Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (42 page)

As he continued reading, Quaeryt wanted to shake his head once more. From what was in the petition, the local produce factors wanted him to determine who was poor and only sell or give flour to them so that the factors could sell all their flour to everyone else. The fact that it would be at a higher price and provide greater profit to the local factors was not mentioned, except indirectly in the idea of a marketplace price. Quaeryt didn’t have the manpower, the local records, almost all of which had been destroyed by the lava overrunning the governor’s square, or the time to make that determination, and that meant he’d either have to risk the wrath of the factors or hurt the poor. All of that didn’t even take into consideration the fact that Third Regiment might be ordered out of Extela and to Ferravyl in less than four days. Even if Bhayar did not issue an immediate withdrawal, the regiment would have to depart in little more than a month, and trying to keep Extela running without the regiment’s manpower would take some doing.

He checked the signatures on the bottom against the list of “dubious factors,” but none of the names matched, and that made the “flour problem” even more of a concern.

What if you increase the price somewhat?

Flour was still in short enough supply, with the destruction of the warehouses and several mills along the river to the north of Extela, that any price increase that the poorest could afford would be less than the factors would charge without Quaeryt’s effective price limitations.

He laid the petition on one side of the small desk. He’d have to think about how to handle it, and if there were any way he could work something out with the factors. Sooner or later the price would rise, because he couldn’t keep buying it comparatively cheaply from the larger High Holders, simply because they’d run out of grain and flour sooner or later.
Probably sooner.

He had the feeling that he needed to get out of the flour business, but the situation irked him enormously. He stood, then walked from the study down the narrow corridor to the south door and then across the courtyard to Major Heireg’s study.

“Sir?”

“I’ve been going over things. This Samedi will be the last one that we’ll be selling flour and potatoes. We won’t announce it at the squares, though. We’ll post notices and pass the word on Lundi.”

And Quaeryt wasn’t about to write the factors back immediately, even if they did end up getting their way. He didn’t want to admit publicly, or even semipublicly, that they’d forced his hand.
You should have stopped the sales earlier.
Except they’d been selling flour less than a month. How could he have stopped earlier in good conscience, when he hadn’t even finished restoring order in Extela, and so many of the poor lacked coins?

Heireg nodded. “Better that way. We don’t want people getting upset at the troopers handing it out.” He frowned. “It’s too bad for some folks, but you can’t keep paying for it, and with the stocks we have … well, they might last to harvest … if Third Regiment leaves in Mayas.”

“It’s likely to be around that time,” Quaeryt said.

“Word is that it could be sooner…”

“It could … if Rex Kharst decides that he wants to take over Ferravyl.”

“Why would the Bovarians attack there?”

“It would give Rex Kharst total control of the river and the ability to use it to supply an attack downriver on Solis. That’s why Lord Chayar invested so much in the bridge and the fortifications there.”

As he walked back to his study, Quaeryt reflected on both his situation and Bhayar’s. Everything in life involved trade-offs. Solis was better positioned for trade and for travel, but it was more vulnerable to attack than was Extela. On the other hand, Extela was out of the way, but close to a volcano. Being a governor offered more power to do things, but left him vulnerable to all sorts of problems for which imaging provided almost no solutions, and being married to Vaelora … That provided a set of trade-offs as well … as he’d come to discover over the past month in particular.

42

Vendrei morning Quaeryt woke up in the gloom of the master bedchamber of the villa—a semidarkness relieved by grayness seeping through cracks in and around the shutters that he had closed the night before because the window hangings ordered by Vaelora had not been finished. He bolted upright, swung his feet onto the cold ceramic tile floor before realizing that it was still early.

He glanced around, taking in the sparseness of the chamber that held only the bed, without hangings, two empty night tables and two armoires, in which their clothes had been hung or folded. There were no carpets on the old tile floor, and no chairs. The only items that were new were the horse-hair mattress, two pairs of down pillows, and the bed linens and blankets, as well as a plain green linen bedspread. In fact, from what Quaeryt had seen when he had arrived late on Vendrei afternoon, he wasn’t sure that those weren’t the only new items of furniture or furnishings in the entire villa, not surprisingly, since it would have been impossible to have had anything custom-sewn or fashioned in the time since they had purchased the villa.

While the bedchamber was neat … and sparse, as were the kitchen and the private dining/breakfast room, Quaeryt knew too well that the rest of the villa remained in a state of spare disarray—and that might have been describing the situation generously.

He turned to see Vaelora looking out from under the covers at him.

“It was so good to sleep on a good mattress and linens, wasn’t it?”

Quaeryt had been so tired after moving and shifting everything that Vaelora had wanted moved—again—after he’d left the post on Jeudi night and ridden to the villa that he could probably have stretched out on a thin pallet on the floor and still slept soundly. “It’s a far better mattress than the one in the officers’ quarters.”

“And not nearly so narrow. I could actually stretch out, and it didn’t matter that you sprawled all over the bed. There’s enough room for that.”

“That’s very true.”

“Don’t start the day by humoring me, dearest.”

Now what are you supposed to say to that?
“I’m not.” Quaeryt grinned. “If you think I’m humoring you every time I agree with you, then you’re asking for me to disagree.”

“Quaeryt … dearest…” Vaelora’s eyes almost flashed. “I can tell the difference.”

Quaeryt shrugged helplessly. Anything he said was likely to make matters worse.
Dealing with Rescalyn and Bhayar was far easier …
But then, he hadn’t loved them … or even had to like them.

She laughed. “You are a dear. A stubborn dear, though.” Her arms went around him.

