“Is there anything special you’re interested in discovering?”
“Nothing in particular. One finds out more without an agenda, just by encouraging others to talk about themselves.” Straesyr smiled. “You already know that. You might sample the delicacies before others arrive, so that you have more time to listen without your guts interrupting your concentration.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt made his way to the side table. From one of the dozen large platters, he picked up a slice of boiled pickled egg set on a petite round of bread and topped with a dollop of a stiff cream topping. The topping was horseradish so hot he never tasted the egg or the bread. The rarish mutton wrapped in thin fried flatbread with a cumin filling was tastier, and he had two of those. He skipped the pickled turtle eggs, but the pate on dark bread was good enough for two. He finished with one of the small white cakes, then moved to the beverage sideboard.
“Sir?” asked the ranker in dress greens.
“The dry white wine,” replied Quaeryt. “Please.”
With the goblet in hand, the scholar turned and watched as the first factor entered the Red Room, a thin-faced man with thick and bushy gray hair, and a beard to match, wearing a gray jacket and trousers and a tan shirt. Straesyr greeted him effusively and talked for a moment.
As Straesyr turned from the one factor to greet another entering the Red Room, Quaeryt intercepted the first arrival. “Greetings … I’m Quaeryt and an assistant to the princeps.”
The factor stiffened for an instant. “Ah … Rewhar … I’m a brick factor.” After another pause, he added, “I had not thought to find a scholar … as an assistant to Princeps Straesyr…” The factor left the sentence hanging.
“That was not of his choosing. Lord Bhayar sent me from Solis to gather information.”
“A scholar to gather information. That makes sense. How are you finding Tilbora?”
“As it is … I hope.” Quaeryt smiled as winningly as he could.
“What sort of information are you gathering?”
“The condition of the province, its strengths, and its problems, particularly the difficulties posed by the hill holders.”
“They are not that much trouble … except if one wants to travel the hills.…”
“Do they trade much ?”
“They grow or hunt most of what they need, and trade their timber and silver for what else they require.”
“Silver? I was not aware…”
Rewhar smiled. “They would prefer that few know of that. Holder Waerfyl and Holder Saentaryn have mines on their lands. So does Zorlyn, but his lands are much farther into the Boran Hills. His mines are also much richer.”
“Zorlyn … that sounds familiar, but I couldn’t say why…” Quaeryt had never heard of Zorlyn. At least, he didn’t think so.
“Oh … he’s the one that no one knows beyond his name. One of his youngest sons-and going through three wives, he has many-is a scholar.” Rewhar frowned. “He’s the princeps of that scholars’ place…”
“The Ecoliae?” At that moment, the connection struck Quaeryt-Zarxes Zorlynsyn. He didn’t want to mention the name Zarxes, because no one at the palace or in Tilbora had ever mentioned Zarxes by name.
“That’s it. The fellow’s name … I can’t remember, but it has to start with ‘Z.’ Zorlyn names all his sons something beginning with ‘Z.’ I heard that somewhere.” Rewhar glanced past Quaeryt toward the serving table.
“Don’t let me keep you from enjoying the food. I did find the small mutton rolls and the pate quite tasty. The sauce on the pickled sliced eggs is rather highly spiced.” Quaeryt smiled again and gestured toward the table.
The next two factors to enter and greet the princeps were careful to avoid Quaeryt, and he decided to wait until more had arrived. When a good fifteen or so had appeared, he moved toward a pair standing somewhat away from those clustered around the serving table.
“Honorable factors … I’m Quaeryt, the scholar assistant to the princeps. I was sent here from Solis by Lord Bhayar to offer aid to the princeps and to gather information.” He smiled.
“Oh…” replied the taller factor. “Jussyt … I’m not really a factor so much as a quarryman who became fortunate enough to discover better ways of splitting and dressing stone. They all claim I’m a factor, though. Even Raurem here.”
Quaeryt turned to the shorter man.
“Produce, especially apples and the rough grains. But apples … they’re the most notable fruit of Tilbor. More varieties grown here than anywhere in Lydar. Better, too. It’s a pity we can’t ship them farther away than the east coast without drying them.” Raurem shook his head.
“What’s the best eating apple?”
“Ah … that depends on when you eat it. Right off the tree or in a day or two, it’d be the black thorn. The best keeper, to eat, that is, is the red mottled, and that’ll keep most of the winter in a tight cold cellar, but not one that’ll freeze them. You’ll just have mush that way…”
Quaeryt smiled and kept listening, wondering how much he’d remember about the apples of Tilbor. Then he learned about the gray split slate-the best roofing slate in all Lydar, according to Jussyt. Since neither seemed inclined to discuss scholars, after a time, he slipped away and talked to others, each more than willing to discuss what they did.
Almost a glass later, he eased up to an angular factor, whose left eye had a pronounced tic, but before he could say a word, the other spoke.
“You’re the scholar … apparently most unlike those in Tilbor … from what I hear.”
“I couldn’t say, not yet. I’m Quaeryt.”
