Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (55 page)

The brevity and wording of the dispatch—and the arrival of his gear—made two things very clear. Quaeryt would be staying at the scholarium for at least a few more days, and Straesyr was displeased. The latter suggested that Straesyr didn’t know or wish to admit what Rescalyn had in mind.

Before receiving the dispatch, he’d worried about taking on authority he didn’t have, but he’d justified it to himself by asking how else he could save the scholars from themselves. After the dispatch, he worried about his handling being merely “acceptable.” What in the Namer’s sake had they expected?

He worried even more about why Zarxes had murdered Phaeryn. Because the Master Scholar would reveal too much? To throw the blame—at least in the minds of the hill holders—on Quaeryt and the governor? Or merely as a self-centered delaying tactic to allow Zarxes himself to escape? Or was there some other reason he hadn’t even considered?

Since he had no answers, he’d returned to doing what he could do.

In the end, Quaeryt arranged for second squad to use the former staff rooms above the stable, and he took a second-level room away from any others, barred and wedged it shut, and eventually slept—uneasily. He woke early on Samedi morning, dressed, and immediately checked with the squad leader. Nothing untoward had occurred. Nor had any of the patrols during the night found any sign of either Alkiabys or Zarxes.

After breakfast in the dining hall, where he sat at a table with Squad Leader Rheusyd, he’d made his way back to the Master Scholar’s study, which had been cleaned, and began to study the ledgers provided by the bursar that outlined the expenses of the Ecoliae. In less than a quint, he discovered an unexplained entry that appeared every month under “Funds Received.” The title was just “scholar stipends,” but the sum was the same each month—twenty golds. He went back to the first entry in the ledger he had before him—more than five years earlier—and the entry was the same, with no explanation.

He picked up the ledger and walked to the third door—that to the study of Yullyd, the bursar—opened it, and stepped inside.

“Sir?”

“How long have you been bursar?”

“Four years, sir. I took over when Covean died of consumption.”

Quaeryt opened the ledger and pointed to the latest “scholar stipend” entry. “There’s no explanation of this, and there’s one like it every month from the first page in the ledger. Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know where those golds came from, sir. They weren’t golds, either. They were new-minted silvers, twenty golds’ worth. The Master Scholar never said who sent them and told me not to ask and not to worry. They were always delivered by a barge courier in a canvas bag during the first week of every month. I asked, but the courier didn’t know anything except that he was told to meet a barge that came from upriver and take the bag to the Ecoliae.”

“Are there any other entries like that in the ledger?”

“No, sir. That’s the only one I can’t explain.”

Quaeryt nodded, if slowly. “Thank you.”
Twenty golds’ worth of new-minted silvers? Every month?
He closed the ledger and tucked it under his arm, turned, and left the study. He did not return to the Master Scholar’s study, but headed toward the princeps’s study because the mention of the death of the previous bursar had reminded him of another question.

When he stepped into the princeps’s study, Nalakyn was talking with a scholar Quaeryt did not recognize. Both looked up, worried, and the other scholar stood, as if to leave.

“You don’t need to go. I just had a quick question for Princeps Nalakyn.” Quaeryt turned to Nalakyn. “I haven’t seen Sarastyn.”

“Oh … didn’t you know? He died the day after you departed. He had been ill, you know?”

“I knew he was ill, not that he had died. Thank you.”

Ill though Sarastyn might have been, reflected Quaeryt as he returned to the Master Scholar’s study, he had no doubts that Phaeryn or Zarxes had “helped” that illness along. He couldn’t help but wonder what else he might have learned from the old scholar … or what Zarxes hadn’t wanted him to learn.

He sat down behind the desk and looked at the closed ledger. According to the figures, the Ecoliae was barely getting by … and that was with a twenty-gold monthly payment, most likely from one of the hill holders.
But from whom? Why in new-minted silvers?

The source was likely Zorlyn, because his son had been the scholar princeps, and twenty golds a month wouldn’t have hurt a wealthy hill holder, especially if the scholars were furthering Zorlyn’s interests.
But what interests exactly? And how?

At the moment, Quaeryt didn’t have an answer to those questions, but he did know that, like it or not, he would have to ask for a similar payment from Straesyr and Rescalyn in order to keep the scholarium operating—just another task he wasn’t exactly anticipating with anything remotely resembling pleasure.

