Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  She laid that one aside and opened the next, reading it quickly.

  … the storms have ripped the very leaves from every vine in my eastern vineyards … cannot pay the tariffs you have set …

  The next was no better.

  … penalties imposed by the Forester for the planting of water oaks are a great burden. Those trees were planted a generation ago by my grandfather. Yet the Forester claims I am responsible …

  She couldn’t help but smile when she picked up the fourth envelope, large and thick, and bearing the seal of the Arms-Commander of Lanachrona. For a brief moment, she held an image of Areyst, his blond hair, green eyes, and open face. Then her smile vanished as she considered the weight of the envelope. She opened it and scanned the lines.

  … training is proceeding well … Commander Choalt has developed a special reconnaissance-and-attack company to serve as an advance group and to warn of approaching scouts … scattered reports of individual squads of Midcoast troopers, riding the lands and trails near the border, and I have ordered him to send that company to watch the border … attached a map with likely routes of attack and support along the main highway …

  The one line that provided some warmth was that of the closing words, because they departed from the strictly factual.

  … trust that all is well with you in Tempre …

  She did smile once more before she turned to the next missive. None of the next dozen envelopes contained anything hopeful. All were pleas of one sort or another for special treatment. She had three left to read when Chalmyr rapped on the door.

  “Chief Engineer Nusgeyl is waiting below, Lady.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “He said that he needed to discuss your instructions.”

  Doubtless to tell me oh-so-politely that he cannot comply … or that it will cost me dearly in golds we cannot afford to spend … “I’ll see him now.”

  In what seemed moments, the door opened.

  “Lady-Protector.” The squarish engineer bowed deeply after entering the study, far more respectful in demeanor than when Mykella had first met him. His jacket was of the same dark gray, but over black trousers, and his wavy blond hair seemed longer.

  “You wished to see me, Chief Engineer.”

  “I did, Lady.”

  “About what?”

  “I received your instructions, and I understand them clearly. I can certainly comply with your most reasonable request that all materials be itemized and approved by you.” Nusgeyl smiled politely.

  “Then why do you need to see me?” After only a few words, Mykella was getting irritated at the inspector’s tactic of making her ask questions rather than merely stating whatever his problem might be.

  “None of my crews have ever worked on the towpaths. They have no experience, and it will take much time. They do not have that time because they are working from morning to night repairing the damage to the sewers caused by the recent storm and the overflowing of the rivers.”

  “Chief Engineer … my problem as Lady-Protector is simple. The previous Minister of Highways and Rivers and his assistant diverted large sums from the accounts of the ministry. Nor were all funds wisely spent. While there are sufficient funds to purchase materials, if carefully, and enough golds to pay you and those who work for you, there are no funds to hire outside crews.”

  “We cannot handle both tasks at the same time, Lady.”

  “Then repair the sewers in all areas except in the east, where the large mansions of the Seltyrs are. Then repair the towpaths. Only after the towpaths and the sewers along the South River are repaired are your crews to deal with the eastern sewers.”

  Nusgeyl could not quite conceal his dismay. “Lady-Protector … ah…”

  “The Seltyrs are always telling me that trade is most important. I must take them at their word. That requires that the part of Tempre dealing with factorages and crafts and the towpaths should be repaired first. If anyone should question you, or demand that you do other than I have ordered, you might suggest that they come to me directly. Of course, the sooner you finish with the South River area and the west of Tempre and the towpaths, the sooner you can deal with the lesser problem of the sewers in the east.”

  “Yes, Lady-Protector.” Nusgeyl nodded, almost sadly.

  “I will support you, Chief Engineer, if you follow my orders. It might be useful to us both if you were to inform me in writing of any Seltyr who believes he is above the needs of the city as a whole.” She smiled. “I do have the right to take justice into my own bare hands, as the late minister discovered.”

  “The First Seltyr has been requesting that the sewers serving his villa be addressed first.”