“By the way,” the factor grinned, “I’m Cohausyt. We have the sawmills north of Tilbora on the river.”
“Most seem … reluctant to discuss the scholars resident here.”
“That is because it is either unwise to do so, or, if one is a High Holder … unnecessary.”
“Unwise?” Quaeryt did his best to look puzzled.
“Some of those scholars have ties to the hill holders, and they pursue … other goals, although it is said that one of those most rumored to be … less scholarly … recently vanished.”
“They actually bear arms and do … other unseemly things?”
“We have no need of an assassins’ guild here, as they do in Antiago, not with scholars such as those.”
Quaeryt winced. “That troubles me. Scholars have a difficult enough time as it is. To have a group behaving so…”
“It troubles many in Tilbora as well.” Cohausyt leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Can you tell me why the governor ignores such a pox?”
“I did not know that the local scholars were such a pestilence. Because I did not, I never inquired into the matter. I had heard that those here on Lord Bhayar’s service were not to deal with the scholars. I had thought that was because Lord Bhayar has always said that his ministers were to leave the scholars alone unless they broke the laws of the land…”
“Would that…” Cohausyt shook his head. “Enough said.”
“I will look into the matter,” promised Quaeryt.
“I would that you would … but not because any have suggested it.”
“I will only say that I overheard some remarks, but could not determine who made them.”
For the next two glasses, Quaeryt mixed, mingled, conversed, and mainly listened. While there were more allusions to the local scholars, none of those factors said more, nor did Quaeryt press them. All in all, by the time the last factor left, he felt exhausted. So did Straesyr, he suspected, because the princeps merely said, “We’ll talk on Lundi.”
That was fine with Quaeryt.
63
On Solayi, Quaeryt took the mare for a ride, telling himself that he needed to try to locate some of the factorages belonging to those whom he had met at the reception. While that was partly true, he also felt he needed to escape the confines of the palace. He did indeed locate Cohausyt’s sawmills and saw from a distanc
e stone quarries that might have belonged to Jussyt.
He returned in time to write up his weekly report for Straesyr and then went to the evening meal, and, because he had not been around during the day, he also attended the evening services, presided over by Phargos. Most of the regimental chorister’s homily was forgettable, but one phrase did catch Quaeryt’s attention and linger in his thoughts.
“… if there were no higher power, men would do what they would, for then there would be no spirit to face the Nameless and no reckoning to a life ill spent…”
Are men and women so weak and so stupid that they can only do what is right because of the threat of an almighty power? Can they not see that if all behave well, then all benefit more, even the most powerful?
Unfortunately, he feared that Phargos might well be right, and that saddened him.
On Lundi morning, Straesyr was waiting for Quaeryt even before seventh glass and beckoned him into his study.
“Close the door, if you would.” The words were pleasant, and the princeps was smiling, not that smiles meant much, Quaeryt had long since discovered.
Quaeryt laid the single sheet that was his weekly report on the desk and took a seat across the desk from the princeps and waited.
Straesyr ignored the paper. “Did you have a pleasant ride yesterday?”
“I did. I spent some time trying to locate factorages, those of factors I met on Samedi.”
“What did you find out at the reception?”
“A great deal about the practical side of a number of factorages,” replied Quaeryt, “especially stone quarrying, sawmills, and milling, among others. I also overheard some comments about the local scholars … and then several factors approached me about them.”
Straesyr nodded. “I had hoped some might reveal their concerns. Who might those be?”
“I gave my word not to reveal their names because all were either concerned or actually fearful about their safety if any word of their names were bruited about.”
The princeps frowned. “Do you believe them?”
“I fear I do. Perhaps it is time for me to visit the local scholars.”
Straesyr fingered his clean-shaven chin. “Do you think that wise?”
“I think it would be unwise not to. As a scholar, I can see what might be amiss. Also, as I reported earlier, many of the shopkeepers I visited in Tilbora were most standoffish until I revealed I had come from Solis and was your assistant.”
“If they are dangerous…”
“An escort would be helpful,” said Quaeryt with a wry smile.
“The governor has already approved your visit to Fhaedyrk. I dispatched a messenger on Samedi. He returned yesterday, and the High Holder will receive you on Meredi afternoon at the second glass. The governor did agree that I could approve any escort of a squad or less for you, with the approval of Commander Myskyl.”
“You don’t think a squad is sufficient for the scholars?”
“Do you?”
Quaeryt considered for a moment before replying. “I feel that a squad would be either more than sufficient if my doubts are unfounded and most inadequate if they are not.”
Straesyr offered a crooked smile in reply. “I fear that we share the same opinion. I will discuss the matter with the governor. It might be best if you remained in the palace until I do. He may wish to speak with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any questions about the reception?”
“I did wonder how often you hold such.”
“Once a season, even in winter. It does remind all of them that they have someone who can listen and who does represent them before the governor and Lord Bhayar. That is useful.”
“Are there any particular groups of factors who seldom attend … or who never have?”
“There are a handful whose appearance is less frequent, but they’re the ones who are located farther away.”
