“Why did you let him in?” snapped Wystgahl, rising from the same armchair in which Quaeryt had last seen him. “I should disinherit you and settle the holding on your brother.”
“It’s rather hard to deny a governor with a company of armed troopers,” replied Gahlen, stepping back, but not leaving the salon. “Haylen would have the same problem.”
“Bah … you’re both worthless.” Wystgahl turned to face Quaeryt. “I sent you your Namer-cursed flour. Now … get out of here.”
“You sent weevil-ridden flour, and more than half of it is spoiled and useless.”
“You insisted on a price for the flour, Governor.” Wystgahl smiled crookedly, a glint in his eyes. “I gave you the kind of flour represented by that price.”
“The price was for good flour, and I offered you a profit of an eighth more than what you could have gotten two months ago. That’s likely a profit of one part in four.”
“I could have gotten more. You set the price. I gave you the quality you paid for.”
“You don’t intend to make good on what was promised?”
“A promise extracted by force has no value, Governor. Lord Bhayar has already upheld that precedent. Besides, you accepted that flour.”
“My men accepted it in good faith. Your faith was anything but good.” Quaeryt was at a loss. He didn’t want to drag an old man out of his holding. Nor did he really have the authority to do so, and Wystgahl certainly knew that. “You effectively defrauded Lord Bhayar out of thirty golds.”
“He can certainly afford it. Or you can.”
“It’s all right to cheat anyone you can if you’re a High Holder? What about the next two hundred and fifty barrels?” asked Quaeryt calmly, although he felt anything but calm.
“That’s your problem as well. Face it. You can’t do anything … Governor. You don’t dare bring your troops in here and seize my holding. You wouldn’t last a season after that. Do you think that the High Justicer in Solis is going to even hear an appeal over a mere thirty or a hundred golds?” Wystgahl laughed.
And such an appeal would take weeks to get to Solis, longer to decide, and make Bhayar most unhappy, thought Quaeryt. You don’t have the time for that. Yet … if he gets away with cheating and defying me … putting Extela back together will just get harder … because he’s the kind to flaunt his “victory” and let everyone know, and that will require that you use more and more force, and that will mean everyone will think you’re even more unfair than they already do.
Wystgahl coughed, once twice. “Namer-cursed phlegm.”
Phelgm … water … consumption … that’s it.
“You can’t make me change matters … Not even a governor can do that.”
“I don’t intend to do anything of the sort. I’ll leave you here, dreaming of your past glories that never were. I’ll deal with your son, who understands the responsibilities of being a holder far better than you do. You’re not a High Holder. You’re a greedy old man who’d cheat on the Nameless to get an extra copper.” Quaeryt sneered and image-projected withering scorn and contempt.
“You’re a worthless scholar … a nothing! A nothing, do you hear me? Nothing at-”
Quaeryt imaged water-just plain water-into Wystgahl’s lower windpipe as the old man continued his tirade.
The holder tried to cough and sputtered up some water. Quaeryt imaged more water, into where he thought the man’s lungs were.
Wystgahl staggered, then gasped, tried to speak, coughed up more water, then began to choke and convulse.
Gahlen rushed forward, unable to catch his father as the old man collapsed on the rich maroon and cream of the salon carpet. He turned his father over, half lifting him, then pounding him on the back.
Finally, he lowered the body and stood, facing Quaeryt. “You did it! You made him so upset!” He rushed toward Quaeryt, drawing a poignard and thrusting toward the governor.
The blade slipped aside off the shields, and while Gahlen gaped, Quaeryt imaged a section out of the tang of the blade, so that the weapon snapped with the second thrust.
“Armor…”
“Don’t!” snapped Quaeryt, reinforcing the single word with as much authority as he could order-project.
