Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (57 page)

“Master Scholar … a few words with you?”

“I’m not the Master Scholar. I’m just acting as one, trying to reorder matters. You can certainly have a few words and more.” Quaeryt paused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

As he settled into the seat across the desk from Quaeryt, the old man laughed. “That’s fitting enough for a servant of the Nameless, don’t you think?”

Quaeryt shrugged helplessly and offered an embarrassed smile. “I’ve heard two of your homilies. I’ve liked what you had to say in both of them, but no one ever mentioned your name.”

“You were there last Solayi. I fear I do not recall the other time. Oh … I am Cyrethyn.”

“That was when I first visited the scholarium, in Agostas. I was only here for a few days. You talked about the arrogance of the young and the strong, equating it in a sense, to Naming.”

“You flatter me, Master Scholar, by recalling what I said nearly two months ago. Such flattery is pleasurable, but I do not deserve it. That is why I am here. I am old. I am old in part because I am not brave. I have known for many years that Zarxes and Phaeryn received golds from Zorlyn. I knew that Chardyn had something to do with the death of Lord Chayar’s envoy. I knew many things. But I did nothing because I knew nothing would change, and I would die. As I said, I am not brave. So I am here to do what little I can.” The chorister smiled wryly. “Are you an honest scholar, Master Quaeryt?”

“I would like to say that I am, but I have been known to stretch and distort the facts of situations. I have misrepresented matters upon occasion by not revealing all that should have been revealed. I have rationalized that by telling myself that I did so in the service of seeking greater truths and more information. I do not know that I have been totally honest in that regard.”

“That you are willing to assess yourself so suggests you are honest.”

“Honest does not mean good,” Quaeryt pointed out.

Cyrethyn chuckled. “That might make a good homily.”

“It might, at that.”

After a brief silence, the chorister spoke again. “There is one other matter that I believe you should know.”

“What might that be?”

“As in all things, matters are not what they might seem to be. Your governor—Rescalyn—met with Phaeryn. That was five years ago. So far as I know, that was the only time they met.”

“That … it seems unlikely…”

“That may be, but only two people here and alive know about that meeting. I was one; the other was Zarxes. I do not sleep well. Many of my age do not. I was walking well after midnight when I heard a rider. As I told you, I am not brave. I hid in the bushes near where the secret tunnel emerges. I was surprised to see another man walk down the lane. It was Zarxes. They said little, except that Phaeryn said Rescalyn had offered a workable arrangement. Phaeryn said he had accepted it. He had no choice, not if he wanted to keep the Ecoliae intact and the golds coming from Zarxes’s sire. Zarxes agreed. Neither asked whether the governor could be trusted. Then Phaeryn entered the tunnel, and Zarxes walked the mount back to the stables. No one would have known that the Master Scholar had left the Ecoliae that night.”

“Why would they do that?”

“You know why Phaeryn would. The Ecoliae was failing. The only golds outside of fees for the school that he received came from Zorlyn. Yes, I know about the canvas bag sent monthly. As for the governor … it had to suit his ends. What those might be, I do not know.”

Quaeryt feared he knew exactly what those ends were. “Why did you come here? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you better than you think, scholar. You are a scholar who offers a better homily than most choristers. You profess not to know whether there is a Nameless, but act in accord with the principles set forth by the best of those who have followed the Nameless. You question more than you declare, and listen more than you speak.” Cyrethyn smiled.

“That sounds like you’ve been talking to a certain undercaptain.”

“Why not? I’ve known him since he was a student here, years ago. He was honest then and seems to have remained so. I saw him ride up, and I begged a few moments of his time.”

Quaeryt nodded. That, in a strange way, made sense … if anything did.

“I do have one favor to ask, master scholar. I ask that you not disappoint Gauswn. He believes in you.”

Quaeryt almost swallowed his tongue. That was the last thing he would have expected.

“For all the goodness you try to conceal, scholar, you are too cynical.” The chorister paused. “Then, perhaps, that cynicism is what protects your ideals.” He rose, slowly, from the chair. “I hope that what I have told you may assist you in determining your course. Every datum refines a position more accurately. So the experienced quartermasters say.”

