After that, Pharyl spent another quint or so asking questions, but Vhalsyr said nothing at variance with his initial story. Pharyl finally said, “I have no more questions.”
Then Caesyt asked, “Were you carrying a knife or a whip?”
“No, sir.”
“Not even a belt knife?”
“Oh … I had a belt knife. It’s barely as long as my little finger. I never took it out of its sheath.”
“You didn’t have a whip?”
“I never used a whip. I wouldn’t know how.”
“Did you ever strike any of the troopers?”
“Not until they jumped all over me, sir. I just kept trying to keep them from hurting me too bad.”
Quaeryt had his doubts about that, but he listened while Caesyt continued his questioning, until the advocate finally said, “I have no more questions.”
“Do you have a final statement?” Quaeryt asked Pharyl.
“Yes, sir. Whether the accused actually lifted a weapon does not matter. He willfully took part in a group activity that inflicted bodily harm on the factor and that assaulted troopers of Lord Bhayar. He admits to striking troopers, and to trying to escape, which is a sign that he knew what he was doing was an offense against the law…”
When Pharyl had finished, Quaeryt turned to Caesyt. “Your statement, advocate?”
Caesyt stepped forward and faced Quaeryt. “There is no doubt that the late Versoryn did in fact commit the offenses with which his younger brother is being charged, Honorable Justicer … but”—the advocate paused before continuing—“there is absolutely no evidence that Vhalsyr is guilty of anything but poor judgment in accompanying his brother. Not a single one of the troopers saw him with any weapon. The alleged victim of the assault has not appeared to testify—he was summoned, was he not?”
“He was,” Quaeryt said.
“The most with which Vhalsyr can honestly be charged is being disorderly in public, and that only because he felt he was being attacked unfairly by the troopers. That is the only charge of which he can possibly be charged. For those reasons, I move that he be found guilty of that and only that, and that his sentence be limited to the time in which he has already been incarcerated.” Caesyt smiled politely.
Quaeryt could see the situation quite clearly. You’d be an idiot not to see it.
“I will take your motion under advisement, advocate.” Quaeryt looked to the patrollers flanking Vhalsyr. “Bring the accused forward.”
Caesyt stepped back slightly and then moved beside Vhalsyr once he stood in front of Quaeryt.
Quaeryt waited several moments before speaking. “Vahlsyr Brennasyn, this hearing finds you not guilty of two counts of assault, but guilty of the lesser charge of disorderly conduct. Your sentence is limited to the time in incarceration that you have already served. You are free to go. This hearing is declared closed.” After a moment Quaeryt nodded to the patrollers. “You can release him.”
The advocate looked stunned. “You’re … deciding … now?”
“You made your case, advocate. I don’t have to like it; I just have to go by the evidence.”
The three hearings that followed were anticlimactic. The accused had no advocates, and all three had been caught in the act with witnesses.
Quaeryt had no doubt that the entire matter surrounding Vhalsyr, Versoryn, Hyleor … and, of course, High Holder Cransyr was anything but over. He just hoped that he’d minimized the damage.
41
Surprisingly, at least to Quaeryt, the rest of Lundi, as well as Mardi and Meredi, turned out to be free of unforeseen difficulties, except for an afternoon rainstorm on Mardi, and some rumbling from Mount Extel on Meredi that died away within a glass—not that he wasn’t busy almost every moment of every day, whether in meeting with the tariff collectors gathered by Jhalyt and trying to determine what factors and others liable for tariffs had perished, and who had not—or their heirs—in going over the comparatively few charred but barely readable records reclaimed by Baharyt, and in checking the master ledgers for receipts that were all too few, mainly coins from the produce sales, against the expenditures that were all too many.
He also had to detail one of the regimental wagons to help Vaelora move supplies and the additional furnishings she had purchased various shops around Extela to the governor’s villa, just in order to make the villa “barely livable,” as she had put it, rather starkly. That brought up the point that the governor needed a coach and team, a teamster, and a wagon for the residence. Every day that passed, he discovered something else that was required. Vaelora had engaged Shenna as her secretary and also hired a cook and maid. She had also persuaded Quaeryt that they would move to the villa on Jeudi, and that had required transporting some grain and fodder from the post to the villa’s stable, among other things, along with working out a guard detail from the permanent cadre of troopers at the post … at least until he could make inquiries and get to work hiring governor’s guards.
The more that had to be done, the more Quaeryt appreciated the two months they had spent at Telaryn Palace, in effect a honeymoon where they had had little worry over the everyday details of life—even compared to the comparatively privileged lives of a governor and his wife.
Jeudi morning, after he saw Vaelora off with the wagons, he sat down at his desk in the small study to read a petition that had arrived immediately after breakfast from a messenger from a Factor Ruent, someone whose name Quaeryt had never heard. From the very heading, Quaeryt sensed trouble.