Gahlen stopped as though he’d run into a stone wall.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Quaeryt tiredly. “I offered your father a decent profit, but he was greedy. He wanted more. In trying to cheat the governor of Montagne, he was cheating Lord Bhayar. He got so angry he died. I’m not interested in pursuing the matter further … unless you make me. Enough people have already died in Extela, and more will likely die across Telaryn with the war to come. You’re now the High Holder. All I’m asking is for you to keep the bargain he didn’t.”
“But you killed him.”
“Oh? Did I ever even touch him? I only told him that he was selfish, greedy, and unreasonable and that I’d deal with you.”
Gahlen was silent.
“Your father sent fifty barrels of flour. Half of it was worthless. You owe another twenty-five barrels, and those had best be good barrels, and so should the remaining two hundred and fifty, as well as the potatoes. I also want a letter of apology from you for your sire’s attempt to cheat Lord Bhayar.”
Gahlen flushed. “After this…?”
“High Holder Wystgahl, and you are now High Holder … as I told your father, had any workingman or factor cheated Lord Bhayar-or you or your father-out of thirty golds, he would lose everything, possibly even his life. I’m only asking for you to fulfill what your father agreed to provide … and an apology. I’m not a High Holder. I’m a former scholar who happens to think that High Holders shouldn’t get away with crimes that would condemn men of lower position to death.”
“He didn’t get away with anything. Say what you will … you killed him.”
Quaeryt wasn’t about to dispute that. Not that you had much choice, given the circumstances. He glanced down at the body on the costly carpet. “No … in the end, he didn’t get away with anything. Should he have, just because he was a High Holder?” After a brief pause, Quaeryt went on. “I’m sorry for your loss … because he was your father, and it is your loss. I can’t say I’m sorry for his death. He’d rather have had people starve than settle for a modest profit, and he defrauded Lord Bhayar … and took pleasure in it. That’s neither right nor honorable. Now … if you will excuse me.” He turned and walked out of the holding.
No one said a word.
Once they had ridden out through the gates, Taenyd finally looked at Quaeryt. “What happened, Governor? They all looked at you as though you were the Namer in person.”
“High Holder Wystgahl became incensed when I accused him of fraud and providing weevil-ridden flour. He said that was what I deserved for forcing a sale. I pointed out that he would be making a profit on good flour, but that he’d defrauded Lord Bhayar. He said Lord Bhayar could afford it. I told him he was a greedy old man. He got red in the face, then blue, and collapsed. His son accused me of making him so angry that he died. That’s possible. He wasn’t in good health. But my responsibility is not to allow Lord Bhayar to be cheated.” Quaeryt laughed bitterly. “If you or I had stolen thirty golds from Lord Bhayar … or High Holder Wystgahl, what do you think would have happened to us?”
Taenyd shook his head. “I’d not even want to think about that.”
When Quaeryt returned to the post, it was less than three quints before the evening meal, and he barely had time to go to his study and complete the rough map of Extela he’d been working on-one that showed the undamaged sections of the city, those that would likely need civic patrollers-if and when there were enough patrollers.
After that, he hurried over to the officers’ quarters, where he found Vaelora coming down the outside steps.
“Did you have any luck, dear?” asked Quaeryt.
“There are several places. None is quite right. We can talk about them after dinner.”
From her tone of voice, Quaeryt was immediately
convinced that not “quite right” was an understatement.
“How about you?”
“Angry patrollers and a visit to High Holder Wystgahl over his weevil-ridden flour. He got so mad when I told him his actions were unacceptable that he ended up turning red and then blue and coughing and dying on his expensive carpet.”
“Rather unfortunate for him.” Vaelora raised her eyebrows.
Quaeryt could see she understood. “You heard how unreasonable he was to begin with. He wanted to keep the good flour and sell it at an exorbitant profit and pawn off the worthless on us. I’ll tell you more after dinner.”
She nodded.
Both Quaeryt and Vaelora were unusually quiet during dinner, if for differing reasons, he suspected.
Afterward, when they returned to their quarters, after he shut the door, he turned to her. “What did you find?”
“Tell me about the High Holder first, if you would.”
Quaeryt did, ending with, “… I didn’t know what else I could have done. I’d have had to have brought it to Bhayar, because no justicer can try a High Holder, only the supreme justicer or a council of High Holders, except in Tilbor, and that may have changed already. They would laugh at the idea of trying a High Holder for defrauding a lowly governor for a mere twenty to thirty golds, even for more than a hundred if he’d delivered the rest of the flour in the same condition. Even if they didn’t, it would take weeks, if not months, to get anything done-and I don’t have the time to pursue that and do everything else. The High Holders in the rest of Telaryn certainly would have upheld Wystgahl because they wouldn’t have wanted to set a precedent that suggested they had to meet the same standards as mere factors.” He shook his head. “What bothers me most about all this is that if a factor or grower did what Wystgahl did, he’d be whipped within a digit of his life, and he’d lose everything, and possibly his life.”
“Dearest, he deserved what happened. He was arrogant, proud, greedy … and especially, he was stupid.” Vaelora’s voice turned cool. “There’s a reason Bhayar usually appoints the governors he does. It’s because they have some source of power besides the position itself. Rescalyn and Straesyr had huge numbers of armsmen. Other governors are the sons of powerful High Holders with close friends who have influence. Both Chaffetz and Aramyn saw that you represented power immediately. Chaffetz didn’t like it, but he understood. Aramyn knew before you walked into his hold. Wystgahl was too old and too stupid to realize that.”
“I still didn’t like doing it. He was a foolish old man, but his son wouldn’t stand up to him, either … and if he’d succeeded…”
“No…” Her voice was softer. “I understand that.”
“And I had to force an apology out of the son … but if I didn’t … then there wouldn’t be any acknowledgment of the wrongdoing, even though he was cheating everyone who pays tariffs, and he was cheating Bhayar.” Quaeryt gave a bitter laugh. “I think the other thing that bothered me was his insistence that a mere hundred golds was nothing … when most men would die or be crippled for life for stealing that.”
“You did what you had to. Bhayar wouldn’t have wanted a complaint over something like that. Do you think that Wystgahl is the first High Holder to die in a strange accident? Bhayar, and especially Father, had to arrange for a few accidents when High Holders got out of line. The smart High Holders understand that. Wystgahl wasn’t smart.”
“No … he was old and not thinking straight, and he threatened to disinherit Gahlen if he went against his desires. He didn’t want to listen to anyone else.”
“You couldn’t do much else, not if you want to be effective as governor.”
Quaeryt knew that. What he didn’t know was how to avoid such complaints and still accomplish the task of returning Extela to at least a semblance of a functioning city. “You were going to tell me how your search went.”
“It didn’t go terribly well. The quarter that held the best dwellings was partly destroyed, and the owners of the remaining dwellings there want even more for them.”
“Even with the palace and the square destroyed?”
“It’s where the people who are important have always lived, and now that there are fewer dwellings, those remaining are more coveted. There’s no open land there. One factor has bought two dwellings just south of there and razed them so that he can build another mansion to replace the one he lost.”
“Are there any close to here?”
“There’s nothing close to suitable less than two milles from here, at the closest.” She grimaced. “And those dwellings aren’t that suitable for a governor.”
“We might-”
“Have to settle for something less suitable?” Vaelora interrupted. “I’ve thought of that. There’s another area I’ll look at tomorrow.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “It would be closer.”
“I’ll be interested in what you discover.” And especially in what it will cost.
He still needed to write up the draft of the code for the Civic Patrol. He hoped Skarpa could come up with some names for a Civic Patrol chief-someone who could inspire respect and discipline. And he’d never checked with Dhaeryn on how the aqueduct and bridge repairs were coming along … and if they were.
Every day there’s something else … and so little time. But he had no doubts that would continue. He just hoped he could keep ahead of the problems … or not get too far behind.
31
“You never answered my question last night,” said Quaeryt to Vaelora as they left the officers’ mess early on Jeudi morning.
“You asked a question?”
In hearing her tone of voice, Quaeryt knew she was playing him, but he went along with the game. “I asked if you wished to ride out once more to seek a house today or to accompany me to Thyhyem to meet High Holder Thysor this afternoon?”
“When this afternoon?”
“I thought we would leave around noon … after I talk to Major Skarpa about possible candidates for patrol chief and then meet with the patrollers.”
“I could still ride to some … nearer places, and meet you at noon.”
“To see if such are even remotely suitable?” Quaeryt grinned.
“That, dearest husband, is perilously close to disrespect.” But she grinned back.
“Then … at noon.”
While Vaelora went to make ready with the squad assigned to her, Quaeryt found Skarpa waiting outside the study.
“Good morning.”
“Of a sort, sir.”
“What now?”
“One of the rankers in Major Chaestyn’s third company went out to one of the local inns last night…”
“They’re open?”
“If there’s a regiment around, they find a way to be open.” Skarpa’s voice was dry. “Especially when other coins are short.”
“What sort of trouble is it? Or should I ask whether it was a woman or a fight?”
“Both. After he left the public room, the fellow decided a local girl-a girl, not a harlot-ought to accommodate him. She was Pharsi. Her mother was nearby.”
“Is he alive?”
“No, sir. Neither are three of his mates.”
“Three?”
“The mother objected. The ranker slugged the mother. The daughter stabbed the ranker in the gut. Three other rankers charged in. So did some Pharsi men. When it was all over, there were four dead rankers, and several injured Pharsi. No one knows who the girl or her mother are.”
“Except she was attractive beyond her years,” said Quaeryt dryly. “I take it the ranker wasn’t from Tilbor or from Solis. Or here in Extela.”
“Piedryn.”
From what Quaeryt knew, that figured. There were almost no Pharsi in the flat croplands around Piedryn, not after Hengyst’s purges of the area. But, of course, that explained in part the Yaran enmity against the Ryntarans, given how many Pharsi lived in Montagne and how many Pharsi relatives Bhayar’s grandfather Lhayar had had, including his wife. “Do you need me
to do anything?”
Skarpa shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve had all the majors pass the word, reminding them that Lord Bhayar doesn’t look favorably on mistreating women, especially Pharsi women, and that neither do you nor I. I also said that any ranker who slugged a woman because she wouldn’t bed him-or whatever the reason-deserved what he got.”
“I hope that’s enough. The last thing I want is what happened in Tilbor.” Quaeryt shook his head, even thinking about the idiocy of the first governor after the conquest. He’d razed part of the city because the Pharsi women used their knives on some of the invading Telaryn soldiers after the troopers had been warned not to molest the women. The carnage and the disruption had cost the governor his position … and possibly his life, later, if some rumors were true. “Especially in Bhayar’s ancestral home.”
“I told them that, too. They’ll get the word across.”
Given Skarpa’s discipline, Quaeryt was certain of that. “Have you had a chance to think about candidates for the Civic Patrol chief?”
“There are two senior captains who might be suitable,” said Skarpa. “One’s in Second Battalion. Major Aluin says that Captain Hrehn comes from Ilyum-that’s a town to the southwest of here. He’s less than four months from being stipended. You’ve seen him-the big, gray-haired captain. I saw him lift the end of a wagon once so his company could change a wheel.”
Quaeryt remembered the captain, and he could see that Hrehn would definitely have physical presence.
“The other is Pharyl. He’s got almost six months before a stipend. He’s from Montagne, and Major Aluin thinks he might work out.”
“Would you mind if I took both of them with me tomorrow? Since they’re both from around here, I could ask each for their opinions, and their recommendations.”
The commander nodded. “That might be best. How are the patrollers coming?”
“I’ll see shortly. I’m not that impressed so far.”
“They won’t be as good as the best rankers.”
“I’ll have to find a way to make them that good-or one of your captains will.” After the briefest pause, Quaeryt asked, “Is there anything else I need to know?”
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