Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Don’t envy you, sir. In some ways, fighting the Bovarians might be easier than putting Extela back together.”

  Quaeryt laughed. “You might be right … except more people get killed in battle.” A lot more. As he’d discovered, even imagers with shields could get wounded … and if that one quarrel had been just a bit higher and hit his neck, even his shields wouldn’t have saved him. Then again, his shields were better now, but he still couldn’t hold them against constant attacks for a long time.

  “That may be, sir, but you can win battles. There’s no way you can win in putting a city back together. There’s always more to do, and always someone unhappy.”

  Quaeryt nodded. He hadn’t exactly thought of it in that way. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, either.

  When he finished with Skarpa, Quaeryt headed out to the courtyard to brief the captain who had the supply duty. He’d decided that the troopers should not make any statements about if or when they might be back to sell flour. They were only to say that any decision on selling more flour was up to the governor. And once the company and wagons had left the post, Quaeryt needed to check with Major Heireg about the situation with supplies and what needed to go with the regiment when it left for Ferravyl.

  After that, amid everything else, he still had to come up with another homily before services on Solayi evening.

  43

  Quaeryt woke up tired on Lundi morning, but relieved that he’d managed to deliver another homily on Solayi evening … and one that stayed within the bounds of what he’d heard and studied about the Nameless and his own conscience. He needed to find a chorister for the post, but the problem there was simple. While there were enough believers to support the anomen when a full regiment was in residence, that certainly wasn’t the case most of the time, and with the state of the province’s finances, he didn’t like the idea of committing golds, or even silvers, to maintaining an anomen that was poorly attended most of the year. That was no doubt why it had been locked and unused when he and the regiment had arrived.

  Quaeryt left for the post right after breakfast, knowing that despite the light misty drizzle that enshrouded Extela, Vaelora would be shopping to see what other items she could find for the villa … those most needed, since it would take months, if not years, not to mention more golds than Quaeryt wanted to think about, in order to finish refurbishing the old dwelling.

  When Quaeryt reached the post and made his way to his study, he found Pharyl waiting for him in the corridor. “Good morning, Governor.”

  “Good morning, Chief.” Quaeryt gestured for the older officer to enter the study first. “Is your visit because of a problem or just to keep me informed?” He tried to keep his tone lightly ironic as he closed the door and took his seat.

  “Just to keep you informed. I take it that Commander Skarpa told you that he referred several young men to me as possible recruits?”

  “He did.”

  “They were quite suitable, all but one. When they discovered that the leadership of the patrol had changed, they suggested that others might well wish to become patrollers. We’ve had several more inquiries, and recruiting looks promising.”

  “Good.”

  “The work on the station is completed. It’s rough in places, but I can have some of the recruits work on fixing up the small things as part of their training. I’d thought to schedule justicer hearings on Mardi and Jeudi mornings at eighth glass, as necessary. I wanted to check with you first, though.”

  “That sounds fine. Until I can find a true justicer, I’ll handle them, but upon occasion, we may have to change the day or time.”

  “I thought that might be the case.”

  “Do you have any offenders that need a hearing?”

  “Ah … not really, sir.”

  Quaeryt smiled. “A few disorderly types that you just wanted to lock up for a time and then quietly release?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve started some night patrols, and as we complete more training and retraining, we’ll be putting more men on the streets at night. I don’t think we’ll be able to cover much in the time between midnight and fifth glass … I’ve also asked around, and so has Captain Hrehn, about those factors … the ones whose names were on the list you gave me.”

  “Have you found out anything?”

  Pharyl laughed, half humorously, half ironically. “Sometimes what you don’t find out tells you more than what you do. Paulam … he’s really a renderer who calls himself a factor, but a few people who reneged on deals with him had difficulties or accidents. Assoul and Dyetryn take advantage of those who have no options. No one seems to know much about Thaltyn. Aerambyr … who knows? They say he’s tough in dealings, but fair. The way they say it, I have my doubts. Then … there’s Lysienk.”

  “What about him?”

  “That’s what I was talking about. He has a place out west, not that far from the new governor’s residence. Not small, but not too big … but it has high brick walls all around it, and there are guards and dogs inside the walls all the time. Whatever he factors, he handles from there, in a separate building. The thing is, outside of finding out those few things … no one wants to say anything … nothing at all. They know more. They won’t say anything.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “Just keep listening. Anything else?”

  “Just small details … those Pharsi women … they watch every patrol.…”

  Quaeryt listened quietly and intently, pleased that Pharyl had been able to accomplish so much so quickly. He had no doubt that Hrehn had been part of the reason as well.

  Pharyl had not been gone from the study more than a quint or so when the duty messenger knocked on the door. “There’s a chorister here to see you, Governor.”

  “Send him in.” Why would a chorister be here to see me?

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shortly, the study door opened, and Quaeryt immediately stood.

  A trim white-haired man in a dark gray jacket, matching trousers, and polished boots stepped inside. He did wear a short version of the black and white chorister’s scarf. “Governor Quaeryt, I’m Chorister Siemprit.” His smile was wide and cheerful.

