Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  A lady’s study? For a widower? Or is it for a mistress? Quaeryt said nothing, but let Dallaen show them the rest of the main floor, which held a large dining chamber with a long goldenwood table and matching chairs, the adjoining salon, and a pair of parlors, or perhaps a parlor and a morning room off the smaller front entry to the mansion. Then came a breakfast room, and opposite it a music room with a clavecin and several settees and chairs upholstered in a pale green silk. Beyond the music room was another study, small and dark paneled, with but a small writing desk and a table … and a green hanging in the middle of the side wall.

  Quaeryt walked over to the hanging and drew it aside to reveal a heavy brassbound door with a brass-plated keyhole for a built-in lock. He looked to Dallaen. “Please open the door.”

  “I can’t, sir. Only the master and the young master have keys.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. They never let anyone have the keys to either this door or the outside door to the lower level.”

  “Have you ever been down there, Dallaen?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Only in the lower study, sir, the chamber at the bottom of the steps.”

  “What else is down there?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. There’s another locked door that leads to the rest of the lower level. That was what the master said.”

  Quaeryt had his doubts about the accuracy of Dallaen’s words, but let that pass. “Then, I guess we’ll have to let ourselves in.”

  “The door is iron-backed, sir. I would hope that you would not create great destruction.”

  Quaeryt smiled. “So do I.” He looked at the door and concentrated on imaging away a thin section from the top to the bottom on the side facing the lock. Then he tried the lever handle. It depressed and the door opened.

  Dallaen’s mouth opened and shut silently.

  “Shall we see what lies below, Major? Please follow me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Holding full shields, Quaeryt stepped down on the first step-and found himself hurled backward into the iron doorjamb. Frig! You should have thought about traps. He straightened, ignoring the soreness in his shoulder, and looked at the still-vibrating and massive morning star that had swung down out of a concealed recess in the staircase ceiling.

  He stepped back into the rear hallway and looked at Dallaen.

  All the color had drained from the functionary’s face.

  “I think you should precede us down the stairs,” Quaeryt said quietly.

  “Sir … I beg you … please … I knew nothing.”

  “Down the steps.”

  Dallaen glanced from Quaeryt to the morning star and back to Quaeryt, then shuffled to the steps and began to descend, turning his body to pass the suspended weapon. Quaeryt followed, with Zhelan behind him.

  The windowless and stone-walled chamber at the bottom of the steps contained a single writing desk with one side against the wall, two wooden chairs, one set behind the desk, and a bronze lamp in a wall sconce above the side of the desk, all barely illuminated by the light from the room at the top of the stairs. Quaeryt imaged the lamp into light, surveying the room as he turned up the wick for more illumination. As Dallaen had said, there was another door, ironbound and secured by both a heavy padlock running through iron hoops and another in-door lock.

  “You have no idea what lies behind this door?” Quaeryt’s voice was soft.

  “I’ve heard voices, at times, sir. Women’s voices,” Dallaen admitted in a resigned tone.

  “And you’ve sent down food?”

  “Yes, sir. But only to one of the factor’s guards. Usually, it’s Wharfyl.”

  “Where is Wharfyl now?”

  “He left with the master.”

  I’ll wager he did. Quaeryt saw no point in questioning the steward more at the moment since he already had a good idea what he faced. Instead, he stepped to the door and imaged away the padlock hasp and the iron-edged part of the door where the lock bolt had to be. Then he opened the door. A sour odor assaulted him when he stepped through the door, only to see a second door less than a yard beyond the first. The second door had no locks, only a heavy latch, but when he pushed open that door, the odor became far stronger. There was no light in the second room, except that seeping through from behind him, but that was enough for him to make out the four women-scarcely more than girls, he thought, chained to iron rings set in the stone walls. All were naked, and all were cringing back against the stone, their faces averted.

  “… Namer-frigged bastard…” muttered Zhelan from behind Quaeryt.

