Quaeryt entered his study, closed the door, and opened the envelope, wondering who could have sent it and what it contained.
Dear Governor,
In view of your kindnesses to my father, I thought you would like to know that he died in his sleep last night after a cheerful dinner. He spoke well of you …
The signature was that of Birgyt Aextyldyr.
Quaeryt realized, belatedly, that he’d never known Aextyl’s daughter’s given name, for all the times that he’d visited the house. He shook his head, then walked back out to the courtyard.
Given how far the mare had already carried him, he requested another mount and ended up on a gray gelding with two rankers he did not recognize as his escort.
When he reached Aextyl’s dwelling, he left the gelding with the rankers. He started toward the door, then paused. The sad-faced hound lay on the ground, unmoving. He stepped toward, and saw the eyes move, but nothing else. He eased toward the dog, then stroked its head. The hound gave only the faintest whine and did not move.
“I’m sorry, too, friend.” Quaeryt stroked the dog a last time, then rose and hurried to the door, where he knocked.
A man Quaeryt did not recognize opened the door. “I’m sorry, but we’re not receiving…”
“That’s the Governor, Caxtyl.”
“Oh … I’m sorry, sir.” Caxtyl stepped back.
Behind him, in the small entry hall, stood Aextyl’s daughter.
Quaeryt stepped inside and inclined his head to Birgyt. “Thank you for your message. I am so sorry…”
“It wasn’t your fault, Governor. He was so frail he could have died at any time. He went to sleep happy last night. He did appreciate what you did, because it redeemed him in his own mind.”
“He was so helpful and knowledgeable. I wouldn’t have asked him … had I known he was so weak, but he seemed strong enough when we began the hearing.” Quaeryt shook his head. “It was a short hearing, and as soon as it was over, I saw he was tired, and I walked with him to the wagon…”
“Governor, he was a justicer. You let him be one again. He was happy.” Birgyt looked to Caxtyl, who bore a passing resemblance to both Aextyl and Birgyt.
Caxtyl nodded.
“I would have come sooner, but I was in Mynawal. I did not receive your message until I returned.” He paused. “If there is anything I can do…”
“Governor, many people say that when it is too late. You did something he dearly appreciated before then. You should have heard him talk about the hearing last night.” Birgyt offered a sad smile. “Thank you.”
“I will not take more of your time, but I wanted to express my sympathy and concern.” Quaeryt inclined his head again.
“It is appreciated, Governor. Thank you.”
Quaeryt stepped back, then slipped back out the door. It closed slowly and quietly. He turned and walked to the gelding.
He just hoped Aextyl had died as peacefully as his daughter believed.
You’ve killed the just and the unjust in the same day. But he hadn’t meant to kill the one, and the other should have died far sooner. What does that all mean?
At that moment, Quaeryt couldn’t have said.
50
By late afternoon on Vendrei, Quaeryt had to admit that he was tired. He’d ridden through Extela on several occasions over the past two days with Ghaelt, the post engineer, looking at buildings and locations, before finally deciding on building a new structure on an empty lot a mille north of the post. Obtaining the land had cost another fifty golds from the treasury, but the plot was close to the existing sewers and aqueduct extensions, and Dhaeryn and Ghaelt had set to work on drawing up plans. Quaeryt had also spent glass after glass going over the tariff listings. When he had noted that some of the factors he’d come in contact with, such as Hyleor and Lysienk, weren’t even listed, he sent Baharyt out with the task of walking the main streets of Extela and jotting down every shop and factorage. That would mean, when the clerk finished, that Quaeryt and Jhalyt would have to go back and check the tariff listings against Baharyt’s list. It would also likely result in greater tariff collections.
Quaeryt hadn’t heard from Bieryn, either, and didn’t expect to until the following week, but he admitted to himself that he’d hoped he would. Pharyl had reported another ten recruits were undergoing training as potential civic patrollers, and the number of evening patrols had increased by two. Even so, it wasn’t likely that full evening patrols would be possible until late summer or early harvest.
No one had contacted him about Lysienk or even mentioned the factor’s name again, except Shenna. Quaeryt had told her to wait to hear from the factor for several days, and if she didn’t, to pursue other suppliers and factors. On Vendrei morning, Shenna reported to Vaelora and Quaeryt, just before he had left for the post, that Lysienk had died on a morning ride, and that his wife was selling off everything that she could.
Quaeryt leaned back in the chair inside the small post study, reflecting that it would be good to have a place where he could actually feel as though he was the governor, but, he reminded himself, he’d essentially had to rebuild not only parts of the city, but most of the provincial governing structure, and he was still a long ways from completing that task.
“Governor?”
“Yes?”
“Justicer Tharyn here to see you.”
Tharyn was one of the last people Quaeryt wanted to see, but he forced a cheerful tone into his voice. “Have him come in.”
When Tharyn stepped into the small study, Quaeryt motioned him to a chair. “Good afternoon, Tharyn. What can I do for you?”
“Governor, I noticed that you are still acting as justicer.”
“For the time being.”
“I also heard that High Justicer Aextyl was helping you, and he died right after.”