Quaeryt Rytersyn
Governor, Province of Montagne
Extela
Most Honorable Governor Quaeryt:
It has come to the attention of the undersigned factors of grain and produce that you, as governor, have required large holders of grains and root crops to sell significant amounts of these crops at a price significantly lower than they would otherwise fetch in the marketplace. While we understand the immediate need for flour among the poor, we must protest the manner in which you have made the flour available …
As he continued reading, Quaeryt wanted to shake his head once more. From what was in the petition, the local produce factors wanted him to determine who was poor and only sell or give flour to them so that the factors could sell all their flour to everyone else. The fact that it would be at a higher price and provide greater profit to the local factors was not mentioned, except indirectly in the idea of a marketplace price. Quaeryt didn’t have the manpower, the local records, almost all of which had been destroyed by the lava overrunning the governor’s square, or the time to make that determination, and that meant he’d either have to risk the wrath of the factors or hurt the poor. All of that didn’t even take into consideration the fact that Third Regiment might be ordered out of Extela and to Ferravyl in less than four days. Even if Bhayar did not issue an immediate withdrawal, the regiment would have to depart in little more than a month, and trying to keep Extela running without the regiment’s manpower would take some doing.
He checked the signatures on the bottom against the list of “dubious factors,” but none of the names matched, and that made the “flour problem” even more of a concern.
What if you increase the price somewhat?
Flour was still in short enough supply, with the destruction of the warehouses and several mills along the river to the north of Extela, that any price increase that the poorest could afford would be less than the factors would charge without Quaeryt’s effective price limitations.
He laid the petition on one side of the small desk. He’d have to think about how to handle it, and if there were any way he could work something out with the factors. Sooner or later the price would rise, because he couldn’t keep buying it comparatively cheaply from the larger High Holders, simply because they’d run out of grain and flour sooner or later. Probably sooner.
He had the feeling that he needed to get out of the flour business, but the situation irked him enormously. He stood, then walked from the stu
dy down the narrow corridor to the south door and then across the courtyard to Major Heireg’s study.
“Sir?”
“I’ve been going over things. This Samedi will be the last one that we’ll be selling flour and potatoes. We won’t announce it at the squares, though. We’ll post notices and pass the word on Lundi.”
And Quaeryt wasn’t about to write the factors back immediately, even if they did end up getting their way. He didn’t want to admit publicly, or even semipublicly, that they’d forced his hand. You should have stopped the sales earlier. Except they’d been selling flour less than a month. How could he have stopped earlier in good conscience, when he hadn’t even finished restoring order in Extela, and so many of the poor lacked coins?
Heireg nodded. “Better that way. We don’t want people getting upset at the troopers handing it out.” He frowned. “It’s too bad for some folks, but you can’t keep paying for it, and with the stocks we have … well, they might last to harvest … if Third Regiment leaves in Mayas.”
“It’s likely to be around that time,” Quaeryt said.
“Word is that it could be sooner…”
“It could … if Rex Kharst decides that he wants to take over Ferravyl.”
“Why would the Bovarians attack there?”
“It would give Rex Kharst total control of the river and the ability to use it to supply an attack downriver on Solis. That’s why Lord Chayar invested so much in the bridge and the fortifications there.”
As he walked back to his study, Quaeryt reflected on both his situation and Bhayar’s. Everything in life involved trade-offs. Solis was better positioned for trade and for travel, but it was more vulnerable to attack than was Extela. On the other hand, Extela was out of the way, but close to a volcano. Being a governor offered more power to do things, but left him vulnerable to all sorts of problems for which imaging provided almost no solutions, and being married to Vaelora … That provided a set of trade-offs as well … as he’d come to discover over the past month in particular.
42
Vendrei morning Quaeryt woke up in the gloom of the master bedchamber of the villa—a semidarkness relieved by grayness seeping through cracks in and around the shutters that he had closed the night before because the window hangings ordered by Vaelora had not been finished. He bolted upright, swung his feet onto the cold ceramic tile floor before realizing that it was still early.
He glanced around, taking in the sparseness of the chamber that held only the bed, without hangings, two empty night tables and two armoires, in which their clothes had been hung or folded. There were no carpets on the old tile floor, and no chairs. The only items that were new were the horse-hair mattress, two pairs of down pillows, and the bed linens and blankets, as well as a plain green linen bedspread. In fact, from what Quaeryt had seen when he had arrived late on Vendrei afternoon, he wasn’t sure that those weren’t the only new items of furniture or furnishings in the entire villa, not surprisingly, since it would have been impossible to have had anything custom-sewn or fashioned in the time since they had purchased the villa.
While the bedchamber was neat … and sparse, as were the kitchen and the private dining/breakfast room, Quaeryt knew too well that the rest of the villa remained in a state of spare disarray—and that might have been describing the situation generously.
He turned to see Vaelora looking out from under the covers at him.
“It was so good to sleep on a good mattress and linens, wasn’t it?”
