Princeps ip-5

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Quaeryt hadn’t heard from Bieryn, either, and didn’t expect to until the following week, but he admitted to himself that he’d hoped he would. Pharyl had reported another ten recruits were undergoing training as potential civic patrollers, and the number of evening patrols had increased by two. Even so, it wasn’t likely that full evening patrols would be possible until late summer or early harvest.

  No one had contacted him about Lysienk or even mentioned the factor’s name again, except Shenna. Quaeryt had told her to wait to hear from the factor for several days, and if she didn’t, to pursue other suppliers and factors. On Vendrei morning, Shenna reported to Vaelora and Quaeryt, just before he had left for the post, that Lysienk had died on a morning ride, and that his wife was selling off everything that she could.

  Quaeryt leaned back in the chair inside the small post study, reflecting that it would be good to have a place where he could actually feel as though he was the governor, but, he reminded himself, he’d essentially had to rebuild not only parts of the city, but most of the provincial governing structure, and he was still a long ways from completing that task.

  “Governor?”

  “Yes?”

  “Justicer Tharyn here to see you.”

  Tharyn was one of the last people Quaeryt wanted to see, but he forced a cheerful tone into his voice. “Have him come in.”

  When Tharyn stepped into the small study, Quaeryt motioned him to a chair. “Good afternoon, Tharyn. What can I do for you?”

  “Governor, I noticed that you are still acting as justicer.”

  “For the time being.”

  “I also heard that High Justicer Aextyl was helping you, and he died right after.”

  “High Justicer Aextyl had been in frail health for some time. That was why I did not consider him as a possible justicer. I did consult with him to make sure my decisions and recommendations were couched in the proper legal terms. I was very sad to learn of his death.”

  “Other folks, maybe some in places like Solis, might not see it that way.”

  “Oh?” Quaeryt kept his voice genial. “Justicer Aextyl was very helpful, and I was most careful not to tax his health. How would anyone think it otherwise?”

  “There are always those who’d believe the worst, especially if those who didn’t receive the most favorable decisions … recommendations … wanted to cause trouble.”

  “There are always those who want to cause trouble.” Quaeryt smiled, trying not to seem false, but fearing that he did. “I do appreciate your concerns. You’re being most thoughtful.”

  “Thank you, Governor. I always try to be thoughtful … and grateful to those who give me reason to be grateful.”

  “I’m certain you do.”

  “Seeing as you haven’t yet decided on who you might be appointing as justicers here in Montagne, I just thought I’d stop by and see how you were coming on making those decisions. I mean, I know you’re looking for experience, and you’d likely be wanting those who know how things are, and wouldn’t be wanting to cause you difficulties.”

  “That’s very true,” replied Quaeryt. “I am considering those very things, and I appreciate your bringing them to my attention.” He paused. “Who would you say the most effective advocates in Extela are?”

  “Be depending on what you mean by effective, Governor. Advocate Warolyt, he’s been good at representing the High Holders around Extela. Advocate Caesyt … he’s kept many a poor man from being branded when he shouldn’t have been…”

  Quaeryt listened for close to half a quint before Tharyn came to an end.

  “… and that’s why I really think I could do you some good as a justicer, knowing like I do which advocates do what.”

  “You make a very convincing case, Tharyn, and I’ll keep your words in mind when I finally make a decision.” And Quaeryt would … if not exactly in the way that Tharyn might have hoped.

  When Quaeryt finally reached the villa that evening, Vaelora greeted him as he stepped onto the portico, out of the light drizzle that had oozed out of the northwest and over Extela that afternoon.

  “You look more cheerful,” observed Quaeryt.

  “We finally got an invitation to a dinner.”

  “Where?”

  “High Holder Aramyn’s. It’s a week from tomorrow.” Vaelora paused. “We don’t have a coach or even a wagon.”

  Quaeryt studied her face. “I take it that you have located a coach? Where?”

  “Ah … there are two for sale, through the livery stable on the south avenue. The more … suitable one belonged to Factor Lysienk.”

  Quaeryt nodded slowly. “Shenna had said his widow was selling many items.”

  “She wishes to leave Extela. He had two coaches. She will keep but one.”

  “What about a team?”

  “Two grays come with the coach.”

  “How much?”

  “Thirty golds for coach and team.”

  “I suppose we should purchase them.”

  “Good. I already did. They will be here tomorrow.”

  “You didn’t have to … A governor does deserve a coach.”

  Vaelora smiled. “I know. I thought you, the treasury, more properly, could reimburse me.”

  Quaeryt laughed ruefully. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Stuffed fowl and sundry other accompaniments.”

  “Sundry other?”

  “Maize and mushroom stuffing, early asparagus, and lace-fried potatoes.”

  “That will be good.” He extended his arm, and they walked across the portico and into the governor’s villa.

  51

  On Samedi morning, Quaeryt had been late getting to the post, not arriving until two quints past seventh glass. By ninth glass, Pharyl had sent him reports that some of the poor had gathered in the southwest market square and were complaining that the governor was no longer selling flour and potatoes … or even giving either to the very poorest. Quaeryt and Skarpa met, decided, and immediately dispatched several companies from Third Battalion.

