Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (36 page)

No. That’s an invitation to trouble, especially if you’re found there when Caermyt has the key.
He could use an imaging concealment.…

He shook his head and waited.

Once he obtained the key, he hurried downstairs, but he’d no more than started to light the lamps in the dispatch room than he realized he had to write a report of his arrival to Bhayar immediately because the weekly dispatch rider left early the next morning … and he needed to finish the reply to Vaelora—for more reasons than one.

Rather than return the key, because he intended to finish reading the dispatches after the evening meal, he locked the dispatch room and hurried back to his own quarters, where he retrieved the letter he’d begun to Vaelora, before heading back to his formal study.

Once there, he started in on the report to Bhayar, knowing that it would likely be read long before it reached the Lord of Telaryn. He made it short, and the only inaccuracies were in what he did not report, because he mentioned the travel and the delay in Nacliano, as well as his concerns about the attitude toward scholars, but not his actions there. He also reported the storm and shipwreck, and his illness, possible poisoning, and his recovery, but then noted that after recovering he had traveled to Tilbora and reported to the princeps on the twenty-seventh of Agostas. He concluded by noting the courtesy and the helpfulness of both the princeps and the governor in allowing him full access to all parts of the Telaryn Palace and its records, as well as arranging for him to accompany various patrols.

Finishing the letter to Vaelora took more time. He did add a section about his duties in general and a few words about the one patrol on which he had ridden.

… Although this was the first patrol I accompanied, the governor has assured me that there will be many more so that I can fully experience the difficulties and the successes that he and his regiment have achieved and report most accurately to Lord Bhayar. It does appear that the problems he faces in dealing with Tilbor lie in the areas away from Tilbora, especially in the far north and in the hilly timberlands of the Boran Hills. He has also had much success in recruiting men and junior officers, especially from around Tilbora, where there are warmer feelings toward him and his men. I have not met with any High Holders or merchants but look forward to encountering the latter as time permits.…

I offer my deep appreciation for your thoughts and concerns, and especially for your efforts to assure that your correspondence did indeed reach me.

Quaeryt pondered the closing for a time before settling on “In sincerest admiration and appreciation.”

By the time he finished, addressed, and sealed both missives, it was approaching time for supper, and he slipped both inside the desk drawer, then left the study to wash up and make his way to the mess.

When Quaeryt stepped into the mess, he saw that the chamber was already almost completely filled, and all of the close to a hundred officers were wearing jackets. He recalled, if belatedly, that Jeudi night was mess night. He was wearing a jacket, but a scholar’s brown jacket was certainly not as formal as even the green jackets worn with undress greens.

“Your place is near the bottom of the nearest table, sir,” offered the squad leader by the doorway, “where the green oblong is. The far table is all for undercaptains.”

“Thank you.”

Quaeryt walked toward the nearest table, and located the only vacant place—where just to the left was a green cloth folded into an oblong. He sat down quickly.

To his left was a black-haired, thin-faced captain. “Greetings. You must be the scholar. I’m Haestyn.”

“Quaeryt. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Dueryl,” offered the undercaptain directly across the table from Quaeryt. “We wondered who was the new captain. Haestyn’s been junior captain for over a month.”

“Scholars don’t really have rank,” said Quaeryt. “I think they decided to put me between ranks for just that reason.”

“That sounds like regimental thinking,” murmured someone farther down the table among the undercaptains.

“All rise for the marshal!” boomed out a voice.

Along with the others, Quaeryt rose. He glanced toward the door, where Rescalyn stepped into the mess, also wearing the green undress uniform and jacket.

“As you were!” ordered Rescalyn.

The officers remained standing as Rescalyn walked to the end of the center table where he was greeted by a gray-haired commander, presumably Myskyl, Commander of the Regiment.

Then Rescalyn motioned, and all the officers seated themselves. The governor remained standing. After everyone was seated, he began to speak.

“Gentlemen of the mess … I can’t ever stand here and look out without feeling a debt of gratitude for the dedication and leadership you all embody.” There was a pause and then a grin. “But I’ll be the first to apply a boot to your backside if you ever try to rest on it … or on your laurels.…”

The way in which Rescalyn spoke brought low laughs from the assembled officers.

