Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Will those stipended-off squad leaders be that much help?” asked Rachylana.

  “They’re not in charge. I am.”

  “Will they listen?

  “They will. Majer Smoltak said that Salyna was better than most Deforyan mounted troopers,” Mykella said. “Commander Areyst said she was better than most Southern Guards.”

  “Women aren’t as strong as men.”

  “Most women aren’t. That’s true,” admitted Salyna. “It’s as much about training and technique as strength. You have to have strength. That’s why we’ve worked out some special exercises with weights for the women. But strength isn’t everything. Besides, they just have to be good enough with weapons to be able carry out Guard duties that don’t involve fighting. Unless, they’re attacked, of course. Or if there’s no one else left to fight.”

  “If they try to collect travel tariffs, they’ll be in for trouble,” suggested Rachylana.

  “Not necessarily,” said Mykella. “If Lanachrona is viewed as strong, no trader or factor will refuse, even those from Southgate. They may not like it, but they won’t refuse.” What she didn’t say was that such strength depended on Areyst and the Southern Guards … and on her. “When will you have the season-turn-ball invitations ready to be dispatched?”

  “On Duadi or Tridi,” replied Rachylana. “Your new gown isn’t quite ready.”

  “Do you think … a new gown? I know I agreed, but…”

  “Some appearances need to be kept up,” Salyna said.

  That surprised Mykella. “I’ll try it on when it is ready,” she said to Rachylana. “Thank you.”

  After a lengthy dinner, Mykella pleaded tiredness and retired to her apartments. From there, she slipped down through the granite of the walls to the Table chamber. She studied the Table, but it remained as it had been for the past tenday. She hoped it remained that way, at least until she could figure out a way to master the darker green of the depths.

  Remembering what the Ancient had told her, she took a deep breath, not that she really needed to, and dropped downward through the stone, directing her course toward the dark green that appeared to her senses as both brilliant and lightless, yet conveyed the essence of “green.” She came to rest, or so it seemed to her senses, in the middle of the dark way, an underground conduit that was of the darkest and yet brightest green in the center, sheathed by a brighter green, then cloaked on the outside by a green that was almost black.

  Let it capture you, she reminded herself.

  As the chill began to seep into her flesh and bones, Mykella tried to “feel” green. How else could she let that underground torrent capture her rather than just flow around her?

  Tendrils of the darkest green caressed her, swirling around her, then began to pass through her, leaving a path of both chill and light … chill and light. After a time, Mykella began to touch with her Talent, ever so lightly, the tendrils that swirled around and through her. While some of those filaments edged away, others did not. Before long, she could sense when to touch a filament and when not to. Then it did not seem to matter.

  She realized, abruptly, that she was so tired … so tired …

  It took enormous effort to pull herself free of the depths, and yet, once she was free, the return to the palace was almost effortless, or so it seemed.

  When she again stood in her bedchamber, it was dark outside the palace. Surprisingly, she was not chilled. Cool … but not chilled to the bone. Is being outside the deeper green what causes the chill?

  That was another question she could not answer.

  She walked to the window and looked out to the west, in the general direction of the Great Piers. Those she perceived as outlined in a golden green. Did you ever see them that way before?

  While she wasn’t absolutely certain, she didn’t think she had. Had she done something to change the Great Piers? Or had letting the green depths capture her changed how she perceived things? One thing she did know. The journey to the depths had exhausted her, and she still hadn’t done anything about the mirrors.

  She turned back toward her bed.

  28

  On Londi, Mykella awoke before dawn to the sound of rain pounding against the windows, with gusts of wind rattling the panes. She rose quickly but stopped after several steps away from her bed, feeling as though she walked in a green haze or mist. She looked around, trying to determine the source of the haze, then made her way to her dressing table, where, when she looked into the large mirror, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the reflection of a too-pale, black-haired, green-eyed woman who looked too young to be a Lady-Protector.

  She took her time washing and dressing, but the sense of the green haze did not dissipate, and she left her quarters and walked to the breakfast room. Both her sisters were already seated at the table. Rachylana looked at Mykella, then smiled faintly before looking down at her platter.

  “What was that look for?” asked Salyna.

  “Nothing,” replied the redhead.

  Mykella understood the look all too well and gave the tiniest headshake when Rachylana looked her way.

  Rachylana nodded slightly.

  “That just means you don’t want to tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Rachylana paused. “I could have said that Mykella still looked a bit green, or I could have said that she wasn’t about to go riding through Tempre today, no matter what she’d said last night about needing to see more of the city.”

  “I could still go riding,” said Mykella ruefully, “but I wouldn’t see anything. How will this affect your training?” She looked to her youngest sister.

  “I’d already figured that out. We can use the stables, since most of the horses are in Viencet. Besides, guards have to do what they do in the rain and the snow.” Salyna took a swallow of tea, then added, “Most of the trainees are used to foul weather, anyway.”

  “What if more show up?” asked Mykella.

  “I’ve planned for that. We could take another ten, and I’ll just work them harder and take the best. If most of them last, there will be jobs for them. There are thousands of guards. What difference will ten more women auxiliaries make, except that they’ll end up doing tasks the men find boring or demeaning.”

