Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (31 page)

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?”

“No, and I hope there won’t be.”

So did Quaeryt.

After Skarpa left, Quaeryt grabbed the map he’d worked with on Meredi afternoon and hurried out to the courtyard, where a ranker had the mare saddled and waiting. He mounted and rode over to where Captain Eleryt waited.

“Ready, sir?”

Quaeryt nodded. They had less than two quints to get to the patroller station, and he worried about being late. Not that anyone would call him on it, but he needed to set the example … and he still needed to write up a code for the Civic Patrol.

“Company! Forward!”

Neither Quaeryt nor Eleryt spoke until they were well away from the post and the gates had closed behind the end of the company.

“Like the other days, sir? One squad to stay at the patrol station, and the others to patrol their sections of the city?”

“Exactly the same. I hope we can start the patrollers taking over some of that before long.”

“The men don’t mind, and they like it better than training all the time.”

“I suppose they do. They can see something beside the post.”
Such as women.
Quaeryt didn’t voice that thought.

He rode for another half quint before he noticed several women—more than several—ahead on the sidewalk to his right … before some of the shops that had been open for the past week or so.

“Governor!”

Quaeryt looked to see who had called out, and realized it was the older woman standing slightly out from the others—close to half a score of other women, some older, and some younger. Almost all were dark-haired and honey-skinned, a shade slightly darker than that of Vaelora’s complexion. He gestured to Eleryt and reined up.

“Yes?”

The woman who had stepped forward followed the salutation with a brief phrase in Pharsi, one Quaeryt recognized.

He answered with one of the few phrases he recalled from childhood, and then said in Tellan, “I was orphaned young, and that is all I recall.”

“You are a lost one, then, in more ways than one.”

“So it has been said.”

“Why do you let your soldiers attack our girls?”

“What he did was forbidden. She and you defended her honor. No one will come after you, and I will make certain that the few soldiers who did not understand will know to leave you alone. Most do. The man who attacked the girl was from Piedryn.”

One of the younger women spat into the gutter … demonstratively.

The older woman nodded. “It is said that you listen and that you are fair.”

Quaeryt understood what she meant—that she expected him to keep his word. “I will do what I said. There are more than a thousand soldiers. Most will be gone in two months, and I have already ordered my officers to remind their men about Pharsi women. I cannot promise that every single one of them will be wise in the ways of Pharsi women.”

The woman nodded once more, then spoke the single Pharsi word that meant acknowledgment, thanks, and an end to the conversation.

Quaeryt replied with a nod.

The women all turned and moved away.

Quaeryt gestured to Eleryt.

“Forward!” Then the captain eased his mount closer to the mare. “Sir … if I might ask…”

“Last night…” Quaeryt went on to explain what Skarpa had told him. “… and the commander and I decided that to pursue the Pharsi women would be a very bad idea, especially after what happened in Tilbora under the first governor.”

“Sir … I understood that. But … she addressed you in Pharsi … and called you a lost one. But you’re blond…”

Quaeryt laughed softly. “I was orphaned as a very young child, so young I was barely able to speak. I knew I was an orphan, but I didn’t know I was Pharsi until less than a year ago.” He recalled that moment in the produce factorage when Hailae had spoken to him in Pharsi and proclaimed him a lost one … and wondered how he could have forgotten it, even for a moment. “Until then, I had no idea. Like you, I thought all Pharsi were dark-haired or at least had brown hair. So did everyone else. Blond Pharsi are called the ‘lost ones.’ Why, I don’t know. There’s some sort of legend, but I’ve never heard it.”