  Quaeryt thought about accompanying the troopers, then decided against it. His presence was more likely to incite those who were complaining than to calm them because they’d all be yelling that he had somehow betrayed them, and to keep order, even more force would be required.

  Still, as he waited, Quaeryt couldn’t help but ponder about the situation in which he found himself. For far more than the first time, he wanted to shake his head. If he provided flour at a reasonable price for the poorer inhabitants of Extela, the factors and holders complained. If he didn’t, the poor complained.

  He’d gotten the aqueduct and the east river bridge repaired. He’d re-formed the Civic Patrol and largely restored order. He’d recovered what was left of the treasury in order to pay the patrollers and to pay for the supplies needed to make the repairs. Except for the Pharsi women and a few others, it seemed as though, no matter what he did, someone was unhappy.

  No wonder some governors find a way to pocket everything they can. Since they please no one, they might as well please themselves.

  He pushed those thoughts aside because they wouldn’t help and took out the master ledger just to see how actual expenditures compared to what he’d estimated and how much was left in the provincial treasury.

  Less than a quint later, before he’d finished his calculations, Skarpa knocked on the door and stepped inside.

  “Thought you’d like to hear what happened.”

  Quaeryt gestured to the chairs.

  Skarpa smiled as he seated himself, a folder in his hand. “As soon as the companies appeared, the troublemakers slipped away. Pharyl’s patrollers nabbed a couple who had weapons, and I ordered Jusaph to have his company patrol the square for the next glass, and the others to sweep through the city. All the reports are that the shops are open, and nothing seems much different from any other market Samedi.”

  “How long will it take not to have to use troopers?”

  “Not too much longer, I�
�d guess. We barely had to show up. Pharyl’s whipping the Civic Patrol into better shape.”

  “Still … we’ve been fortunate to have you here this long. Why do you think that is?” asked Quaeryt. “I’d have thought Bhayar would have ordered you to Ferravyl sooner.”

  The commander shifted his weight in the chair and offered a slight frown before speaking. “I’d guess that he wants to leave Third Regiment as long as he can. He knows things can’t be settled in a month. But he’ll need us before we can do all that needs to be done here. That’s why you’re governor.”

  “Go on,” suggested Quaeryt.

  Skarpa shrugged. “I don’t claim to know much about governing, except it’s not often done well. The men who govern aren’t idiots, no matter what anyone says. That tells me that it’s not near as easy as it looks. There aren’t many who want good governors. Most want a governor who will help them. You’re not like that. I think Lord Bhayar wants you to clean up the place, but he doesn’t know how bad it got. No one would have dared to tell him. So he’s thinking that if you’ve got a regiment for a month or maybe two, you can take care of things. After that, sir, you’re on your own.”

  “I’m getting that feeling.” Quaeryt paused. “Who’s likely to be the best officer here at the post for training? Once you depart, we’ll need more local troopers.”

  “I’d try Undercaptain Shanyt. Came up the long way.”

  “You already asked around, didn’t you?”

  “Now, sir … would I be a decent commander if I didn’t learn the lay of the land?”

  Quaeryt grinned, almost laughing at the mock innocence in Skarpa’s voice. Then he shook his head. “Thank you. And have you suggested to him that he start recruiting?”

  “I think he might have lined up a score or so…”

  Quaeryt was going to miss Skarpa, far more than he’d realized. “I appreciate that. We’ll need them.”

  “He’s a good man. Make a good captain.”

  In short, promote him, you idiot. “If you’d have your clerks draw up the papers … if you haven’t already.”

  Skarpa extracted several sheets from the folder. “As a matter of fact, sir…”

  “And there are several others there as well, I take it?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, sir.”

  Quaeryt laughed.

  After Skarpa had left, Quaeryt took a deep breath. He’d been kept out of more trouble by a few others-Skarpa, Aextyl, Pharyl, for starters-more times than he wanted to count, and some of those he’d lost or would soon lose. He just hoped he’d learned enough.

  After finishing the discouraging business with the master ledger, he decided to take a break and try to come up with at least a few thoughts for a homily. He pushed away the nagging feeling that he should already have paid a visit to meet with Siemprit’s junior chorister.

  What was the man’s name? Quaeryt struggled to recall, then nodded. Neoryn.

  Next week. He’d get to it next week.

  Then he tried to think about the homily.

  More than two quints later, he finally came up with something, and when he finished, he looked down at the few sentences he had written.

  A man I did not know long or well died this past week, but he was a man whom I respected, and who suffered because he was honest and he held to his principles. He was willing to help me up to the day of his death, and he saved me from making several mistakes …

  His eyes strayed from the paper on the desk to the study window of the villa, still without hangings, out into the bedraggled remnants of what had once been a garden …

  What else can you say?

  After a time, he added a few more lines.

  He agreed to help me because he thought it was right, not for the fame or fortune that had bypassed him. He will not be lauded, except by me and a few others. Nor will his name be praised unto the generations, outside his family, yet I will remember and respect his dignity and honesty …

  Quaeryt nodded. He needed more, but he had a good beginning for the homily.

  52

  The coach and team that Vaelora had purchased for the villa did arrive on Samedi afternoon, while Quaeryt was still at the post, but he had remembered and brought back the thirty golds to reimburse her. Outside of a scratch or two, the coach was in excellent condition, as were the matched grays … and on Solayi evening Quaeryt and Vaelora rode to the post in the carriage, where Quaeryt again conducted services.

  Despite Quaeryt’s worries, Lundi and Mardi came and went with no more than the usual kinds of problems, with three comparatively routine hearings at the Civic Patrol station on Mardi. He did review the preliminary plans for the governor’s building and, based on discussions with Ghaelt and Dhaeryn, requested several changes.

  Meredi morning, after checking for dispatches and meeting briefly with Pharyl, and then with Skarpa, he set out for the anomen west of the governor’s residence to meet, of necessity, with Neoryn, the junior chorister, if only to be able to claim that he had done so. He halfway hoped that Neoryn wasn’t even at the anomen.

  That was not to be, Quaeryt could tell, almost as soon as he arrived at the anomen, a oblong and featureless domed structure, except for doors and windows, as were all anomens, built of the black stone that formed the walls of so many buildings in Extela. He’d barely tied the mare to one of the ornate iron hitching rings when two men, both wearing black and white choristers’ scarves, appeared on the wide front steps of the building, clearly waiting for him.

  “I have no idea how long this will take,” Quaeryt told Venkyl, the senior of the two rankers who had been his escorts.

  “We’ll be here, Governor.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt walked along the immaculate stone walkway to the anomen and then up the wide steps to meet the two. He smiled as warmly as he could. “Good morning, Chorister Siemprit. I told you I’d be here.”

  “So you did. I had wondered if we might be seeing you, Governor.” Siemprit gestured to the younger man with him, who looked to be about Quaeryt’s age. “This is Neoryn, my assistant chorister.”

  Neoryn was black-haired with brilliant blue eyes and an oval face that conveyed innocence. He inclined his head politely and said, “Governor,” in a resonant and mellow voice that doubtless could fill an anomen with ease.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Neoryn.”

  “And I you, sir.”

  “You must come in and see the anomen,” said Siemprit.

  The smoothness of his tone made Quaeryt check his shields, although he couldn’t imagine a chorister attempting anything. Yet … You don’t trust him. “I’d be happy to.”

  Siemprit turned and walked back through the open double doors, doors of finely finished and well-polished goldenwood, Quaeryt noted in passing. The plain bronze handles shimmered in the warm spring sunlight.

  Inside, the floor was of polished black marble, while the walls of the spacious vestibule were of plain white plaster, with simple goldenwood floor moldings. Twin black marble archways afforded access to the sanctuary from the vestibule. The sanctuary was a good thirty yards long and fifteen wide. The dais at the far end was of black marble as well, but the pulpit was of polished goldenwood.

  “It’s very simple in an impressive way,” commented Quaeryt.

  “As is the Nameless,” replied Siemprit.

  “Unfortunately, life isn’t always that simple.” Quaeryt wanted to hear what the chorister might say in return.

  “We often make life too complicated, Governor. A good remedy for that complexity is acting in accord with the basic and simple precepts of the Nameless.”

  When one can … without creating even greater harm and complexity. Quaeryt did not voice that thought but only nodded as he stopped short of the dais and studied the workmanship of the marble and the pulpit-and the recently painted white plaster walls behind the dais. Two narrow and high windows provided light.

  “I imagine you’d like a few moments with Neoryn, Governor.”

  �
�That would be helpful.”

  “I will leave you two.” Siemprit smiled beatifically. “I will be in my study if you need me further.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We could go to my study,” suggested Neoryn.

  “Lead the way.”

  The assistant chorister’s study was twice the size of Quaeryt’s study at the post, but simple in the same fashion as the rest of the anomen, with the polished black marble floor, goldenwood moldings around the door and windows, and the white plaster walls. A desk, with a chair behind it, and three other chairs, a file chest, and a bookcase comprised the furnishings. All were plain and of polished goldenwood, and all showed the finest in crafting and workmanship.

  Quaeryt took one of the chairs.

  Neoryn took one of the others, but not the one behind the desk. “Chorister Siemprit said you might be looking for a chorister for … your anomen, Governor.”

  “He probably told you I’ve been acting as chorister. It’s not my calling, but I’ve done the best I can. There have been so many pressing demands that, until now, I haven’t had time to look into the possibilities for a chorister, or frankly to come up with the funding to refurbish the anomen and support a chorister.”

  “Would not the collections … help?”

  “They might, but the collections were used to buy food and clothing for the poorest women in Extela. It seemed that they needed that help more than the troopers needed a refurbished anomen.”

  Neoryn nodded. “No one could find fault with helping the poor.”

  In spite of himself, Quaeryt had the feeling that Neoryn actually meant what he said, as opposed to Siemprit, whose every word he doubted. But is that because Neoryn’s voice conveys sincerity, whether he is or not?