Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio by L. E. Modesitt

hand across her body.
    “You need to be more friendly, Saerysa.”
    The dancer slumped, as if surrendering, then tried to bite Duultyn’s shoulder.
    As the patroller pushed the dancer back and twisted away from her teeth, Quaeryt did his best to imitate the “caaw” of a raven, then imaged a sordid mass that he hoped resembled a large and soggy raven dropping less than a yard above the patroller. It dropped and spread across the patroller’s green shirt with a splatting sound.
    While a few bits of the “dropping” splattered on the dancer, Saerysa pulled back, then wrenched free of Duultyn’s grasp as the patroller gaped at the mess across the front of his uniform. She turned and ran through the door into the building.
    “Shit!”
    “That’s right.” The other patroller stifled a laugh, but did shake his head. “That raven really got you.”
    “Ravens don’t do that!” snapped Duultyn.
    “I heard it, and you’ve seen it.”
    “I didn’t see any raven, and you can’t miss birds that big.”
    “He didn’t miss you.”
    An older woman appeared with two large towels, one damp and one dry. “Sir … perhaps these would help.”
    Duultyn glared at her. “Where’s Saerysa?”
    “You scared her. She ran off. She is no longer here.”
    “She is, too.”
    The other patroller cleared his throat. “Duultyn…”
    “Shit…” Duultyn looked at the older woman. “Tell your little dancer she has a big debt to pay. And she’d better.” He took the damp towel and began to sponge off his shirt.
    The older woman retreated into the Sailrigger, closing the door behind her.
    “Namer-cursed sow…” muttered Duultyn. “Name ’em all!”
    “She’s pretty enough, but is she worth all the trouble?” asked the taller patroller.
    “It’s a matter of principle. How would Burchal feel if he knew…” Duultyn glanced down and shook his head. “Still going to have a stain here.”
    “Glad the chief’s not a relation of mine.”
    “It comes in handy at times.” Duultyn threw the damp towel on the nearest table and blotted his shirt with the dry one. “Old lady Shaalya knows I can find a reason to close her down if Saerysa isn’t more cooperative. You’ll see.”
    The dry towel followed the first, then dropped to the brick-paved courtyard floor. Duultyn did not pick it up, but turned toward the gate.
    Once the two patrollers left the Sailrigger’s courtyard, Quaeryt followed. He could have done far worse, but he needed Duultyn in good health, at least until he discovered more.
    The only problem was that, while he followed the pair for more than three glasses, he learned little that he had not already seen. Duultyn did take coin from two other beggars along the way, speaking cheerfully to both. Just before noon, perhaps a quint before tenth glass, the two returned to the Patrol building.
    Quaeryt took a table at a café a half block away, where he ordered a lager and a domchana. The batter-fried ham and fresh yellow and red pepper sandwich wasn’t bad, although he’d had better. But then, he’d also eaten far worse.
    He did wonder just how long he’d have to wait for the two patrollers before they left the patrol station.
    After lingering over his midday meal, Quaeryt waited until Duultyn and his partner reappeared and followed them for another two glasses. He learned little more. He then returned to the harbor and visited the two ships that had ported since the morning. Neither was heading north.
    He debated returning to the Sailrigger, but decided that he wouldn’t learn what he needed to know even if Duultyn did return there after his duty shift. Instead, he decided to look to see if he could find a bookseller.
    That took more than a glass, because, after one look of disgust from a cabinetmaker who displayed a bookcase in his window, when Quaeryt inquired about a bookstore, he decided that asking was anything but the best policy. In the end, he stumbled onto it, because he had decided that at least a