Antiagon Fire (17 page)

“That should not apply to a civil matter.”

Quaeryt smiled once more. “I could dispute that. I won’t. Instead, I will ask Lady Vaelora Chayardyr, an envoy of Lord Bhayar, and also his sister, to pass judgment on the matter.”

“And when might this be?” asked Barkudan warily.

Quaeryt paused as the bells outside the inn began to ring—six chimes.
Is it that late already?
When the sound of the bells died away, he continued. “Shortly. Southern Army is escorting her to deal with the lands of Khel.”

Sweat began to bead on the factor’s forehead.

“Until then, you will remain in custody, and we will also seek out the other members of the factors’ council so that all of you may share in that judgment.”

Quaeryt could see Barkudan pale, if only slightly. He nodded to the troopers. “Take him out.”

For several moments Quaeryt just sat behind the plaques table. After glasses of questioning people, he still had far too few answers.
You might have gotten more by using imaging …
He shook his head. The factors were far too cold and too experienced to be affected by his imaging feelings at them, and using some form of force against people who weren’t using arms against him would only lead to more trouble than he wanted to deal with. He’d just have to find another way of discovering what he wanted to know.

He stood and walked to the door, opening it slowly and looking at the ranker outside. “If you wouldn’t mind asking the submarshal and Lady Vaelora if they would join me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt just stood by the plaques table, waiting, until the other two joined him, then gestured to the chairs.

“What did you find out?” asked Skarpa after he and Vaelora had seated themselves.

“Not enough.” Quaeryt took a deep breath. “If I can believe what all of these factors are saying, their council has been closing the canal as they think necessary in order to keep supplies of grain and flour from flooding into Variana. I wouldn’t be surprised if the factors in Eluthyn might not have been doing the same thing, but we didn’t catch them at it. The factors I questioned all claim that Kharst approved of this because the cargoes are tariffed when they’re sold in Variana and he received more tariff golds that way…” Quaeryt went on to summarize what he’d learned, then waited for their response.

“It makes sense, in a way,” said Vaelora. “It doesn’t raise prices here. So people don’t get upset…”

“But what about goods headed here?” asked Quaeryt. “I’d think…” He shook his head. “You’re right. Most other things people need are made locally. Still … there’s something that’s not right about it.”

“More than something,” added Skarpa.

“What do you think we should do?” asked Vaelora.

“Summon the factors’ council and order them not to close the canal except for repairs, and then for as short a time as practicable.”

“If we’re not here,” said Skarpa, “they’ll just claim the need for repairs and do the same thing.”

“We may have to leave a company or a battalion,” said Quaeryt, “but I can’t see having the canal closed while we’re still dealing with possible holdouts, rebels, Khel, and the border with Antiago. Can you?” He looked to Skarpa.

The submarshal shook his head.

“There’s one other thing. These factors are hiding something. I don’t know what. I think the imagers and first company should search every warehouse along the canal around the locks.”
For starters.
He paused. There was something … something that wasn’t quite right, that he was overlooking.

“That will take time,” Skarpa pointed out. “Where should they start?”

The one boat! The only boat.

“What is it?” asked Vaelora.

“Have them start with the one canal boat below the locks and the warehouse across from it, then move west.”

Skarpa nodded.

It’s probably nothing except a concerned factor. Still …

“Oh … we need to find out if any smiths have been doing work on the canal locks lately.”

“Smiths?”

“Someone forge-welded one of the lock gates shut.”

“What about the factors’ council?” asked Skarpa.

“We need to round all of them up and have them meet us here at ninth glass tomorrow. We only caught two of them in the warehouse. Maybe by the time we meet with them tomorrow we’ll know more.” He shrugged. “If not, we’ll still likely have to be here another day.” He paused. “We might as well get something to eat. Have the officers and men eaten?”

“I took care of that while you were dealing with the factors,” said Skarpa. “It was the easier task. By far.”

Quaeryt didn’t argue. As he stood, he realized he needed to send one of the undercaptains to image away the steel plate on the lower lock, so that it could be used and the canal reopened.
Among other things.

15

On Samedi night Quaeryt and Vaelora stayed in the largest and best appointed chamber in the Canal Inn. They woke early on Solayi, and Quaeryt washed, shaved, and dressed quickly, then headed downstairs to get a report from whatever officer had the duty. That turned out to be Captain Belaryk from Nineteenth Regiment, who could only report that Major Zhelan and a squad, with Undercaptain Voltyr and Desyrk, had departed the inn almost a glass earlier to complete tasks that had been halted by darkness and rain the evening before.

Quaeryt couldn’t help feeling guilty, especially since he hadn’t even noticed the rain.

“If you would have someone let me know when he returns, Captain, I’d appreciate it.”

“Yes, sir.”

After leaving the captain, Quaeryt arranged and paid for breakfast to be carried up to Vaelora, then followed the server back to their chamber, where, just before seventh glass, he barely finished eating before a ranker knocked on the door and announced that Major Zhelan had returned.

“Tell him I’ll be right there.” Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “I might be back in less than a quint … or I might not be back until close to ninth glass.”

“Try not to be late. Those factors might not appreciate facing me without you there.”

“Skarpa wouldn’t mind.”

“Go!”

Quaeryt grinned, then left and hurried down the steps.

Zhelan was waiting in the hallway between the staircase and the doors to the plaques rooms. “You were right, sir. About the canal boat.”

“What did they find?”

“Twenty kegs of dried elveweed, some ten half kegs of a tannish powder. They were sealed with wax, but I thought we should open one. When I slit the wax and pried it open, the factor’s guard started babbling that he didn’t know.”

