Princeps ip-5

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Felter Heryd … is it not true that Cauflyn only held the coin box for a few moments before throwing it to the floor?”

  “He threw it to the floor … that’s for sure. My boys were coming after him.”

  “They were in the back of the shop, weren’t they?”

  “That they were.”

  “And there was no one between Cauflyn and the door, was there?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “Was there anyone else in the front of the shop besides you and the offender?”

  “No, sir.” Heryd’s voice trembled as much as his hands did.

  “So he could have run out the door with the coin box?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “But he didn’t, did he?”

  “No,” replied the felter grudgingly.

  “Did he hit you at any time?”

  “He wrenched the box from me.”

  “But did he hit you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Pharyl called the felter’s two sons and began to question them. As questioning went on, Quaeryt couldn’t help but note that both were very slight and slender, like their father. Quaeryt thought both of them together might not weigh as much as Cauflyn.

  After Pharyl finished questioning the sons, Caesyt began his interrogation, offering variations on the same questions he had with Heryd.

  After that, Pharyl called several patrollers, who recounted their stories. Under Caesyt’s questions, they had to admit that Cauflyn hadn’t actually attacked them, which suggested to Quaeryt that the felter’s sons had been overenthusiastic in capturing and holding Cauflyn for the Civic Patrol, before the patrollers had taken him to the patrol station and confined him. That, again, raised the question as to why the strong, large, and heavily muscled Cauflyn hadn’t simply broken free and fled.

  “Cauflyn Coersyn, step forward,” ordered Pharyl, who waited until Cauflyn faced Quaeryt before continuing. “Would you please tell the honorable justicer what happened on the night of Samedi, the thirty-fifth of Avryl?”

  “I’d been to Sazyl’s, and I’d had a tankard or two. I wasn’t feeling that steady, and I went out for some air. I came back. I thought I was in Sazyl’s. I wasn’t. I picked up this box. Then I realized it was a coin box. For a moment, I thought about taking it. Then I dropped it. Those fellows tackled me and beat me, and the patrollers came and took me away.”

  Quaeryt listened carefully while Pharyl questioned Cauflyn again and again, but Cauflyn said little more than he had in his first statement.

  He’s trying to get a light punishment, but he doesn’t want to be released soon. That was Quaeryt’s feeling. The tough didn’t want to give Quaeryt an excuse for losing a hand or worse, but he wasn’t trying to slant his story in the way so many of those Quaeryt had heard over the last weeks had done.

  Caesyt persisted in trying to show that what Cauflyn had done was little more than disorderly conduct.

  When all the questions had been asked, Quaeryt turned to Pharyl. “Your closing statement.”

  “Cauflyn Coersyn entered the shop of the felter Heryd, seized the coin box, and attempted to take it. When he saw the felter’s sons coming for it, he dropped it, and they caught him. Whether he dropped the coin box or not does not matter. He took it with the intent of theft.”

  “Your closing statement, Advocate Caesyt?” said Quaeryt.

  “Cauflyn Coersyn was confused. He likely had stopped by a public taproom or cafe. He went into the felter’s thinking it was someplace else. He took the coin box, then realized it was not his and dropped it. The most with which Cauflyn can honestly be charged is being disorderly in public. He made no attempt to escape, even when he was struck and could have. He struck no one, and there is no testimony here that even mentions assault, and that being the case, I move that the assault charge be dropped.”

  “Honorable Justicer…” interjected Pharyl.

  “Yes.”

  “Cauflyn seized the coin box with force. Use of force in the case of theft or attempted theft is assault.”

  “Advocate Caesyt, your motion is denied.”

  Quaeryt looked to the patrollers flanking Cauflyn. “Bring the accused forward.”

  Caesyt stepped back slightly and then moved beside Cauflyn once he stood in front of Quaeryt. Cauflyn did not even glance in the direction of the advocate.

  Quaeryt announced, “Cauflyn Coersyn, this hearing finds you guilty of one count of assault and guilty of one count of theft. You are hereby sentenced to five strokes of the lash and branding on your right hand, followed by incarceration for one to two weeks, at the discretion of the patrol chief. This hearing is declared closed.”