  Mykella could believe that. She also knew that was something Nusgeyl would never put in writing. “I’ll inform the First Seltyr that you’re carrying out orders I gave you personally and request that he support you in those duties.” She smiled. “Is there anything else, Chief Engineer?”

  “No, Lady-Protector.” Nusgeyl bowed, then retreated.

  Mykella could sense both relief and apprehension.

  Before she was interrupted again, she picked up the pen and began to write.

  My dear First Seltyr,

  It has come to my attention that you have expressed interest in various sewer repairs in the eastern part of Tempre. Recently, you pointed out to me the importance of factorages and trade to Lanachrona. Since trade and crafts are the heart of trade, I have directed the chief engineer to first repair the sewers in the area where trade and factoring take place, then repair the towpaths. Since he is a dutiful and faithful engineer, he is bound to follow that directive. Anything that slows his work or might injure his health, I’m certain you and all Seltyrs would agree, would not be in the interests of trade, nor in your interests as First Seltyr.

  At the same time, I thought you would like to know that I have taken your concerns about the need to put my priorities on those matters which bear directly on trade.

  Mykella smiled wryly as she set down the draft. Khanasyl wouldn’t like it, but Nusgeyl deserved some protection.

  “Chalmyr…” she called. He could rewrite the draft in his elegant hand while she read the last of the complaints and petitions.

  By the second glass of the afternoon, Mykella was restive. Several more requests for tariff relief had arrived before she’d taken a quick lunch and gone over the state of the Treasury—again—with Haelyt. Even with her attempts to restrict spending, the stock of golds was dwindling faster than she had anticipated. She was thankful that they had recovered some of Porofyr’s diversions because they well might be needed before the spring tariff payments began to come in.

  “High Factor Pytroven, Lady-Protector,” Chalmyr announced.

  “Have him come in.” Mykella stood, hoping that Lhanyr’s recommendation was accurate.

  The man who entered scarcely fit the image of a High Factor. He was mostly bald, with only a fringe of frizzy gray hair running from ear to ear, and stood but a few fingers taller than Mykella herself. So stout was he that she suspected he weighed more than twice what she did, and his eyes were both deep-set and bulbous. One was green and the other blue, and his life-thread was so light a brown that it was almost yellow. He bowed both deeply and gracefully, despite his significant girth. “Lady-Protector.”

  “High Factor Pytroven. Thank you for coming.” Mykella gestured to the chairs and seated herself.

  Pytroven sat down, then cleared his throat. “I’m pleased to be here, Lady. I think I am. I don’t have any idea why. I do hope I haven’t done anything to offend you.” His voice was a pleasant if slightly raspy baritone.

  Mykella laughed softly. “If you have, I certainly don’t know anything about it. I wanted to hear your thoughts about the Ministry of Highways and Rivers … how the ministry affects you, what it might do to improve things for factors…” She waited.

  Pytroven cleared his throat again. “I can’t say I’ve thought much about the mini
stry. They keep the towpaths in shape and the highways clear. That’s about all I can ask for.”

  “What about the sewers?”

  “They’re supposed to do that? I never knew that.” The factor fingered his fleshy chin. “They might do better there. The southwest corner off my warehouse. It always stinks. I sent a message to the inspector. He wrote back, said it wasn’t a sewer problem.”

  “Did he say what it was?”

  “He called it a compliance problem. He said he’d asked the Ministry of Justice to look into it. I wrote them. Never heard anything back.” The heavy factor shook his head.

  “That’s because the previous Finance Minister told the Justice Minister not to do anything. I’ve been looking into that.”

  A puzzled look crossed Pytroven’s face, but he did not speak.

  Mykella laughed softly once more. “You’re being careful, High Factor. Yes, that Finance Minister was my uncle, the usurper. Some of the things he did are the reason why I’m asking factors and Seltyrs here to talk to me. What do you hear about trade and how matters look in the year ahead?”

