Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Did any clerks who worked for the governor or the princeps escape?”

  Again … Zhrensyl frowned.

  “We’ll need clerks and others to rebuild the tariff system and the ledgers to account for spending. You also should have one or two.” Quaeryt looked hard at the commander.

  “Ah … there are two clerks. They’ve been staying in the barracks.”

  “Good. I’ll see them in the morning. How hot is the area around the palace and the governor’s buildings? Has it cooled off much?”

  The commander shrugged. “Some places are still hot enough to be hearths or stoves. Other places are just unpleasantly warm. So they say.”

  “The palace is on higher ground, and the governor’s square is on a lower hill below it,” volunteered Vaelora.

  “So there might be less lava around the governor’s square?”

  “It’s possible.” Vaelora frowned.

  “Might I ask what you have in mind?” inquired Zhrensyl.

  “I’m wondering if enough ash buried the building that held the strong room,” Quaeryt said.

  “Enough ash for what, Governor?”

  “You know what a burned-out and banked fire is like in the morning? When there’s ash covering everything, and the ash on top is barely warm, but there are still hot coals beneath? Well … if the ash came first, and then was covered with lava…” Quaeryt saw the comprehension in Vaelora’s eyes immediately, but she did not speak.

  Finally, Meinyt did. “You’re saying that what’s under the lava might be cooler?”

  “It’s worth looking to see,” Quaeryt pointed out. “If we can get to the strong room, we’ll have more golds for food and supplies. If not, I’ll have to promise golds to the local High Holders … and getting them from Solis will take time and more golds.” Which Bhayar won’t be happy to provide—assuming that he even can if Bovaria is building forces on the border or threatening an attack.

  “They won’t sell. I’ve asked,” replied the commander. “Said I couldn’t pay enough.”

  “The High Holders did?” asked Quaeryt.

  “That’s what their stewards told the supply major.”

  “They wouldn’t sell to you. If I have to ask, I’ll have a regiment behind me and Lord Bhayar’s sister at my shoulder,” Quaeryt pointed out.

  “That might be convincing enough. They won’t be happy.” Zhrensyl didn’t look especially pleased as he spoke. “They stalled on doing anything until Commander Huosyt’s regiment pulled out.”

  “No … they won’t. They’ll just be less unhappy than they would be with the consequences. Tell me … do you have shovels and picks here?”

  “Some…”

  “Tomorrow, we’ll take some and look into the area around the palace and the governor’s square. What about brooms?” After a moment of silence, Quaeryt went on. “One way or another, we’re going to have to feed at least some people. We need to get the streets and sidewalks swept off. The more ash that accumulates, the more people will want to leave, and there’s really nowhere for them to go, not at this time of year.”

  “Begging your pardon, Governor, but you don’t know that the ash and lava won’t keep coming or getting worse.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know. But…” Quaeryt waited for several moments before he continued. “If all that lava and ash covered everything that I’ve seen in the first days, and it looks like it did because almost all the lava I saw on the way here was dark and looked to be hardening, then it would seem that the lava and ashfall are lessening. What we can’t afford to do is just wait and do nothing. That will also cause more people to leave.” Quaeryt took a swallow of the bitter lager left in his mug, managing not to wince as he did so.

  “Yes, sir.” Zhrensyl’s polite tone conveyed disagreement more pointedly than any words to the contrary could have.

  Quaeryt laughed softly. “If you happen to be right, Commander, then you’ll be able to say so to the end of your days, but we need to do something because Lord Bhayar happens to want the situation improved, and Extela is his ancestral home. We can’t improve it by doing nothing. The only question is what will make matters better, and how we accomplish that. My task is to discover that and bring it about. We can’t even begin to determine whether I’m right or you are unless we go and take a closer look at the damaged parts of the city.”

  “I haven’t had the men…”

  “I know that,” replied Quaeryt as warmly as he could, although he suspected Zhrensyl had had more than enough men for what Quaeryt had in mind. “But I do, and we have more on the way. What do you have in the way of carts and dray-horses?”

  “Three carts, and four wagons in good repair…”

  For the next half glass, Quaeryt asked about what manner of resources remained at the post. He listened not only to what the commander said, but how Zhrensyl reacted to the questions. He also watched the two majors, Fhaen in particular because he hadn’t spent much time at all with the younger major.

  Then he rose. “It’s been a long day for all of us. I’ll see you all in the morning immediately after breakfast.”

  “Yes, sir.” The others stood immediately.

  Vaelora said nothing while she and Quaeryt walked back across the courtyard to the quarters building and up the outside stone steps. Quaeryt thought that the air seemed slightly clearer and that less ash was falling, but that might well have been wishful thinking.

  Once he closed the quarters’ door and slid the bolt, he turned to Vaelora, who had used the striker to light the lamp in the sitting room.

  “You have some ideas, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Of course,” replied Quaeryt with a grin, looking directly at her. “I always have ideas, especially…”

  “I don’t mean those ideas, dearest. I meant about the governor’s mansion.”

