Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (21 page)

“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.  “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. I believe Sister Saltia is already there,” 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, with usually 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.  She inquired if, at least, the rest of her luggage she’d brought directly to the palace could be taken to Spellmonger’s Hall and with a small bribe she was assured that her request would be attended to.  She had doubts about that, considering the generally shoddy level of service at the palace, but she was also counting on the efficacy of the bribe and the desire not to piss off a powerful mage and new member of the court to ensure compliance. 

Pentandra discovered at her meeting that her first task was to interview half-dozen 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.

She 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.  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 than it did for her back in sunny Remere.

“Worry not, my ladies,” a courtier said, from behind them.  “Yule drags on for three days, here at Vorone, at a minimum.  Traditionally so many lords arrive late, due to the roads, that the holiday has gotten stretched beyond one day.  And I have it on good authority that His Grace plans on extending the festival, officially, to distract the townsfolk while the new regime becomes established.  So the taverns and temples will be festive for a while – as festive as they can be.”

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 you are . . . Coinsister Saltia, I believe;” he said, receiving a 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 charmingly.  Despite herself, 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 his attention on his attire.  His rakish grin and confident attitude were infectious, 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.  “My father served Duke Lenguin in the palace guard here for twenty-five years.  I joined the guard out of family duty and honor.  But hearing Lenguin’s death crushed my father’s spirit and sent him to an early grave two years ago.  I have done what I can to preserve his legacy, here, but I’ve been pissing into the wind for all I have accomplished as a lieutenant of the palace guard under . . . Baron Edmarin,” he said, with a visceral growl of disapproval in his voice.  “I’ve been desperate for some sort of attention to come to this town.  I can’t save it by myself,” he admitted.

“Save it from what, I wonder?” Pentandra asked.  “In your opinion, Sir Vemas, what
is
the biggest threat facing Vorone?”  She knew very little of the folk of Vorone, and Pentandra was genuinely curious in how they felt about the restoration.

“Apart from four years of neglect and corruption?” he chuckled, smiling.  He was more handsome when he smiled, Pentandra decided.  “The Rats, my ladies,
they
are the biggest threat.  The goblins may skulk about outside the walls, but the Rats walk through them with impunity.  I oft wonder which has the better interests of Vorone in mind,” he mused.

“
Rats
, my lord?” Sister Saltia asked, her eyes growing wide.  “Here in the
palace?
”

“Oh, they are everywhere in Vorone, Sister, I assure you,” Sir Vemas agreed, sadly.

“Sister, I don’t think the constable is speaking of the four-legged kind of rodent,” Pentandra smiled, indulgently.  The clergy always seemed to live such protected and isolated lives.  “The criminal organization currently controlling Vorone from underneath is known as the Rat Crew.  They are affiliated with the Brotherhood of the Rat, a much larger and insidious organization in coastal Alshar.”

“Just so, my lady,” nodded the constable, his face set in a determined expression.  “The Rats infest much of the working classes and lower classes, and they rule about half of the refugee camps outside of the walls.  Their influence stretches into the palace – or it did, until last night.  They will be stunned by this development, but not deterred.  In a few days, a week at most, they will resume their operations.”

“Oh! That’s ghastly!” Sister Saltia shuddered.  “The darker areas of commerce have long intrigued the elders of my order.  Criminal gangs disturb the natural flow of probability.  The Ifnites always fight against fixed odds or shady dealings . . . I take it they lend at high rates, and use violence to collect?”

“That is the
least
of their crimes, Sister,” he nodded gravely.  “The things they do in their secret lairs would make a goblin blush.  And the silver they take for such things flows south, toward the coffers of the Brotherhood, leaving Vorone forever.”

“That’s terrible!” Saltia gasped, even more shocked at the economic rape of the town than the social instability the Crew represented. 

“So it is, Sister, so it is,” the man agreed, mournfully.  “But now that the Duke has turned me loose on the Rats, perhaps I can make some headway against the infestation.  If I have the proper allies,” he added, soulfully.

She was tired, and needed sleep desperately, but Pentandra was not stupid.  She recognized at once what the handsome constable was doing.  That didn’t keep her from gasping audibly at the recognition.

“For shame, Sir Vemas!  You sought us out!” she blurted out, before she could stop herself.  “This is no chance encounter over luncheon, is it, Sir Vemas?”

“What do you mean?” Saltia asked, instantly suspicious.

“Our new constable has a mind, Sister.  To go after the Rats he are being a very wise tomcat.  Within hours of your appointment, you just happened to approach the two people in the palace who can help you trace their revenues and then trace their secret locations magically!”