Pentandra briefed Minalan about details of the palace takeover, and what obstacles to their success she thought they faced. I think we took everyone by surprise, she concluded. That might just give us the breathing room we need to secure the capital without Royal interference.
Well, that’s the key, agreed Minalan. The longer Anguin can maintain power in Vorone, away from his uncle’s influence, the more likely he’ll survive his ire. If Grendine decides that Anguin is running counter to her plans, she’ll just send in some pretty little maid with murder in her heart and end him. That’s going to be a lot easier when he’s the untested heir sitting uneasily on the throne. Once he builds up a political consensus behind himself in the Wilderlands, and re-establishes his administration as vital to the management of the duchy, he’ll be a lot more protected. Get the locals to accept him and prove loyal to him, and even Grendine will have to think twice before killing him out of hand without courting rebellion.
Since the news probably won’t arrive at Castabriel for another few days, we should be able to start that process before she interferes, then, Pentandra agreed. He could have as much as a month before she will be able to react to what he’s done. That should give us enough time to shore up some political support. But . . . just how do I go about ensuring the local nobles support him?
Persuade them that it’s because he’s all they have, Minalan said, wisely. The King only needs the Alshari Wilderlands so that he can claim sovereignty over three duchies – he has little interest in spending more in time or treasure on them than he has to. New royal palaces take a lot of both. Rard doesn’t have any further interest in the Wilderlands, after that, so if they are threatened it will take a long time to even bring it to his attention. Anguin, on the other hand, is willing to stake his fortunes to their own. Or at least that’s what I can tell, Minalan confessed. If they support him, he will, in turn, try to support them. Not the least by the legitimacy his reign gives them.
And if I am unpersuasive?
Then bribe them, Minalan sighed, tiredly. That’s the only way things really get done in a feudal system, anyway.
Chapter Five
Interview With A Courtier
The day after Yule was as busy as the previous day, though less fraught with anxiety now that the Orphan’s Band were well in control of the town.
There were no riots, despite the drunken revelers extending the holiday, there were no insurrections by angry townspeople, there were no rebellions by local nobility. It seemed, on the surface, at least, as if the Restoration was taking hold.
Pentandra found some comfort in that, after the long hours and exhausting work she had put into the effort. As she walked the two miles from Spellmonger’s Hall to the palace for her first official staff meeting, she felt at least some sense of security, despite the fact that Arborn had to leave almost as soon as they’d arrived.
The palace itself was starting to look less gloomy and decrepit already. The Orphans’ Band soldiers at the gate were part of that, but Pentandra could see some of the exterior walkways had been hastily shoveled off, and the refuse and disrepair that dotted the massive building was beginning to be addressed.
She greeted the sergeant of the guard at the gate, who waved her through without incident. Porters and servants were busy unloading wain after wain of baggage arriving from Gilmora while guardsman diligently watched over them. It seemed as if every member and supporter of the Duke’s new regime was ready to set up their household in the palace.
A young assistant castellan with a scroll bearing his instructions was waiting in the main hall for her, and led her through the maze-like structure to the office the Prime Minister had selected as his own.
“Ah! Our Court Wizard!” the white haired old man greeted her, rising, as she was ushered in by a page. The room Angrial had made into his command center was bustling with monks, clerks, castellans, and pages, running errands and sending messages. There was an aggressive pile of parchments lurking on the table in front of him and a cup full of goose quills at his elbow. “Day Two of the Restoration. We shall be in this transitional phase for a few more days, I’m afraid, but thanks to your help we’ve made some remarkably quick progress.”
“So what shall I be doing today? Opening my office?” she asked, expectantly.
Angrial winced and chuckled at the same time. “I’m afraid we are upstream from that, yet, my dear lady. With matters still in flux, I’m afraid the Court Wizard’s office is, sadly, a lower priority than establishing the more fundamental elements of our rule. Not to diminish your abilities, accomplishments, or importance, but . . .”
Pentandra smiled despite herself. “I understand. As eager as I am to begin a life buried in parchment, that can’t begin until the rest of the palace and court is stable and secure. I’ve run a large organization before,” she reminded him. Her early days organizing the Arcane Orders in Castabriel, essentially by herself, had given her a strong appreciation for the importance of proper policy and procedure. It had also taught her patience.
“Just so,” Angrial smiled. “So glad you do – believe it or not, the presumptive new Master of Wave was in here a few moments ago, just as I was affirming our new town constable’s post, demanding that his office be made ready at once. Despite the fact that our regime does not currently control a single ship. These Sea Lords . . .” he said, shaking his head sadly. “In any case, today I need you to participate in more interviews, I’m afraid. But important ones. The first few will be minor functionaries, but they are essential, and need to be vetted. But then I want you to meet with Viscountess Threanas. Coastlord, scion of one of the Oxbow Viscounties, who have a long tradition of dedicated service to the duchy. She was the Minister of Treasure under Lenguin, and she’s lingered around the palace during the Baron’s unfortunate tenure, irritating him to no end.”
“I recall her, from my brief time here before Timberwatch,” Pentandra nodded. “Not a particularly pleasant woman,” she observed.
“Few Ministers of Treasure are,” Angrial nodded. “If they were pleasant, their courts would be broke. In any case, our goal is to see where her loyalties lie, see if she’s willing to re-join the court under Anguin, and see if she’s willing to resume her former position.”
Pentandra’s brow furrowed. “Did we not bring Coinsister Saltia to fill that position?”
“As an assistant,” corrected Angrial. “Sister Saltia is the representative of the Temple of Ifnia, who is underwriting this endeavor . . . with the secret backing of the Arcane Orders, as you well know. But her age and experience, not to mention her ecclesiastical loyalties, make her . . . unsuitable for the top position. In addition,” Angrial continued, in a businesslike way, “Threanas has served under two previous dukes, and has the grudging respect of many of the local nobility for her long and scandal-free tenure. Bringing her on will add a much-needed dose of legitimacy and continuity for the local nobles. And . . . despite my personal issues with the woman . . . she does know her sums,” he admitted, almost painfully. “And she’s honest to a fault.”
“I’ll be happy to assist,” Pentandra agreed, unenthusiastically. She hoped Sister Saltia did not take her participation personally. “I just hope it doesn’t inspire any complications,” she added.
While she had become friendly acquaintances with the coinsister the Temple had assigned to this position, she could see why having her in a position of authority might make some people nervous about the future of the regime.
The Ifnites were slightly obsessive about money, for one thing, but they also had an institutional gambling problem that made people anxious. They were famous for determining their decisions about important things randomly, as a devotion to their fickle goddess of luck and prosperity. Every initiate into their order carried a little pouch of lots which they were known to throw to give them direction and insight. When one wished to discuss the financial security of an entire state, it was somewhat disconcerting to see your experts on the subject throwing dice t
o determine their answers.
“Sister Saltia understands her role in the new court,” Angrial assured her. “She will be sitting in on your interview. And she will have to be the one to work with Threanas. But this is an important enough post that the duke, himself, wishes to participate in the interview,” he informed her.
“That . . . will be interesting,” Pentandra said, non-committally. The young duke was still very much an unknown factor in the equation of Alshar, yet so much depended upon the character and leadership of this untried, untested teenage boy. One execution did not a ruler make. “But instructive to His Grace,” she approved. “As wise as his ministers might be, ultimately it is he who must select his staff.”
“Quite right,” Angrial nodded. “I’m pleased we understand each other. If you’d like to refresh yourself in the main hall, I am arranging a suitable room for the interview. Go ahead and conduct the others on your list. I’ll send word when we arrange Threanas’. I believe Sister Saltia is already in the palace,” he added. “Anything you could do to preemptively sooth any hurt feelings would be appreciated,” he added. “The last thing we need in the palace right now is a surly nun.”
There was breakfast available in the main hall of the palace, laid out on trestle tables near the huge fireplace. She’d barely broken her fast this morning, so eager was she to get to the palace. Pentandra stopped indulged herself in a biscuit. a rasher of bacon and a cup of beer before beginning her duties. The palace cooks had been unprepared for a real Duke to arrive like a Yule gift from the gods, but they had done their best to make the repast festive. The servants were looking at the newcomers nervously, as if they expected to be executed on the spot for their complicity with Baron Edmarin’s regime.
Livery was an important benefit of court service, Pentandra reflected abstractly while she prepared her food. The palace kitchens were massive, employing dozens, ostensibly there to cater to the dietary whims of the Duke. But they were vital to how the palace worked, thanks to livery. That was the right to eat meals at the palace, a privilege that came with many court positions.
Traditionally many of the junior positions as court functionaries were paid out entirely as livery, usually with a small stipend but sometimes not. It was that important a benefit. Even in its fallen estate, the cooks of the palace still ensured that the food was as good as their expertise could manage. Eating at the Duke’s table was far better fare than what could be purchased elsewhere for coin.
Pentandra took a moment to speak with one of the assistant castellans about the pressing matter of her quarters, but the man had little to offer her. The official residence and offices of the Court Wizard had stood vacant for years, now, and had been largely put to other purposes. They were certainly not prepared for her to take residence, nor to conduct the proper business of her office. That forced her to plan on staying at Spellmonger’s Hall indefinitely, which she found annoying.
But the bulk of the Duke’s party had yet to arrive, and the nervous castellan assured her that the newcomers would have to be accommodated before any attention to permanent housekeeping matters could be paid by the staff – by orders of the Prime Minister.
Pentandra returned to her task interviewing senior courtiers of the old regime. While they were considered essential personnel needed to keep the palace running with a minimum of efficiency, their loyalties and accountability needed to be established, particularly after the corruption of Edmarin’s rule. She had claimed a small chamber in the quiet east wing for the task, and had drafted a servant girl who wasn’t doing anything in particular to act as her page, fetching the interviewees to her as requested.
They were a nervous lot. The former Palace Castellan, Sir Enrei, was the very first she interviewed, and the thin man’s face was pouring with sweat as he took a seat. Pentandra made her baculus appear out of nowhere in front of Sir Enrei’s dumbfounded eyes to demonstrate her power in the situation, and then launched into the speech she would use on most of her interviews.
“I am Lady Pentandra anna Benurvial,” she informed the sweaty Sir Enrei, realizing that she would have to change the way she was addressed, now that she was married. How did the Kasari handle the matter?
“I’m the new Ducal Court Wizard. In an effort to ensure the loyalty and efficiency of his staff, His Grace has asked me to speak to you and determine your suitability for your current post. In this he has directed me to use magic to learn the candid truth of the matter. If you decide to resign rather than be subjected to this, please do so now and have your effects removed from the palace by dusk. If you elect to continue, then you may choose either to be compelled to speak the truth, or merely to have me know when you are being deceitful. Which would you like to do?”
Those who were concerned about their history usually chose the second option, and then tried to use evasive language to avoid admitting to any wrongdoing. A few chose to be compelled to speak the truth, confident in their history and very eager to prove their loyalty.
The palace castellan was decidedly in the former group. Pentandra had a list of fairly straightforward questions to put to each of them, and Sir Enrei lied about three of the first five. Pentandra was not only able to tell he was being deceitful, but with the assistance of her baculus she had incredible insight into just how and why he was being deceitful.
In his case, his position was almost entirely nominal. He collected the large salary for the post and pushed most of the details of running the place to his deputies and assistants. As it turned out, he was a distant kinsman and former vassal of Baron Edmarin. His primary responsibility, it seemed, was to act as a procurer supplying the illicit desires of the palace, from young girls to rare wines to other, less savory fare. He had connections with the town’s many brothels and, he inadvertently revealed, connections to the criminal underground known as the Rat Crew that was in charge of much of the city.
Pentandra thanked him for his cooperation, assured him that everything would work out, and added him to the list of those to be dismissed and questioned more thoroughly. And perhaps imprisoned.
He was the worst of the lot. One of his assistants, was also fairly corrupt, but not nearly as bereft of morals as his senior. Another, Sir Mincar was extremely competent but had been forced into doing things he did not approve of, and bore the stain of guilt on his soul. In the end Pentandra recommended him to replace the outgoing castellan, and decided to take a luncheon when the palace chapel’s bells rang. She trundled back down to the main hall, where she found many of the new regime congregating.
Pentandra noticed a familiar face, dressed in a rough spun light brown woolen habit, picking through the seasonal dishes the cooks had prepared. “It hardly feels like Yule,” she remarked to Coinsister Saltia, who was filling her trencher when she arrived.
“Oh, I know!” the woman replied, her eyes wide. “It’s cold enough for Yule, but where is the celebration? I’ve been doing inventory of the vaults all morning, with nary a cup of cheer in sight. I know it needs to be done,” she moaned, “but I do love the Yule festivals.”
Pentandra did not have many strong acquaintances amongst the other supporters of the duke’s party, but over the last few weeks she’d befriended the dumpy nun and appreciated both her sense of humor and her insulation from wider court affairs. She liked Sister Saltia’s willingness to face uncomfortable truths without submitting to despair. The infinity-sign religious symbol around her neck notwithstanding, Saltia had the brains and intelligence to have been a mage, had she but possessed rajira.
“I’m sure the festival decorations will stay up a few more days,” Pentandra offered. apologetically, carefully avoiding the subject of their upcoming interview. Yule was not her favorite holiday, but she could appreciate the draw for someone bound to ecclesiastical celibacy. A number of religious orders relaxed their rules, unofficially, for the festival. It enjoyed a far greater significance up here in the Wilderlands where a severe winter was a threat, than it did for her back in sunny Remere.
Sister Saltia smiled, dimpling. “And you are, Sir?”
“I am Sir Vemas, former lieutenant to the palace guard, recently-appointed Town Constable. Very recently. By about three hours. I’m still awaiting the scribes to finish writing out my post appointment and warrant. And you are . . . Coinsister Saltia, I believe;” he said, charmingly, receiving another dimpled smile at the recognition from the nun. “And no one could mistake you, my dear lady, for anyone other than our new Court Wizard, the famous Lady Pentandra.”
He bowed gracefully. Despite her experience with courtiers and their obsequious ways, Pentandra felt well-disposed to the man. He was handsome of face and well-muscled under the fancy southern-style doublet he wore . . . but not such a courtier that he had focused too much of his attention on his attire. His rakish grin and confident attitude were infectious enugh, she found.
“So I take it you favor the new regime?” Sister Saltia asked, guardedly. She was a naturally suspicious woman, particularly of charming men. That would serve her well at court, Pentandra reflected.
“It is no less than the answer to my daily prayers, Sister,” the man affirmed, happily, as he snagged a small sausage from the trestle table. “My ancestors were among the first settlers of Vorone. We have been in service since the very beginning,” he explained, proudly.
“Is that so, Constable?” Pentandra asked, coolly.
Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series Page 15