  “It’s good to see you, chorister. Please sit down.” Out of respect, Quaeryt remained standing until the older man had seated himself, then settled himself behind the table desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “Since my anomen is not too far from here, I thought I should introduce myself.”

  “Where is your anomen?” asked Quaeryt politely.

  “To the west, off the western boulevard. It’s only about three blocks farther west from where you’ve established the new governor’s residence. That was one of my purposes in calling on you—to invite you to join us. When you can, of course. I understand that you and your wife have many demands upon your time.”

  “It has been rather busy since we arrived,” Quaeryt temporized, doubting that a mere invitation to worship was the only reason for the chorister’s appearance. “There was the need to reestablish order and provide food.”

  “Your immediate generosity to the poor was welcome and most necessary.” Siemprit frowned slightly. “I did wonder why you required the poor to pay for flour and potatoes so soon…”

  “We didn’t for the first few times, as you may know. Then we set the price at what it had been before the eruption.”

  “Many could not pay that.”

  “We were not strict. We provided flour to many for far less.”

  “Still…”

  “Chorister … unlike some governors, I am not a wealthy man. Nor was there much left in the provincial treasury. Nor, with Rex Kharst threatening from the west, does Lord Bhayar have golds to spare.”

  “I suppose that is true…” Siemprit sighed. “It is always a matter of coins, one way or the other. I see you were trained as a scholar, Governor. I did not realize you also were a chorister. Where did you study the ways and works of the Nameless?�
��

  Quaeryt smiled ruefully. “Where I could, chorister.”

  “I’m told that you are very accomplished in explicating the ways of the Nameless.”

  “I do what I can.”

  “Being a governor and trying to restore order to Extela must take a great deal of your time. Yet you are acting as a chorister. Did you ever consider hiring a chorister from Extela?”

  “In time, if it is necessary, I certainly will.”

  “I’m surprised that you haven’t already. You seem to have accomplished a great deal in the time you have been here. Surely, hiring a chorister would not take that much effort…”

  “Hiring a chorister probably wouldn’t. Finding one suited to addressing a regiment might well take time.”

  “Your words suggest that you believe the Nameless regards soldiers differently from others.”

  “I doubt that the Nameless makes any such distinction, chorister,” assuming that there even is a Nameless. “The distinction lies in the ways of making the Nameless and what is required by adhering to the doctrines of the Nameless relevant and directly applicable to soldiers.”

  “You’re suggesting that soldiers are a breed apart.”

  “You don’t think they are, chorister? How many men have you killed in your life? How many of them were likely guilty of only serving a different worldly master?”

  “How many have you killed, Governor?” countered Siemprit.

  “I didn’t try to keep count, not after the first battles of the revolt in Tilbor.”

  Siemprit’s forehead screwed up into a frown. “You’re a scholar.”

  “That may be, but at the time I was a scholar advisor to the military governor, and I was ordered into combat.” That wasn’t technically true, because Quaeryt had only been ordered to accompany the regiment into battle, but he’d discovered that the only way to obey that order and survive had been to fight.

  “Oh…” After the slightest pause, the chorister went on. “I hadn’t realized you had also been an officer, as well as a scholar, and princeps of Tilbor. Most princepses come from a factoring background, those that aren’t High Holders, that is.”

  Quaeryt had not been an officer, but because he’d been accorded that status and had men assigned to obey him, he didn’t correct Siemprit. “Did you have a recommendation for a chorister here?” There wasn’t any point in not asking, and it just might defuse some of the chorister’s not-so-veiled polite hostility.

  “My assistant, Neoryn, would make a most capable chorister.”

  “That is good to know, and I appreciate your bringing his name to my attention. Once we get matters here more settled, I’ll have to meet him.”

  “I trust that will not be too long, Governor.”

  “No more than a few weeks, chorister.” Quaeryt rose. “I do appreciate your coming to see me.”

  “And I appreciate your courtesy in hearing me out.”

  Once Siemprit had left, the door closed behind him, Quaeryt took a deep breath. It seems as though no one likes what you’re doing, and everyone wants something. He knew he was overreacting, but that was the way he felt.

  He was still wondering if—and when—he should see the junior chorister when there was another knock on the study door.

  “Yes?”

  “Some documents for you, sir, it looks like.”

  “Bring them in.”

  “Yes, sir.” The door opened, and the duty squad leader stepped in and handed Quaeryt an overlarge envelope, one that clearly contained a number of pages within it, then quickly slipped out before Quaeryt could even say “Thank you.”

  He opened the envelope and immediately read the short missive on top of the more than ten sheets beneath.

  Governor—

  The attached brief details a practice of the High Holders of Aramyn, dealing with unlawful water diversions, contrary to common law, established practices, and prior agreements, and seeks redress and damages commensurate with the injuries suffered by the plaintiffs. In keeping with the legal customs of Telaryn, I am lodging this brief with you, as acting high justicer of Montagne, for either your judgment or your referral, as you see fit, according to precedent and practice …

  The signature was that of Caesyt Klaesyn.

