Aextyl frowned. “I can’t say that I know that much. He arrived in Extela only about a year before I stepped down. He seemed to have golds, enough to buy the place he did, and then build a high wall around it. He supplied goods of various sorts to Scythn and others, claimed that he had the best produce, among other things. It seemed to me that people were always wary about saying anything about him. Oh … and he always rides with four bodyguards.” The older justicer shrugged. “I never met him, but when an outsider gets that kind of wealth and influence that quickly … and when he feels he needs guards, it usually suggests the less than savory. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I know.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded again, then made his way from the study, quietly closing the door behind him.
“You didn’t ask him to be a justicer, did you?” asked the daughter, waiting in the narrow hall.
“No. I asked if I could pay him two golds to redraft an opinion correctly and if he would advise me on handling a hearing over water rights, I’d pay him more for the advice.”
“Two golds?”
“I hope that’s not unfair…”
The daughter laughed bitterly. “No. You’re being more than fair, Governor. Unlike some.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of him, but I do need his knowledge and expertise.”
“He’ll be happy that you do.”
Quaeryt hoped so. He nodded politely and made his way down to the hitching ring, untied the mare, and mounted. A quick glance to the northwest revealed no change around or in the air above Mount Extel.
The ride to Aramyn’s holding took almost a glass, and when he stepped into the entry of the hold house, the High Holder met him with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Governor, I’m surprised to see you.”
Quaeryt managed a laugh. “Unfortunately, that’s not good. You shouldn’t be. I thought you might be expecting me.”
Aramyn frowned. “Oh?”
“I received a brief, a complaint this morning. It concerns you.” Quaeryt handed the sheets to the High Holder. “Have you seen this?”
“A brief? Would you mind if I took a moment and read through this?”
“Not at all. That’s why I’m here.”
“Let us go to the study, then.”
Quaeryt followed the High Holder down the corridor and then into the chamber he only vaguely remembered, and mainly for the expanse of goldenwood bookshelves. Aramyn gestured to the chairs before the desk, taking one himself.
Quaeryt took another.
Aramyn read the first page slowly, the second page less so, and then skimmed through the remaining pages. “Would you wait just a moment, Governor?”
“Certainly.”
Aramyn stood, set the brief on the desk, and walked to a wall cabinet, which he opened. There he looked through several stacks of paper before extracting a sheaf of papers before closing the cabinet and moving to the desk. Standing there, he glanced at the first page of the papers Quaeryt had provided, then studied those he had taken from the cabinet. He repeated the process with each page before finishing and looking at Quaeryt.
“This complaint against me is almost identical to one filed by Caesyt two years ago, with one exception. There might be other little changes, but it looks to be the same. The only significant difference I see immediately is a clause alleging that the eruption has resulted in measurable and significant effects on water runoff and stream flows. He’s using that as a basis for petitioning for a change in the decision handed down in Solis.”
Quaeryt managed not to swallow. He hadn’t caught that. He wondered if that were buried somewhere or so carefully disguised that he hadn’t recognized it. “Could you point out that clause?”
Aramyn did—near the top of the second page.
Quaeryt read part of the wordage.
Insomuch as recent geological events have impacted precipitation events and prevailing riverine flow patterns, the party of the second part asserts that any and all past judgments made on the distribution of such riverine allocations be reviewed in light of such recent impacts …
That was it. There was no direct mention of a previous hearing, or conflict or any sort of judgment.
“He wanted to sneak that by you, and he didn’t send me a copy. He thought you might not inform me. That way he might get a favorable recommendation from you, and a reversal of the earlier decision. Even if he didn’t, he could argue that your failure to follow procedures biased his claim.” Aramyn snorted.
“I’ll need your rebuttal.”
“You’ll have it in the next day or so. I have to travel to Montagne on a family matter, but I’ll get it to you before I depart.” He shook his head. “Thank you for letting me know. I do appreciate it.”
“Do you need a copy…”
Aramyn shook his head. “But let me compare this to the original. Except for that one section, they look to be word for word. I will copy that one part.”
In the end, Aramyn had to copy three paragraphs where matters changed, and it was close to fourth glass before Quaeryt left the holding, headed back to Extela and the villa. He was well away from Aramyn’s before he realized that he’d meant to ask the High Holder about Lysienk, and it was late enough in the day that he wasn’t about to ride back. Besides, he’d have other opportunities.
44
Quaeryt was quietly busy on Mardi, and he managed to deal with a number of minor problems, including straightening out the bookkeeping on payments to Gahlen, High Holder Wystgahl, the younger, and making sure that the offerings from the anomen were tracked in a separate ledger, as well as kept in a separate chest in the strong room so that they would be there when Vaelora had time to deal with the next distribution of them to the poor women of Extela. Major Dhaeryn offered a quick report on the ongoing repairs to the east river bridge—which was taking longer than the head engineer had planned, in part because of the difficulty in extracting the red volcanic clay needed for the underwater concrete used to repair the bridge pylons.