70

By midday on Solayi, Quaeryt was beginning to wonder what Phaeryn and Zarxes had been doing with their time. He had been through all the files and records in the studies that had belonged to the Master Scholar and the scholar princeps, and he’d found remarkably little correspondence. All the records of receipts and expenditures had been kept—apparently accurately and in great and clear detail—by Yullyd. Nalakyn handled the assignment of scholars who taught the students. While Zarxes had been the one to approve expenditures of more than two silvers at a time, there really weren’t that many, except for large orders of produce and meat.

What had they done, except plot?

He’d checked the weapons in the second armory, and only a handful were truly sharpened and oiled and in the very best of condition. He’d talked to the ostler, and discovered that the pair of riding horses assigned to the scholars hadn’t been used that much, and the pair of dray horses were used almost daily with the wagon for obtaining various supplies. The two geldings used by the Master Scholar and the scholar princeps were ridden almost daily, but where and for what purposes, the ostler didn’t know. Finally, after returning to the main building, Quaeryt summoned Nalakyn into the Master Scholar’s study.

“Sit down.” Quaeryt waited, then asked, “What exactly did the Master Scholar do?”

“He was the Master Scholar, sir.”

“I understand that. But you are the one who makes sure everything is done for the school. Yullyd handles receiving and paying out golds and keeping track of them. Chardyn and Alkiabys took care of Sansang training.… What did Phaeryn and Zarxes do?”

“They were in charge.”

“Did they often ask you about the students or the instruction you were arranging?”

“Master Scholar Phaeryn asked about each student’s progress several times each year. He also insisted that they all learn both Tellan and Bovarian reading and writing, and basic arithmetics, the fundamentals of philosophy and rhetoric…”

“What about history?”

“He said that was up to me, just so they knew the basics of Tilboran and Lydaran history.”

“What else?”

“I had to provide a written assessment of each student’s progress each year.”

“I understand that. What else do you know that Phaeryn did?”

“He rode a great deal,” ventured Nalakyn. “He never said where.”

Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.

“Well … he did say that he’d had to request that a factor pay for his son’s time at the Ecoliae. He said something like that more than once. He often came back from his rides and gave golds or silvers to Yullyd.”

Quaeryt nodded. He’d wondered about some of the “board/instruction” entries and their irregularity. “What else?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“What about Zarxes?”

“He was gone more often. Sometimes he was gone for days.”

“By himself or with others?”

“Sometimes with Chardyn.”

“Did all the factors always pay for their children’s education?”

“Always.” Nalakyn paused. “Sometimes, the Master Scholar had to pay them a visit.”

“What else?”

Quaeryt asked more questions. While Nalakyn was more than willing to answer, more often than not, he didn’t know very much about anything except the school and what the students were taught—that he knew in great detail. Finally, Quaeryt dismissed the precept and returned to studying the ledgers.

Much as he disliked the idea, he knew he needed to go to services that evening and listen to the ancient chorister, if only to set an example, and that thought kept nagging at him throughout the afternoon. The midfall sun had just touched the hills to the west when Quaeryt stepped through the old yellow-brick archway leading into the anomen. The antique oak doors had not been oiled since his last visit.

Quaeryt moved to the front of the south side and watched as twenty or so students filed into the anomen, led by Nalakyn. It took Quaeryt several moments to find both Syndar and Lankyt. Syndar didn’t look in his direction, but Lankyt looked back at Quaeryt for several moments, then offered a nod. From what Quaeryt could tell, almost every scholar was present, and all sneaked surreptitious looks in his direction before the ancient chorister stepped to the front of the anomen. If possible, his wordless invocation warbled and wobbled even more painfully than the last time Quaeryt had heard him. Quaeryt spent as much time watching the worshippers as paying attention to the greeting, murmuring the opening hymn and confession, then adding coppers to the offertory basket.

He wondered exactly what the chorister would say in his homily.

“Under the Nameless all evenings are good, even those that seem less than marvelous.…” The chorister cleared his throat, then studied the congregation for a painfully long time before speaking. “We witnessed on Vendrei the results of Naming. Some will say that the Master Scholar died because troopers accompanied a scholar to the scholarium…”

Quaeryt was impressed that the ancient chorister used the new term for the Ecoliae.

