In the end, I managed three small bars, and decided against trying for a fourth. That took less than a glass, and Grandisyn said I was free to go. When I returned to my room, I took a short nap-and I’d never taken naps since I’d been small, not until I came to the Collegium.
At dinner, Johanyr and Diazt sat at the end of the table, with two other seconds I’d barely met. Johanyr never looked in my direction, but Diazt did, and did so more than a few times.
“What did you do to Diazt?” asked Clenard, one of the older seconds who was a friend of Shannyr.
“I asked Johanyr how he was doing. He wasn’t happy that I spoke to him.” My words came out a shade ironic.
“That’s because he likes to ask the questions,” Shannyr added dryly.
“What do you work at?” I asked Clenard.
“I help the machinists. It’s easier to image blanks than to cast them, and then they machine them down. Don’t have to have a furnace, either, but it works best for small parts. . . .”
Every time I thought I’d learned most of what happened at the Collegium, I found out something more. But at least I had a good conversation at dinner.
Afterward, I talked a bit with Shannyr, then walked through the deepening twilight across the quadrangle back to the quarters building-one of two, I’d also learned. Again, I had the feeling of being watched, but I didn’t see anyone. I wasn’t imagining things, and that suggested that whoever was watching and following was a very good imager.
When I got inside, I hurried up the stairs. No more had I stepped off the landing on the second level and into the corridor leading to my room than I heard heavy steps coming up the stairs behind me. I moved away from the staircase, but looked back.
“If it isn’t the painter boy.” Diazt stepped out of the staircase landing and stopped. He carried a metal bar.
Walking down the hallway in the other direction was Johanyr. He held some sort of blade, a sabre perhaps. He didn’t say anything. I moved toward him, because I didn’t want to be that close to Diazt. My fingers brushed my trousers. I still had the bag of caustic, but I couldn’t very well attack first. Master Dichartyn had made that very clear. Were the two of them trying to provoke me into attacking? That way, I’d be totally at fault-if I even survived whatever defenses and retaliation they had in mind.
I could hear several low sounds-door bolts snicking closed. Did Johanyr and Diazt have all the seconds cowed? At that point, I realized that most of the wall lamps in the corridor had been wicked off-or imaged out.
“How are you doing this fine evening?” Johanyr’s voice was sarcastic. “It’s dark out now, and that’s the best time for rodents.”
“I’m no rodent. You’re just looking for excuses.”
“All rodies say that they’re innocent.”
“So do all innocents.” I moved slowly toward Johanyr in order to avoid the metal bar Diazt carried, although I couldn’t move too far before I’d be in range of the sabre.
“You’re no innocent. We didn’t have any trouble before you showed up.”
“You mean that no one complained,” I suggested.
He stiffened.
Then I staggered back as something slammed into my shields. Before I could recover my balance another blast struck me from behind, and I staggered in the other direction.
I couldn’t see what they’d imaged at me-but it was something that was designed not to leave any traces, because nothing had dropped to the stone floor. I would have heard it, even if I couldn’t see it in the low light.
“Rodie’s got shields . . . how sweet.” That was Diazt. “That will just make it so much easier.”
I didn’t know what he meant until the iron bar slammed against my shields, and I ricocheted off the wall. By beating on my shields, they could wear me down and still punish me, and leave few if any bruises.
Johanyr struck with the flat edge of the sabre. That rocked me, but not enough to unbalance me.
“You’d better stop,” I said.
“We’d better stop? You have a strange view of things, rodie.”
The iron bar hit my shields again, and I had to take several steps toward Johanyr to keep my balance. He struck with the sabre, and I was forced back toward Diazt. They weren’t going to stop. That was all too clear.
I managed to square my feet and look straight at Johanyr. I concentrated on imaging caustic, just like that in the bag, behind his shields, right in his eyes.
There was a moment of resistance-that was what it felt like-and then he blinked. “Kill him! Diazt! Ohh . . .” He collapsed on the corridor floor.
The iron bar struck the back of my shields with such force that I stumbled and had to take three or four steps and could barely stand before I whirled to face Diazt-imaging even more caustic into his eyes.
The bar flew toward me, and I ducked, and then Diazt was screaming, but only for a moment before he went limp.
Master Dichartyn and Master Ghaend both appeared from somewhere.
Ghaend looked to Dichartyn and nodded. Two obdurates in black hurried down the hallway toward us.
“What happened? What did you do?” demanded Master Dichartyn. “Spare me any niceties about accidents and the like.”
“They cornered me, and everyone on the floor locked their doors. I could hear the bolts snick shut. Then they claimed that I was some sort of spy and that the Collegium had no use for rodents like me. They began to image things at me-”
“What did you do?” Master Dichartyn’s question was hard and urgent.
“I imaged lye-caustic-into their eyes.”
“Through their shields?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ghaend! Get them to the infirmary and start washing their eyes out with clear water. Have the staff keep doing it for at least half a glass. Get some water and a little of the basic elixir in them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Each of the hulking obdurates hoisted one of the two fallen imagers, and before I could say anything, Master Dichartyn and I stood alone in the corridor.
“You come with me, Rhennthyl.”
“Yes, sir.”
I followed him back to his study, hoping that his coolness didn’t presage even more trouble, but fearing that it did. I didn’t understand why Johanyr and Diazt had collapsed. I could understand burning or pain in their eyes, but they’d barely uttered anything before they fell.
Master Dichartyn said nothing until he had closed the door to his study behind us and offhandedly imaged the wall lamp into burning brightly. “Go ahead and sit down. You probably need to get off your feet.”
I sat. My legs were shaking. I didn’t want him to start in with more questions. So I spoke on what had been bothering me on the walk from the quarters. “I don’t understand why they collapsed. I was only trying to blind them so that they couldn’t attack.”
“Think about it, Rhenn. Where were you?”
“In the corridor.”
“You said all the doors were shut. What’s behind-”
“Oh, shit . . .”
“Exactly. Where do you think that caustic came from? You pulled some of it out of their own bodies. If they’re lucky, they’ll live, but they’ll never see well enough to image again.”
“What will happen to them?”
“They be sent to Mont D’Image. It’s a pleasant place, if isolated, and if they recover, they can take duties there. If not, they can live on a stipend in the village adjoining the Collegium. Master Ghaend and I both thought that this would happen. Neither of those two has been exactly a model imager, and you threatened them both.”
“I threatened them, sir?”
“Whether you know it or not, and you’d better learn to accept and train it, not only do you image, but you have a talent for projecting whatever you feel-or want to feel. That talent means that, given time, you can be very effective in managing people. Let me ask you this. When you want to be alone, does anyone ever bother you? When you feel friendly, does anyone not respond?”
I hadn’t thought about that, but I was still thinking about Johanyr and Diazt. Why had Master Dichartyn let them go so far? I almost blurted that question. Almost. Instead, I asked, “Was it a test of sorts? Or will I face a hearing?”