  “Honorable Justicer, I request an appeal.”

  “On what grounds, advocate?”

  “On the grounds that merely holding a coin box and dropping it is not theft. On the grounds that the accused offender took the coin box from a shelf that was easily accessible and not from the felter. As such, no force was applied, and without force, there is no assault.”

  “This time, you failed to make your case, advocate. Your appeal is denied.”

  The advocate looked stunned. “You’re … deciding … now?”

  “I have, advocate.”

  “Appeals must go to higher authority, Honorable Justicer.”

  “They did. They went from the justicer to the governor.”

  “Such arbitrariness is not usually a feature of law in Telaryn, and those who act arbitrarily must answer to the High Justicer of Telaryn. I will be informing him of the particulars of this case.”

  “That is indeed your right, advocate,” replied Quaeryt mildly.

  “It might be best … for all involved … were I not required to file such a report. The events detailed in such a report might well be construed as illustrating the lack of judicial procedures in the province of Montagne.”

  “That is your decision,” replied Quaeryt, before declaring in a louder voice. “This hearing is now concluded. Return the prisoner to custody.” He stood. “Good day, Advocate Caesyt.”

  Quaeryt said nothing more until he left the hearing chamber and he and Pharyl were alone in the chief’s study with the door closed.

  “You didn’t have to incarcerate him, you know?” Pharyl smiled.

  “You know why I did.”

  The chief nodded. “So that we can hide him in the wagon and drive him to the river piers some night when no one’s watching.”

  “Any man who will commit a crime for a flogging and branding to escape Hyleor deserves at least a chance to get away.”

  “He was one of Hyleor’s guards. He’s not exactly the spirit of righteousness or an advocate for the Nameless.”

  “No. That’s one reason why it’s not unjust to brand him. Do you think Jubyl knows something … and that’s why Caesyt didn’t try very hard to defend him?”

  “That’s possible,” said Pharyl. “It’s most likely that Hyleor was afraid Shannar knew something and would tell the Civic Patrol, and that it would get to you. With Jubyl and Shannar dead, no one else who knows is likely to say anything. If you’d released Cauflyn, he’d be dead before midnight, if not sooner. I’d say he knows too much as well.”

  Who else … Quaeryt shook his head as he remembered where he’d heard the name Bennar Fhandsyn before.

  “Sir?”

  “You remember when the pimps staged that attack on the flour wagon?”

  “I heard of it. I wasn’t there.”

  “The one who we captured and held for a while. He said that the attack had been set up by Bennar, who worked for the spicer … The spicer had to be Hyleor.” Why didn’t you connect all that sooner? Because there’s more than one spice factor? Or because you’re trying to do too much?

  “So Hyleor was behind that as well.”

  “It’s nothing we can prove in a hearing, but that’s two more dead men and a dead pleasure girl.”

  Pharyl offered a sour look, then shook his head as well.

&nbs
p; Quaeryt wondered if he’d ever know the entire story … and how long he’d have to worry about Hyleor and what the so-called spice factor was really doing.

  56

  Quaeryt finally returned to the post somewhat after noon and had barely entered the building when the duty squad leader hurried toward him, a dispatch in hand, a dispatch sealed with copious amounts of red wax-signifying urgency.

  “Sir, this arrived at ninth glass.”

  Quaeryt took the sealed dispatch. “Thank you.”

  “There was also one for Commander Skarpa.”

  That suggested that Third Regiment would be leaving imminently, but Quaeryt merely nodded, then hurried to his study. He wanted to be alone when he opened the missive.

  Once he closed the door he walked to the desk, but did not sit down. Instead, he took out his belt knife and slit the envelope, leaving most of the heavy wax in place as he extracted the two sheets of heavy paper. He began to read.

  Governor Quaeryt:

  I had thought your position as governor of Montagne would resolve a number of matters. While you have done much of what was necessary …

  Much of what was necessary? Quaeryt didn’t like that opening at all, but kept reading.