  “I still have what you call those ideas, but they can wait … a bit. If I can find some paper, can you help me sketch out what you remember of the old governor’s square?”

  “The last time I was here was years ago.”

  “I’ve noted you have a very good memory.” He grinned again. “But if you’re not interested … there are those other ideas…”

  “I can remember enough.” While her words were tart, there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.

  22

  Immediately after breakfast on Meredi morning, Quaeryt sat behind the desk in the small study that would have been that of the regimental commander. In the two chairs across from him were two men, clerks who had worked for the previous governor and who had sought refuge at the post. Quaeryt had been surprised that Zhrensyl had granted it until he’d learned that the older clerk was a distant cousin of the commander.

  “Jhalyt … you were the assistant bookkeeper for the princeps?”

  “Ah … no sir.” The clerk had narrow-set green eyes below a high forehead and wispy receding brown hair. “I was the assistant to the bookkeeper.”

  “But you can keep a ledger?” At Jhalyt’s nod, Quaeryt went on. “Can you set one up?”

  “Yes, sir … but we don’t have any records to start with.”

  “We won’t for a day or so … if ever. We’ll likely have to start new ledgers. What about a ledger for tariffs?”

  “Ah … Caell did that. I only saw it once or twice.”

  “I can give you an example, and we’ll work it out. That one we won’t worry about immediately.” Quaeryt turned to the other figure, scarcely more than a youth. “What did you do, Baharyt?”

  “Just the supply ledger, sir. Mostly, I kept track of everything the governor and the princeps purchased.”

  “You can do that here. I’ll be giving you more instructions as I know more.” Quaeryt paused. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the governor’s building. Everything. We’re going to see if we can reclaim things from it.” His eyes went to Jhalyt. “Tell me what was on each floor. Better yet … can you draw it out?”

  “Yes, sir … I me
an I can draw out where each chamber is … but aren’t they under the lava?”

  “That’s what we’ll find out. But it’s worth the effort to see.” Quaeryt pushed the pen and inkwell to the other side of the desk and handed the older clerk a sheet of paper.

  Almost a glass later, after he finished meeting with the two clerks and taking their drawings, Quaeryt was out in the courtyard, inspecting the wagon and the cart that he’d decided would accompany the second company from Third Battalion, commanded by Captain Eleryt. The cart held an assortment of hand tools, mostly shovels and a few picks, but also a sledge and a mattock, as well as several buckets and two pry bars. The high-sided wagon contained chains and other gear that he hoped might prove useful. Quaeryt had tucked inside his brown scholar’s working jacket four maps, one from the post, along with a set of directions as how to follow the streets, avenues, and byways so as to get as close to the governor’s square as possible before encountering the hardened lava. The second map was the one Vaelora had drawn the night before. Then he had the two drawings from Jhalyt and Baharyt showing what chambers were where in the building.

  When the company formed up in the courtyard, Vaelora was mounted beside Quaeryt because, as she had pointed out more than once, “Who else do you have who knows that part of Extela any better?”

  Quaeryt knew better than to argue with her, and besides, she did know Extela. There was also little useful that she could do at the post, and Quaeryt had long since learned that his wife did not like to be left alone with nothing to do—and that she’d soon find more than enough to do, and possibly something he’d be less than pleased about. His eyes drifted to the locked anomen. While he’d seen abandoned and burned-out anomens, he’d never seen one simply locked.

  Vaelora followed his gaze. “I wondered about that, too.”

  “I suppose I’d best ask the commander about that, too.”

  “There are a number of matters that still need explaining,” murmured Vaelora, looking to him.

  Quaeryt nodded.

  “Ready, Governor?” called Captain Eleryt, as he rode up to join the two of them, easing his mount beside that of Vaelora, so that she was between the two men.

  “Anytime.”

  “Company! Forward!”

  As Quaeryt and Vaelora rode out through the post gates, he looked to the northwest, toward Mount Extel. The sky above the summit was hazy, unlike the clearer sky farther east or west, as if fine ash—or something—still issued from the volcano.

  “The whole top of the mountain is gone,” said Vaelora. “I couldn’t see that yesterday with all the ash and clouds.”

  “How much taller was it?”

  “It’s hard to tell. It came to a peak. It was snow-covered, at least partly, all year round. How much higher? I don’t know. A quint more?”

  “Let’s hope all that rock and lava isn’t all on top of the governor’s square,” said Quaeryt wryly. His glance dropped from the mountain to the area of Extela that held the palace and the governor’s square, if under ash and lava. “Is the main avenue the best way to go? I’d thought so, but…”

  From the other side of Vaelora, Eleryt leaned inward in his saddle, as if to hear what Vaelora said more clearly.

  “It will be fine until we’re past the market square in the middle of the city. Then we’ll have to see.”

  Quaeryt held his triggered shields so that they covered the two of them as they rode along the avenue toward the market square. Occasionally, shutters opened, usually those on second-level windows, but for the first mille from the post no one approached the riders.

