Someone Arcolin hadn’t thought to visit. What else had he for-gotten?
“Captain Burek!” he called.
“Yes, sir?” Burek jogged across the inn yard.
“I’ve got a last visit to make here in town. Finish all this—” He waved at the yard where some men were still eating and others were packing up. “—and if I’m not back, start them on the road, ordinary pace. I’ll catch up.”
Paltis, the Duke’s factor, lived across the city; Arcolin rode, to save time, after assuring the innkeeper he would be back to pay any final charges. Paltis was enjoying his own breakfast when Arcolin was shown in.
“Captain Arcolin—it’s been several years! I heard you’d brought a single cohort down.”
“Did you hear that Duke Phelan is now the king of Lyonya?” Arcolin asked.
“That? A rumor, of course. Just because he hasn’t been here a couple of seasons—”
“No, it’s the truth. It happened a few tendays ago, not long before I started south.”
“How did he conquer it? Were you in the battle?”
“It wasn’t a battle.” Arcolin explained again how it had come about.
“What does this mean for his property?” Paltis asked. “Will he want to sell it? I’ve had offers. And who will pay the taxes?”
“The court of Tsaia has appointed me to take over his domain, with his blessing,” Arcolin said, handing over the relevant documents. Paltis bent over them, lips moving as he read. “I’m here to see you about our winter quarters. We will need some of the space this coming winter.”
Paltis looked up. “But—but I just told the Blues they were first on the list.”
“I believe, if you check the contract you had with Kieri, that our Company is always first on the list.”
“Yes, but—but you haven’t been here, and if he’s no longer the legitimate owner—”
Arcolin let his voice chill. “You’ve dealt with me before, as his senior captain; you have before you his word in his writing—and the authority of the Council in Tsaia—that I am now authorized to use any of his property as he himself would. I claim precedence to the winter quarters and if you wish to remain factor … you will comply. Else I’ll see a judicar this very hour.”
Paltis drooped, as Arcolin expected. “Maybe—maybe the Blues can squeeze into the other two-thirds.”
“In addition,” Arcolin said, “the Blues are not approved at all.”
“But they pay well,” Paltis said.
“They treat their wounded badly,” Arcolin said. “I will not have them mingling with my people.”
“Your people?”
“They are now,” Arcolin said. “And I intend to take care of them. Cancel whatever agreement you have with the Blues; tell them the owner’s back in the south and needs the space.”
“But—what about the rest of it—surely you want to lease some of it—”
“I’ll decide that later,” Arcolin said. “Our contract’s with Cortes Vonja—you can send me messages there, if you need to.”
“The Blues will be angry.” Paltis looked worried.
“Only if you tell them why I don’t want them. And surely you have more discretion than to tell them that, don’t you?” Arcolin put a little menace in his voice; the factor stepped back a pace.
“Of course I wouldn’t, Captain.”
“If you say what I told you, that the owner required the space, and your contract with the owner requires you to release it, they may be annoyed, but they won’t be angry with you. It’s in the contract; you’re a man of business; you hold to contracts.”
“Yes … that’s true. Well, then, what about renting to caravans for short-term in the summer? I’ve done that; they stay only a few days, on their way north or south, and they clean up after themselves.” Paltis looked at Arcolin, glanced away. “It covers the cost of a watchman, their fee does.”
Arcolin knew the Duke had allowed caravans to use the winter quarters during the campaign season. “You may do that for this season,” he said. “But no long-term contracts. I may require the space some years. Deposit the rental fees at Kavarthin & Sons, as usual.”
“I will,” Paltis said, bowing. “Of course I will.” Something about his tone made Arcolin doubt him.
Arcolin rode across the city, more familiar to him than Vérella, noticing the changes two years had brought. Though the market square stalls were open for business and traders cried their wares, he sensed tension, and few children played there, where they’d been always underfoot before.
He decided to pay a last visit to the banker’s—they opened when the market did—and ask his opinion of Paltis.