  “I deal most in barrels and kegs and sacking and handcarts, and sometimes wagons. Things that hold goods or carry them. Don’t have too many factors and Seltyrs asking for such, except Porofyr and lately Klevytr.”

  “You have a reputation for quality, don’t you.”

  “I don’t mind saying I do, Lady-Protector. If your steward wants the best for you…”

  “I’ll tell my sister. She’s the one running the palace these days.”

  Another puzzled look crossed the factor’s face. “I’d heard she was training some women for something … for the Southern Guards, I mean.”

  “That’s my youngest sister. My other sister is handling the palace. What have you heard about the women she’s training?”

  “Some of the womenfolk aren’t too happy, I hear. There aren’t many sculls to be had. Those that are … they want more.”

  Mykella hadn’t thought that removing some threescore women from being harlots or sculls would have disrupted the households of High Factors, not with the tens of thousands of people in Tempre. “What’s the daily wage for a scull?”

  “Two coppers and a meal. Now, they want three, even four.”

  “What else have you heard?”

  Mykella continued to ask questions and listen for another half glass.

  When Pytroven left, she sat back in her chair. The High Factor was honest and most likely a good factor, but he struck her as too open and too direct to be able to deal with Seltyrs like Khanasyl and Klevytr. She hoped that Zylander was better qualified.

  She also needed to pay a visit to the less-than-honorable Seltyr Klevytr … among other things.

  34

  Although Mykella had used the Table late on Sexdi to look at Klevytr, at that time, the Seltyr had been talking to his wife, who had not looked pleased. In itself, that meant little, but combined with what Pytroven had revealed, it was suggestive. To keep track of Klevytr—and anyone else—required more and more use of the Table, something that had always concerned Mykella, given its ties to the Ifrits and the additional time required.

  When she used the Table after breakfast on Septi, Klevytr was overseeing the packing of a wide range of goods in his factorage. That was even more indicative, but not exactly proof. She sighed, knowing that she needed to go calling on the Seltyr to forestall his possible desire to depart from Tempre. Not that she cared that much for Klevytr, but she didn’t want others to follow his example, and it would be better to use more personal persuasion than direct force.

  A quick scan of the others she was following revealed nothing of interest although she did watch Areyst, lingering longer than she should have, as he groomed and saddled his mount, indistinct as his image was. Then she returned in her own fashion to her quarters and made her way to the antechamber, where Chalmyr awaited her.

  “More missives and petitions this morning?” she asked.

  “Another halfscore of petitions. There is also a report from the chief engineer.”

  “Thank you. I’ll need a squad to accompany me this morning, in about a glass. Please send word to the duty-squad leader.”

  When she entered her study, Mykella walked past her desk and the envelopes laid out there and went straight to the window. Under the bright morning sun, she saw that the palace gardeners had finally finished cleaning up the park on the other side of the avenue … but it had required Rachylana’s direct orders to the head gardener—and the implied threat of action by Mykella—to take care of that, not that the palace gardeners had happened to be all that busy. The head gardener had protested that it wasn’t traditionally part of their jobs.

  There are too many people who worked for Father who are protesting that what needs to be done isn’t part of their jobs. How did he let that happen? She shook her head. Were soarers and Ifrits and scepters of unimaginable power part of the traditional job of the Protector of Lanachrona? Was trying to prove that a woman could rule part of it?

  After several moments, she walked back to the desk and seated herself, starting through the envelopes. Four of them were from factors pleading about tariffs. The fifth was a much smaller envelope with graceful writing. She slit it open and eased out the single sheet of notepaper.

  Dear Lady-Protector—

  I deeply apologize for my tardiness in thanking you for your selfless actions in saving me and my father’s retainers from the brigands who attacked the summer villa. I had meant to thank you in person the next morning, but you had already departed in the depths of night, and matters soon became so unsettled when we returned to Tempre that I have just now realized my oversight and discourtesy in not immediately offering my thanks and appreciation.