  “… please … no more…”

  “… do anything…”

  The pleading murmurs from the girls were desultory, the tone of faded desperation.

  Quaeryt spied the single wall lamp and image-lit it. As the faint light filled the chamber, he saw that there were five unused rings set in the wall. He also saw that each girl wore a harness with a lock in the back that connected the chain from the wall ring to the harness.

  One of the girls squinted at Quaeryt. “Sir … please!”

  “We’ll have you free in a moment.”

  “… just another trick…” That murmur was so low Quaeryt couldn’t tell which of the four had uttered it.

  “Zhelan … escort the steward upstairs and have him provide blankets for the girls. We’ll worry about garments after I get them out of here. If he shows the slightest inclination to be less than cooperative, run him through.”

  “Sir … I didn’t know…” protested the steward.

  “Sowshit!” snapped Quaeryt. “I don’t want to hear another word. Get those blankets.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt’s head was aching faintly by the time he’d imaged away the harness locks and guided the trembling girls up the steps into the study, where Zhelan immediately wrapped a blanket around each girl.

  Leaving the four stunned and trembling girls in the main floor study, Quaeryt drew Zhelan out into the corridor.

  Zhelan was silent until Quaeryt closed the door to the study. “The fellow is more than…” The major seemed unable to come up with a word adequate to describe the missing factor. “He just left them to starve … to die.”

  “He might not have. He might have thought that we’d move on and he could return.”

  “He had to know that might not happen.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “That’s possible. I need to leave all this in your hands. Get them fed, washed up and clothed … and keep them safe.”

  “Yes, sir. What about the house staff?”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “For now, keep them all here. Except Dallaen. Tie him up. He, of any of them, should have known. I need to think about this.”

  “Sir?”

  “We’re not justicers.” Not anymore. “But I don’t trust the locals to handle it, either.”

  The major nodded sadly.

  Quaeryt left Zhelan at the mansion, as well as all but two troopers of the squad that had accompanied him, to deal with the factor’s mansion staff and former captives. As he rode south along the road that led back to the Canal Inn, he thought about what he’d just discovered. There weren’t any laws that he knew of that prohibited girls from becoming pleasure women, and even in Tilbor parents could sell their daughters-or sons-into indenture for up to five years.

  What Aelsam had done went far beyond that, but … in any justicing hearing, he would doubtless claim, and the locals would likely support that assertion, that he had only been disciplining girls who had refused to live up to the terms of their indenture. Quaeryt hadn’t seen any bruises or welts or cuts on the girls when he’d freed them, not that he’d looked closely, and he suspected that less obvious means had been used on the girls. Three of them had looked dazed, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much curamyn had been in their food. But, again, feeding them curamyn wasn’t against any law he knew. Despicable … but not against the law.

  Even if he persuaded Bhayar to decree changes in the
law, how long would it be before such changes were accepted by the factors and High Holders? And even if he were successful in setting up the imagers as a force, it would be years … if not longer … before they could make significant changes. It will be hard enough to get compliance with what laws there are now.

  He was still thinking about what he might be able to do when he walked into the larger plaques room of the Canal Inn, where Vaelora and Skarpa waited.

  “I was wondering, dearest, if you were going to return in time.”

  “There was another … difficulty.” Quaeryt paused, then went on. “Zhelan sensed that there was something … unusual … about Factor Aelsam’s dwelling. He suggested an inspection might be in order. It was.” Quaeryt went on to describe what he had found.

  “He had those girls chained up?” asked Vaelora.

  “He did. Zhelan is arranging for them to be brought here to the inn. I don’t know what we’ll do, but I don’t think they want to go to the pleasure houses or wherever Aelsam had in mind for them.”

  “Variana, I would imagine,” said Vaelora tartly.

  “What I don’t understand is why the canal boat was left,” said Skarpa.

