Jacquet said nothing, but the fingers of his left hand drummed silently on the edge of the table.
“We have another problem,” Artois went on. “Broussard’s formal coat, cravat, and shirt were shredded. The envelope was intact when found on his chest by the patrollers on the scene.” The commander looked to me. “Captain Rhennthyl, is it possible for an imager to stand that close to a blast and then place such a message?”
“No, sir. No imager I know of at the Collegium could do that.” I managed a rueful smile. “At one time, I was caught in an explosion when I was a good fifteen yards away. I did survive, but I had broken ribs and couldn’t move for days, even with a brace. It was two months before I healed.”
Cydarth nodded, thoughtfully, and I wondered why.
“I thought as much,” replied Artois. “That means someone who was nearby planted the envelope. It’s also likely that whoever it was knew explosives and channeled the blast pattern, then hurried up in the chaos and pinned the envelope.” Artois glanced to Jacquet. “The patrollers had been diverted by a fight just north of the building. The man who began the fight escaped, and the man who was attacked was apparently innocent.”
Cydarth looked sideways at Artois, not quite questioningly.
“I could be mistaken,” Artois said dryly, “but I think it highly unlikely that an elderly and frail chorister emeritus of the Anomen D’NordEste would willingly choose to be involved in such a diversion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“High Councilor Suyrien has requested that the Civic Patrol and its patrollers exercise special vigilance around locations where wealthy factors or High Holders are likely to be present, except for the area around the Council Chateau, where Council security will exercise such vigilance.” Artois’s voice was matter-of-fact, as if he’d been requested to deliver such a request, knowing that it was probably close to useless.
Third District had few worries along that line, with more than half of its territory comprising the northeast taudis and adjoining areas where those of only slightly higher means lived and worked…although I did have to say that matters in the taudis had improved over the past few years, if far more slowly than I had hoped.
“We may see more of such attempts, and we may not. Right now, Captain Jacquet and his patrollers are looking into all aspects of the matter, and the subcommander or I will let you know of anything that may affect your districts. Now,” Artois went on more briskly, “the subcommander will return the proposed bud gets and manpower requirements you submitted earlier. I’ll go over the revised guidelines. As I told you at the last meeting, you will have your final bud get to me no later than next Lundi…”
From there on, the meeting dealt with administrative details, and it lasted another glass. When the commander and subcommander finally left, the rest of us stood.
Bolyet glanced across the table at Jacquet. “I have to say I’d rather not be in your boots. Is there anything I can do?”
With Bolyet, I knew, the question wasn’t a polite formality.
“Not at the moment. I’ll let you know if there is.” Jacquet paused, picking up the large envelope he’d received, as had all of the captains, and letting Kharles, Subunet, and Hostyn leave the room. Then he added, “I’ll bed every cheap tart in your district, Rhenn, if this is the work of some workers’ movement.”
“What do you think it is?” asked Bolyet.
Jacquet shrugged. “Too direct for a High Holder, unless it’s a High Holder not trying to have it traced to him. The bomb had a directed blast pattern, and that means someone who knows explosives. Could be a retired Navy armorer.” He looked at me.
“Some of the imagers at the armory could build something like that, but none of the ones who could build it would be able to use it very well. They’d also be facing an immediate death sentence if they did.” I frowned. “If you could send me a report on the bomb, though, I might be able to run it by some armory specialists and find out more about who did build it. I could also use the information to make sure someone didn’t reveal something to someone they shouldn’t.” I didn’t mention that I could also eliminate anyone on Imagisle as a possibility…or discover if they were.
Jacquet nodded. “I can do that. Might be tomorrow before you get a copy.” He looked to Bolyet and then to me. “If you hear about anyone on the shady side suddenly getting flush, it might help.”
“We can have the boys keep their eyes and ears open,” promised Bolyet.
I just nodded. Then Bolyet and I followed Jacquet out into the upper level hall, down the steps, and out onto the sidewalk.
“Give my best to Alsoran.” Bolyet grinned before he stepped into the hack he’d hailed. “I still don’t know how you managed to persuade him to go back to Third District.”
“I will.” I grinned. We both knew that Alsoran had agreed to the transfer because it meant his making lieutenant earlier than otherwise would have been the case, and because he and I got along, which wasn’t always the case between district captains and their lieutenants, as I well knew after suffering through three years of working with Warydt, his predecessor.
I hailed the next hack to take me to Third District station. As I rode up Fedre to Sudroad, I couldn’t help agreeing with Jacquet that the explosion was a symptom of something far worse, although I couldn’t have said why at that moment.
2
Third District station was located on Fuosta, midway between Quierca and South Middle. The one-story building was hardly impressive. Its once-yellow bricks had turned grayish-tan, and the narrow barred windows in the front on both sides of the double doors of the single entrance added to the grim appearance, clean as the structure was. The doors were battered and iron-bound oak with equally ancient heavy iron inside hinges, and could be barred, although we’d never had the need. The open space inside the doors that could have been called an anteroom was empty, although in the morning, after the day shift arrived, there would have been patrollers checking their equipment and getting the word from the handful of men coming off the midnight to morning shift. Over the past few years, I had managed to get the time-dimmed glass of the windows replaced, and the cracked and ancient floor retiled with deep gray tiles, rather than with the dingy light gray that had always looked dirty.
Lyonyt was working the duty desk when I entered the station. He smiled as he looked up from the high and narrow desk set out just far enough from the wall on the right that he could squeeze his stool behind it. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning.” I smiled back and kept walking to the first door on the right, where I stepped inside. The small study, little more than three yards by four, was typical for a Patrol Captain, and even slightly larger than Master Dichartyn’s study at the Collegium, for all that he was the head of all security operations, both in Solidar and worldwide. There was a narrow desk, with a wooden armchair and a worn gray cushion, three creaking wooden file cases against the left wall, and four straight-backed chairs, lined up against the right inside wall for the moment. The two outside windows were barred.
Lieutenant Alsoran followed me into the study. He was the biggest patroller I’d ever run across, standing a good ten digits taller than me, and I was taller than most. His shoulders were also much broader, and there wasn’t the faintest trace of extra flesh around his midsection. His black hair was cut short and still faintly curly below his visored cap, and his eyebrows were thick and bushy. “Good morning, Captain. How did the meeting go?”
“As usual, with one exception. Did you hear about the bomb that exploded near the Place D’Opera on Samedi night?”