  Quaeryt took a deep breath and began to read. After struggling through the nine long pages, far more abstruse than any scholarly treatise he had ever read, he set the brief back on the desk and massaged his forehead. What did you do to deserve this?

  From what he could decipher, the local holders of the lands bordering those of Aramyn claimed that the High Holder and his father had both made the practice of diverting more of the water from the stream, identified as Minawa Creek, than was theirs by right to divert, and that they had left insufficient water in the creek for the downstream users to irrigate their lands and crops.

  Quaeryt had no idea what to do—except pay a visit to former high justicer Aextyl and ask for his advice and counsel. He didn’t even know how soon he had to act and whether he had to give notification to Aramyn and in what form, if he did—or if the so-called brief was a legal bluff of some sort.

  He did have the idea that Advocate Caesyt, having seen Quaeryt make an immediate decision in the case involving Vhalsyr, believed the evidence was on his side and was trying to get an immediate judgment on this issue as well.

  Less than a quint later, Quaeryt was riding the mare northwest to the dwelling of the former justicer, with the document he’d received and Ekyrd’s treatise in one of his saddlebags. While the drizzle had stopped, the sky was still overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining. He didn’t see the sad-faced hound, either. After reaching Aextyl’s house, he had not even tied the mare to the hitching ring when the front door opened, and the justicer’s daughter stood there.

  “He can’t be a justicer, Governor. You’ll kill him if you insist.”

  “I won’t insist. I’m just here for his advice … and to return the book I borrowed.” Quaeryt walked up the steps, carrying the book and the brief and leaving the pair of rankers mounted and waiting. “Might I see him?”

  The woman nodded, sadly. “He’s reading in the study.” She turned and led him through the small entry hall and down the hallway. “The governor is here, Father.”

  “I thought he’d be back.” There was a laugh.

  Quaeryt eased his way into the study and closed the door.

  “Good morning, Governor.” Aextyl gestured to the straight-backed chair.

  “I wanted to return this”—Quaeryt lifted the maroon-bound book—“and to ask you to read something and offer your opinion. I won’t ask you to read it as a favor. I’ll pay for your time.”

  “I just might take you up on that. Times aren’t what they used to be. You can keep the book as long as you need it.”

  Quaeryt extended the sheets, then sat back and waited.

  Almost a quint passed before Aextyl looked up. “Slimy ball of offal. You don’t have any final jurisdiction on this, not as a governor or even as an acting provincial high justicer. Any petition or brief involving the rights of a High Holder has to be decided by the High Justicer of Telaryn, who must be a High Holder.”

  “Good—”

  “But,” the old justicer went on, “you have to write an opinion on the brief, and whatever Aramyn submits in rebuttal, and offer a recommendation.”

  “I could certainly write something, but it wouldn’t be phrased correctly.”

  Aextyl smiled. “That’s what Caesyt is counting on.”

  “What if I draft what I think, and you redraft it in the proper form? Would two golds be a fair payment?”

  “More than fair, Governor, and I’d be happy to do that.”

  “There’s one other thing. Don’t I have to have a hearing and announce my decision or referral or whatever?”

  “You do.”

  “Could I persuade you, for another gold, to sit beside me and advise me on anything that comes up? Caesyt knows I’m no advocate or justicer. I�
��ll act as justicer, but I’d have someone come and get you, pay you, and return you here.”

  “Just advise you?” Aextyl’s tone was somewhere between doubtful and weary.

  “I’ve already used the treatise to get through four hearings, but I don’t trust Caesyt.”

  “You shouldn’t. He’s slimier than an eel, and more disgusting than hog offal in midsummer … like I said before.”

  Quaeryt didn’t want to press the old justicer. “I won’t ask for your decision on advising me in the hearing now. I’d like you to think about it, but I do want your expertise in redrafting my opinion.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Is there any time period in which I have to respond?”

  “No, but it’s considered bad form and will discredit your opinion if you take longer than a month.”

  “Don’t I have to inform High Holder Aramyn?”

  “Caesyt’s supposed to, but you should check with Aramyn. You’ll have to wait for his reply.”

  Another problem that may drag on.

  “Knowing Aramyn, you won’t wait long—if Caesyt notified him. I wouldn’t put it past him not to.”

  “Wouldn’t that prejudice the case?”

  “It should, but Caesyt just might want to discredit you as well.”

  Quaeryt had already thought about that. He nodded. “I think I’ll be riding out to see High Holder Aramyn.”

  Aextyl smiled wearily. “I’ll wait on your draft, Governor.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt stood. “I do appreciate it.”

  “I appreciate your consideration in asking my opinion, Governor.”

  “I respect your knowledge, sir.”

  “You’re one of the few who does, these days.”

  Quaeryt slipped a gold from his wallet and laid it on the desk. “That, I trust, is sufficient to cover your time and expertise today.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  “But I do. You’ve already kept me from making a terrible mistake.” Quaeryt smiled, started to turn, then stopped. “Oh … you mentioned that I should be careful in dealing with a Factor Lysienk. What can you tell me about him?”