  Quaeryt laughed. “The good factor Aelsam had two warehouses, one on each side of the locks. The one to the west of the locks likely held grain that he bought cheaply from growers whose shipments were held up when the lock was closed for repairs. The one on the east was for goods destined for Variana in times both good and bad-for either Rex Kharst’s pleasures or for the pleasure houses catering to a more wealthy clientele. But when Aelsam discovered an army was coming, everything was reversed, and he ran out of time, and he certainly couldn’t have escaped us heading east, especially since he would have had the only boat for more than twenty milles. I’d guess that one of his enemies hired the smith, for a goodly amount of golds, to forge-weld the canal lock just so that Aelsam couldn’t move his more luxurious goods back west. I also suspect that enemy was one of the factors on the council, most likely one of the two whom we didn’t pick up, because they knew who Zhelan was and that he could get word to the submarshal. The two we have in custody know that, but they haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone else.”

  “And anyone else who could tell us is dead,” concluded Vaelora.

  Quaeryt nodded. “But I’m certain that Aelsam is accompanied by a considerable amount of gold, and likely headed west.”

  “Not downriver?” asked Skarpa, who immediately shook his head. “No, he’d have guessed that we’d have to take a large force south.”

  “We can’t chase him west, but there may be some things we can do to make sure he can’t return to Laaryn,” said Quaeryt. “We’ll have to talk about those later.”

  Vaelora gave Quaeryt a look that told him he would be explaining a great deal later.

  The bells had not finished chiming ninth glass when Major Aernyt, an officer Quaeryt did not personally know, ushered the four remaining members of the factors’ council into the plaques room, led by the narrow-faced Coryt. The stout gray-bearded Barkudan was last, and that meant the two in the middle were Yudrow and Fuadan.

  “You can just stand before the table,” said Quaeryt.

  “It is most … untoward … to be summoned to a hearing on a Solayi morning,” the stout Barkudan said in a quietly aggrieved tone.

  “It was most untoward for you to have a city councilor lie to a submarshal,” replied Quaeryt. “It was most untoward for you to attack me.”

  “All of that was a grievous misunderstanding,” said the sallow brown-haired factor smoothly. “Had we but known…”

  “You are?” asked Skarpa.

  “Yudrow D’Factorius, Submarshal.” Yudrow inclined his head politely. “We received no word about the approach of your forces. Nor did we receive any instructions that our past practices were no longer to be sanctioned by Lord Bhayar. Had we but known-”

  “We attempted to let you know,” said Skarpa dryly. “I would have thought that the approach of an army would have been sufficient to convey that matters had changed. Instead, you all immediately lied. Two of you tried to kill a Telaryn senior officer who had not even lifted arms against you. One of your number fled.”

  “Now that we know, sir,” added the black-haired and green-eyed Fuadan, “we will certainly comply with all laws and rules you and Lord Bhayar specify.”

  The implication there is that they shouldn’t have to comply until they are told. Quaeryt wanted to snort. Since when is shooting at authority allowed once the war is over?

  Skarpa smiled. “Please explain why you lied to me and fired upon Commander Quaeryt.” His eyes fixed on Barkudan.

  “Sir…”

  Quaeryt image-projected the feeling that more dissembling might well lead to executions.

  A sheen of perspiration began to appear on the stout factor’s forehead. Finally, he continued. “Sir … there … is no explanation save that we did not know what to expect. The fact that we could not even come up with a good explanation is proof enough of our confusion.”

  “Would you have lied or fired upon Rex Kharst’s officers?” pressed Skarpa.

  “I could not say, sir. In my entire life, I have never seen such.”

  “You’ve never seen a Bovarian officer?”

  “Not in Laaryn, sir. I have in Ephra and in Variana, but never here.”

  “What about the rest of you?” interjected Quaeryt.

  “No, sir.”

  “Never, sir.”

  “How have you paid your tariffs to Rex Kharst?” asked Quaeryt, ignoring the puzzled look from Skarpa.

  “As always,” replied Barkudan. “The factors’ council receives them from all crafters, merchants, and growers in Laaryn and the surrounding area. We send them with guards by canal boat to Variana by the end of Feuillyt every year.”