  … the situation has now changed. Our informants report that the bulk of the Bovarian forces in eastern Bovarian are marching toward Ferravyl. The number of small and scattered attacks on our positions near Ferravyl are growing weekly. All available forces will be necessary to repulse the Bovarians.

  You are to be congratulated on your accomplishments in returning order to Extela, in repairing and restoring the basic facilities to use, such as the east bridge and the River Aqueduct, as well as building a new Civic Patrol station and securing a new permanent residence for future provincial governors. It has come to my attention, however, that the unrest provoked by your methods in achieving these worthy goals has created a situation where it is best that you leave Extela and assume a position as an advisor to me in Ferravyl. High Holder Cransyr has complained about your handling of the events that caused the death of one of his nephews, and the uncalled-for imprisonment of another. High Holder Wystgahl [the younger] charges that your unseemly interrogation of his father caused his death. The grain factors of Extela have complained that your sale of flour caused them great financial losses, while many in the city insist that after you gained control of the flour supply, you raised prices to enrich the governor’s treasury. Spice Factor Hyleor, the spice factors of Solis, and High Holder Unseeld believe that your failure to pursue those who assaulted Factor Hyleor caused him and the spice and herb trade untoward damages.

  The former justicer Tharyn has claimed that you refused his services and then acted as justicer yourself. In doing so, according to an advocate in Extela, you placed such strain on the former high justicer who was advising you that he died after a hearing. A respected chorister has protested that you were also acting as a chorister for the Nameless and using your position as chorister to influence the troops, in particular to grant special treatment to undeserving Pharsi women. It has also been reported that you requested sick leave for the post commander, but retained him on the rolls, and in doing so, created the circumstances that led to his untimely and early death. Lastly, but not insignificantly, Factoria Grelyana feels that you and your wife exerted pressure for her to lower the price on the villa you purchased for the governor’s residence and to insist on retaining certain family heirloom furnishings.

  While I have no doubt that there are mitigating factors in many of these cases, perhaps in all, and that it is likely some of these charges, if not the majority, are totally false, I feel it best that you be replaced as governor by Markyl Quintussyn, who has been princeps of Ryntar for the past several years and who is a younger son of High Holder Quintus of Cloisonyt. Because of the urgency of matters in Ferravyl, you are to proceed with Third Regiment immediately to Ferravyl, with the exception of one company, chosen by you, that will escort the Lady Vaelora safely to Solis. Obviously, you can travel together until the road splits at Tresrives …

  The remainder of the dispatch continued with details of where and how Quaeryt should report once he reached Ferravyl with Third Regiment.

  For several moments, Quaeryt just stood there, not really thinking, stunned as much as anything.

  In not quite a month and a half, almost seven weeks exactly, he’d effectively restored Extela to a working city, an incredible achievement by any standard, given the conditions he’d encountered, especially with the loss of most tools of government and those who knew how to wield them both effectively and honestly. Except there were few who were truly honest.

  And what was his reward-and Vaelora’s? Removal and replacement, because in trying to put things back together, he’d stepped on too many pairs of boots. Yet it would have taken months, if not longer, any other way, and he still likely would not have accomplished all that had to be done. Not that you have yet, either.

  He shook his head, then slipped the sheets back into the envelope. He needed to talk to Skarpa.

  Finding the commander wasn’t difficult because Skarpa was standing outside the door to the post commander’s study, talking to Meinyt. Quaeryt was willing to wait, but when both officers saw him they stopped talking.

  “We can finish this later,” Skarpa said to the major.

  Meinyt nodded and hurried toward the courtyard.

  Quaeryt followed Skarpa into the small study, not that any of the studies were capacious, and closed the door behind himself. “So what did your dispatch say?”

  A puzzled expression crossed Skarpa’s face as he stood beside the desk. “The same as yours, I’d imagine. That we’re to depart as soon as possible, but that one company will receive special instructions from you.”

  “That’s all?”

  Skarpa lifted a single sheet from the desk and handed it to Quaeryt.

  Quaeryt read it, then nodded as he handed it back. “That’s what it says. Now … you’re wondering why I asked. I’ll tell you, but only if it remains between the two of us.”