After several more questions, Quaeryt smiled. “I do have another question, sir, but not about the reception.”
“What is it?”
“I’m curious about how tariffs are actually collected.”
“Why?” Straesyr’s voice remained pleasant, almost jovial.
“In most places, factors and others complain about tariffs. Here the only complaints seem to be from the hill holders.”
The princeps frowned. “I don’t understand the point of your question.”
“I’m probably not being as clear as I could be. The captains and majors all talk about how dangerous it is to do anything in small groups in the hills and how so often holders have to be reminded of their … obligations … by a visit by a company or more. I had the impression that such a show of force was unnecessary elsewhere, but I never asked.”
Straesyr smiled. “Your assumption is correct. I send a notice of tariffs due to each crafter, factor, holder, or High Holder at the end of harvest. They can pay here at the palace in the small building across from the east gate guardhouse, or at any post or outpost-or with the town council in towns that have a council, or with the council of the nearest town that has a council. That has seemed to work for all but the most recalcitrant of the hill holders.”
“Then you’re responsible for consolidating the tariffs and providing the funds to the governor and sending whatever is left to Lord Bhayar?”
Straesyr laughed. “Not exactly. There is a minimum amount of tariff that must be sent to Lord Bhayar. At the end of harvest, I draft and the governor approves or changes a proposed budget for the next year. He sends that to Lord Bhayar, along with the current year’s tariffs. We have always been able to exceed the minimum requirements, often by a fifth part or more.”
“Thank you. I have no more questions, sir.”
“I will see you later, or Vhorym will let you know about the visit to the local scholars.”
Quaeryt returned to his study, where he spent some time reflecting upon the meeting with Straesyr. Abruptly, he recalled what the old ranker had told him when Quaeryt had been waiting for the surgeon. He nodded to himself, then rose and walked back to the princeps’s study, where he found Vhorym.
“I’ll be in the stables for a bit. I want to check on my mare.”
“Yes, sir.”
It took Quaeryt almost two quints to find the head ostler.
“Sir? What can I do for you?” asked the graying and not-quite-grizzled figure.
“I just wanted a few moments of your time. I’m gathering information for Lord Bhayar, and I thought you’ve probably been one of those here the longest.”
“Yes, sir. I came here with Marshal Fhayt.”
“And there’s only been one regiment here, with all its horses, since then?”
“Well, sir … there were three regiments here right after the fighting stopped, but the second regiment left within two months. The third left in the spring.”
“Did the two regiments pretty much fill the stables, then? When both were here?”
“Oh … no, sir. We had two empty stables, mayhap a bit more. We didn’t have so many engineers, and the companies were just four squads.”
“You don’t do much with the other posts or outposts?”
“No, sir.”
“But everyone and all the mounts were stabled here for the first few years?”
“Yes, sir. Governor Rescalyn was the one who built the outposts. Good idea. Without them, we were losing too many mounts. Too much time on the road without enough solid fodder, especially in the winter.”
“You get all your winter fodder from growers here?”
“Yes, sir. Good fodder and grain. Governor wants the mounts healthy.”
“Have you ever seen any of the horses used by the hill holders?”
“Only a few. One came back a week ago. Scrawny underfed thing. Already looking better.”
“Are they all like that?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. The ones I see are, but maybe those are the ones that let their riders down and get caught.”
Almost three glasses later, after having combed through the dispatches, especially the early ones, and those dealing with the budget submissions, he took a deep breath and leaned back in the wooden chair. In plain sight, indeed. Or rather, the omissions were in plain sight.
He needed to ask a few more questions of Skarpa before he could confirm what he thought he’d discovered, but that would have to wait until the evening meal-if Skarpa happened to be there. After returning the dispatch-room key, he made his way back to his study.
He’d been back less than a glass when Vhorym knocked on his half-open door.
“Sir? The princeps asked me to tell you that the governor approved your mission to deal with the scholars. A company from Sixth Battalion will accompany you on Vendrei.”
“Thank you, Vhorym.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Quaeryt merely nodded, since he truly doubted it was a pleasure at all to the squad leader. He spent the rest of the afternoon calculating and then thinking out what he needed to write in his next letter to Vaelora and his next dispatch to Bhayar, but he committed nothing to paper.
Not yet.
At dinner, Quaeryt sought out Skarpa without seeming to and ended up sitting with Skarpa and Daendyr, the major in charge of supplies. Until they were well into the meal, and both majors had downed a mug of ale, Quaeryt merely listened and bantered.
Finally, as they were finishing the last scraps on their platters, he said, “I’m not an officer type, but the other day I heard a young ranker complaining about the number of patrols. Then an older ranker told him to stop complaining-not in those words-and that he didn’t know how much easier it was these days because the companies used to be just four squads.”
Skarpa shook his head. “The young ones always think they have it so tough, and the old ones are always reminding them that it was tougher in the old days. But the old ranker had it right. Just four squads, and we were running our mounts into the ground. When Rescalyn took over, he stepped up recruiting and mount procurement and added a squad to every company and another company to every battalion. Made all the difference.”
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