“Yes, sir.” It was more than clear; it was frightening. I wanted to ask about the imager who had lived in my quarters before me, but decided it would be best to wait on that.
“Good.” The smile returned. “I’m going over to the laboratories this morning. I’d like you to accompany me. Then, this afternoon, I will give you a short talk on the introductory aspects of chemistry, and you will begin to read that volume. Tonight, after dinner, you are to read the first section of the book on the government and history of Solidar. You will find it is not like any history book you have read before, and I will be asking you questions about what you have read in both volumes when we meet tomorrow morning.” He bounded out of his chair. “Now . . . let us go to the laboratories. . . .”
Already, I was beginning to wonder about the two sides to Master Dichartyn’s being-the stern and the cheerful. He seemed to switch from one to the other both quickly and comfortably, but the change was more than a little disconcerting to me.
18
Learning requires unlearning.
On Meredi morning, right after breakfast, I picked up a newsheet and checked my letter box, not expecting to see anything, and found an envelope there. I recognized my mother’s handwriting. I opened it quickly and began to read.
Dear Rhennthyl,
Your father and I were most relieved to know that you are safe at Imagisle. While your father had hoped that you would see your way to following his example in the wool trade, he accepts the fact that you must follow your own destiny. We both wish you the best in becoming an accomplished imager. In the note that Master Dichartyn sent accompanying your letter, he said that you had great promise. He also said it could be several months before your initial training would allow you to leave Imagisle, but that, beginning in Avryl, you could have visitors on Solayi. I look forward to that.
I swallowed as I finished the note. The way I read it, Mother was relieved for me, and, since I wouldn’t be a wool factor, Father was glad to get me out of his hair.
At the thought that Master Dichartyn had sent his own note, I gathered the three books-Natural Science, History and Politics of Solidar, and Imagers’Manual-under my arm and hurried down the walk of the quadrangle toward Master Dichartyn’s study through a blustery wind, barely arriving before the seventh glass began to ring out from the tower of the Anomen D’Imagisle, located at the south end of Imagisle.
As on Mardi morning, I had to wait, but I immediately began to read more in the Manual, the part dealing with the responsibilities of an individual imager. I’d only read another page when Master Dichartyn opened the door and motioned me into his study and into the chair across from his writing desk. He remained standing.
“You’ve read the second section of the Manual, haven’t you?”
“I haven’t quite finished it, sir.”
That got a slight nod, but whether it was of acknowledgment or disapproval I couldn’t tell. “What is the first responsibility of an imager?”
“To follow the Imagers’ Code under all circumstances.”
“What does it mean by ‘all,’ Rhennthyl?”
The manual hadn’t gotten into definitions. “At all times and places, sir?”
“What if you can’t?”
“It’s a responsibility, sir.”
“You aren’t answering the question.” His voice remained patient.
“I’m only guessing, sir, because the Manual doesn’t say, but I would think that it means whenever and wherever it is physically and mentally possible.”
“A definition such as yours stands at the edge of a very deep precipice.”
“Yes, sir. People like to say that they can’t do something because they’re too tired or that they can’t think clearly. I don’t think the Code accepts those kinds of excuses. I was thinking more about broken bones or mortal injuries.”
“You think correctly on that. The Code is not for convenience. It is designed for the survival of both the individual imager and the Collegium. What is meant by the prohibition on creating any form of duress on any individual who is not an imager?”
That had seemed obvious to me, especially after what he’d said the day before. “One doesn’t threaten anyone, or say anything to give them cause for fear, and one doesn’t take actions which create fear of either the imager or the Collegium.”
“Very good. Why?” His questions from the Manual went on for a good half glass. Then, abruptly, he switched subjects. “That box I gave you to image? Do you know what it was made of?”
“No, sir. It was metal, but not a metal I’ve ever seen.”
“You didn’t think to look in your science book and see what it might be?”
“No, sir.” I knew what was coming next.
“Tomorrow, I want you to tell me what it is, and why we use it for imaging tests. Now . . .” He extended two objects and placed them on the edge of his writing desk. One was a simple carved hollow cylinder, no more than a thumb’s length in diameter and about the same in length. The second was also a cylinder, but solid and less than a quarter the size of the first. Both looked to be made out of bone or ivory, and neither had any markings on them. “I have an exercise for you.” He turned the larger cylinder sideways, then placed a ruler on one side and a book on the other so that it wouldn’t roll. He handed me the smaller cylinder. “Try to image a cylinder just like this exactly in the middle of the larger cylinder.”
“Won’t it fall?”
“It should, unless you know a way to stop gravity.” He smiled. “That’s not the point. You’ve already shown that you can image small things on a flat surface. One of the next steps is to image something into a place that’s not so easy.”
I took the cylinder and held it, letting my fingers run over it. Then I concentrated on imaging one just like it in the air in the middle of the larger cylinder. Nothing happened.
Master Dichartyn didn’t seem surprised. “Take both cylinders with you and keep trying. It may take a while, but you should be able to figure it out.”