“… but the Master Scholar did not die because of the troopers. The troopers never used their weapons against anyone. The Master Scholar died for another reason. He died because he was a tool of those who have for generations put their names above the needs of all Tilbor. Even the High Holders have considered those needs. You all know I have no love of those who flaunt titles. I have less love for those who sow mistrust and misrepresent what is. Misrepresentation is yet another forming of Naming. It is one of the most pernicious forms of Naming. Those who use misrepresentation take a grain of what is true and then spin a fabric of deceit from that truth. They magnify the importance of a small truth. They make that small truth large enough to conceal their deceit behind it…”

Quaeryt listened intently, concealing a smile. The old chorister had seen far more than he had ever revealed, and just as clearly, he had been no true supporter of either Phaeryn or Zarxes.

After the benediction, Quaeryt deliberately avoided the chorister, for to have spoken to him at that moment would have lessened the impact of the homily. Instead, he motioned to Nalakyn. The two walked down the rutted path from the anomen toward the brick lane leading back to the scholarium.

“The chorister knew what Phaeryn and Zarxes were doing.” Quaeryt let the words hang.

Nalakyn said nothing for several paces. “I worried about Chardyn more than I did about the Master Scholar. Chardyn had ties to the hill holders, and he was not to be trusted. I thought that Phaeryn kept him so that no one would attack the … scholarium … or because he feared Chardyn. You know that Chardyn’s father was the head of the Khanar’s Guard?”

“I learned that.”

“Most scholars are not men of action. If you had watched the Sansang practices, you would have seen that only a few younger scholars took part. Most of those who did practice were students. The Master Scholar allowed Chardyn to require students to learn some Sansang because they would not be scholars and because it would benefit them to have some training in defending themselves without using forbidden weapons. Most of us were not unhappy when Chardyn vanished.” Nalakyn paused. “You had something to do with that, did you not?”

“Scholar Chardyn vanished because of his own actions, not because of mine,” replied Quaeryt. “There were others who fell afoul of him, I learned later, and their golds and silvers found their way back to the Ecoliae.”

“There were rumors … but there was never any proof. I never saw the Master Scholar or Zarxes do anything untoward.”

“Even with the armories and the tunnels?”

“The tunnels were there for escape. The armories were there for protection. None of us ever took up weapons—except, it appears, for Chardyn, Phaeryn, and Zarxes. Perhaps one or two others, but I do not know who they might be.”

As they walked toward the scholarium, Quaeryt asked questions and listened. He had no doubts that Nalakyn was kind … but the preceptor of students was also credulous and not the strongest of personalities. Yet who else was respected and could set the right tone for reforming the scholarium into what Quaeryt envisioned? Could Yullyd and Nalakyn together manage to keep the school and scholarium operating?

Quaeryt had his doubts … but he also didn’t see any other immediate options.

He faced an even larger problem. While his “visit” to the scholarium and his subsequent inspections and findings had proved, at least to him, that Phaeryn and Zarxes had been linked to the hill holders, why hadn’t Rescalyn done something earlier? Surely, the governor had to have known long before Quaeryt had arrived. In fact, Rescalyn couldn’t have known that Bhayar was going to send Quaeryt to Tilbora. Bhayar himself hadn’t known until Quaeryt had planted the idea.

So why had Rescalyn seized upon the scholars and the Ecoliae so readily? Because it fit in with something he was already planning?

That made an unfortunate kind of sense to Quaeryt—and it also meant that he needed to return and “report” to the governor as soon as possible.

71

On Lundi morning, Quaeryt left the scholarium early enough that he and the two troopers who accompanied him rode through the eastern gates of the Telaryn Palace at half past seventh glass. He had barely reined up in the side courtyard when he saw the form of a ranker being carried on a wooden platform by six men in full uniform. Behind them walked a drummer, playing a slow funereal roll. The ranker had died, presumably in the line of duty, but Quaeryt had received no word about fighting. Besides, anyone who had died in the hills would have been placed on a pyre there, and not at the Telaryn Palace. He glanced to the two rankers beside him.