  “Do the tariffs from the High Holders go on the same boat?”

  “Of course. It would be a waste to send two boats.”

  “Is this the same method used in most of Bovaria?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Who checks the tariffs for the rex?”

  “If the regional tariffs don’t match the yearly requirement, the head of the factors’ council can be executed. That happened once eleven years ago. If the discrepancy is great, all can be executed. High Holders can lose all or part of their holding if they fail to meet their tariffs. They also can be executed.”

  That explains a great deal … and it’s going to make Bhayar’s life-and yours-a lot harder. “You sent your tariffs this year?”

  “Of course, sir. We dared not do otherwise.”

  “And you’ll keep sending them to Lord Bhayar?”

  “We wouldn’t think otherwise.”

  “Do any of you have any questions or anything else to say?” asked Quaeryt.

  The four exchanged glances, then all shook their heads.

  Quaeryt glanced to Skarpa and then to Vaelora. “I’d suggest we excuse the factors and review what we know. When we come to a decision, we’ll summon them back.”

  Vaelora nodded. After a moment, so did Skarpa.

  “Major … if you’d escort the factors out,” said Quaeryt.

  Once the plaques-room door closed, Skarpa looked to Quaeryt. “Why did you stop questioning them?”

  “Because what they said changes everything. Much as I dislike the way they run Laaryn, they largely behaved as they had been told by Kharst. Aelsam is another story, and he knows it. That’s why he fled. It’s also why one of them made sure that the canal locks couldn’t be opened quickly and why Zhelan was informed about Aelsam and his boat.” Quaeryt coughed to clear his throat. “We can’t afford to kill off or punish the people who are collecting tariffs just because we don’t like the way Kharst governed. Bhayar will have to decide how to change matters once he understands exactly what’s going on, but it’s not our job to make those changes.” He looked to Vaelora. “What do you think?”

  She shook her head. “Kharst only
cared about the tariffs. So long as the locals and the High Holders paid, they could do what they wanted. It’s no wonder the factors closed the canal to keep prices up. Still … we need to discuss some sort of token tariff for the factors, the same thing that Bhayar imposed on the High Holders, only not as much. Golds are all they seem to understand.”

  Quaeryt nodded.

  “It also explains about the roads,” mused Quaeryt. “The rex has never worried about them. Most of the trade has been by water. The lack of good roads is another reason why Kharst wanted to control the River Aluse all the way to the southern Gulf.”

  “His father built the Great Canal,” Vaelora pointed out, “and he finished it.”

  “Only because he had to,” Quaeryt countered, “because of Chayar’s tariffs on Bovarian traders using the River Aluse. He likely used prisoners and impressed the poor, and it was cheaper and faster than using the roads.”

  “But … how could he convince people to pay the tariffs?” asked Skarpa.

  “Remember the crossbowmen? The ones who tried to kill us?”

  “Oh … they were used to assassinate any recalcitrant High Holder, weren’t they?”

  “Exactly. And with the factors largely running the towns…”

  “Most High Holders couldn’t afford to raise large numbers of armsmen or build an impregnable chateau,” concluded Skarpa. “That meant that Kharst could turn his army against the few who did have those kinds of resources. And Telaryn and Khel.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “It’s not the way I’d run a land, but it appears to have worked for Kharst and his predecessors … although I suspect that Khel was plundered pretty thoroughly after Kharst conquered it. He probably intended the same for Telaryn.”

  “So what do we do about the factors’ council?” asked Vaelora tartly. “Let them off with token tariffs and a feathered lash?”

  “No. I’d suggest that we also make them pay in other ways, where it pains them the most,” replied Quaeryt. “They will have to supply us fully for the journey downriver, with additional flatboats as well, as well as support the force we leave here to keep order. I would suggest you leave Subcommander Meinyt and Fifth Regiment, with him as the acting regional governor … unless you want to leave Commander Kharllon.”