  “You know-”

  “I know you don’t talk, and some of this will be known in a day, but … you’ll see why. You’ll also understand why I want you to know.” He handed the dispatch he’d received to the commander.

  Skarpa began to read, first nodding, and then frowning. At the end, he looked up. “Since this is between us … it’s all pigshit. He doesn’t want to piss off anyone at the moment … and I’d wager he’s got more trouble than he can handle in Ferravyl.” A rueful smile followed as he returned the dispatch to Quaeryt. “I did tell you that we were just here because no one else dared stomp on enough boots to fix things.”

  “I remember some words to that effect.”

  “I’m also going to suggest that you pay yourself a travel allowance and expenses, and your pay as governor for all of Mayas. You deserve that, and more, and Lord Bhayar will expect it and the new governor won’t miss it.”

  “I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Don’t think too hard. You’ve got your wife to think about … and it’s likely to be a good while before any of us gets paid once we’re in Ferravyl.” Skarpa shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. Well … I guess I can … I did tell you-”

  “That governing wasn’t like winning battles. You did, and it isn’t. Any time you get anything done, someone else gets upset, and the faster you do it, the louder they complain.” Quaeryt offered a grim smile. “Do you think I should pay the regiment in advance, or just send the coins in a pay chest?”

  “Send the pay chest. Too many of the rankers will spend every copper they have as soon as they get it.”

  “I can do that.” Quaeryt couldn’t keep a true half smile from his face at the way Skarpa had conveyed the need to get his men paid. “How soon will you be ready to leave?”

  “We’ve been mostly ready for weeks. Samedi morning, I’d thought.”

  Quaeryt managed not to wince at the thought of
telling Vaelora she had only a day to pack and leave Extela behind. “Then we’ll leave on Samedi.” Not that we have any real choice. “Have you told Heireg and the others?”

  “Only that we’d likely be leaving before long on short notice.”

  “Then I won’t keep you.”

  Quaeryt spent the next two glasses with Heireg and Jhalyt, since the major would effectively be not only acting governor but paymaster for the Civic Patrol and the post until Markyl arrived. When he left them to carry out his instructions, he reclaimed the mare and rode out the post gates, heading for the villa, and what he knew would be another sort of eruption.

  On the ride back, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Bhayar had in mind for him in Ferravyl. Was it simply to give him something to do, a meaningless position? Or had Bhayar decided that because Quaeryt had done more than he had ever admitted in Tilbor that he might be actually useful in Ferravyl?

  Either way, what awaited him in Ferravyl meant trouble. The only question was what kind.

  Vaelora came out of the villa to meet him on the portico after he stabled, but did not unsaddle, the mare, and walked up from the villa stables. Her expression was quizzical as she asked, “What is it, dearest? You’re never home this early. Is something wrong?”

  Wordlessly, Quaeryt handed the dispatch to her.

  Unlike Skarpa, Vaelora frowned from the moment she began to read the dispatch, and that frown deepened with each line. Finally, she looked up.

  “They’re all lies! That bitch Grelyana … all of them! What did he expect with a quarter of the city destroyed? He had to know that schemer Scythn was skimming off too much in tariffs.”

  “As are most governors,” said Quaeryt dryly.

  “Except you. We’re both being punished for your honesty and effectiveness.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “I had a choice. I could have acted the way Scythn did, and few would have said anything. Or I could have proceeded slowly and deliberately, flattering and toadying, and doing nothing until everyone agreed, and doing nothing where people disagreed. I would have accomplished almost nothing in the time we’ve been here. Instead, I did everything in the dispatch. I did keep the price of flour down-just for a few weeks and to help the poor. I did cause Wystgahl’s death because he wanted to make golds off the suffering of others, while stealing from your brother. There was a reason for everything I did-a good reason, but people with influence felt they suffered because I was trying to do things I felt would help everyone … and in some cases, those who truly wanted or needed the help. Poor Zhrensyl was dying already. He couldn’t really do his job. I set it up so that he wouldn’t suffer, and he knew that. But he’s dead, and the only people who know what really happened are a few officers. It’s like that with everything in his dispatch.” Or most things, anyway.