“No . . . I wouldn’t think so,” said Johanyr in a musing tone. “There are more than a few you don’t want to anger, and it’s sometimes hard to tell who’s really important to your getting along and staying at the Collegium.”
“I’m working at understanding that.”
“We’re certain you are.” Johanyr smiled, then stood. “I need to get to the workshops.”
“Me, too,” added Diazt.
I’d definitely gotten their message, and I really would have liked to visit the scullery after lunch, but there wasn’t time. I had to get to the workroom to see if I could work out an even less exhausting way to image those aluminum bars.
The workroom was empty, except for the barrels, but it looked to me that most of them had been replaced with other barrels. So I sat down on the stool and thought about imaging, and began to try yet another way of doing it. A half glass or so later, Grandisyn barely looked in, then just nodded and ducked out.
Right after the Collegium bells struck the fourth glass, I headed for the scullery on the level below the main dining hall. The steps leading down were the same gray granite, and just as clean as any other staircase or corridor I’d seen on Imagisle. I’d taken no more than ten steps down the lower hallway when an older woman, an obdurate from her muted black shirt and trousers, appeared.
“Sir, you can’t be looking for anyone down here. Nobody here but us ob sculls.”
“Then, you’re the ones I’m looking for. My master gave me a project, and I need a little common caustic.”
She just looked at me.
“Lye, the soda you clean with. I only need a little, a half cup?”
After a moment, she nodded. “We could spare that little, but best you be careful. It burns fearful when it’s wet. You just wait here, sir.”
I stood in the underground hallway, half-wondering if she’d return with a master.
When she returned, alone, she handed me a battered and chipped crockery mug a little more than half filled with off-white lumpy caustic. “Here you are, sir.”
“Thank you.” I inclined my head. “Where would you like me to return the cup?”
“You can keep it. There are enough that get broke or chipped that we got plenty.”
“I appreciate it.” With a nod, I turned and headed back upstairs, and then outside.
While trying not to look over my shoulder, because I worried that someone might follow me, I walked to the west river wall, and then south across the causeway leading to the Bridge of Stones, and to the park-like grove of ancient oaks between the causeway and the grounds of the Anomen D’Imagisle. The oaks were showing traces of green and had not leafed out, but the trunks were massive enough that I felt largely concealed, at least from casual observers.
Then I got to work. Imaging the caustic wasn’t all that difficult. Imaging it in small quantities was harder, and image-projecting some of what was in the cup was even harder. Image-projecting it head-high on the oak trunks was yet more difficult. But I persevered . . . because I knew I had no real choices.
It was close to six before I was confident that I had mastered what I could with the caustic, but that was only half of what was necessary. I needed to work on shields more. I wouldn’t be in much shape to image lye into someone’s eyes after I’d been hit with a bullet or bashed with a cudgel or run through with a stiletto. According to Master Dichartyn’s rules, effectively I had to be able to withstand an attack in order to prove self-defense. After what I’d seen with Floryn, I definitely wanted to be sure it was self-defense. That meant far better shields.
At the same time, I was exhausted by the time I took the rest of the cup of lye to my room. That left just enough time to wash up and hurry back to the hall for dinner. When I walked in, I could see Diazt and Johanyr. I didn’t really want to sit near them, but I didn’t want to create the impression I was avoiding them. There was a seat empty to the left of Shannyr so that he would be between me and Johanyr. Since Diazt was seated to Johanyr’s right, neither could press me at the table, and I wouldn’t be obviously avoiding them.
There was a momentary look of surprise on Shannyr’s face as I stood behind the chair next to him, waiting for the masters at the head table to seat themselves.
Once we were seated, I asked him, “How was your day?”
“Like any other. I went to work at the armory machine shop, had lunch, and went back to work.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that many of the seconds, perhaps most of them, had finished all their instruction and were working for the Collegium. It should have, but it hadn’t. “I suppose they’ll assign me somewhere once I get caught up on what I have to learn.”
“Could be worse than the armory. They had me in the engine room of one of the riverboats. Wet and cold most of the time.”
I shuddered at the thought of being cramped into a riverboat engine room. “What do you do in the armory? Can I ask? I mean . . .”
Shannyr laughed. “You can ask. I can even tell you. I image the special powder for the percussion caps that the four-digit naval guns use.”
“You image it right into the cap?”
“That’s right. There’s no metal touching metal, no chance of a spark, and no explosions.”
Another one of those special services provided to the Council by the Collegium, I realized. How many were there?
“What about you?” he asked. “When you’re not under instruction?”
“Making metal bars.”
He winced. “That’s work.”
“I can only do so many, and I have to rest a lot.” I paused. “You know I’m new here . . . I was thinking about girlfriends. I used to have one, and some imagers are married . . .”
“They’re the lucky ones.” Shannyr shook his head. “Lots of women will give you a fling, even married ones, but not many want to marry an imager.”
“Why is that?”
“We scare ’em a bit. That interests ’em, but they won’t marry someone who scares them.”
I could see that, but I had to wonder if that happened to be true with all imagers, or if that had just been Shannyr’s own experience.
“You want to have fun with the women, when you’re free, don’t stay around Imagisle. Take a hack out to Martradon or out to some of the bistros on Nordroad or Sudroad . . .”
I listened politely, although I could see that I knew far more about where the women were in L’Excelsis than he did.
That night, after dinner, I had another idea. I went outside and imaged rubber, a thin layer of it, along the inside of a small cloth bag. Then I poured some of the caustic I had left into the bag, which I tied shut. For a while, anyway, until I was more confident in my abilities, I could carry that with me.
Then I tried to practice shields-and shadows-until I was truly exhausted. The shadows weren’t very good, and I was more than ready to climb the stairs and collapse into my bed.
28
Those in a family may well share the same dwelling,
but not the same home.
Both Vendrei and Samedi mornings were hard because Master Dichartyn kept pressing me on my shields. No matter how much I improved, he kept insisting that my efforts were not adequate. Then he offered an onslaught of questions, not only on what I read, but on how it all related to the Collegium and its role in Solidar. I kept those questions to myself and told Johanyr and his group of seconds only a few of the easier and more purely academic or technical ones.
On Samedi afternoon, I was waiting on the east side of the Bridge of Hopes a good half glass before three. The day was sunny, with the faintest haze, but there was a hint of chill, and I wore my cloak. On the roughly triangular space where the boulevard intersected the East River Road stood a flower seller with a weathered face, but a pleasant expression.
“Flowers, sir imager? Flowers for a lady, a friend, or family?”