  Because of what happened yesterday afternoon? Or because everyone who is left is afraid?

  Then a boy ran out from an alleyway, waving his hands. “Sirs! We need food! Please … please!”

  “We’re working on that,” Quaeryt called back. “But we’re not carrying food now. We’ll be back later.”

  “My ma is sick. We need food.”

  Quaeryt could see the boy—barefoot and in a thin shirt—shiver. “Soon, but not now,” he said.

  Another youth appeared, begging for food, and then another, followed by an old woman, and then another scrawny boy with a crutch. Then came an older man, with a long gray beard, followed by a woman in a worn and ragged shawl thrown over little more than rags. By the time the company had ridden another long block, there were scores of people on the sidewalks begging … but none of them stepped into the street, most likely because the troopers all carried unsheathed sabres.

  As they continued to ride toward the center market square, more scores of people appeared, pleading and begging. Most were ill-dressed or ragged, confirming Quaeryt’s suspicions that those with food were either remaining behind barred doors or had already left Extela. “I don’t see many who are decently clad.”

  “They’re the poorest,” replied Vaelora. “All they know is that they’re hungry. They don’t care that if you have to promise golds, rather than having them in hand, you’ll pay more for the food, and there will be less.”

  “Or that I’ll have to threaten the High Holders to keep the prices down.”

  “You’ll have to do that anyway.”

  “You don’t think they’ll listen to reason?”

  “The only reason they’ve ever listened to is the ledgers in their accounting rooms. That’s what Bhayar is always saying.”

  She’s right about that, too. “Do you think…” he began.

  “No. You need to know what you have to work with. You also need to know more about conditions here in the city. You also can’t spend too much on the poorest.”

  Because they aren’t the ones who will rebuild and repair the city. Or produce and buy the goods to keep it alive. Still, he couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty as he ignored the pleas that the poorest continued to call out.

  Even before they reached the market square—appearing abandoned from a block away—Quaeryt could feel the warmer air … and see a rough expanse of blackened rock that had poured down the next street to the northwest, walling off the avenue. No one else begged from the sidewalks and alleyways as they neared the square, but he could see several shutters had opened, and one or two were ajar.

  Once they entered the square, Quaeryt turned to Eleryt. “Have them halt here.”

  “Company! Halt!”

  Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “Is there a way east and downhill that will allow us to circle around that?” He pointed to the cooling mass of lava ahead of them.

  “There are many ways, but any of them could be blocked.”

  “Then we’ll just have to try them one at a time.” He turned in the saddle. “Captain, I’d like you and two squads to stay where you are with the wagons for the moment. The lady and I will take the other two squads and see if we can find a better approach to the square.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t let anyone get too close, either.”

  “We won’t, sir.” Eleryt stood in his stirrups. “First and second squads! With the governor, under his direct command!”

  Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “Which way would you suggest?” He smiled, wondering if her foresight extended to picking routes.

  “Downhill until we see a way back northwest,” she replied so sweetly that Quaeryt winced.

  “Squads one and two! On us!” Quaeryt did not immediately look at his wife as he urged the mare forward to the end of the square, then eastward down a narrower street that sloped gently toward the river in the distance.

  At the next cross street, he looked northwest, but the lava still blocked the way, although the amount appeared noticeably less—and lower. After three more blocks, they could turn north once again, but an almost stifling heat permeated the streets, certainly one reason why those begging for food had gathered farther south.

  “Not so chill now, dearest, is it? It’s too bad we couldn’t take the warmth back to those poor people on the south side of town. If only their problem were just keeping warm.”

  Quaeryt
nodded, wondering if he could even do imaging in the heat. He frowned. There was something in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t recall what it was.

  Did you read something somewhere about using heat? Smiths and metal workers use heat all the time to form and shape metal. You’re able to image things from one place to another? What about heat? Or would that just exhaust you? He didn’t know, but he knew that he’d have to be very careful, whatever he tried.

  At the next cross street, he looked uphill, but there was lava two blocks up. Another block farther on, and the street was clear. They rode uphill.

  “The governor’s square is only about four blocks that way.” Vaelora pointed in the direction of Mount Extel, roughly west-northwest.

  “The question is how close we can get to it and in a place where the lava isn’t too high and is cool enough to approach.”

  “You don’t want much, dearest, do you?”

  “Not at all,” he replied pleasantly. “Not at all.”

  Almost a glass later, after weaving back and forth, and up an alleyway to another cross street and then back south, Quaeryt and Vaelora rode along a street that, from what he could tell, had been covered with hard ash to a depth of more than a yard. While grayish ash or dust puffed up with each step of their mounts, the ash was hard-packed enough that the horses’ hooves only sank into it a digit or so.

  Finally, they reined up about ten yards back from an irregular mound of black rock that stretched roughly level across an open space, but the hardened lava directly before them was certainly not deep enough to have covered any buildings. While the hardened lava rose gradually from where it ended before them until it was high enough to engulf buildings, at the lowest point near them the black stone was a good yard above the packed ash.