Given Vaelora’s education and personal history, Quaeryt had every hope that she would understand the references, and the implications, assuming she ever received the letter-and that whoever read the correspondence before she did would not. If she did, then he had no doubts that she would inform Bhayar … and Bhayar was definitely not insensitive to the undercurrents of power.
Finally, he closed the letter.
Your thoughts and words offer both insight and cheer, and I am more than glad to receive them, and to reply with what insight and wit I can offer.
He used the same closing as before-“In sincerest admiration and appreciation.”
Then he blew out the lamp over the writing desk, bolted the door, undressed, and collapsed into bed.
61
Tired as he was, Quaeryt was up early on Vendrei so that he could eat before handing his dispatch to Bhayar and his letter to Vaelora to the courier. He didn’t recognize the courier, an older and wiry soldier, but the rider’s eyes didn’t even widen at the address on the letter. He did accept the silver gracefully and with a quiet “Thank you, sir.”
Then Quaeryt went to his study around the corner from Straesyr’s anteroom. He sat there for several quints, pondering exactly what he should do next. To keep the local scholars in the good graces of Bhayar, the people of Tilbora, and the High Holders, he needed to separate them from the hill holders, in a way that wasn’t terribly obvious or embarrassing to the hill holders while retaining the good features of the Ecoliae. He also needed to verify his various suspicions about the governor, and he needed to determine more precisely the relationship between Straesyr and Rescalyn.
He looked up at the rap on the open door.
Vhorym stood there. “Sir? The princeps would like a word with you.”
“Thank you.”
Quaeryt rose and walked to the anteroom and into Straesyr’s study. He couldn’t help but notice, through the windows behind the princeps, that the sunlight falling on the north walls surrounding the palace definitely seemed weaker. “Yes, sir?”
“Have a seat, Quaeryt.”
Quaeryt sat.
“On Mardi, the governor will be riding north to join High Holder Freunyt for a luncheon. Since the High Holder extended the invitation to include others, the governor thought that it might be useful for you to accompany him. I also feel that would be useful. Your reports show you have seen the hill holders. You should visit a High Holder or two as well. The governor and his party will be departing at seventh glass.”
“I will be there.”
“I also had a pair of coats tailored for you. One is a jacket in the style of an undress uniform, and the other is a dress coat. You need to stop by the regimental tailor’s this morning to make sure they fit so that, if they don’t, he can make the necessary alterations.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You can wear the undress jacket when you accompany the governor and the dress coat to the factors’ reception on Samedi. Vhorym has your invitation.”
Quaeryt inclined his head. “I must say that I am surprised.”
“My duties are to deal with trade, commerce, and the most necessary tariffs that they raise. Certainly, as a scholar assistant to me, you should be visible, especially since several factors have already mentioned your presence in Tilbora. I would like them to meet you so that everyone can see that you are open and about my business.”
“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt paused, then asked quietly, “Sir? Might I bring up one other matter for your consideration?”
Straesyr smiled. “If it does not take too long.”
“Thank you.” The scholar rose and stepped toward the door, this time closing it behind himself before approaching the desk again. He did not sit before he spoke. “I’ve run across the name of a High Holder Fhaedyrk,” offered Quaeryt. “He’s mentioned several times in old dispatches and even in the records of the Khanar’s Council. What can you tell me about him, sir?”
Straesyr frowned. “I recall the unpleasantness associated with Governor Fhayt. It wasn’t Fhaedyrk’s fault. That was rather clear, but the governor has not been inclined to test those waters again.”
“Would it be untoward if I paid him a visit, perhaps as your intermediary?”
“For what reason?” Straesyr’s voice was pleasantly bland.
“I ran across a reference to him in the Khanar’s Council reports, and he had enough courage to write the Khanar suggesting that the two strengths of Tilbor were the High Holders and the factors and traders of the south. As I recall, and as you just stated and as your holding a reception for factors emphasizes, your duties include strengthening trade and the tariffs resulting from that trade and commerce.”
Quaeryt thought he saw a slight glint in Straesyr’s eyes as the princeps nodded slowly and thoughtfully before replying. “And?”
“As your intermediary, who is looking into trade, I could certainly inquire as to his thoughts on the matter.”
“I think you have more on your mind than that, scholar.”
“Yes, sir. I do. I’d like to see if the High Holder has any ideas about who or what was behind the attack on Governor Fhayt. I am not a great believer in coincidence, and I find it too coincidental that the only attack on a governor was when he was riding to see the sole High Holder who was willing to speak out in favor of the traders and crafters of Tilbor.”
“That is an interesting observation, but that happened years ago.”
“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt said nothing more.
“Well … it cannot hurt.” Straesyr paused. “You know, his holding is almost four glasses to the north, and for that distance, you will need an escort. One squad with a junior officer, an undercaptain, should be appropriate. I will discuss this with the governor, since he will need to approve the escort, and if he approves, I will dispatch a messenger with a request for you to meet with the High Holder in the latter part of next week.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“If nothing else, it will help convince Fhaedyrk that the governor has thought more of him than merely inviting him to various events and receptions.” Straesyr glanced toward the closed study door. “If that is all…?”
“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt bowed slightly, turned, and left, leaving the study door as it had been before his reentry-half-open. Once he was in the anteroom and neared the table desk, Vhorym stood and handed him an envelope.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Could you tell me where I might find the regimental tailor?”
“His shop is in the front of the first stables, sir.”
Quaeryt did not open the unsealed envelope until he returned to his study. The invitation was to a reception in the Red Room of the palace, honoring the Factors’ Association of Tilbora at the third glass of Samedi afternoon, and hosted by the princeps.
After reading the invitation, he immediately left to see the regimental tailor. Once there, he had to wait for half a quint while the tailor took the measurements for new uniforms for a major whose face Quaeryt recognized, but to whom he’d not been introduced. Once the major left, the tailor, a senior ranker, brought out two coats.
“I would guess these are yours, sir.”
“Unless there are any other scholars attached to the princeps’s staff, I would guess so, too,” replied Quaeryt with a soft, warm laugh and a smile.
He tried them both on, beginning with the undress jacket. As he took off the longer dress coat, he looked to the tailor. “They fit perfectly.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“How did you manage?”
“I had a set of your browns to measure from, sir. I just hoped that they were accurate. It appears that they were.”
While Quaeryt had left a set of browns behind in his west wing quarters, he had only glanced at them when he’d returned, because he’d been exhausted the night before and because he’d dressed hurriedly that morning. “Even so, your work is excellent.” Quaeryt extended a silver. “I know yo
u’re paid fairly by the regiment, but a token of my thanks.”
“Sir … I can’t…”
“You’re half-right. If … if I were an officer, or even a ranker, you couldn’t. I’m not. So … save it for when you really want an ale or a lager, and it’s still days from the paymaster.”
“Sir…”
“Please don’t make me beg to have you take it. I’ve never owned a coat that fine.” That was certainly true enough. “I tell you what. Keep the silver, but only until you find someone who truly needs it. Then … give it to them.”
The tailor frowned, then shook his head. “I really can’t, sir.”
“Then I’ll have to do that for you. Tell me your name, so that I can tell whoever I give it to that it’s from you.”
“Oeldyrk, sir.”
“You have my word, Oeldyrk, that some poor and deserving individual will benefit, and my gratitude for the jacket and coat.” Quaeryt offered a broad smile before he left to take the garments back to his quarters.
After he hung the jacket and coat in his armoire, he headed back to the main section of the palace to pick up the key to the dispatch room. He’d thought about riding into Tilbora, but decided against that because he’d ridden the mare long glasses for the previous two days. Besides, he needed to catch up on the dispatches to see what, if anything, he’d missed.
Caermyt handed over the key, as politely disapproving as ever, and Quaeryt walked quickly down to the dispatch room, where he lit the desk lamps and began to read through the dispatches that had accumulated since his departure from the palace. Part of one was of obvious personal interest.
… received word that Quaeryt Rytersyn, the scholar assistant to the princeps, was accompanying a routine patrol when he was seriously wounded by a crossbow quarrel fired by one of the followers of a hill holder, most likely one Waerfyl Aerfylsyn … indication that the hill holders remain dangerous and that maintaining hill posts and outposts continues to be necessary …
Quaeryt kept reading. The issues of the poaching and the timber thefts by Waerfyl were mentioned, as were Waerfyl’s denial of guilt and his statement that action against him would result in an uprising by all hill holders. There was also Rescalyn’s observation that the post commander at Boralieu had conveyed a warning in force to Waerfyl and that transgressions in that area had ceased, but that it was likely others would occur elsewhere. That was confirmed by the next dispatch, which detailed the coal thefts and the attack on Meinyt’s patrol.
Less than a glass later, Quaeryt came to the last dispatch, the one sent that morning, which included a single line …
… Quaeryt Rytersyn, Scholar Assistant to the Princeps, returned to Tilbora largely healed from the wound inflicted by the hill holders …
Quaeryt nodded, then stopped, and leafed back through the dispatches. He looked again. The only mentions of the hill holders or the actions of the regiment were those relating to the two attacks. The other reports dealt with problems in collecting tariffs from two northern High Holders, and various other difficulties.
There’s not really a word that depicts anything positive … and it’s not because Rescalyn is a gloomy sort. He’s anything but that.
Quaeryt shook his head. He didn’t like what he was discovering-the continuing portrayal of the hill holders as a far greater threat than he suspected that they were. He especially didn’t care for the fact that there wasn’t anything rock-solid that he could have used as proof of what he was coming to believe. He frowned, then began to look back through the dispatches.
62
On Vendrei night, after he’d returned to his quarters following the evening meal and prepared for bed, he had checked his spare browns, one of the pair tailored at the Ecoliae. Not only were they hanging in the narrow armoire, but they had been cleaned and pressed. That scarcely surprised him. On Samedi morning he donned the same browns he’d worn on Vendrei, deciding to save the clean and pressed ones for the reception, then made his way to the mess. There he ended up sitting with Captain Taenyd and another undercaptain-Haardyn.
