“Oh…I’m sorry I missed her. And…Rhenn is fine. I need your help.” I handed him the diagram and the report. “Anything you can tell me will help.”
As he took the papers, Menyard’s only comment was “Hmmmm. Interesting.” He sat back down at the broad table that served both as both desk and drafting board and began to study the report.
I didn’t say a word, just seated myself in the straight-backed chair set at an angle to the broad desk set before a window looking toward the north end of the Collegium quadrangle.
After a time, he looked up. “I’d say that someone took a four-digit brass shell casing, shortened it, perhaps by half, and then flared it, packed the explosives inside, covered the explosives with metal filings or thin strips, and capped it with a lead cover, probably designed to break into segments. Most likely, the strips came from the part of the casing they cut down…”
“The explosive?”
“Some form of guncotton, Poudre B, I’d guess. The device was attached to the rear axle at an angle. They crimped the bracket holding the device in place. They planned for it to detonate fairly soon after they placed it. If they primed it with totally dry guncotton and an inertial friction spring, any jolt or sudden movement of the axle would trigger the primer.”
That meant that the device was fixed to the carriage axle while the coachman was waiting to pick up Factor Broussard and his family. Since the coachman had been one of those killed, it was unlikely that he’d been part of the plan. Likewise, Broussard’s cousin certainly wouldn’t have wanted to lose both his coach, his coachman, and his team. “They must have scouted Lyrique and known where the pavement was rough.”
“Seems right. If they used dry guncotton as a primer, they were also experts.”
“We don’t use it, do we?”
Menyard shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Even imaging it into place could cause an explosion. But guncotton is relatively easy to make, and there’s enough Poudre B in the world that the powder wouldn’t be that hard to get.” He frowned. “The segmenting could have been done in a soft lead cover with the equivalent of a sharp knife.”
What Menyard’s analysis suggested was foreign assassins or covert agents. But why would they target a mere agricultural factor, albeit a wealthy one? “Is there anything else?”
Menyard shook his head and handed the report back. “Not from this.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who could do this, Rhenn, could build a similar device that would shred even your shields.”
“I got that feeling,” I said dryly. “It’s not a pleasant thought.”
“Be careful. We’ve lost too many imagers over the past few years.”
“I will.”
Just as I left the armory, a young prime whom I didn’t know hurried up to me.
“Master Rhennthyl, sir. Master Jhulian wanted to know if you could spare a moment for him.”
“I’d be happy to. I’ll be right there.”
Jhulian was the justice for the Collegium and the maitre who’d pounded Solidaran law into my skull years earlier. What did he want? Sometimes, he also sat as a member of the Solidaran High Justiciary when it reviewed lower justicing procedures. Was there something he wanted to know about the Civic Patrol? What ever it was, as I walked across the quadrangle, I hoped that it wouldn’t take too long. He had a study just down the hallway from Maitre Dichartyn in the administration and receiving building, and his door was open.
“Do come in, Rhenn.”
I closed the door behind me and slipped into one of the chairs across the desk from him. “What can I do for you?”
“Let’s start with young Shault first, Rhenn. He isn’t exactly excelling in willingness to understand the role of law and how it applies to the Collegium.”
“You’d like me to talk to him.”
“It couldn’t hurt. At times, he won’t really listen to either me or Dichartyn. You’re the only one he’ll really listen to, polite as he is.”
That had been a problem from the first, and after Shault had made secondus, Maitre Dichartyn had become his preceptor instead of Master Ghaend. That had helped a great deal, but not totally. “That’s a combination of the Collegium and the taudis.”
“Combination or not, he’ll end up like Floryn, or in a dead-end armory position.”
I still remembered Floryn. He’d been executed by Master Jhulian just weeks after I’d come to Imagisle. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”
“Good.” He paused, then brushed back a lock of his white-and-blond hair, before saying, “I was talking to Rholyn the other day, and he mentioned that, by the end of the year, the Council will have to decide on whether to reappoint Commander Artois. What has been your experience with the Commander?”
“I’m sure that my opinion would be similar to that of Master Dichartyn.” If the matter were as straightforward as the question appeared to be, Jhulian wouldn’t have even bothered to ask me. He just would have asked Dichartyn.
He smiled, if coolly. “I thought you might say something like that. Might I ask you why you answered that way?”
I offered an off-hand shrug. “If it’s as simple as it sounds, you could just have asked Master Dichartyn. This suggests that you or Rholyn want to be able to claim that you didn’t talk to Dichartyn about it. That suggests that someone is unhappy with Artois and knows that Master Dichartyn would support him.” I still didn’t know why what I thought mattered in the slightest, especially to the Council.
“Or it might be that we want to claim that Master Dichartyn didn’t influence you.”
While I certainly listened to Master Dichartyn, we’d just as certainly disagreed on matters over the years. “My opinion is fairly direct. Artois is an honest and effective commander who has always put the Civic Patrol above anything.”
“That’s a rather sweeping statement, Rhenn.”
“The Patrol is his identity. I doubt that he could let anything destroy or damage it, if it were in his power to stop such damage.”
“That could be dangerous, could it not, if he felt someone or some group were out to disband or replace the Patrol?”
“Who’s on the Council who’s opposed to my being a Patrol Captain?”
Jhulian laughed. “Maitre Poincaryt said you’d say that. Why do you think that?”
“Artois doesn’t like me. He never has. He does respect my ability and my concern for the Patrol, and he thinks I’m good for the Patrol at present. So…who is backing Cydarth as his replacement…or as the director or head of another civil enforcement agency?” I watched Jhulian closely.
He turned his hands up, simulating helplessness. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shook my head. “What do you and Maitre Poincaryt want me to watch out for?”
“I don’t believe we’ve asked for anything. It would, of course, be in the interests of the Collegium that Commander Artois and the Patrol remain as they are, at least for the next several years.” He stood. “I’m certain you’ll wish to talk to Master Dichartyn, but he won’t be back until tomorrow night.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“As you should know, Rhenn, he seldom reveals his destinations, except to the Maitre of the Collegium.”
After I left Jhulian, I walked over to the dining hall, and left a note in Shault’s letterbox telling him that I’d meet him in the hallway off the dining area at half-past fifth glass. Then, since I was on the east side of Imagisle, I walked across the Bridge of Hopes and caught a hack to take me to the station. I couldn’t justify taking a duty coach, not when I used one so much anyway. And now I had something else to worry about.
In the hack, I pondered over what Jhulian had asked, what he had hinted, and what he had not said. The implication was clear that someone on the Council, or several someones, didn’t want Artois continuing as Commander. Some of that might revolve around me, but certainly not all. Alsoran might know some of the rumors, but he wouldn’t know the Council side of matters.
He met me just outside my study. “Captain.”
I gestured for him to follow me inside. “Close the door, if you would.”
He did. We both sat down.