I slipped both into the larger inside pocket of my gray waistcoat.
“This morning, you can accompany me on one of the small riverboats. Some of the primes are going to try imaging on the river. You might as well see if you can do it.”
“Yes, sir.” I didn’t ask why imaging was harder on a boat, not after failing at the exercise he’d just given me. I just followed him out of the building.
Master Dichartyn walked briskly along the east side of the quadrangle, right into the fangs of the wind, a wind that had gotten even stronger and colder. We crossed the open space at the northeast corner of the quadrangle and took the stone lane another half mille north past the walled herb and vegetable gardens, now mostly fallow, until we came to a set of three piers.
Five primes stood on the southernmost pier, clearly waiting for Master Dichartyn. The riverboat didn’t seem all that small to me-not at almost fifteen yards long. It had only one deck and the steam engine was in the rear, just forward of the paddlewheel, in a raised and covered enginehouse. The wheelhouse was roughly in the middle of the boat.
I looked out at the river, running as rough as I’d seen it, with whitecaps on the waves.
Master Dichartyn gestured for us to cross the narrow plank to the boat, then followed after me, because I trailed the other five. A bearded sailor vaulted off the bow and untied the line fastened around an iron cleat, then jumped back aboard before the boat swung downstream with the current. The paddlewheel began to churn as the boat headed out into the river. Once it cleared the calmer water around the pier, it began to roll, then pitch as the pilot turned upstream into the current. Spray sleeted over the bow, and some splattered down like fat raindrops where I stood with the others, just forward of the wheelhouse.
One of the primes, a chubby fellow who looked barely out of grammaire, was turning pale before the boat was even ten yards away from the pier, and another just stood frozen, his right hand clutching the railing so tightly that his fingers looked like a claw. I had to spread my feet a bit to keep my balance as the boat continued both to roll and pitch.
“The first exercise is to image a cube like this,” began Master Dichartyn, holding up a black wooden cube perhaps three digits on a side, “and to image it on the center of the third deck plank inboard. This one.” He pointed with the tip of his boot. “You first, Geoffryn.”
“Yes, sir.” The chubby prime closed his eyes and seemed to tense all over.
A misty shape appeared on the plank, then solidified into a muddy black oblong box.
“A cube, Geoffryn.” Dichartyn’s voice was louder, rising over the wind and the engine, but he did not sound angry. “Do you recall the shape of a cube?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jakhob, you try.”
“Yes, sir.” The thin prime who had been clutching the rail just looked at the deck plank. His imaged creation was almost a cube, if slightly angled and muddy black, and it appeared above the next plank inboard, possibly because the riverboat was rolling.
The next three primes managed to image cubes, generally close to the center of the designated plank.
“Rhenn?”
I didn’t like doing imaging in public, but those watching couldn’t have been any more critical than Master Caliostrus had been when I’d begun as an apprentice. First, I visualized the cube, shimmering and black, and then I added the positioning.
The cube appeared, almost mirror-like, right on the middle of the plank. As it did, I realized that it was a shade too large. Abruptly, it shimmered, then reappeared as the correct size. I did feel a trace light-headed, and had to put my hand out, steadying myself on the railing.
“You used too much effort,” observed Master Dichartyn. “You should have paid more attention to the size the first time.”
“Yes, sir.” Still, I was pleased, even if he didn’t happen to be. My cube looked better, and had been imaged in exactly the right position-even the first time.
“Now . . . you’re going to try the same thing-except I want you to balance your cube on the railing on the far side of the boat.”
Three of the other primes couldn’t image anything that far away, and one could only create a blob. The last one managed a decent cube on the railing, as did I, but they both slid off into the river when the boat rolled as the steersman made a turn.
“Take us back!” Master Dichartyn finally ordered.
That afternoon, Gherard took me on a quick tour of the various shops and laboratories, as well as showing me workshops in the large gray building north of the quadrangle. Then I went back to my quarters and began reading.
Already it was clear that Master Dichartyn’s assignments varied widely.
I had to stay up later than I should have on Meredi night, but I did discover that the box was made out of a metal called aluminum. The science book described it as a light whitish blue ductile and malleable metallic element almost never found in pure form in nature, but common in natural chemical compounds. It was extremely difficult to refine, requiring special techniques involving potassium, and the price was something like a hundred and fifty gold crowns a pound. The little box I’d imaged, if I’d done it correctly, might have been worth ten crowns or so. No wonder Master Dichartyn had pocketed it-except I knew that he wouldn’t have made off with it, even if the Collegium rules hadn’t prohibited using imaging for personal gain.
The science book was different, almost strange, because it mixed things I’d learned years before with things I’d never heard or thought about. One section had a detailed set of plans for a steam engine of the type used on the ironway, but the next diagram was of a mining water pump, and beyond that was the axle assembly for a carriage or coach. But there were also anatomical drawings of human beings, very detailed, and clearly taken from dissections of cadavers.
The book on history and governing was the thickest of all, and to me, the hardest reading, even just leafing through it. The book led off with the Five Rights of Citizens: