Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (21 page)

The old woman looked from Vaelora to Quaeryt and back again before she smiled. “Remember the tale, lost ones, and you will be lost no more when you come to the road.” Then she bowed her head to Vaelora. “I thank you, Lady, for your grace and kindness.”

“And I thank you for your story and your insight,” replied Vaelora. After a pause, she asked, “Is that an old, old tale?”

“I heard it from my grandmere, and she from hers.”

“Why did you offer it to us?” asked Quaeryt pleasantly, feeling far more charitable to her than he had toward Zhrensyl.

“Because you need to know from where you come, lost one, governor that you may be.” She smiled sadly. “That is all I can say. The rest you must find yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Vaelora said again.

As they walked away, Quaeryt thought about the woman’s addressing them as the “lost ones.” He’d heard … somewhere … about the lost ones. He just couldn’t remember where.

The two walked slowly away from the rankers’ mess hall.

“Who are the lost ones? What does that mean?” asked Vaelora.

“I’m trying…” Abruptly, he remembered who had first called him a “lost one”—Hailae, in Bhorael.
How could you forget that?
He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t know all of it, but I’ve told you about Rhodyn’s son Jorem…”

“The one who married the Pharsi woman he saved, you mean?”

“His wife is Hailae, and when she saw me the first time, she called me a ‘lost one.’ I’d never heard that. The lost ones are Pharsi who are marked by black eyes and white blond hair, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, explain more.”

“You told me how she insisted you are Pharsi, but not about being a lost one.”

“I thought I did.”

Vaelora shook her head.

Rather than pursue that, Quaeryt said, “The way she told it, it has to be an old tale, but I’ve never heard it or read about it.”

“She was certain it applied to us.” Vaelora smiled. “Even if most Pharsi would have been beaten or killed if they’d been found with a horse and no way to have bought it.”

“None of the old tales make any sense that way.” He paused. “Do you really think that we’re the lost ones?”

“You’re from a Pharsi background, and so am I, but neither of us can speak more than a few words of Pharsi. We know nothing of their customs.”

“So … from her point of view, we’re the lost ones.”

“I think ‘lost ones’ means more than that,” mused Vaelora. “I wish I knew more. I should have listened more closely to Grandmere.”

“She never talked about the lost ones?”

“If she did, I don’t remember, and I think I would have.” After a moment she asked, “What will you do now?”

“Meet with Major Heireg. The post quartermaster has to know something about the High Holders and who has what goods. Then … we’ll begin visiting the High Holders.”

“We? You didn’t ask me.” Vaelora’s face was composed, severe in expression.

Quaeryt wasn’t quite sure whether she was irritated or amused behind a facade. “Would my lady prefer to accompany me on a long ride to visit politely unpleasant High Holders or to remain here at the post in idle leisure?”

“That is most disrespectful…” Vaelora grinned abruptly, but the grin didn’t last long.

“I am sorry. I’d thought we’d talked about this last night.”

“We did … but you didn’t ask. You just assumed.”

Quaeryt didn’t hide the wince.

“I would like to accompany you. I also think I can be useful, don’t you?”

Her last words were delivered so sweetly that he winced again. “I do indeed, and I apologize for my assumptions.”

“You don’t have to apologize for all of them, dearest. Just that one. Your apology is accepted.”

“Thank you.”

Vaelora laughed softly.

“It might be better if I met with the major alone,” said Quaeryt as they neared the stables.

“I would agree. I’ll be outside here nearby.”

“It’s not likely to be long.”

“Take as long as you need, dearest.”

Quaeryt inclined his head to her, then turned and made his way to the narrow door at the end of the stable. Inside was a small space, barely large enough for the single narrow desk, the chair in front of it, and the records chests stacked head high against the outer wall.

“Governor!” The major rose from the desk and bowed. “What might I do for you, sir?”

“I’d like to hear what you have to say about procurement. Especially recent procurement.” Quaeryt gestured for the major to reseat himself, then settled into the single armless chair in front of the desk.

“We haven’t procured much in the past weeks. Nothing at all.”

“Commander Zhrensyl indicated that you have a fair supply of rations and some fodder, but not that much more. Are supplies that hard to purchase?”

“It depends on what you mean, Governor,” replied the round-faced man, whose cherubic visage was contraindicated by a lean muscular frame. “I could purchase more supplies, but we don’t need them right now. The local holders, especially the High Holders, are holding their grain and flour dear. They’re holding everything dear.” Heireg smiled sardonically. “I’ve held off buying. I figured Lord Bhayar would send someone to replace Governor Scythn before long. Whoever it was would have more clout than I would in getting a fair price from those bastards. Pardon my language, sir, but they are. Some of ’em would run down a starving mother for sport. Especially Wystgahl.”

That didn’t surprise Quaeryt in the slightest. “I need to know what the range of past prices for simple goods has been—flour, a side of mutton, or a whole sheep, maize, potatoes…”

“Until the mountain blew, sir, flour was running eight silvers a barrel, sometimes nine. Potatoes were less than three coppers a bushel. Good ones, that is. In the fall, I could get a bushel for two coppers. Price of the other provisions bounced around from week to week. I can show you the ledgers with all the prices…”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Heireg eased a ledger off the shelf on the wall, then stood, opening the ledger to the last page with entries. “You see here, almost a month ago, the last time I bought anything…”

Quaeryt listened as the major went over the costs of each procurement, then asked, “From whom do you obtain these massive amounts of goods?”

“Anyone who will sell at a decent price. Most times, the small holders offer better prices, but they can’t supply all that we need. Right now, they’ve little to offer. The High Holders don’t want to sell because they don’t have to—not yet—and they think prices will rise.”

“Who are the High Holders most likely to have flour and potatoes?”

“Wystgahl has wheat corn and a mill, and Aramyn has potatoes and some flour, I’ve heard. Chaffetz has both.”

“Is Chaffetz the most powerful?”

“Don’t know as he’s the most powerful. Namer knows, he’s the most stubborn. Don’t go to him unless there’s nowhere else to turn.”

“Where is his holding?”

“He’s got lands everywhere. His chateau is some three milles due south, off the stone post road to Solis that follows the river until it crosses at the bridge some twenty milles south.”

“Can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t visit those three and see whether they’d be amenable to selling some more provisions—at a decent price, that is?”

Heireg laughed gruffly. “You’d be the first governor to try, sir. Least in my time here. You get even close to a decent price from any of them, and I’d write a letter to Lord Bhayar spouting your praises.”

Quaeryt laughed. “I think you’ve made your point, Major.”

“Any other questions, sir?”

“Just a few. Do you know how many loaves of bread can be baked out of the flour in a single barrel?”

Heireg smiled broadly and shook his head. “The cooks and I go round over that. Should be around four hundred and a quint, according to their measurements. The best they ever do, from my figuring, is a shade over four hundred.”

“How much flour do you have now here at the post?”

“Three hundred barrels. With your full regiment, we’ll use close to two barrels a day.”

When Quaeryt finished asking questions, he thanked Heireg and left.

As he walked across the courtyard to join Vaelora, he knew one thing for certain. He was going to need a lot more flour … and that was just the beginning.

Nearly a glass and two quints later, Quaeryt, Vaelora, and Undercaptain Jusaph rode behind the scouts and ahead of the body of Third Battalion’s first company as they made their way up the gravel drive to the chateau of High Holder Chaffetz. A handful of men scrambled from out of a side gate toward the main entry, then came to a halt as they beheld the Telaryn uniforms and the company ensign.

Besides checking his shields and easing the mare closer to Vaelora’s gelding, Quaeryt ignored the handful of men-at-arms and reined up opposite the main center entrance to the old-style three-story chateau, with its thick stone walls and narrow windows on the two lower levels, and wide windows on the third level.

Then, after Jusaph drew up the company in formation facing the chateau, Quaeryt dismounted, handed the mare’s reins to the ranker who rode forward to take them, and walked up toward the entrance.

One of the iron doors opened, and a muscular figure in blue and white livery stepped out to meet Quaeryt. “High Holder Chaffetz is not presently available, sir.” The functionary glanced at Undercaptain Jusaph and the company drawn up along the gravel drive. “Would you be interested in talking with the steward?”

Quaeryt smiled politely. “I might send Major Heireg to see him, but my business is with the High Holder.”

“Sir…”

“I don’t believe that you offered me the chance to make myself clear. As the new governor of Montagne, I am here to see High Holder Chaffetz. If I find it difficult to see him, in turn, he will find it difficult to see me.”

The man froze for a moment.

“It might be best if you looked more closely inside the holding to see if he might be found to be available.” Quaeryt’s voice was pleasant. “Oh … and since my wife accompanied me, perhaps the lady of the chateau might wish to meet her while I discuss various matters with the High Holder.”

“I will inquire within, Governor, to see if I might have been mistaken. In the meantime, if you would care to enter…”

“I will wait. There is little point to entering if Lord Chaffetz cannot be found.”

When the door closed behind the functionary, Quaeryt turned and walked back to where Vaelora remained mounted.

“If he does not find the High Holder, and quickly, he is more of an idiot than he first appeared,” murmured Vaelora.

“It is clear that the post of governor here has not been what it should be. That is something we must remedy. Now … under the guise of chatter…”

“I’m to let slip who I am and that you are a longtime boyhood acquaintance of my brother,” finished Vaelora.

“Exactly … and anything else that will quietly terrify his wife or daughter or whoever entertains you.”

Vaelora just smiled.

Less than half a quint passed before the iron doors—both of them—opened, and a man and a woman appeared.

“Governor … Lady … welcome to Chaffhyem,” declared the man, his voice a resonant tenor. “We had not expected you, or we certainly would have prepared a more appropriate welcome.”

Quaeryt held out a hand for Vaelora to dismount. She did so gracefully, and delicately, rather than in the athletic and more powerful manner with which Quaeryt was most familiar. Then the two of them advanced.

“High Holder Chaffetz, I am Quaeryt, and this is my wife, the Lady Vaelora.” Quaeryt could sense the puzzlement behind Chaffetz’s polite smile as the High Holder took in Quaeryt’s brown scholar’s garb. “We arrived in Extela late on Mardi, and this is the first moment we have had to call on you. I do apologize for the suddenness, but I fear that you and I have matters of a less than routine matter to discuss. My wife prevailed on me to let her accompany me, and since it has been many years since she was last here, I had hoped that she and your lady might have a chance to become acquainted while we discuss more serious matters.”

“Of course … of course. Do come in.”

Quaeryt ignored Chaffetz’s forced heartiness, and he and Vaelora followed the couple inside the chateau. He did keep light shields around them both, just in case, although he doubted that Chaffetz was likely to be hasty in any action.

Once inside, they stood in an entry hall some five yards wide and less than ten deep, with a polished floor of black stones set in white mortar. Beyond the entry hall was a grand staircase and, just before it, a corridor that ran the length of the chateau, one branch to the left, the other to the right.

“If you would accompany us…” Chaffetz gestured to the staircase.

“Thank you.”

At the top of the wide staircase, also of black stone, if with balustrades of well-polished and ancient goldenwood, the High Holder’s wife escorted Vaelora to the left.

Chaffetz led Quaeryt to the right, past two closed doors and to a third that was open to a long and narrow study. Only the side walls held floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the wood was of old oak. There were three wooden armchairs, if with leather padded seats, around a small table at one end of the chamber, and a desk with a similar chair behind it at the other end. Chaffetz gestured to the table and took one of the chairs, seating himself easily and immediately. Quaeryt took the one that left the third chair between them.

“For a call of courtesy, Governor … ah…”

“Quaeryt.” Quaeryt ignored the fact that Chaffetz had not offered any form of refreshment.

“Governor Quaeryt,” Chaffetz continued smoothly, “I am surprised that you found it necessary to bring such … an entourage, and even your wife.”

“As you may have heard, the lava rendered the old palace and the governor’s quarters uninhabitable, and I thought my wife might appreciate seeing a place of more refinement than the senior officers’ quarters at the south compound.”

“Ah … yes.” After the briefest hesitation, Chaffetz went on. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known a governor who had your apparent … training.”

“As a scholar? No. There have been few.” None, in fact, of whom Quaeryt knew. “But Lord Bhayar felt my background would be useful here in dealing with the problems.”