“High Justicer Aextyl had been in frail health for some time. That was why I did not consider him as a possible justicer. I did consult with him to make sure my decisions and recommendations were couched in the proper legal terms. I was very sad to learn of his death.”
“Other folks, maybe some in places like Solis, might not see it that way.”
“Oh?” Quaeryt kept his voice genial. “Justicer Aextyl was very helpful, and I was most careful not to tax his health. How would anyone think it otherwise?”
“There are always those who’d believe the worst, especially if those who didn’t receive the most favorable decisions … recommendations … wanted to cause trouble.”
“There are always those who want to cause trouble.” Quaeryt smiled, trying not to seem false, but fearing that he did. “I do appreciate your concerns. You’re being most thoughtful.”
“Thank you, Governor. I always try to be thoughtful … and grateful to those who give me reason to be grateful.”
“I’m certain you do.”
“Seeing as you haven’t yet decided on who you might be appointing as justicers here in Montagne, I just thought I’d stop by and see how you were coming on making those decisions. I mean, I know you’re looking for experience, and you’d likely be wanting those who know how things are, and wouldn’t be wanting to cause you difficulties.”
“That’s very true,” replied Quaeryt. “I am considering those very things, and I appreciate your bringing them to my attention.” He paused. “Who would you say the most effective advocates in Extela are?”
“Be depending on what you mean by effective, Governor. Advocate Warolyt, he’s been good at representing the High Holders around Extela. Advocate Caesyt … he’s kept many a poor man from being branded when he shouldn’t have been…”
Quaeryt listened for close to half a quint before Tharyn came to an end.
“… and that’s why I really think I could do you some good as a justicer, knowing like I do which advocates do what.”
“You make a very convincing case, Tharyn, and I’ll keep your words in mind when I finally make a decision.” And Quaeryt would … if not exactly in
the way that Tharyn might have hoped.
When Quaeryt finally reached the villa that evening, Vaelora greeted him as he stepped onto the portico, out of the light drizzle that had oozed out of the northwest and over Extela that afternoon.
“You look more cheerful,” observed Quaeryt.
“We finally got an invitation to a dinner.”
“Where?”
“High Holder Aramyn’s. It’s a week from tomorrow.” Vaelora paused. “We don’t have a coach or even a wagon.”
Quaeryt studied her face. “I take it that you have located a coach? Where?”
“Ah … there are two for sale, through the livery stable on the south avenue. The more … suitable one belonged to Factor Lysienk.”
Quaeryt nodded slowly. “Shenna had said his widow was selling many items.”
“She wishes to leave Extela. He had two coaches. She will keep but one.”
“What about a team?”
“Two grays come with the coach.”
“How much?”
“Thirty golds for coach and team.”
“I suppose we should purchase them.”
“Good. I already did. They will be here tomorrow.”
“You didn’t have to … A governor does deserve a coach.”
Vaelora smiled. “I know. I thought you, the treasury, more properly, could reimburse me.”
Quaeryt laughed ruefully. “What’s for dinner?”
“Stuffed fowl and sundry other accompaniments.”
“Sundry other?”
“Maize and mushroom stuffing, early asparagus, and lace-fried potatoes.”
“That will be good.” He extended his arm, and they walked across the portico and into the governor’s villa.
51
On Samedi morning, Quaeryt had been late getting to the post, not arriving until two quints past seventh glass. By ninth glass, Pharyl had sent him reports that some of the poor had gathered in the southwest market square and were complaining that the governor was no longer selling flour and potatoes … or even giving either to the very poorest. Quaeryt and Skarpa met, decided, and immediately dispatched several companies from Third Battalion.
Quaeryt thought about accompanying the troopers, then decided against it. His presence was more likely to incite those who were complaining than to calm them because they’d all be yelling that he had somehow betrayed them, and to keep order, even more force would be required.
Still, as he waited, Quaeryt couldn’t help but ponder about the situation in which he found himself. For far more than the first time, he wanted to shake his head. If he provided flour at a reasonable price for the poorer inhabitants of Extela, the factors and holders complained. If he didn’t, the poor complained.
He’d gotten the aqueduct and the east river bridge repaired. He’d re-formed the Civic Patrol and largely restored order. He’d recovered what was left of the treasury in order to pay the patrollers and to pay for the supplies needed to make the repairs. Except for the Pharsi women and a few others, it seemed as though, no matter what he did, someone was unhappy.
No wonder some governors find a way to pocket everything they can. Since they please no one, they might as well please themselves.
He pushed those thoughts aside because they wouldn’t help and took out the master ledger just to see how actual expenditures compared to what he’d estimated and how much was left in the provincial treasury.
Less than a quint later, before he’d finished his calculations, Skarpa knocked on the door and stepped inside.
“Thought you’d like to hear what happened.”
Quaeryt gestured to the chairs.
Skarpa smiled as he seated himself, a folder in his hand. “As soon as the companies appeared, the troublemakers slipped away. Pharyl’s patrollers nabbed a couple who had weapons, and I ordered Jusaph to have his company patrol the square for the next glass, and the others to sweep through the city. All the reports are that the shops are open, and nothing seems much different from any other market Samedi.”