“Oh, Paltis is good enough of his type,” Fenin Kavarthin said. He offered Arcolin a mug of sib; courtesy required taking at least a sip. “He makes his profit from his commission, as I’m sure you know, and so he wants to lease to the wealthiest he can find. Brings in a trickle to the Duke—my apologies, Captain. To you now—after the tax the city takes, and his fee.”
“How often does he deposit here?”
“You’re doubting him, I see. I cannot help you, if you wonder whether he’s stealing from the Duke—from you. I never see the contracts; he keeps those. All I see is what he sends to the account. He leases for the entire winter season and I can expect a deposit for the reservation fee, then on arrival, the day before Midwinter Feast, and the Spring Evener. Summer leases are variable—some caravans rent the place for only a night, some for a hand of days. I may see a deposit four or five times during the summer.”
“But you aren’t sure how many summer contracts he makes, or what he charges—?”
“No. That is not my duty.” Kavarthin pressed his lips together.
“Quite,” Arcolin said. “I meant no discourtesy.”
“Those not in our field sometimes think it extends to anything having to do with money,” Kavarthin said. “I am not offended that you ask, but making clear where our responsibility ends. We keep your money safe.”
“For which I am grateful,” Arcolin said. “On another matter—are you still affiliated with the Merchants’ Guild? We heard rumors in the north that some banks are now refusing reciprocity.”
“We have our agreements. Things have changed since you were last here, but in Cortes Vonja … if you want to deposit funds with Kostin, he has been reliable so far. Our greatest concern now is that some Guild League cities are minting inferior coins. Cortes Vonja and Pler Vonja, so far, have not done so. Should you wish to send funds here, I would advise a heavier guard. Travel on the Guild League trade roads is not as safe as it was five years ago.”
“Thank you,” Arcolin said, draining his cup of sib. “Thank you for your advice.”
“If you want someone to check on Paltis—”
“Not at this time,” Arcolin said. “It’s just that it’s been several years since anyone went over the accounts with him.”
“Just so. One of my sons, grown up in our business, can be hired for that work. There are others, of course, and I will not say he is better than others or it will seem a father’s favor, but because this bank handles the money of several mercenary companies, he is familiar with military finances.”
“I will consider that, Master Kavarthin. Perhaps it will be as well to wait until we return—”
“If you truly suspect your factor has been cheating you,” Kavarthin said, “it would be well to catch him out before he changes his records.”
Arcolin considered. “Perhaps so, but my cohort marched this morning. I must be with them by midday, at least, or they will worry. You yourself consider him good of his kind—”
Kavarthin sat back and folded his hands on his stomach. “It is my experience that everyone handling someone else’s money faces the temptation to borrow a little of it from time to time. Even we bankers. We have a guild, as you know, and within that guild, for the good of all, we have rules and checks to keep our reputation secure. Factors have no guild. If owners of property are here,
and use their factor merely as a convenience, another servant to run errands for them, most are honest. But in cases like this, where the owner is far away and may or may not appear once in a year … well, factors are only human, after all, and they can come to feel that they do more of the work and receive less of the profit.” He coughed, a soft dry cough that conveyed more of his opinion of factors than the state of his lungs. “I am not saying—I will not say, because I do not know—that Paltis has been dishonest. But there has been talk that Paltis might have indulged himself.”
That was clear enough. “Perhaps I should speak to your son before I leave,” Arcolin said. “And yet, I must leave soon.”
Kavarthin pushed himself up. “Just a moment, if you can spare it.” He went to the door of his office and called. “Stepan!”
Arcolin had met one of Kavarthin’s elder sons, Arpan, a few years before. Stepan clearly came from the same mold. He bowed politely to Arcolin and looked at his father.
“Captain Arcolin is a little concerned about the activities of his factor, Paltis,” Kavarthin explained. “He must ride this morning; he has a contract with Cortes Vonja. I suggested he might engage your services to look over Paltis’s contracts, since he cannot stay in Valdaire himself.”