  Rachylana raised her eyebrows.

  “You know as well as I do,” Salyna said, “that the men like to prove they’re strong, that they’re good with weapons, and that they’re irresistible to women. Most of them don’t like tasks that require details or learning numbers or more than basic reading.”

  “You’re going to teach them that?” asked Mykella.

  “At night. Why not? It’ll keep them busy, and it will keep the guards at headquarters away from them.”

  Mykella ate and listened, adding a few words here and there, and wishing Salyna well when her younger sister hurried off to the Southern Guard barracks. Then she rose, returned to her quarters, and finished readying herself for the day.

  Less than a quarter glass later, she left her quarters. She couldn’t help but worry as she walked swiftly along the upper-rear hallway of the palace toward the Finance Minister’s study. She knew that the Treasury was perilously low, and she’d asked Haelyt to calculate how much would be needed over the next two seasons and how many golds in tariffs and fees were likely to be paid. From her own study of the master ledgers, she had the feeling that she wasn’t going to like the figures Haelyt should have waiting for her.

  When she stepped into the study of the Finance Minister—hers until she found someone else she trusted—she looked to the graying clerk. “Good morning, Haelyt.”

  “Good morning, Lady.”

  “Do you have the calculations?” Mykella walked to the side of the wide desk where Haelyt had several ledgers laid out.

  “I do.” The chief clerk handed her a folder. “The expenses are fair-on close to what you’ll need to disburse. The tariffs and fees … they’re my best judgment of what you might expect, based on past years. Might b
e lower, given all that’s happened.”

  A great deal lower, since many of the Seltyrs won’t want to pay a Lady-Protector. And some few, she knew, always delayed payment until the Finance Minister was ready to arrive at their warehouse with a squad of Southern Guards. “Give me a summary, if you would.”

  Haelyt nodded. “The total of the golds held by the Treasury directly at the moment is nine thousand seven hundred thirty-six golds. Each of the ministries also has golds in its own strong room. The Southern Guards holds six thousand three hundred and three golds; the Forestry Ministry has but two hundred; and the Ministry of Rivers and Highways has five hundred ten golds—”

  “Assistant Minister Duchael claims they only have two hundred. He reports, and the ledgers support, that they’ve spent three hundred since the beginning of the year. That’s a discrepancy of three hundred and ten golds.”

  “And three silvers, actually,” added Haelyt dryly.

  “Can you and Vyahm reconcile that for me?”

  “We will see what we can do.”

  “Go on,” prompted Mykella. “What are the likely expenditures?”

  “The largest are those of the Southern Guards. The weekly payroll is just over nine hundred golds. It was close to twelve hundred a week two years ago…”

  Down a quarter? Seven companies’ worth?

  “… food and supplies run almost as much, some eight hundred a week … and another hundred or so for other items…”

  “Close to two thousand a week. That means they’ll need more golds after the turn of summer.”

  “Yes, Lady. As you may recall…”

  “We transfer every season.” She almost shook her head. “We can’t transfer even enough for half a season … unless…” You raid the three thousand or so in your strong room, and there’s no point in that. “… we have some more revenues. What about river tariffs?”

  “There have been very few barge tariffs. There never are in early spring.”

  “How much has the portmaster turned in?”

  “A little over a hundred golds since the turn of spring, fifty last week.”

  Mykella nodded. “What can we expect from the spring tariffs?” With what was left in the Treasury—and what she had in the strong room—there was enough to meet the Lord-Protector’s obligations into the third week of summer, possibly the fourth … and just maybe the fifth. The question was whether the spring tariffs, due in a little less than three tendays, would provide enough golds to get the Treasury close to when the summer tariffs were due, although the river tariffs should increase with the summer barge traffic on the River Vedra.

  “Usually, there are some timber revenues and private-land timber-sale override tariffs…” ventured Haelyt.

  “There won’t be any timber revenues,” Mykella said. “Joramyl overcut the Protector’s lands the last two years. There may be some private-land tariffs. I won’t know until Forester Loryalt returns later this week or next week.”

  “Ah…” Haelyt cleared his throat. “The winter- and spring-turn tariffs are always the scantiest. I looked them up for the past years. The worst year was seven years back, when the total was seventeen thousand, three hundred. The best was five years ago, when there were extra timber sales, and that was twenty-two thousand six hundred.”

  Mykella nodded. She’d thought that Joramyl would have figured out to leave enough to rule if he had remained as Lord-Protector, but … if anything at all went wrong …

  It will. The way matters are going, it definitely will. “I’ve told all the ministries to avoid any new spending without checking with me first.”

  “Minister Porofyr used to claim that he’d already spent golds when he hadn’t,” Haelyt said quietly.

  “Do you think Duchael might have that habit?”

  “I couldn’t be saying, Lady-Protector.”

  Mykella smiled. “I think you just have. I will have a talk with Assistant Minister Duchael … after we finish here.”

  Mykella opened the folder and read through the columns. The figures were clear, and she only had a few more questions before she left Haelyt and headed to the lower level of the palace.

