“But for them?” He shook his head. “Why do you think it upsets me? They need that reminder of their faith, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else…”
“Do you think all the soldiers like killing?”
“Some do. I’d say most don’t.”
“But they do it because it’s their duty.”
“You’re telling me that…”
“Yes, dearest. I am.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Unlike others, Vaelora had seen that kind of duty, or possibly the lack of it. After a moment he put his arms around her and just held her.
Her arms went around him, comfortingly.
28
On Lundi morning, under a clear sky, if with the slightest trace of haze, Vaelora departed with the companies that would be selling bread, flour, and potatoes, first at the south market square and then at the main square. Skarpa insisted on three companies, given that Vaelora was accompanying them, and put Meinyt in command.
Immediately after that, Quaeryt joined Major Dhaeryn, and they rode with some of the engineering rankers to the factorage that would soon be a Civic Patrol station.
One way or the other.
The southeast section of Extela was definitely the rougher part of the city, with older houses, some of brick, some of weathered wood, but most of the black stone that had to be ancient lava, with small areas of shops, and a tired feel to every street. Still, he did see a few people about, and many the dwellings were unshuttered, and even a few of the shops.
But then, where do these people have to go?
The empty factorage, like many structures in Extela, was of a single level, built of rough-trimmed black stone, with a slate roof. Quaeryt judged that it was thirty yards across the front, and perhaps twenty deep, with a wagon courtyard on the south side, where there was a single loading dock. Two men, not rankers, were replacing cracked and broken roof slates as Quaeryt and Dhaeryn reined up in front.
“The doors are heavy enough,” offered the major, dismounting.
Quaeryt dismounted and tied the mare to the hitching rail, a worn pole suspended between two black stone posts.
“I got the masons to start yesterday, after we cleaned out all the junk and stacked it in the side courtyard. Walls are solid, but the place was filthy.” The major shook his head. “I’ve got a couple of rankers who are good with wood, and they’re setting up the front the way we drew it. It’s like the patrol stations in Estisle, because that’s what I remember.”
Quaeryt looked to the major.
“My uncle was a patroller.”
Once inside, Quaeryt glanced around. Two rankers had already framed what looked to be a counter with a built-in desk.
“That’ll be a receiving desk. It also keeps a wall between the duty patroller and trouble. We’ll need to put heavy doors in this archway…”
Quaeryt listened as he followed the engineering major, and as Dhaeryn explained.
“… and this is the storage area I told you about. I’ve got the masons building twenty cells here. For now, we’ll have to use double-thick doors with peepholes.”
“We can only do what we can.”
“Sirs?”
Quaeryt and Dhaeryn turned.
“There’s a patroller in uniform outside, sir,” said the approaching ranker engineer. “He wants to talk to the new chief patroller.”
“Tell him I’ll be out in a moment,” said Quaeryt.
“Yes, sir.” The ranker turned and hurried back through the archway.
“I was wondering if there were any patrollers left,” said Quaeryt.
“Probably they lost everyone at the top. You lose too many officers or the like, and some outfits just fall apart.”
That might have been, but Quaeryt had to wonder. “I’d better go talk to him.” He walked back outside, checking his shields before he left the building.
The patroller who waited wore a gray uniform with black belt and boots, and a visor cap with a black leather bill. He was burly and a few digits taller than Quaeryt.
“You were looking for the patrol chief?” asked Quaeryt, stopping a yard from the man.
“Sir … begging your pardon…” The patroller looked curiously at Quaeryt’s browns. “Are you the new patrol chief?”
“No. I’m the new governor. I don’t know what happened to the old chief, but I assume he’s dead or fled. The patrol building’s buried in ash and lava. So I’m having the engineers convert this building for patrol use. We don’t have the time or golds to build a new one. And you are?”
“Jaramyr, patroller first, sir. There’s maybe thirty-five of us left. The others put me up to finding out what was going to happen.” Jaramyr glanced to the roof, and then to the open doors.
“You’re the most senior?”
“One of the most senior, sir. There are eight of us who are patroller firsts. None of us saw the chief or the two captains after the firestorm. The others are seconds and thirds, mostly. We’ve got three patroller recruits. They’d just started the first of the year.”
“Can you gather them all together? Those who want to continue with the patrol. Here on Meredi morning at eighth glass?”
“We’ve not been paid … sir.”
Quaeryt looked hard at the patroller. “I’ve ridden here straight from Tilbor, and I haven’t been paid, either. Not in almost two months.…” That was a slight exaggeration, but Quaeryt didn’t like starting on the note Jaramyr was voicing. “There aren’t any records left anywhere—unless you have some.”
“Chelsyr has a duty book, sir.”
“Does that have a roster in it?”
“No, sir. Almost as good, though. It has every duty assignment from the first of the year to the time the mountain blew.”
“Why didn’t you keep patrolling?”