“Certainly,” Stepan said, looking at Arcolin. “I would need a letter from you, Captain, giving me authority to speak to Paltis, and some idea of the terms of his contract with you—or, it would have been with Duke Phelan, would it not?”
“Yes,” Arcolin said. “That contract is still operable, though. The Duke had me cosign it.”
“That’s good, but you should make a new contract as soon as possible. Sometime this summer, at least. I understand you’re in a hurry, but if you could just give me that letter.”
Arcolin felt as if he’d stepped into a quagmire. Not only was it taking longer than he’d told Burek, but finances always affected him that way. One of the reasons he’d never seriously considered having his own company was his distaste for the money side. Well, if you fell into a swamp, the thing to do was climb back out. “I’ll be glad to,” he said.
A glass later, he had produced the documents Stepan wanted, and agreed to pay his fee to investigate the matter. Stepan promised to send word of the audit when it was complete. Old Kavarthin looked entirely too satisfied, he thought, and rose to go—this time for certain.
Kavarthin walked with him to the door. “It’s been a difficult few years,” he said. “You know what it was like, the season you defeated Siniava. It’s become more difficult, especially in the south and east. There’s been reason why people who were scrupulously honest before might be less so now.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arcolin said.
“And if I were you, I’d ride with that sword on my hip and not under the saddle flap,” Kavarthin said, nodding at Arcolin’s horse, being walked up and down by a bank servant. “And wear your helmet.”
“On the trade road?”
“Indeed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At the inn where they’d been quartered, Arcolin paid the innkeeper’s last charges and heard that the cohort had marched off three full glasses ago. Once out of the city gates, he considered putting on his helmet, but the morning was already warming; he wanted to feel the breeze on his head. He checked the hooks—yes, he could free it quickly at need. He legged his mount to a canter on the dirt path to the left of the trade road and its drainage ditch. If only Tsaia had roads like this, it would take six days less to move a cohort north and south.
Traffic on the road this close to the city seemed sparse for the time of day. He saw one small flock of goats herded toward the city on the other side of the road, and an oxcart on the road itself, driven by a farm woman, a small child alongside the ox with a goad. In the cart, a stick cage held geese, their long necks poking between the bars. They honked indignantly. He passed a moderate-sized caravan heading east, a half-glass after he left, with guards armed with bows atop each wagon. He waved; the guards raised their bows in salute. Ahead, the road curved around a hill slope covered with trees; Arcolin knew from past years that a trail easy for horses cut through the trees and met the road again, saving some distance. It was also an easy place for bandits to ambush a lone traveler. He’d taken it often enough before when in a hurry … but not today. He passed the fork in the trail, noting fresh hoofprints and a pile of droppings where it entered the trees.
He kept to the path beside the main road, slowing to pass a group of foot travelers and give them greeting. Three men, two women, one older than the other, four children, all with packs and staves. His horse, eager as always to run, tossed its head; Arcolin legged it to an easy canter again. The morning’s problems blew away as the breeze brought him the fragrance of blossoming trees; his horse pinned one ear and quickened stride. Arcolin grinned. This one, of all his mounts, most loved to run, and he’d held it to a foot-pace all the way south. He took one hand from the reins to steady the hilt of his sword and closed his legs.
The horse bolted in great leaping strides, not quite bucking, then flattened out, running fast enough to bring tears to his eyes. Arcolin caught a blurred sensation of movement to his left, but they were past it before he registered the sudden appearance of five men on horseback and the flash of sunlight on drawn swords. Hooves thundered behind; he could not tell how many. His horse pinned both ears and quickened again. Arcolin switched hands on the reins and drew his own sword, though he doubted any bandits had mounts as fast as this one.
Then he remembered the foot-travelers. Were they there merely to slow riders like him, or were they in danger? And what about that caravan? Surely its guards would be enough to hold off a few brigands. He glanced behind. Two riders, kicking hard, but their horses could not keep his pace. More behind them turning back to the westbound path. A quick glance at the road showed nothing ahead; behind, when he looked back again, he saw dust rising, saw one of the brigands lean out to strike at someone on the ground.