Quaeryt shook his head. “I’d wager that it’s curamyn. That’s a powder that they have pleasure girls snort … or so I’m told. Another Otelyrnan drug. Not that I’ve actually seen it, but I’m told it’s quite expensive.”

Zhelan nodded. “There was also a chamber with a heavy lock. It had eight narrow bunks in it, and very small portholes.”

Quaeryt could guess who would have been quartered there.

“To what factor does it belong?”

“The warehouse guard said both the boat and the warehouse belonged to Factor Aelsam.”

“The one who wasn’t with the others because he had the flux,” mused Quaeryt. “Did you find him?”

“No, sir. He and his son left in their wagon yesterday afternoon. He’s a widower, and his daughter lives elsewhere, according to the steward. He was so upset that we put guards around the house, and quite a dwelling it is, too, sir … one that you might inspect, sir.”

Two “sirs” in the same sentence indicated more than a suggestion.

“Is it far? We’re supposed to meet with the factors’ council at ninth glass. With those factors we’ve been able to find, that is.”

“Less than a quint’s ride to the north, sir. I have a squad standing by.” After a slight pause, Zhelan added, “There were two other strange things. The first one was that last night a boy came up and told me that he’d been given a silver to tell me that the submarshal should look in the canal boat below the locks.”

“He didn’t know who had told him, I assume?”

“Just a man with a raspy voice and a cloak with a hood that covered his face.”

“So someone wanted us to inspect the boat. What else?”

“Undercaptain Voltyr did remove the iron plate that kept the lock unable to open. You asked us to seek out smiths who might have worked on the canal. We couldn’t find all of them last night, but the two we did talk to hadn’t worked on the canal. The third one wasn’t at his smithy. This morning, the patrollers found him in the alley behind The Brass Tankard. His head had been bashed and his throat cut.” The major offered a crooked smile. “The canal lockmaster can’t be found, either.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, unfortunately.”
He was likely either part of the plot or dead, if not both. But which plot?
It was more than clear to Quaeryt that there had been more than one set of plotters. “We’d better go now.”

“I did take the liberty of having your mare saddled, in the event you wished to inspect the dwelling.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile at that. “Thank you, Zhelan. That will save some time.” He couldn’t help but wonder if that was a harbinger of things to come.

Both the squad and Quaeryt’s mare were waiting in the courtyard just beyond the north porch to the inn, as was Zhelan’s mount. Quaeryt mounted quickly, although he fumbled slightly when he took the reins in his left hand because the two lower fingers still didn’t respond.
Will they ever heal fully?
He had the sense that they wouldn’t, but he could hope.

Early as it was on Solayi morning, the main street heading north from the Canal Inn was largely deserted, and all the shops remained shuttered. The eastern sky held a silvery haze that had begun to fade into thin off-white shreds of clouds. In the quiet of the early morning, the clopping of the horses’ hooves echoed off the fronts of the shops, but faded as the riders moved northward, where the small houses were set farther back from the street. After they had ridden not quite a mille, they passed two stone pillars, signifying the edge of the town proper. On the right were cots with small plots, and on the left, an open expanse of overgrazed pasture.

“The factor’s place is up on the left, sir, behind that wall,” Zhelan said quietly.

Quaeryt looked farther north. After what Zhelan had told him about the contents of the canal boat, Quaeryt had expected a large dwelling. He had not expected one that was the size of a High Holder’s hold house, if one of the smaller hold houses. The wall was of the dull red brick, close to three yards high, without any openings, except for the heavy black iron gates, through which Quaeryt, Zhelan, and the squad rode, after the troopers on duty had swung the gates open.

The three-story dwelling was also of brick, but the window ledges, cornices, and the tops of the low walls at the edge of the porches that surrounded the three-story dwelling were of gray stone. The roof tiles were of a light gray slate, and the wide windows had shutters painted a dark green. The dwelling itself ran nearly a hundred yards from end to end. The roof of the receiving portico on the south side of the three-story dwelling extended over the area where carriages would halt to discharge their passengers. In addition to the stable, there were two other blocklike buildings set farther behind the mansion, behind a large walled garden.

“Rather impressive for a factor,” observed Quaeryt dryly.

“I thought so myself, sir.”

Quaeryt dismounted under the portico, as did Zhelan, and the two walked up the gray stone steps to where two troopers stood stationed beside the door from the portico into the mansion. The brasswork on the door gleamed, and light shone through the narrow stained-glass windows flanking the wide single door.

Quaeryt lifted the brass knocker and let it fall.

The door opened, and a narrow-faced man in dark green livery peered out. “What do—” He stopped when he saw the uniforms, then swallowed, and said, “Yes?”

“We’re going to need to look through the house, since it appears that Factor Aelsam is not here,” said Quaeryt pleasantly.

“Sir … that is … most unusual.”

“The times and circumstances are most unusual. You are?”

“Dallaen, sir. The steward.”

“Excellent,” said Quaeryt cheerfully. “You can show us through the dwelling.”

The steward opened the door, reluctantly, and stepped back to allow the two officers to enter, his head slightly down. His eyes took in Quaeryt’s ungloved hands and flickered, widening as he got a better look. Then he swallowed.

The side entry hall was a square five yards on a side with an off-white plaster ceiling a good yard above Quaeryt’s head. The walls were finished in a pale green silklike paper that stretched from dark floor moldings to the crown moldings framing the green tinted off-white ceiling. Immediately beyond the entry along the wide corridor that ran the length of the house were a pair of studies, a lady’s study on the right and across from it a much larger library and study. Both were furnished with various pieces of polished goldenwork in a spare style that was far more to Quaeryt’s taste than the ornate furnishings in the hold house of the late Paitrak.

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.”