“How long will it take not to have to use troopers?”
“Not too much longer, I’d guess. We barely had to show up. Pharyl’s whipping the Civic Patrol into better shape.”
“Still … we’ve been fortunate to have you here this long. Why do you think that is?” asked Quaeryt. “I’d have thought Bhayar would have ordered you to Ferravyl sooner.”
The commander shifted his weight in the chair and offered a slight frown before speaking. “I’d guess that he wants to leave Third Regiment as long as he can. He knows things can’t be settled in a month. But he’ll need us before we can do all that needs to be done here. That’s why you’re governor.”
“Go on,” suggested Quaeryt.
Skarpa shrugged. “I don’t claim to know much about governing, except it’s not often done well. The men who govern aren’t idiots, no matter what anyone says. That tells me that it’s not near as easy as it looks. There aren’t many who want good governors. Most want a governor who will help them. You’re not like that. I think Lord Bhayar wants you to clean up the place, but he doesn’t know how bad it got. No one would have dared to tell him. So he’s thinking that if you’ve got a regiment for a month or maybe two, you can take care of things. After that, sir, you’re on your own.”
“I’m getting that feeling.” Quaeryt paused. “Who’s likely to be the best officer here at the post for training? Once you depart, we’ll need more local troopers.”
“I’d try Undercaptain Shanyt. Came up the long way.”
“You already asked around, didn’t you?”
“Now, sir … would I be a decent commander if I didn’t learn the lay of the land?”
Quaeryt grinned, almost laughing at the mock innocence in Skarpa’s voice. Then he shook his head. “Thank you. And have you suggested to him that he start recruiting?”
“I think he might have lined up a score or so…”
Quaeryt was going to miss Skarpa, far more than he’d realized. “I appreciate that. We’ll need them.”
“He’s a good man. Make a good captain.”
In short, promote him, you idiot. “If you’d have your clerks draw up the papers … if you haven’t already.”
Skarpa extracted several sheets from the folder. “As a matter of fact, sir…”
“And there are several others there as well, I take it?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, sir.”
Quaeryt laughed.
After Skarpa had left, Quaeryt took a deep breath. He’d been kept out of more trouble by a few others—Skarpa, Aextyl, Pharyl, for starters—more times than he wanted to count, and some of those he’d lost or would soon lose. He just hoped he’d learned enough.
After finishing the discouraging business with the master ledger, he decided to take a break and try to come up with at least a few thoughts for a homily. He pushed away the nagging feeling that he should already have paid a visit to meet with Siemprit’s junior chorister.
What was the man’s name? Quaeryt struggled to recall, then nodded. Neoryn.
Next week. He’d get to it next week.
Then he tried to think about the homily.
More than two quints later, he finally came up with something, and when he finished, he looked down at the few sentences he had written.
A man I did not know long or well died this past week, but he was a man whom I respected, and who suffered because he was honest and he held to his principles. He was willing to help me up to the day of his death, and he saved me from making several mistakes …
His eyes strayed from the paper on the desk to the study window of the villa, still without hangings, out into the bedraggled remnants of what had once been a garden …
What else can you say?
After a time, he added a few more lines.
He agreed to help me because he thought it was right, not for the fame or fortune that had bypassed him. He will not be lauded, except by me and a few others. Nor will his name be praised
unto the generations, outside his family, yet I will remember and respect his dignity and honesty …
Quaeryt nodded. He needed more, but he had a good beginning for the homily.
52
The coach and team that Vaelora had purchased for the villa did arrive on Samedi afternoon, while Quaeryt was still at the post, but he had remembered and brought back the thirty golds to reimburse her. Outside of a scratch or two, the coach was in excellent condition, as were the matched grays … and on Solayi evening Quaeryt and Vaelora rode to the post in the carriage, where Quaeryt again conducted services.
Despite Quaeryt’s worries, Lundi and Mardi came and went with no more than the usual kinds of problems, with three comparatively routine hearings at the Civic Patrol station on Mardi. He did review the preliminary plans for the governor’s building and, based on discussions with Ghaelt and Dhaeryn, requested several changes.
Meredi morning, after checking for dispatches and meeting briefly with Pharyl, and then with Skarpa, he set out for the anomen west of the governor’s residence to meet, of necessity, with Neoryn, the junior chorister, if only to be able to claim that he had done so. He halfway hoped that Neoryn wasn’t even at the anomen.
That was not to be, Quaeryt could tell, almost as soon as he arrived at the anomen, a oblong and featureless domed structure, except for doors and windows, as were all anomens, built of the black stone that formed the walls of so many buildings in Extela. He’d barely tied the mare to one of the ornate iron hitching rings when two men, both wearing black and white choristers’ scarves, appeared on the wide front steps of the building, clearly waiting for him.
“I have no idea how long this will take,” Quaeryt told Venkyl, the senior of the two rankers who had been his escorts.
“We’ll be here, Governor.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt walked along the immaculate stone walkway to the anomen and then up the wide steps to meet the two. He smiled as warmly as he could. “Good morning, Chorister Siemprit. I told you I’d be here.”
Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio Page 39