Arcolin sat back, hauling his mount down; the two chasing him yelled in triumph. He swung his mount to the right, jumped the ditch between the footpath and the road, and reversed back down the road, passing the brigands before they could change direction. He heard his pursuers’ horses grunt as they too jumped and the clatter of their hooves behind him.
The odds weren’t good, Arcolin saw, as he neared the altercation on the footpath. One of the women was on the ground—dead or injured, he couldn’t tell. The men, trying to fend off armed horsemen with walking staves, showed some training, but the four brigands were ahorse and armed with swords. He reined in as he passed the fight and jumped back across the ditch on the Valdaire side. Two of the brigands had noticed and turned to meet him. One of his pursuers tried to jump the ditch, but his horse refused, and plunged uselessly in the muddy bottom.
Arcolin charged straight at the fight. The two facing him spread apart; Arcolin reined for the one nearer the trees, then, with a shift of his weight, sent his horse at the other, who had committed too early to attack his flank. One stroke of his sword took the man’s arm. His own horse squealed and bucked, as a clang reminded Arcolin where his helmet was—on the saddle instead of his head. He heard the solid THWACK as his horse’s hind hoofs connected with the brigand’s horse.
Now he was in the thick of it, hoping the foot travelers would realize he was on their side, but with no time to explain. No time to retrieve his helmet, either. He felt like a fool, but the helmet had saved his horse an injury. He parried a sword stroke meant for one of the travelers. One of the men, using his staff expertly, managed to unhorse a brigand; the other woman smacked the downed man on the head. If he could only get them in order, they were now four to four, but—he parried a stroke aimed at him, and on the backstroke came so near the brigand’s face the man flinched back and accidentally reined his horse away. Arcolin shifted his weight and signaled his mount. His horse reared, hopped forward, and struck the rider with front hooves, knocking him out of the sa
ddle. The man’s sword flew from his hand, and his horse bolted away.
He couldn’t reach the man on the ground with his sword, but one of the foot travelers could. Four to three now. One of the men knocked the brigand trying to climb out of the ditch back into it.
The remaining two brigands reined their horses around and, kicking vigorously, rode at speed into the woods. Arcolin listened to their receding hoofbeats. His own mount was breathing hard, finally, sweat showing on its neck. He looked around. The man whose arm he’d severed sprawled on the ground, unconscious or dead—his horse had slowed to a stop some distance away and was now snatching nervously at grass on the verge of the path.
Arcolin rode over to the ditch, where the last brigand was trying to catch his horse. The horse moved faster in the muddy ditch bottom than the man, and finally scrambled out on the near side; the man managed to grab its tail for help up the slope, then pulled himself into the saddle from the off side, as Arcolin rode toward him. The man smacked his horse with the flat of his sword, and kicked; the horse threw a tremendous buck, then another and another, and the man flew off, landing with a loud thump. Arcolin was off his horse and had run him through before the man caught his breath. Then he saw the leg bent at the wrong angle and realized the man would have been no danger.
“We owe you thanks, sir.” One of the travelers came toward him, staff still in a defensive position. “It would have gone hard with us—”
“You use your staves well,” Arcolin said. “Are you Girdish?”
The man beamed. “Yes, sir. All of us, and the children, too. And Tamis there—” He nodded at one of the others. “He was in the Foss militia two more years than I was.” He paused. “You’re one of Phelan’s captains, aren’t you? I saw a Phelani cohort pass by a while ago. Haven’t see one for the past few years; wondered if they were ever coming back.”
“Yes, I’m Captain Arcolin,” Arcolin said.
“So the Red Fox is back, is he?”
“No, not Phelan himself,” Arcolin said. “When you get to Valdaire, some of the rumors are true—he’s king of Lyonya now. I’m leading the Company.”
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