Without having to hold hearings at the Civic Patrol station, for which he was grateful, Quaeryt could also take time to reread the dense document from Caesyt several times, until he thought he had a better understanding of the issues.
Although it was two days past the fifteenth of Avryl, no message had arrived from Bhayar ordering Third Regiment to depart for Ferravyl, but Quaeryt was aware such an order could now arrive at any time. He hoped it would not come soon, given how much he was still relying on Skarpa and Third Regiment, especially the engineers.
The rest of the day was as quietly busy as the beginning, and Quaeryt was more than ready to retreat from the post to the villa, where Vaelora was pleased to inform him that she had located a matching settee and chair for the salon—which would, of course, require the use of a wagon to transport from the shop in Extela to the villa.
Still … it was pleasant to eat with just Vaelora and to linger over the evening meal that was neither bland nor overcooked … and the quiet of the villa was welcome as well. He also had to admit, if only to himself, that he was definitely enjoying the larger bed and the privacy of their own dwelling, governor’s residence or not.
Shortly after eighth glass on Meredi morning a messenger arrived at the post and delivered Aramyn’s rebuttal to Ceasyt’s petition, and Quaeryt immediately read it. He ended up going through both the original petition and the rebuttal several times before he began to write his recommendation to the High Justicer in Solis, a recommendation he suspected Aextyl would have to rewrite considerably.
By just before the third glass of the afternoon, he had finished his final draft and was riding back out to Aextyl’s dwelling. Several men and women on the avenue waved to him, and he inclined his head in return.
Even Aextyl’s daughter greeted him with a cheerful, “Good afternoon,” when she opened the door to let him into the justicer’s dwelling.
The old justicer smiled warmly, as well, when Quaeryt entered the sm
all study. “It’s good to see you, Governor.”
“It’s even better to see you.” Quaeryt set the stack of three papers on the study desk. “The short document on top is my draft recommendation. Beneath that is Aramyn’s rebuttal, and beneath that is Caesyt’s petition. Caesyt did not inform Aramyn. I did not put that in my draft, because I didn’t know whether that was legally applicable, based on what you told me on Lundi.”
“It’s a common courtesy, but it’s not required. It is required that you assure that Aramyn is notified, which his brief will substantiate that you have done. You will need copies of both the brief and the rebuttal to be sent to Solis with your recommendation.”
“I hope asking you to redraft my recommendation isn’t too much of an imposition.”
“Nonsense. It’s good to have something productive and useful to do.”
Quaeryt eased the two golds onto the desk. “If you think your work is worth more…”
Aextyl laughed. “You’re overpaying me, but I’m glad to take it. I would judge I’ll be finished by midday tomorrow, but give me until third glass, just in case.”
“I can do that. If I schedule a hearing for eighth glass next Mardi, would you be willing to come an advise me?”
“If I’m feeling well … and I should be.”
“I would appreciate it. You know how I feel about Advocate Caesyt.”
“I felt the same way when I was high justicer. I can’t imagine his presence is any more pleasant these days.”
Quaeryt stepped back and inclined his head. “Then … here, tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’m not likely to be anywhere else,” replied Aextyl cheerily.
Quaeryt made his way to the entry hall, where the justicer’s narrow-faced daughter stood, waiting.
“Thank you … Governor.” Her voice was low.
“Thank me? He’s the one helping me.”
She smiled softly. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. He misses being a justicer.”
Quaeryt thought he understood. Aextyl was too frail in body to remain a justicer, and too alert in mind not to suffer the loss of being one. “I’ll be relying on his advice so long as he’s willing to provide it.”
“As long as he can, he’ll appreciate being able to do so.”
Left unspoken, Quaeryt thought, was the daughter’s appreciation of the fees Aextyl received for that advice … but that was fine with him. After a parting smile, he stepped out into the gusty wind that had appeared from nowhere and untied the mare. He glanced northward toward Mount Extel, but while he could not see the truncated peak because of the trees, the sky appeared clear of ash or the waviness of hot air.
He mounted quickly and turned the mare back toward the post.
45
Quaeryt and Vaelora sat at the table in the private dining chamber, eating breakfast. Quaeryt was enjoying a puffy almond pastry and sipping truly hot tea when Vaelora, who had appeared pensive since before the two had seated themselves, set down her cup and looked at her husband.
“Dearest … I’m worried.”
“So am I … about quite a number of things. So are you. This sounds like a specific worry. What is it?”
“We’ve been here a month, and we haven’t received a single invitation to dine anywhere.”
Quaeryt managed not to laugh or grin … barely. No invitations to dine when a quarter of the city had been buried in lava and ash? When he’d had to detail troopers to patrol the streets to restore a semblance of order. “We’ve only been here a month, and for the first few weeks, I doubt anyone was hosting dinners.”
“Shenna tells me that there have been a number of dinners. We should have been invited. We weren’t.”
“It could be that you’re being snubbed because you married a scholar,” suggested Quaeryt.
“A scholar who is a governor and who has been a princeps … and who’s wed to the sister of Lord Bhayar,” Vaelora replied. “This is where I was born. It’s not right.”
