older artists went there, although I never had. The name on the signboard was Axotol. I had no idea what that meant, but I stepped in under the light green awning toward a serving girl.
She looked at me, her eyes wide. I could almost feel the fear. It had to be the imager uniform, because I’d never seen her before. “Yes . . . ah . . . sir?”
“I’m looking for an artist, white-haired, with a goatee. He’s usually called Grisarius.”
The girl just stared at me blankly, as if frozen.
An older woman hurried over. “Might I help you, sir?”
“An artist named Grisarius, or Emanus . . . white-haired with a goatee. I’m looking for him. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but he might know something.”
“He’s sometimes here. Not now. You might try Reynardyl, three blocks toward the river.”
“Do you know where he lives? It’s supposedly close by.”
“I couldn’t say. He doesn’t talk much.”
“Thank you.” I offered a smile.
As I stepped back out into the heat, I could hear the older woman talking to the younger.
“. . . won’t do anything to you here. Best to answer their questions and get them out. They stay, and people won’t come in. That’ll get Rastafyr in a black mood faster ’n any imager . . .”
Reynardyl was a long and hot three-block walk from Axotol, and I almost missed it, because it really wasn’t on the boulevard but down an unmarked lane off the main walk, with a signboard so faded that I couldn’t read it until I was almost under it. Although the place was twice the size of Lapinina, there was no one inside except a gray-haired server.
“Anywhere you want.” Her smile was tired.
“I’m looking for someone, an older artist named Grisarius. He has a white goatee-”
“He hasn’t been in today . . . probably won’t be. It’s the end of the month.”
“Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“You might find him in the public garden, you know, the one south of the Guild Square . . . lot of older types there.”
I had my doubts, but it was worth a try. “Thank you.” I paused. “If I don’t, I understand he has rooms near here. Do you know where they might be?”
She shook her head.
I waited a moment, still looking at her.
“Well . . . sir, I can’t say as I know, but he did mention going to Mama Lazara’s once.”
“Is that a boardinghouse?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Not the street, but it’s somewhere south of Marchand not too far west of Sudroad. That’s what Makos told me.”
“Thank you.” I gave her a pair of coppers and headed out the door. Since I knew where the public garden was, and I didn’t know exactly where Mama Lazara’s boardinghouse was, I headed back up the boulevard toward the square.
It was too short a distance to take a hack, and there were few around, and too long for the walk to be comfortable under the now-sweltering afternoon sun. I wished I’d stopped for something to drink, but I marched onward. When I reached the public gardens, I strolled along every pathway, checking all the benches. There were perhaps fifty people there, and outside of two women with infants talking to each other, I don’t think that anyone