“Unless it reveals that other sightings are inaccurate.” Quaeryt rose.

“You are too careful for that, master scholar.” Cyrethyn smiled, and his eyes twinkled. “I just may talk about honest evil on Solayi.”

“If I’m still here, I’ll be there to listen.”

After the old chorister left, Quaeryt sat back down behind the table desk, thinking.

Had Cyrethyn been telling the truth? Quaeryt had no way of verifying that. Yet why would the old chorister lie? Certainly, choristers, for all their professions of sanctity, ranged from the purest in word and deed to those who cloaked pure evil in the raiment of the Nameless. At the same time, every word Cyrethyn had spoken rang with truth … and, if true, explained more than a few things, and possibly provided an even greater reason why poor Kellear had been killed, because with Phaeryn and Kellear dead, who besides Zarxes would have known about the “agreement” between Rescalyn and Phaeryn? But then, Kellear might not even have known.

Quaeryt shook his head.

73

Vendrei passed without word from the palace, as did Samedi morning. During that time, Quaeryt met several times with Nalakyn about changes in the course of study, adding in more history, and more emphasis on both Bovarian and Tellan. He also spent time with Yullyd formalizing the charges for the services that the scholarium provided, from rooms and meals to visitors to study and board fees for students. He also periodically met with Squad Leader Rheusyd, but the squad watches and patrols had discovered nothing out of the ordinary.

Shortly after midday on Samedi, a student Quaeryt did not know peered into the study. “Master Scholar, there is a Factor Embrayt here to see you.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt stood and walked out of the study and out to the front foyer, trying not to limp, because, for some reason, his leg was bothering him more than usual.

The man who stood there was not quite of Quaeryt’s stature, square-bearded, and slightly stoop-shouldered. He did not speak.

“Welcome to the scholarium. How might I help you, Factor Embrayt?” Quaeryt smiled politely, holding his shields ready, since he had no idea in these days whether a visitor might be unpleasant or truly inimical.

“Might I have a few words with you?” The factor glanced down the corridor.

“The Master Scholar’s study is this way.” Quaeryt gestured, then turned.

Embrayt did not speak until he was seated across the table desk from Quaeryt. “I have heard that you are truly a scholar, but not from Tilbor. Your speech would also suggest that.”

“But you would like me to confirm that? No … I am not from Tilbor, at least not in the sense you mean. I do not know where I was born because I’m an orphan. My parents died in Solis while traveling when I was barely more than an infant. I was raised there by the scholars.”

Embrayt nodded slowly, and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. “What of … those who used to be in charge of the … scholarium?”

“The former scholar princeps slit the throat of the Master Scholar and fled. The Sansang master vanished some weeks before that, and his assistant fled, presumably to the Boran Hills, with the scholar princeps. The governor has requested that I serve for a time as Master Scholar in order to return the scholarium to a place of learning and study, similar to other scholaria throughout Lydar.”

“There has been some word of that,” admitted the factor.

“I have found that the preceptor of students has always been devoted to the schooling provided by the scholarium. He has also not been involved in those activities that many have found less than scholarly. Likewise, the bursar appears most honest.” Quaeryt smiled politely and waited.

“I had not heard ill of the preceptor … even under the previous Master Scholar.”

“Are you considering having one of your children study here?”

Embrayt nodded. “My second son. He is sharp of mind and wit, but…”

“His talents do not lie in your factoring?”

“One leg is not as it should be.”

“I do understand.”

“I noticed.…”

Quaeryt nodded. “It has been that way from when I was young, perhaps from birth. How old is your son?”

“He will be twelve in Finitas.”

“Would he be amenable to being separated from his family?”

“He would miss us, I am certain. He would not miss those of his age.”

Quaeryt also understood that. “Would you like to speak to Scholar Nalakyn about the course of study?”

Embrayt smiled and shook his head. “There is no need. That, I knew before I came. I wished to meet you before we decided. Now I can talk to Emdahl and hope he will agree that his future lies in study.” The factor rose.