“… you may ask why we’re working so hard when most of our problems lie in and around the Boran Hills or with a few disgruntled High Holders so far to the north that they’re walled off behind ice for all but a few weeks out of the year. The reason is simple. There’s a ruler. Rex Kharst.” Rescalyn’s sardonic delivery brought more chuckles. “He has this habit of massacring people, and he’d like to put all of Lydar under his fat thumb. We have to be ready to deal with him when he tries … and after what he did to the good people of Khel, there’s no doubt that he’ll try, sooner more likely than later. Just keep that in mind.

“Now … I’d like to note particularly noteworthy evolutions this past week…”

As he listened, Quaeryt couldn’t help but note that the governor’s delivery was far better than his words and that most officers listened intently.

“… and like all marshals … I’ve probably used more words to say less … and I wish it were the other way around.… Enjoy yourselves.”

Abruptly, Quaeryt realized something else. Rescalyn had never mentioned Lord Bhayar. In fact, while the governor mentioned Bhayar to Quaeryt, Quaeryt had never heard the governor utter Bhayar’s name or title in public, and certainly not before his officers.

“Red or white wine, scholar?” asked Dueryl.

Quaeryt had seen the carafes on the table, but hadn’t actually paid them much attention, since he’d been concentrating on Rescalyn. “What’s on the platters?”

“Whitefish with a cream sauce or veal cutlets with mushrooms and brown sauce.”

“Red, thank you.” Quaeryt took the carafe and filled the goblet he’d been provided rather than the mug usually placed before each officer.

“Scholar … how soon do you think Kharst will attack?” That came from the captain beside Haestyn.

“I’m more of a historian. Historically, there are more attacks in late spring and summer. Offhand, I don’t know of any wars started in late fall or winter. If I had to guess…” Quaeryt paused, then went on, “I’d say that if he doesn’t attack now in the next week or so, it’s unlikely until spring. But, as I said, I’m a historian. What do you think?”

“If he attacked in midfall, we’d have trouble getting from here to the border with Bovaria.”

“You’d have to swing south of Montagne,” replied Quaeryt, “but that would only add a week or two, and his forces would have trouble in the north, especially if they tried to move on Extela.”

“He uses more muskets, and they aren’t much good in the rain, and there are a lot of cold rains north of Solis in fall and winter,” added someone else.

“… it rained in Khel, and that didn’t stop them…”

As the others talked, Quaeryt helped himself to the veal and mushrooms and the seasoned rice, as well as the stewed and sweetened quince slices. Then he began to eat, occasionally adding a comment, but mainly enjoying the fare and the wine.

Later, during a lull in the conversation, Quaeryt looked across at Dueryl. “I’ve been told we get paid tomorrow, but not the details.…”

“Oh … they set up a pay table here in the mess for the glass before the evening meal, and if you don’t want to take it, they’ll just leave it in your pay account until you do.”

“That’s good to know.”

A louder voice rode over the others. “I still say that we’ll be at war in less than a year.…”

“… where … with Kharst or the Antiagons?”

After leaving the mess, much later, Quaeryt headed back to the main part of the palace. He had to finish reading the remainder of the dispatches.

44

After sitting through mess night, Quaeryt had returned to the dispatch room with the key he’d kept and spent two more glasses reading by lamplight in order to finish reading all the dispatches. None of those he read differed in tone or outlook from all those he’d read before. There were only a few mentions of disturbances in or around Tilbora. As in the dispatches he’d read earlier, almost all the problems mentioned were in or around the Boran Hills, from what he’d been able to tell. He’d gone to sleep Jeudi night more confused than ever.

He was less sore and more rested when he woke on Vendrei morning, but no less confused. He ate quickly, then retrieved both envelopes from his study and hurried out to the dispatch station next to the gatehouse. There the courier waited beside his mount, accompanied by two other hard-faced rankers, already mounted. Quaeryt handed the first envelope to the man.

