just image a new bullet?”
“I don’t, I suppose, except it was so hot it almost burned my hand, and it’s flattened on one side.”
“It’s probably the one fired at you. Still . . .” Master Dichartyn studied it for a moment. “Definitely a sniper bullet. It could be Ferran or Jariolan, or even Solidaran. Might be Tiempran.” He smiled faintly. “Have you offended any more envoys?”
“I haven’t even met any more, sir.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t offend them. It’s likely that you didn’t get all of those involved with the Ferran operation. Someone who was watching and identified you got away, and now has orders to remove you.”
“Do the Ferrans even have a new envoy?”
“They do. He’s been here a little over two days. One Stauffen Gregg. The Honorable Stauffen Gregg. He brought a staff of ten.”
“I don’t believe you mentioned that.” I managed to maintain a pleasant smile. The “recall” of the previous staff now sounded like more of a return to a reprimand . . . or worse, not that my experiences had left me with any liking for the Ferrans.
“There was no reason to, until now. You aren’t working Council security any longer.”
There were times that Maitre Dichartyn could be condescendingly, obnoxiously infuriating. This was one of them. I kept smiling. “What do you suggest that I do about the sniper?”
“You’ll need to get a good look at him if you want to deal with him. And it’s probably best that you don’t tell anyone on the Patrol.”
Master Dichartyn’s words were a veiled reminder that I wasn’t to trouble the Collegium by leaving a would-be assassin alive. Nor was I to mix Collegiumbusiness with Patrol business. I didn’t ask for more information. He didn’t know any more or wasn’t about to tell me, but I suspected the former.
“Is there anything else?” asked my superior. “I need to see Master Poincaryt.”
“I’ve spent a little time on Samedi and yesterday evening with young Shault. I have to say that I worry about him.”
“So do I, but your short visits are definitely having an effect. Ghaend reports that he is studying and making good progress, and Gherard says that the seconds have decided that if you’re watching him, they’d best leave him alone.”
I had my doubts that such forbearance would endure, but I could hope it would last long enough for Shault to gain understanding and confidence.
Master Dichartyn rose from behind his writing desk. “If that’s all . . .”
“That’s all for now, sir, but I thought you should know.”
He just gestured toward the door. I left and headed back to my rooms.
Immediately after I entered my chambers, and the room that was study and salon, I walked to the writing desk, where I placed several objects on the left side of the writing desk—an oval ceramic paperweight, a copper pen nib, and a Solidaran silver crown. Then I covered them with a sheet of writing paper and stepped back four paces. I concentrated on imaging the pen nib onto the open palm of my right hand.
It appeared there, almost light as a feather.
I repeated the process with the coin and the paperweight. After looking closely at all three and seeing that they looked the same as they had before, I then set the three on the right side of the desk and lifted the paper on the left side. There was nothing underneath. To my way of thinking, I’d imaged the originals to my hand, rather than creating new objects by imaging. Either that, or I’d destroyed the originals and created copies, but that seemed most unlikely to me, since I didn’t feel that tired, and imaging something from nothing or duplicating something through imaging took much more effort. Master Dichartyn had been skeptical of my ability to image the bullet that had been fired at me back to myself. Yet he’d seen me image items from one point to another before. Or was it that I’d been able to image something I hadn’t seen or studied . . . and
“I don’t, I suppose, except it was so hot it almost burned my hand, and it’s flattened on one side.”
“It’s probably the one fired at you. Still . . .” Master Dichartyn studied it for a moment. “Definitely a sniper bullet. It could be Ferran or Jariolan, or even Solidaran. Might be Tiempran.” He smiled faintly. “Have you offended any more envoys?”
“I haven’t even met any more, sir.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t offend them. It’s likely that you didn’t get all of those involved with the Ferran operation. Someone who was watching and identified you got away, and now has orders to remove you.”
“Do the Ferrans even have a new envoy?”
“They do. He’s been here a little over two days. One Stauffen Gregg. The Honorable Stauffen Gregg. He brought a staff of ten.”
“I don’t believe you mentioned that.” I managed to maintain a pleasant smile. The “recall” of the previous staff now sounded like more of a return to a reprimand . . . or worse, not that my experiences had left me with any liking for the Ferrans.
“There was no reason to, until now. You aren’t working Council security any longer.”
There were times that Maitre Dichartyn could be condescendingly, obnoxiously infuriating. This was one of them. I kept smiling. “What do you suggest that I do about the sniper?”
“You’ll need to get a good look at him if you want to deal with him. And it’s probably best that you don’t tell anyone on the Patrol.”
Master Dichartyn’s words were a veiled reminder that I wasn’t to trouble the Collegium by leaving a would-be assassin alive. Nor was I to mix Collegiumbusiness with Patrol business. I didn’t ask for more information. He didn’t know any more or wasn’t about to tell me, but I suspected the former.
“Is there anything else?” asked my superior. “I need to see Master Poincaryt.”
“I’ve spent a little time on Samedi and yesterday evening with young Shault. I have to say that I worry about him.”
“So do I, but your short visits are definitely having an effect. Ghaend reports that he is studying and making good progress, and Gherard says that the seconds have decided that if you’re watching him, they’d best leave him alone.”
I had my doubts that such forbearance would endure, but I could hope it would last long enough for Shault to gain understanding and confidence.
Master Dichartyn rose from behind his writing desk. “If that’s all . . .”
“That’s all for now, sir, but I thought you should know.”
He just gestured toward the door. I left and headed back to my rooms.
Immediately after I entered my chambers, and the room that was study and salon, I walked to the writing desk, where I placed several objects on the left side of the writing desk—an oval ceramic paperweight, a copper pen nib, and a Solidaran silver crown. Then I covered them with a sheet of writing paper and stepped back four paces. I concentrated on imaging the pen nib onto the open palm of my right hand.
It appeared there, almost light as a feather.
I repeated the process with the coin and the paperweight. After looking closely at all three and seeing that they looked the same as they had before, I then set the three on the right side of the desk and lifted the paper on the left side. There was nothing underneath. To my way of thinking, I’d imaged the originals to my hand, rather than creating new objects by imaging. Either that, or I’d destroyed the originals and created copies, but that seemed most unlikely to me, since I didn’t feel that tired, and imaging something from nothing or duplicating something through imaging took much more effort. Master Dichartyn had been skeptical of my ability to image the bullet that had been fired at me back to myself. Yet he’d seen me image items from one point to another before. Or was it that I’d been able to image something I hadn’t seen or studied . . . and
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