“What did they look like?”
“That was two months ago, Rhenn. Both of them, they just looked like anyone else.”
“Did either one of them wear a yellow vest?”
“No. One fellow had a square-cut beard, old-style, you know, the way the some of the old representationalists did.”
A square-cut beard. Not many men had square-cut beards anymore, and the man who had shot me had one. That could be a coincidence. Or it might not be. “Do you remember anything else?”
Sagaryn shook his head. I kept asking, but he couldn’t add any more.
Before that much longer, I left, and the driver made his way through some back lanes even I didn’t know to get us to Sloedyr Way, where Rogaris opened the brown-painted door to Jacquerl’s studio.
“Rhenn . . . what are you doing here?”
I gestured back at the gray coach waiting for me. “Imager business. Might I come in? It shouldn’t take too long.”
“I hope not. Madame Jacquerl is serving quail tonight in celebration of a new apprentice.”
“I see,” I said dryly. “The wealthy son of whom?”
He did flinch, if slightly. “A grain factor. He’s the youngest son. Jacquerl did drive a hard bargain.” Rogaris stepped back and gestured for me to enter.
I did, even as I doubted that Jacquerl, for all his politeness, would take any other kind of bargain.
“What is this about?” asked Rogaris.
“You know Grisarius . . . or Emanus . . . the old artist . . .” I gave him the same explanation I’d given Sagaryn and the same opening question.
“I don’t recall anyone . . .” He shook his head.
“Sagaryn did, and he said you and Dolemis were with him, two months ago at Lapinina.”
Rogaris frowned, tilted his head, then looked down. Finally, he spoke. “Oh . . . that, but they didn’t really ask any questions. Well . . . we’d been talking about girls, and Aemalye, and Sagaryn said that you were lucky to have Seliora interested in you because a lot of imagers had trouble with women. One of the fellows at the next table made a comment about you being one of the few artists to become an imager, but it wasn’t a question. It was like he already knew.”
“Did he ask anything else?”
“He made some comment about imagers not having much time for women, and Sagaryn said that you were the type not to let one like Seliora pass by. That was it.”
“Do you remember what they looked like?”
Rogaris shook his head, then stopped. “Just one thing . . . the one who talked had an old-style beard.”
“What about the other one?”
“He never said anything to us.” There was a pause. “I remember . . . he had sort of thick bushy eyebrows, because I was thinking you could almost define him in a portrait by them.”
And that was about all I got from Rogaris.
As the driver headed the carriage toward Beidalt Place, just beyond Bakers’ Lane, I thought over what they had told me. The square-bearded man
The same apprentice who had opened the zinc-green-trimmed white door to Master Estafen’s studio the last time did so again. He looked at the imager grays and turned pale.
“I’m here to talk to Master Estafen on imager business.”
His eyes flicked past me to take in the gray coach, drawn by the pair of matched grays. If anything, he turned even more pale. “Yes, sir. If you’d come in . . .”
I did, and in less than a few moments, the rotund master portraiturist appeared. He looked at me, then nodded. “I might have guessed. What sort of imager business is this?”
“I’m part of a group trying to track down assassins who have killed several junior imagers, Master Estafen. I was fortunate enough to survive the attack on me, and the Collegium thought I might be of use in looking into this, especially since the guild appears to be involved, at least indirectly.”
“The guild? Involved? How could that be? If it is, shouldn’t you be talking to Master Reayalt?”
“The guildmaster is next, but you were closer. The reason I came is that last weekend I talked to Emanus because it had been brought to my attention that he might have knowledge that might be helpful. The next day he was dead, but he did provide some interesting insights.”
“Interesting does not mean accurate, Imager Rhennthyl. Nonetheless, how might I help the Collegium?” His words were smooth and assured.
“Has anyone asked you about me since I became an imager?”
“Why would they?”
I offered a smile. “That’s what we’re trying to discover. Several members of the guild were approached and observed by one man who fit the description of one of the assassins. It’s possible that others were approached, and since I do have some knowledge of the guild I was asked to follow up on it.”
Estafen nodded, and I had the sense he was not quite so tense. “I can assure you that no one, except Master Reayalt, has even so much as mentioned your name to me.”
“Do you have any idea why someone who has been assassinating junior imagers would be interested in Emanus?”
“I have no idea. Emanus made a few enemies, but those I know of are long dead, and even were they alive, they would not have associated, even indirectly, with common killers.”
I asked questions for almost a quarter glass . . . and learned nothing more. Again, I took my leave, feeling I had learned little, and returned to the Collegium coach.
By the time I left the coach at Guildmaster Reayalt’s dwelling, on the south end of the Martradon area, three blocks south of the Midroad, the sun was just above the rooftops and casting a long reddish light across L’Excelsis.
Reayalt himself opened the door, but he was clearly surprised to see me. “Oh . . . Imager Rhennthyl, it is Imager, isn’t it? I was expecting Master Schorzat.”
“I’m certain he’ll be here shortly. I’m here on a different matter, and it shouldn’t take very long.” I paused. “By the way, I didn’t thank you for sending the study I did to my parents. That was a most kind and thoughtful thing to do, and both they and I appreciated it.”
“From what I know of imager training, it was not likely that you would have been able to recover the painting, and it is quite good. Oh . . . please come in. If you wouldn’t mind, we could just talk in the foyer here.”
“That would be fine.” Without much preamble, I launched into my explanation of my task, but not mentioning Emanus, ending with the same question I’d used before. “Has anyone made any inquiries about me?”
“No. That is, no one outside the guild. Elphens did ask about you a few days ago, because he thought the workmen building his new dwelling and studio had seen you there. There had been an imager there, he said.”
“I was there. I hadn’t realized that Madame Caliostrus had left L’Excelsis, and I wanted to ask her much the same question as I just asked you.”
“Ah . . . that explains much.”
“There’s another aspect to this that may involve the guild, if indirectly.”
He stiffened ever so slightly.
“Emanus . . . or Grisarius . . .” I went on to offer my incomplete story about the old artist.
“I had not heard that,” offered Reayalt. “It is regrettable, but perhaps understandable.”
“Why might that be?”
“Emanus always did take too great an interest in matters political, and even some dealing with intrigue, but I thought he had learned his lesson.”
“I’d heard that there was more to his removal as guildmaster than just selling a representational painting.”