“How is your comparative history coming?” asked Taenyd with a smile.
“Matters were slowed somewhat, as you might have heard. A crossbow quarrel, in fact.”
“I heard that. I also heard that you’re so knowledgeable that you could be a chorister.”
“From Undercaptain Gauswn?”
“And from others.”
“Alas … I’m a scholar of history, not of the Nameless. I’m not sure good scholars always make good choristers.”
“Why not?” asked Haardyn.
“Good scholars deal in facts. At least, they should. Choristers present the truth of the Nameless. But there aren’t any hard facts that affirmatively prove that there is a Nameless.”
“How did the world, the stars, everything come to be, then?” asked Haardyn.
“What if it always was?” Quaeryt smiled ruefully. “Your question presupposes that the Nameless created everything. What if the Namer did? Or there was some other cause? We think we know that the world exists, but what if it doesn’t? What if Taenyd and I are merely your imaginings? Or you and Taenyd are mine?”
“You just can’t imagine things…” Haardyn stopped.
“Exactly,” replied Quaeryt. “Imagers can image things into being … after a fashion, anyway.”
“Then the Nameless could have imaged all of us into being,” countered Taenyd, “or the world and whatever was on it that led to us.”
“That’s possible,” agreed Quaeryt. “But so could have the Namer … or something else. We don’t know. We don’t have any proof of any of those causes.”
“You don’t really believe that we’re merely dreams or imaginings,” declared Haardyn.
“No, I don’t … but that’s a matter of belief, not facts. How can I tell whether everything around me is real or imagined? I believe it to be real because too many things happen that are unpleasant and that I would not wish to happen … but a small part of my mind points out that I often do things which are unwise … and that I know are unwise … and so, could I not imagine unpleasant or unwise aspects of a world I might dream?” Quaeryt laughed, then took a swallow of tea from his mug, followed by a mouthful of the egg hash.
The captain and the undercaptain exchanged glances. Finally, Taenyd spoke. “Do you deny the existence of the Nameless?”
“No. I do not know whether the Nameless exists. I cannot affirm or deny that which I do not know.”
“You still sound like a chorister,” said Haardyn with a laugh.
“That’s because scholars and choristers both study the world,” suggested Taenyd. “They just study it in different ways.”
“That’s a very good observation.” Quaeryt nodded. “And cavalry officers study it in yet another way.”
“The good ones do,” affirmed Taenyd.
“What do you always look for first?”
“The most likely place from which we might be attacked.”
“That’s not a bad precept for many situations,” replied Quaeryt with a smile.
From there on, the three talked about mounted tactics.
After breakfast, Quaeryt went to his study, then walked to the princeps’s anteroom.
Vhorym looked up. “Sir?”
“Could you tell me where the Red Room is, Vhorym?”
The squad leader smiled. “It’s on the main level, directly under the Green Salon.”
“Thank you. If, by any chance, anyone is looking for me, I’ll be in the palace library.”
Quaeryt spent the morning and early afternoon in the library, studying the available maps of Tilbor and trying to correlate which High Holders-as listed in a small book he’d discovered earlier-were located where. There was no comparable information on the hill holders, he noted.
As he sat in the library, a thought struck him. He’d seen all the dispatches, and he’d heard Straesyr talk about collecting tariffs, and he’d noted the size of the “regiment.” What he
hadn’t seen any records on was expenses-especially the balancing of expenses against tariffs. The princeps had to be collecting enough tariffs to support the regiment and to send some of those revenues to Bhayar, because Bhayar would have been complaining far more loudly had there been no revenues at all, or scant revenues. Yet how could he raise that issue-or discover the figures-in a way that it did not appear that he was seeking them?
He was still pondering that question, in between other matters, when he had to leave the library to return to his quarters and change into what passed for his finery.
Given the nature of the reception, and the fact that Quaeryt was there as a member of Straesyr’s staff, the scholar appeared at the door to the Red Room half a quint before third glass, where he was greeted, unsurprisingly, by Vhorym in a dress green uniform.
“The princeps is over by the sidebar with the wine, sir.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded, then walked toward Straesyr, taking in the room and its decor. The chamber was identical to the Green Salon in size and shape, twenty yards in length and perhaps fifteen in width, but the hangings were a deep red and flowed down from the gilded crown moldings carved into floral designs. The ceiling was merely of normal height, and air flowed from a series of brass grates high on the walls. The only light was from the brass lamps set on matching wall brackets at intervals around the room, and, by comparison to the Green Salon, the Red Room was almost gloomy. There was also no clavecin in the chamber.
“Yes,” said Straesyr with a nod as Quaeryt approached, “that dress coat makes all the difference, indeed.”
“For which I am most grateful,” replied Quaeryt. “Is there any point or view you wish me to convey to the factors?”
“Only that you are from Solis, and that you were sent from Solis by Lord Bhayar to gather information for Lord Bhayar. That should be sufficient … beyond being pleasant and learning what you can without upsetting people.”
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