Quaeryt stood as well. “We will wait on your decision.”

“We will see.” The factor nodded and turned to leave the study.

Quaeryt moved quickly so that he could escort Embrayt out, and the two walked side by side down the corridor. Quaeryt did open the front door, but he stopped at the top of the steps.

The factor stopped as well, then nodded to Quaeryt. “Good day, master scholar.”

“The same to you, and a pleasant ride home.”

When Embrayt walked down the steps, Quaeryt turned his study on the waiting coach—painted or stained dark brown with brass trimmings and drawn by a marched pair of chestnuts. The coachman was also dressed in brown. With such a carriage, Embrayt had to be well off, if not more so.

What does he factor?
That wasn’t the sort of question that he could have asked under the circumstances, but he did wonder as he watched the team and coach leave the scholarium.

“Sir?”

Quaeryt turned to see Lankyt standing at the edge of the porch near the steps.

“Yes, Lankyt?”

“Some of the others say the governor is going to close down the Ecol—I mean, the scholarium. That’s because he hates the scholars.”

“One never should guess about what is in someone’s mind or thoughts. I won’t, but I will say that, if the governor wanted to close the scholarium, why would he order me to restructure it so that it is like all the other good scholaria in Telaryn? He could far more easily have instructed me to proceed with closing it down and turning out the scholars and students.”

“He still could, sir.”

“He could indeed. Is that likely when Lord Bhayar has dispatched a scholar to Tilbor?”

Lankyt frowned, then said quickly, jabbing a finger in the direction of the departing coach, “Is one of his sons going to study here?”

“He is considering it.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Embrayt. He’s a factor.”

“He’s wealthy, then.”

“I imagine so, with that coach and team.”

“No … I’ve heard his name. He owns a brick factorage and a produce factorage, and some other things, too.”

Quaeryt nodded. “What else have you heard?”

“That’s all.” Another pause followed. “Are you going to stay as Master Scholar?”

“For a time, anyway. Lord Bhayar sent me to be an assistant to the princeps. Even if I go back to the Telaryn Palace, I’d probably still be charged with dealing with the scholarium.”

“Lankyt?” called a youthful voice from the east end of the porch.

“I’m coming,” replied the student loudly, before turning back to Quaeryt and saying in a much lower voice, “Good day, sir.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help smiling as the young man hurried off.

74

Solayi arrived, and the day passed with no messages and no word from the palace, from either Straesyr or the governor. The lack of communication tended to confirm that Quaeryt wasn’t in the best of graces with either man, but that neither wanted to act against him directly, and until one, especially the governor, or the other could, he was relegated to reforming the scholarium. As part of that effort, he devoted himself, among other matters, to writing out a set of principles for the scholars of the scholarium.

As the time for services approached, he put down the pen, rose from the table desk, and stretched. Then he left the study and walked to the rear porch, since the way to the anomen was shorter from there. He was halfway across the porch when Nalakyn hurried up to join him.

“Are you going to services, master scholar?”

“I am.”

“Might I accompany you?”

“Of course.” Quaeryt understood that Nalakyn wanted to bring up something.

“Do you know how long you will be … posted here as Master Scholar?”

“No. Neither the princeps nor the governor has said.”

“You have named me as acting princeps…”

Quaeryt understood. “You think that I should formalize who will be in charge in my absence?”

“It would make matters clearer.”

Quaeryt smiled faintly. “I can and will write out a plan of succession, but it will be good only with the approval of the governor. It will also only be good for one year after my permanent departure. After that, as in every other scholarium in Telaryn, the Master Scholar must be approved by a majority of the scholars over the age of thirty. I trust that will suffice.”

“Ah … yes, sir.”

“I will also make your position as scholar princeps official, but you will continue as preceptor of students as well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m glad you brought it up.” And Quaeryt was. What Nalakyn had suggested was something Quaeryt should have done earlier, just to give the scholarium the best chance of survival if anything happened to him. “One other thing—I’m also working on a set of principles for the scholarium. When I’ve finished the first draft, I’d like your thoughts about any additions or changes you’d like me to consider.”