“We did … for the first three weeks, sir. But lots of us have families … The regimental commander left, and the post commander wouldn’t see us. He said we’d have to wait for the new governor…”
Quaeryt could believe that. He managed not to sigh. “Have everyone here on Meredi morning. If you and the other firsts want to work on everyone getting paid sooner, meet me at the post at eighth glass tomorrow morning … with the duty book and any other records you’ve managed to save. We’ll start straightening matters out then.” Quaeryt image-projected both assurance and authority, although he didn’t like relying on that as much as he was fearing he would have to.
The burly patroller seemed to shrink back, although he did not physically move. “Yes, sir. We’ll be there.”
“In uniform.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Quaeryt smiled pleasantly.
Jaramyr inclined his head politely. “Tomorrow morning, sir.” He stepped back, turned, and strode off.
“What did you say to him, sir?” asked Dhaeryn. “You looked at him, and he wilted. My men said he was belligerent, wanted to know why we were putting the patrol station here … talking about the worst part of the city…”
“It probably was,” admitted Quaeryt. “But if they start carrying out their duties, it won’t be.”
“You think they will?”
“If they don’t, they won’t be patrollers very long.”
Dhaeryn barked a sort laugh. “That’s the way it should be.”
After leaving the patrol building, Quaeryt, Dhaeryn, several engineers, and a company from Second Battalion rode through the largely undamaged southern section of Extela, as well as the areas farther north that had suffered from some damage from ash and lava, to determine what other repairs needed to be made to streets and drainage sewers … and what could be accomplished quickly. One matter they did discover was that of the two aqueducts supplying the city’s water, only the east aqueduct, the one called the River Aqueduct, was functioning, but it needed cleaning and repairs, with heavy leaks in several places. A section of the northwest aqueduct almost a mille in length had been destroyed by the lava and ash, but that aqueduct had largely serv
ed the destroyed part of the city, and repairs, rebuilding, or a new aqueduct would have to wait.
Then, that afternoon, while Dhaeryn and his engineers developed a work plan, first for the River Aqueduct, and then for the order of other repairs and the materials required, Quaeryt joined one of the squads from Third Battalion’s second company. In complying with Meinyt’s instructions, both Eleryt and Taenyd had set up their patrol assignments on a squad by squad basis to patrol the city.
For the first glass that Quaeryt accompanied the squad assigned to the area southwest of the governor’s square, he and the troopers saw little out of the ordinary, except that there were a few more people out and about than in previous days, at least from what he recalled.
Then, roughly two quints past the second glass of the afternoon, there was a dull roar, followed by a muted rumble and a slight trembling of the ground. Quaeryt glanced to the northwest as a thin plume of ash drifted upward into the hazy spring sky.
“Sir?” asked Squad Leader Shaupyr. “Are we going to get more ash and lava here in the city?”
Quaeryt studied the volcano for a moment. The ash plume did not appear to be thickening, and there were no more rumblings. “I don’t know. We’ll just have to be careful and be ready to ride south at any moment.”
As he finished speaking, a violent gust of hot wind swept out of the northwest, and the bits of ash it carried were enough to trigger Quaeryt’s shields, so that while the wind itself was like the heat of a desert on his exposed skin, the ashes seemed to circle around him.
“… look at that!” hissed one of the rankers.
Before Quaeryt could decide whether to drop the shields, a scream echoed from the side street ahead.
“Help! Brigands! Thieves! Help!”
Quaeryt left his shields in place and urged the mare forward and then into the side street.
“After the governor!” ordered Shaupyr.
A heavyset man running down the side street glanced back over his shoulder, then turned in time to see Quaeryt’s mount. He jumped to one side in order to avoid the mare, but the impact of the shields on him threw him to the pavement, and his body slid to the curbstone of the sidewalk. The bag he’d held flew from his fingers, and coppers scattered across the stones.
The second man was running the other way.
Quaeryt imaged oil under his boots, and the second thief went down hard on the stone pavement. For several moments he did not move, and by the time he staggered up and was starting to run again, Quaeryt was on him. A single blow of the half-staff to the back of the man’s head was enough to bring him down again.
Before the man could rise again, the rest of the squad had filled the side street. Four rankers dismounted and trussed up the two thieves.
A graying woman dressed in a faded brown shirt and even more washed-out brown trousers stood in a narrow doorway, her head moving from side to side, and Quaeryt rode over and reined up short of her. “Are you all right?”
“They took my wallet. They took it … I heard the roar and the rumble, sir. Someone yelled that more ash was coming, and I peered out the door. It was like those two were waiting…”
“They probably were,” said Quaeryt.
The woman looked at Quaeryt. Her eyes went to Shaupyr, who rode up and extended the pouch.
“Here’s your wallet. I don’t know if we found all the coins…”
“I had almost a silver’s worth of coppers…” wailed the woman.
Quaeryt slipped a silver from his wallet and leaned down from the saddle to extend it. “This should make up the difference.”
The woman started to grab for the coin, then restrained herself. “You’re not a trooper. Not dressed like a scholar.”
“No, I’m not, but the silver is yours.”
“That’s Governor Quaeryt,” said the squad leader.
“But … he was the one … he stopped … both of them…”
“The governor is good with the staff,” added Shaupyr. “He was riding patrol with us.”
The woman turned back to face Quaeryt, and her eyes widened. “The Nameless bless you, sir.”