Quaeryt had been so tired after moving and shifting everything that Vaelora had wanted moved—again—after he’d left the post on Jeudi night and ridden to the villa that he could probably have stretched out on a thin pallet on the floor and still slept soundly. “It’s a far better mattress than the one in the officers’ quarters.”
“And not nearly so narrow. I could actually stretch out, and it didn’t matter that you sprawled all over the bed. There’s enough room for that.”
“That’s very true.”
“Don’t start the day by humoring me, dearest.”
Now what are you supposed to say to that? “I’m not.” Quaeryt grinned. “If you think I’m humoring you every time I agree with you, then you’re asking for me to disagree.”
“Quaeryt … dearest…” Vaelora’s eyes almost flashed. “I can tell the difference.”
Quaeryt shrugged helplessly. Anything he said was likely to make matters worse. Dealing with Rescalyn and Bhayar was far easier … But then, he hadn’t loved them … or even had to like them.
She laughed. “You are a dear. A stubborn dear, though.” Her arms went around him.
Shortly thereafter, not nearly so long as he would have liked, they washed up and dressed and made their way down to the private dining room.
Rebyah—the cook hired at Shenna’s recommendation—had breakfast ready for them, as if she’d had Alsyra, the maid, listening … which she probably had. A pale blue linen cloth covered the worn and battered table in the private dining chamber, as opposed to the large formal dining chamber that could likely accommodate forty guests, if not more, assuming that they could find or commission a table of that size, along with the matching chairs.
“Good morning, Lady … sir,” said Alsyra, as she set platters before Vaelora and then before Quaeryt. She offered a pleasant and warm smile, as if she were pleased to be serving them … and perhaps she was.
On each platter was an omelet, with strips of ham on the side and a biscuit for Vaelora, and two for Quaeryt. Quaeryt’s omelet was also larger. Then came a pot of tea, with vapor seeping from the spout. Alsyra filled both cups, with saucers—not mugs—of plain bone china, part of a set that Vaelora had located … somewhere.
“Isn’t this better?” asked Vaelora.
“It’s much better.” That Quaeryt had no trouble admitting, none at all, especially since he did like hot tea rather than the lukewarm brews he’d been drinking lately. He also liked their not having to eat with the regimental officers, although he had no doubts they would miss Vaelora. He doubted they’d miss him.
When they finished eating, Vaelora looked to him. “When will you be back?”
“Mid to late afternoon … if there aren’t any problems. Do you need anything from the post?”
She frowned, thinking. “I don’t think so. There’s much to do here. We still need a wagon and a cart horse.”
“And … when we can … we’ll need a coach and a team,” Quaeryt admitted.
“That can wait … for a little while.”
Quaeryt wasn’t about to ask how long that meant.
Since there was no practical way to house a squad of troopers in the space over the villa’s stable, Quaeryt rode to the post with just two troopers as an escort. That seemed more in keeping with his sense of propriety, especially since Extela seemed less unsettled than it had when he had arrived close to a month before and likely as peaceful as it would be for the foreseeable future.
Once he stabled the mare at the post stable, he made his way across the courtyard to the building that held his “official” study. As he stepped through the door, he looked to the duty squad leader. “Any dispatches from Solis?”
“No, sir. No dispatches from anywhere.”
That was good, given that almost any dispatch at the moment would have brought bad news. “Thank you.”
Then he went to find Skarpa. The regimental commander was alone in the post commander’s study.
“Any problems I should know about?” asked Quaeryt, closing the door behind himself.
The commander smiled sardonically. “There are always problems in a regiment. None of them are large enough to involve you. Some rowdy troopers last night, but not in the Pharsi part of the city, and our patrols caught them before the Civic Patrol did.”
Quaeryt hadn’t realized that Pharyl had begun night patrols, but the fact that he didn’t even know was good.
“The other problem is that we’ve had more than a score of mounts dropping or br
eaking shoes in the last week.”
“You think the farrier in Tilbora had a bad batch of shoes? Or could it be all the riding through the ash here?”
Skarpa shrugged. “Who can tell? The farrier here looks to be good, and we’ve gotten the ailing horses all re-shod. A couple will need a few days of rest.”
“Have you picked up any recruits?”
“A handful. I gave them to Meinyt. He’s good at training them. A few seemed better suited to the Civic Patrol, and I sent them to Hrehn.”
“We can use some good ones.”
“Can’t we all?” Skarpa paused. “I heard you had to let that little idiot nephew of the High Holder up in Ilyum loose.”
“No one could prove anything except that he followed his brother and that he resisted custody. The High Holder is married to Bhayar’s favorite cousin, and he sent an advocate. Guilty as the nephew likely was, there was no way to prove it, and I didn’t see much benefit in gaoling him longer and branding him. He and his ‘uncle’ will be angry enough as it is, especially since Hyleor’s guilty of worse, even if half of it’s not strictly against the laws, and the other half without evidence to prove it. Everyone seems to think he’s not worth the firewood to send him to the Nameless.”
Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio Page 33