  Once more, I offer my deepest thanks and admiration.

  The signature was that of Kietyra Seltyrsdaughter.

  Unsettled? Was the thank-you also a message of sorts?

  Mykella set the note and envelope to the side and picked up the three sheets from Nusgeyl, who had listed the work to be done on the towpath repairs and a schedule of materials. The total cost for materials was listed at ten golds with the notation that his accounts currently would cover that expense.

  After a fleeting smile, Mykella jotted down a quick approval for Chalmyr to return to the engineer, then read the next missive … this one asking for a widow’s stipend for a guard trainee killed before he became a Guard. Mykella jotted a quick note to Areyst, then read the last three missives—all tariff-related. Then she stood and stretched before walking out to the anteroom and handing the two notes to the scrivener. “If you would have this one dispatched to Chief Engineer Nusgeyl and this to Arms-Commander Areyst…”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “I read through all the missives. Have the previous Lords-Protector received these sorts of petitions in such numbers?” she asked.

  A wry smile appeared on the scrivener’s lips. “Only when they first ruled, Lady. Only then.”

  Mykella nodded. “That makes a definite kind of sense. I’m riding out to visit Seltyr Klevytr. I hope I won’t be gone for more than two glasses. I will be back in time to meet with High Factor Zylander.”

  Mykella walked to her rooms, slipped down to the Table, and called up the image of Klevytr. From what she could tell, the Seltyr was in the study in his factorage. She also looked in on Khanasyl, who was in an ornate library that could only have been in his sumptuous villa off the Eastern Avenue. She returned to her rooms, donned the nightsilk riding jacket and gloves, and made her way down to the courtyard, where Maeltor waited with her gray and a squad of Southern Guards.

  “Where to, Lady?” asked the captain.

  “The factorage of Seltyr Klevytr.” Mykella jump-mounted the gray and settled herself into the saddle. “That is one of the factorages whose location I requested.”

  Maeltor nodded. “I took the precaution of obtaining the locations of all the High Factors and Seltyrs.” He urged his mount forward
.

  Mykella laughed almost silently as she guided the gray alongside the captain. “You understand my needs well, Captain. Better than do the Seltyrs.”

  “That will be to their regret,” replied Maeltor, his voice matter-of-fact.

  Mykella couldn’t help but wonder if the Seltyrs ever regretted anything but the loss of golds, but she kept that thought to herself as she rode away from the palace.

  Klevytr’s factorage was a block and a half to the west of the establishment that had been Porofyr’s—now officially a possession of the Lady-Protector—and consisted of three warehouses and a countinghouse joined by brick walls. Both of the ironbound and weathered timbered gates were open when Mykella reined up before the countinghouse.

  Klevytr hurried out to the covered porch even before Mykella could dismount. “Lady-Protector,” he offered smoothly.

  “Seltyr Klevytr,” she replied, then dismounted. “I require a few moments of your time … privately. Perhaps you have a study.”

  “Of course. Of course.”

  While the Seltyr’s voice was hearty, Mykella sensed the apprehension behind and beneath the words. She strengthened her shields before she started up the three steps to the porch.

  “To the left, Lady,” offered Klevytr, stepping back into the small entry hall.

  Mykella stepped inside, then to the side to let him lead the way. Neither spoke until they stood in the comparatively small countinghouse study that held little more than a desk and chairs and a single bookcase filled with ledgers.

  Klevytr closed the door and turned to Mykella. “Are you here to destroy me in the same fashion as you did Porofyr?” His tone was somewhere between light and joking, but there was deep concern behind it.

  “Let us not talk of such,” replied Mykella. “Porofyr stole thousands of golds from the accounts he managed. He shipped most of them as well as all of his own personal wealth to Southgate, from where I will never be able to recover them without conquering Southgate. That is something I have no desire to do—unless the Seltyrs there force me. You have committed no offenses.” She paused. “Or have you?”