  When Mykella stepped into the Highways and Rivers Ministry study, her eyes swept the chamber, taking in the two clerks in the smaller front desks, and the rear desk that was Duchael’s. Even from the entryway, Mykella could sense that someone was in the minister’s private study with Duchael. Who could that be? The palace isn’t open to outsiders yet.

  “Not a word,” she commanded in a low voice.

  The two clerks exchanged glances, but neither spoke.

  Mykella could sense that the older clerk was worried, and that the younger was somehow almost pleased, but she slipped toward the closed door to the inner study—most properly the chamber of the minister—which Duchael was not. Using her Talent, she could catch part of the conversation.

  “… can’t do it … she watches everything … worse than Lord Joramyl…”

  “… what’s a hundred golds? Don’t want stenches for my spring festival … Khanasyl … upset…”

  “… can’t…”

  “… could you use … say ten golds?”

  “… could, indeed, but not now…”

  “… who would know…?”

  Mykella opened the door and stepped into the inner study.

  Duchael looked up from where he sat behind the minister’s desk. So did the older man seated across from him.

  The assistant minister turned pale. He stood quickly. “Lady-Protector … you may know Seltyr Pualavyn.”

  The slender ferretlike Seltyr rose, if with what Mykella thought was a languidly disrespectful manner. “Lady-Protector.”

  “I do know of the Seltyr. By reference.” Mykella’s smile was cool. “You are here early, Seltyr Pualavyn.”

  “By the courtesy of the assistant minister.” Pualavyn’s smile was oiled with insincerity.

  “He can be most courteous. I am most certain you can finish whatever matters you were discussing at a later time.”

  “Of course. Of course. I would not intrude upon the business of the Lady-Protector. It certainly takes precedence over mere commerce.”

  “Not commerce, Seltyr, just festivals.” Mykella smiled again, stepping aside and glancing toward the open door. “Good day.”

  For the merest instant, Pualavyn’s eyes turned hard and cold, but he continued to smile as he inclined his head. “Good day, Lady-Protector.”

  Mykella said nothing until the Seltyr had left the outer study. Then she closed the door to the inner study and turned to Duchael.

  “Lady-Protector … he was most insistent. I did nothing.”

  “I know. I saved you from that choice. I’m about to save you from another. There will be no more expenditures from your ministry’s accounts, except for payroll, without my personal approval. Any expenditures that you ‘discover’ that supposedly occurred before this moment will be deducted from your pay—and from the chief engineer’s if he makes them. Is that clear?”

  “Yes. Lady.” Duchael swallowed.

  “The engineer can use his normal crews and any material in his storerooms. He may not purchase anything except with the golds he already has in his possession—unless he has my written authorization. You will make that known to him immediately.”

  Duchael glanced to the window and the gusty downpour besieging Tempre.

  “Immediately,” Mykella repeated.

  “Yes, Lady-Protector.”

  “You can report on your meeting with him at the minister’s meeting tomorrow.” Mykella smiled once more, then left the study, heading to the upper level of the palace. Had Haelyt known Duchael was meeting with Pualavyn? Had someone told him? Why that particular morning?

  Mykella found it all too convenient that every single one of the Seltyrs that Khanasyl had recommended had demonstrated serious flaws within weeks of being recommended. Khanasyl was anything but stupid, and that indicated where he stood. It also indicated that he h
ad at least some sources of information within the palace, not that Mykella expected anything else.

  29

  Mykella looked from the window of her formal study out across the palace courtyard to the park across the avenue. After two days of violent storms, Tridi was bright and clear. Green was everywhere. Unfortunately, that meant much of the “green” consisted of recently leafed-out branches ripped from trees, bushes flattened onto stone walkways, and general vegetative carnage. The steward’s men were busy sweeping leaves out of the front and side courtyards, but no gardeners had appeared to clean up the park.

  She turned from the window, thinking. The ministers’ meeting on Duadi had been short, with little discussion. Gharyk had not brought up the matter of the removal of Gaoler Huatyn. Mykella appreciated his tact because there was something about the document that bothered her.

  Or is it the problem of replacing Huatyn?

  She just wasn’t certain, and yet she didn’t want to end up like her father, not making decisions until she had every possible fact in place—and then being wrong anyway. One way or another, she needed to come to a decision before long.

  “Lady … Assistant Minister Duchael.”

  “Have him come in.”

  The door opened, and a slightly disarrayed Duchael stepped in, bowing hurriedly and deeply. “Lady-Protector … I regret having to bring this matter to your attention, but…”

  “But what?”

  “The storms were so violent that the East and South Rivers overflowed their banks, and the Vedra washed out the towpath in several places.” Duchael’s eyes flickered toward the windows, then back to Mykella.

  “Then we need to inspect those areas immediately.”

  “They need to be repaired, Lady-Protector.”

  “I’m certain that they do, but there is almost no barge traffic at the moment. A glass or two will not make much difference.”

  “They are metaled paths,” murmured Duchael.

  “Indeed, and what lies under that stone and gravel? Come. We will go see.”

  “Yes, Lady.”