He looked at it and at Quaeryt, then nodded. “Yes, sir, for Lord Bhayar. The governor told us.” The sealed report went into one of the saddlebags. Then he looked at the second, and his eyes widened, doubtless at the addressee—Mistress Vaelora Chayardyr. But he nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt handed over a silver—the rate for a private dispatch.

“Thank you, sir.”

Quaeryt stepped back, but did not leave until the courier mounted and the other two riders escorted him out through the gates and down the long paved lane to the lower gates. Quaeryt had had his doubts about whether either missive would reach its destination unread, but that was why each had been written in the fashion that it had been.

The bells had just finished ringing out seventh glass when he stepped into the princeps’s anteroom. “Vhorym?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to be checking on some matters in the harbor area of Tilbora, in case the princeps inquires.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

After returning the dispatch-room key to Caermyt, who barely concealed a frown, even after Quaeryt’s explanation that he had been reading late, Quaeryt made his way to the stable, groomed and saddled the mare, and then rode to the gatehouse, where he logged out. As he left the upper gates, he looked to the east, since that was the direction from which the wind was blowing and since the sky seemed hazy. He thought there were clouds on the horizon, but he wasn’t certain, and the wind was light enough that, if a storm happened to be coming in, he should have several glasses at the least before it hit.

Still … he had the feeling that he had less time than he’d counted on to discover exactly what was bothering him. The problem was that there didn’t seem to be a problem … and yet, he felt that there was.

He didn’t press the mare, and it was close to an hour later before he reined up outside Thayl’s stable. A burly man with a protruding paunch appeared.

“What’s the tariff?”

“Depends on how long.”

“No more than a couple of glasses, if that. Are you Thayl?”

“That I am. Couple of glasses is just a copper. Two coppers for all day.” The big man grinned.

“I doubt it will be that long, but that’s not because of the adjoining establishment. One of the patrollers suggested your stable if I happened to be spending much time around the harbor. He was rather insistent.” Quaeryt dismounted and handed the reins to Thayl, along with a copper. “By the way, I’m Quaeryt.”

“You with the scholars at the Ecoliae? You don’t look familiar.”

“No … I’m a scholar working at the Telaryn Palace for a time.”

“Never knew they had scholars there.”

“They didn’t.” Quaeryt smiled. “Take good care of the mare. She’s carried me a long ways.”

“That I can do, sir.” There was a pause. “What do you do there?”

“I was sent to write a history of what’s happened in Tilbor since the war ended.”

“Not much.” Thayl spat into the street. “Could have been better. Could have been a lot worse.”

“Do any of the soldiers come here … next door, I mean?”

“Nope. Governor said that Shariela’s place is off-limits. ’Sides, they got their own place out by the palace. Some of the girls went there. Said they made more.” The ostler looked directly at Quaeryt again. “You sure you’re not with those scholars at the Ecoliae?”

“I’m not. I did deliver a letter to a student there, as a favor to his father.”

“What do you think of the place?”

“It seemed to me that it had seen better days.”

“Did once. My cousin worked there. They let him go after the war. Said that they couldn’t pay him no more. The Khanar used to give the scholars golds. The governor doesn’t.”

“Do you think he should?”

Thayl spat again. “Nope. Hard on Taxyr, but why should folks who spend all their time in books, begging your pardon, sir, get golds when the rest of us don’t?”

“That’s true. The Scholars’ Houses in other cities don’t.”

“They don’t?”

“No. Scholars who stay more than a night or two have to pay for their food and lodging. Why did the Khanar pay them? Do you know?”

“Always did, from way back in the time of Nidar. Couldn’t say why.”

“That’s the way things are, sometimes.” Quaeryt nodded.

“That they are. Don’t you be worrying about your mare. She’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure she’s in good hands.”

Quaeryt walked from the stable and turned toward the harbor, walking past the unnamed brothel, not gawking at the women who stood just inside the windows, adorning them, after a fashion.

“Do scholars really know how to do it better?” whispered a throaty voice from one of the upper windows.

Quaeryt couldn’t help grinning slightly, and he replied, “Knowledge isn’t the same as skill or practice, and I defer to you ladies in both.”