“Just be careful.”
“I will, sir.” The woman darted back inside the narrow door.
Quaeryt heard the sound of a door bar dropping into place.
“What do you want us to do with this pair, sir?” asked the squad leader. “Take them to the south square?”
Quaeryt frowned. “No … take them to the patrol station. They can work off their crime rebuilding it, or the bridge, or whatever else the engineers need strong backs for.”
One of the brigands stiffened, but said nothing.
Quaeryt belatedly realized that he’d never questioned the man who’d tried to attack the wagon on the day they had provided free bread and potatoes. How could you forget? Because you’re short of time … like everything else.
He reminded himself to take care of that.
Within a glass, the ash plume from Mount Extel had dwindled away to nothing, and the rest of the afternoon patrol was without event.
After he rode back through the post gates late that afternoon and finished stabling the mare, little more than a glass before the evening meal, he immediately headed for the quartermaster’s study. Heireg was there.
“Did we get any supplies today?”
“Yes, sir. High Holder Chaffetz sent another hundred barrels of flour. His man asked that he not be required to send any more until we return the barrels from the first hundred.”
“That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. High Holder Aramyn sent fifty barrels more, and a hundred bushels of potatoes. Lady Vaelora was pleased with that because they sold all fifty bushels of potatoes they took to the market squares. And High Holder Wystgahl sent fifty barrels.” The major frowned.
“What is it?”
“Can’t say as I like the looks of the barrels Wystgahl sent. His man wouldn’t say much.”
“You think we should look into those barrels?”
“I told the cooks to use one of them tomorrow night, just so we could see.”
“Good. How much flour did they sell at the market squares? Do you know?”
“They took five barrels and came back empty. Jhalyt and I put the coppers in our strong room here. We took in 379 coppers for the flour and 120 for the potatoes. I got a chit from the chief clerk, and he entered the amounts in the ledger.”
Quaeryt smiled. Vaelora or the rankers had been generous in what they’d doled out, but for the time being that was fine. “You seem to be working well with Jhalyt.”
“I knew him slightly before. He was the one the princeps sent to check our accounts. Seemed to be a good man.”
Quaeryt nodded. Jhalyt hadn’t mentioned that to him.
When he left Heireg, he went to find the cell where the wounded captive was incarcerated, but had to return to have the duty squad leader provide a key and a pair of rankers. He also learned that the man’s name—the one he gave, in any case—was Dhousyt Sleksyn.
Quaeryt didn’t bother to take the fellow elsewhere, but just stepped into the small cell, if with his shields up.
“Took your time, Governor.”
“That likely didn’t hurt you. Your friends just might have forgotten as well. Who set up the attack on the wagon?”
“What’s it to you?”
“That’s not the question. The question is whether you want to end up in the river or being released quietly one of these nights.” Quaeryt projected both authority and contempt, followed by indifference. Using image-projection on a man like Dhousyt didn’t bother him, and it was far easier on both him and Dhousyt than any other technique available.
Dhousyt swallowed. “Bennar did. Bennar Fhandsyn.”
“Was it his idea?”
“Bennar never had no ideas in his life.”
“Then who did?”
“The swell who owns the pleasure house. Don’t know his name. Bennar just calls him the spicer. You don’
t want to cross him. Just as soon carve his initials on you or your mother or sister. Did that once to Nordon’s little sister … before Nordon disappeared. Heard it happened to others. Anyway, Bennar gave us each a silver. Told us we’d end up sow food ifn we didn’t.”
Quaeryt spend another quint with Dhousyt, but it was clear the man knew little more. It was also clear that the spicer, whoever he was, was truly despicable. When Quaeryt returned to the duty desk, he made arrangements for Dhousyt to be released after dark. He supposed he could have had him branded or the equivalent, but he’d held the tough longer than he should have.
He was ready to leave the duty chamber when a thought struck him. “Have there been any messages for me, Squad Leader?”
“No, sir. We haven’t received any dispatches or messages today, sir. We usually don’t get the report from Solis until Mardi afternoon, sir.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt offered a pleasant smile and left the chamber, making his way across the courtyard to the officers’ quarters, where he climbed the steps to the second level. Vaelora was waiting by the balcony railing outside their quarters.
“How did your day go?” she asked.
“I discovered large problems, and solved one small one…” He went on to explain about his forgetting about Dhousyt and the overall patroller problem. “They’ll need someone to whip them into shape. It’s not something that I’ll have time to do. That was one reason why I forgot about Dhousyt.”
“Major Meinyt would be good at shaping up those patrollers,” Vaelora offered. “So would some of the other older captains.”
“The ones who came up through the ranks.” Quaeryt paused. “I’ll have to talk to Skarpa about that.” From there he recounted the remainder of his day before asking, “And you?”
“Fewer earth-shaking problems than yours,” she said with a smile. “It was sad to see how many women had so few coppers.”
“I talked to Heireg. I got the feeling you were generous in measuring the flour.” He paused. “How many did you pay for?”
“I paid half the cost for more than twenty women. It could have been thirty.”
Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio Page 21