“Grelyana, you think? Should we have pushed as we did on the furnishings?”
Vaelora tilted her head. “I wouldn’t think so … but…”
“Why don’t you see if Shenna can find out?”
Vaelora laughed softly. “She’s been trying, but it’s not something anyone’s talking about, and there are only a few people she can ask directly.”
Quaeryt nodded and took the last sips of his tea. Even after working in the Telaryn Palace as a scholar and then as princeps, he’d never realized just how complicated being a provincial governor would be, especially in a partly destroyed city.
Although it was Jeudi morning, there were no hearings scheduled, and Quaeryt didn’t rush in riding to the post. He did have the feeling that it wouldn’t be long before his Mardi and Jeudi mornings, if not part of the afternoons on those days, would be taken by hearings … at least until he could find an honest justicer. And that was another task he needed to get on with. He did enjoy the ride, since the air was warm, if slightly damp, and the trees were beginning to leaf beyond mere buds, and even a few early flowers were peering out.
He glanced to Mount Extel, but the peak showed no signs of throwing out ash or even hot gases, and that was good.
After he arrived at the post, he went looking for Pharyl because he wanted to talk to the Civic Patrol chief about scheduling the hearing on Caesyt’s petition, but Pharyl was already on his way to the Civic Patrol station. So he stopped to see Skarpa.
The commander looked up from what appeared to be a sheaf of papers containing rosters. “Haven’t seen you around much lately, sir.”
“I’ve been around … more places than I’d like at times and then spending more time than I’d ever thought likely on various things I never thought I’d have to deal with—from buying a governor’s residence to acting as a justicer … and a supply quartermaster for the poor.”
“That seafaring background still shows through.”
“Oh…”
“For cavalry and foot, a quartermaster is supply. A supply quartermaster is redundant.”
“Whereas for those of us who’ve trod the pearly deep, or some such, a quartermaster is a navigator. Old habits die hard.” Quaeryt smiled, then asked, “How are the night patrols going?”
“We haven’t had any more trouble, but the squad leaders are reporting that they’re being watched, especially in the areas where the Civic Patrol isn’t going yet.”
“That will mean trouble for Pharyl once you leave for Ferravyl.”
“Have you heard anything new?” asked Skarpa.
“Not yet.” That was more a courtesy, reflected Quaeryt, because Skarpa would have known the moment a dispatch rider came through the post gates. So should the post commander.
Quaeryt frowned. “Have you seen Commander Zhrensyl lately?” Since he and Vaelora had left the officers’ quarters for the villa and were no longer eating at the officers’ mess, he couldn’t recall seeing the older commander at all.
“He’s around, but he avoids me.”
“He’s the one who offered his study to you, isn’t he?”
Skarpa nodded. “He’s only got five months before he can take a stipend. He doesn’t want any sort of trouble … and you asked him a lot of hard questions.”
“So far as I could tell, he did almost nothing.”
“True … but in his defense, he had next to nothing to do it with. He doesn’t even have a full company left here. Half his men were killed because they were stationed at the old palace or around the governor’s square.”
Maybe you were too hard on him. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Governor … you don’t have to say much. The men follow you because they can tell you’ll put yourself out on the line. They can also tell that you’re not one to tolerate shiftlessness. Maybe it’s because you’re a scholar, but it’s like it’s written all over you.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “Not always.”
“No … you can be as inscrutable as a blank slat
e. You always were with Marshal Rescalyn. Sometimes you’re like Artiema and sometimes like Erion. I think that bothered Rescalyn a lot.”
After discussing how to organize the regiment’s departure, either in mid-Mayas or when the order came, Quaeryt left Skarpa, still pondering about the commander’s comparison of him to one moon and then the other—the open pearly warmth of Artiema and the reddish imperviousness of Erion, the great hunter.
He’d have to ask Vaelora about that.
Pushing that thought aside, he went to see how Jhalyt and Baharyt were coming with the restructuring of the tariff collections and the reassignments of the tariff collectors. Then he needed to check with Major Heireg on supply questions. What with one thing and another, the day slipped way, until it was close to third glass.
Quaeryt saddled the mare himself, then rode out to Aextyl’s dwelling, arriving some two quints before fourth glass, dismounting so quickly that he almost tripped over his bad leg before going out of his way to pet the sad-faced hound, who rewarded him with a few wags of the tail. Then he made his way to the small entry porch, where the justicer’s daughter opened the door with a smile.
“Good day, Lady,” he responded.
“It is, indeed.” She gestured.
Quaeryt hurried back to the study.
Aextyl waved Quaeryt to the chair. “You write well, Governor. Too well for a justicer or an advocate. Every word is chosen with little ambiguity, except, unhappily, over the years justicers and advocates have determined that all too many of the words that have no ambiguity or ambivalence in everyday usage do indeed have such when employed in legal documentation. So I have turned your apparently clear recommendation—one that justicers would find less than convincingly so—into one that seems far less lucid, but which should convey a single meaning to the high justicer.”
Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile. “Is there any time period I need to wait before holding the hearing?”
Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio Page 35