“How do you know what you read is accurate?”
“I don’t, not for certain. But the reporters aren’t locked up for what they write, not often, anyway, and that would indicate there has to be some truth in what they write.”
“There is some truth in what you say, but your logic is weak. What if the reporters know what is acceptable to the Council and what is not? Then what?”
“I’d say that what is acceptable could not be totally inaccurate, because, if it were, then word would get around. It’s hard to hide something that’s wrong.”
“The first part of what you said is absolutely correct. The second part is half true. Can you tell me why it is only half true? Based on your own life and experience?”
For a moment, I had no idea what he meant. Then I did-Master Caliostrus and Ostrius. I managed not to show any reaction. “Some things, perhaps isolated events that few care about, can be hidden, but large and repeated patterns of evil cannot be kept secret forever?”
“That’s a fair approximation, although I would be leery of using the term ‘patterns of evil.’ Evil can be in the eye of the beholder. Some of what is evil to us is not to the Caenenans, and the other way around. Patterns contrary to the sensibilities of a people cannot be repeated without being noticed.”
That was a way of expressing it that I wouldn’t have thought of.
“How much, then, do you think that the Council controls what appears in the newsheets?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I would guess that there is very little direct interference.”
He nodded. “I’d like you to think about that and write a paper on it. You’ll have some time because I’ll be away for the next few weeks, beginning this afternoon.” He reached to the side of his desk and lifted a black-bound book, which he then handed to me. “Read the first two sections before Lundi.”
I opened the heavy tome to the title page-Jurisprudence. Now I was going to have to learn the actual legal code of Solidar?
“While I’m gone, you will work on learning more about the laws and how they work with Master Jhulian, but at half past seventh glass in the morning, starting on Lundi. His study is at the end of the hall on the right. You will meet with Maitre Dyana next Mardi evening and on whatever other evenings she sets. She asked that you wait outside the dining hall for her.”
“Yes, sir. Am I still restricted to Imagisle?”
“No, but I would suggest you avoid the more dangerous areas of L’Excelsis. Clovyl says you should be able to handle common dangers, but not large groups, or more than a pair of hired bravos. What did you have in mind, if I might ask?”
“I thought I might call on my family, and perhaps eat a meal in a bistro, things like that.”
“Those I would recommend. You need to see L’Excelsis again.”
I didn’t realize how strange those words were until after I left him to go study.
34
Too often friends fall away when one rises.
For the first time since I’d left my parents after the fire, I had more than a few coins, and that meant I could take a hack out to visit my parents on Samedi. Since Master Dichartyn was gone, I could also leave Imagisle earlier than on most Samedis. Even so, because I enjoyed taking my time, it was past the ninth glass when I walked across the Bridge of Hopes. The sun warmed the air, heralding late spring, and there was just enough of a breeze for comfort, and not enough to blow away the fragrances from the spring flowers blooming in the narrow gardens flanking the Boulevard D’Imagers. There weren’t many coaches for hire, but I found one and arrived at my parents’ house just before noon. I could only hope that someone happened to be there, because I hadn’t known I’d be able to come in time to dispatch a note and receive a reply.
Nellica’s eyes widened when she opened the door and beheld me in all my subdued imager glory.
“Is anyone here, Nellica?”
“Your sister and Madame Chenkyr, sir.” Her eyes avoided mine.
“If you’d tell them I’m here.”
“Yes, sir. If you’d come in, sir.” Nellica ushered me into the foyer and hurried off.
In moments Khethila appeared, wearing a severe green that made her face look far too pale. “Rhenn! You don’t have to wait in the foyer. You’re still family. Come into the parlor.”
“Are you still reading Madame D’Shendael?” I offered teasingly as I followed her.
“Father disapproves,” she said strongly, before glancing around and lowering her voice. “I have her treatise on Civic Virtue.”
“I wasn’t aware that there was such a thing.” I tried to keep the irony out of my voice.
“Neither is she. She claims those who profess a civic virtue are cloaking their self-interest in morality.”
“She doesn’t believe in virtue?” I kept my voice pleasantly curious.
“She espouses virtue as an individual value.”
“So we abandon virtue whenever we’re with others?”
“Rhenn!” Definite exasperation colored her voice. “That’s not it at all. Virtue or morality cannot be practiced by a group, but only by an individual. Each individual is different from every other individual, but a group pressures each individual to be the same. Otherwise, there is no group. The same is true of a society. The values of the strongest or most persuasive become the values of the group. The larger the group, the fewer the values those in the group share. In time, groups become mobs.”
“I think your logic is lacking there.”
“She says it better than I do.”
I hadn’t read Madame D’Shendael, but Khethila’s interpretation suggested that Master Dichartyn and Madame D’Shendael had considered the same questions and possibly shared some of the same views. Logically, that shouldn’t have surprised me . . . but it did.
At that moment, Mother bustled out of the kitchen. “Rhenn! What a pleasant surprise. We were about to have a small lunch in the breakfast room. You will join us, won’t you?”
“I hoped so.” I offered a grin.
Mother studied me. “You’ve lost weight.”
“A little.” I hadn’t, not really, but Clovyl’s exercises and running had turned any softness I’d once had into muscle.
“Aren’t they feeding you enough?”
“They’re feeding me very well, Mother.” I started in the direction of the breakfast room, hoping to forestall any more detailed interrogation.
“He looks stronger,” suggested Khethila.
“Laborers need to be strong, not imagers.”
“Imaging does require strength, more than one might think.” I stepped from the back hallway into the breakfast room, where Nellica had added another place to the table. Even with the two wall lamps lit, the breakfast room was gloomy, because the windows were on the east wall and allowed no sunlight past late morning. Lunch had been clearly informal, with the plates set on green place mats, rather than on one of the linen tablecloths used for guests-or family when one or more men were present. “Where’s Culthyn?”
“He’s with Father,” Kethilia replied. “Father says he needs to learn the business.”
“That’s why we’re having leftover fowl in pastry,” Mother added from behind me. “Neither your Father nor Culthyn cares much for it.”
Since I’d always liked fowl in crust and sauce, I had no objections. Then, as I turned, I saw my chess study, mounted in a far more ornate frame, on the always-shaded south wall. For a moment, I just looked. It was every bit as good as I remembered, if not better.
“It goes well there,” Mother said.
What I realized as well, and what she had not said, was that it was placed so that she could see it from her customary place at the table. It was behind where my father sat.