Shortly thereafter, not nearly so long as he would have liked, they washed up and dressed and made their way down to the private dining room.

Rebyah—the cook hired at Shenna’s recommendation—had breakfast ready for them, as if she’d had Alsyra, the maid, listening … which she probably had. A pale blue linen cloth covered the worn and battered table in the private dining chamber, as opposed to the large formal dining chamber that could likely accommodate forty guests, if not more, assuming that they could find or commission a table of that size, along with the matching chairs.

“Good morning, Lady … sir,” said Alsyra, as she set platters before Vaelora and then before Quaeryt. She offered a pleasant and warm smile, as if she were pleased to be serving them … and perhaps she was.

On each platter was an omelet, with strips of ham on the side and a biscuit for Vaelora, and two for Quaeryt. Quaeryt’s omelet was also larger. Then came a pot of tea, with vapor seeping from the spout. Alsyra filled both cups, with saucers—not mugs—of plain bone china, part of a set that Vaelora had located … somewhere.

“Isn’t this better?” asked Vaelora.

“It’s much better.” That Quaeryt had no trouble admitting, none at all, especially since he did like hot tea rather than the lukewarm brews he’d been drinking lately. He also liked their not having to eat with the regimental officers, although he had no doubts they would miss Vaelora. He doubted they’d miss him.

When they finished eating, Vaelora looked to him. “When will you be back?”

“Mid to late afternoon … if there aren’t any problems. Do you need anything from the post?”

She frowned, thinking. “I don’t think so. There’s much to do here. We still need a wagon and a cart horse.”

“And … when we can … we’ll need a coach and a team,” Quaeryt admitted.

“That can wait … for a little while.”

Quaeryt wasn’t about to ask how long that meant.

Since there was no practical way to house a squad of troopers in the space over the villa’s stable, Quaeryt rode to the post with just two troopers as an escort. That seemed more in keeping with his sense of propriety, especially since Extela seemed less unsettled than it had when he had arrived close to a month before and likely as peaceful as it would be for the foreseeable future.

Once he stabled the mare at the post stable, he made his way across the courtyard to the building that held his “official” study. As he stepped through the door, he looked to the duty squad leader. “Any dispatches from Solis?”

“No, sir. No dispatches from anywhere.”

That was good, given that almost any dispatch at the moment would have brought bad news. “Thank you.”

Then he went to find Skarpa. The regimental commander was alone in the post commander’s study.

“Any problems I should know about?” asked Quaeryt, closing the door behind himself.

The commander smiled sardonically. “There are always problems in a regiment. None of them are large enough to involve you. Some rowdy troopers last night, but not in the Pharsi part of the city, and our patrols caught them before the Civic Patrol did.”

Quaeryt hadn’t realized that Pharyl had begun night patrols, but the fact that he didn’t even know was good.

“The other problem is that we’ve had more than a score of mounts dropping or breaking shoes in the last week.”

“You think the farrier in Tilbora had a bad batch of shoes? Or could it be all the riding through the ash here?”

Skarpa shrugged. “Who can tell? The farrier here looks to be good, and we’ve gotten the ailing horses all re-shod. A couple will need a few days of rest.”

“Have you picked up any recruits?”

“A handful. I gave them to Meinyt. He’s good at training them. A few seemed better suited to the Civic Patrol, and I sent them to Hrehn.”

“We can use some good ones.”

“Can’t we all?” Skarpa paused. “I heard you had to let that little idiot nephew of the High Holder up in Ilyum loose.”

“No one could prove anything except that he followed his brother and that he resisted custody. The High Holder is married to Bhayar’s favorite cousin, and he sent an advocate. Guilty as the nephew likely was, there was no way to prove it, and I didn’t see much benefit in gaoling him longer and branding him. He and his ‘uncle’ will be angry enough as it is, especially since Hyleor’s guilty of worse, even if half of it’s not strictly against the laws, and the other half without evidence to prove it. Everyone seems to think he’s not worth the firewood to send him to the Nameless.”

“Don’t envy you, sir. In some ways, fighting the Bovarians might be easier than putting Extela back together.”

Quaeryt laughed. “You might be right … except more people get killed in battle.”
A lot more.
As he’d discovered, even imagers with shields could get wounded … and if that one quarrel had been just a bit higher and hit his neck, even his shields wouldn’t have saved him. Then again, his shields were better now, but he still couldn’t hold them against constant attacks for a long time.

“That may be, sir, but you can win battles. There’s no way you can win in putting a city back together. There’s always more to do, and always someone unhappy.”

Quaeryt nodded. He hadn’t exactly thought of it in that way. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, either.

When he finished with Skarpa, Quaeryt headed out to the courtyard to brief the captain who had the supply duty. He’d decided that the troopers should not make any statements about if or when they might be back to sell flour. They were only to say that any decision on selling more flour was up to the governor. And once the company and wagons had left the post, Quaeryt needed to check with Major Heireg about the situation with supplies and what needed to go with the regiment when it left for Ferravyl.

After that, amid everything else, he still had to come up with another homily before services on Solayi evening.

43

Quaeryt woke up tired on Lundi morning, but relieved that he’d managed to deliver another homily on Solayi evening … and one that stayed within the bounds of what he’d heard and studied about the Nameless and his own conscience. He needed to find a chorister for the post, but the problem there was simple. While there were enough believers to support the anomen when a full regiment was in residence, that certainly wasn’t the case most of the time, and with the state of the province’s finances, he didn’t like the idea of committing golds, or even silvers, to maintaining an anomen that was poorly attended most of the year. That was no doubt why it had been locked and unused when he and the regiment had arrived.

Quaeryt left for the post right after breakfast, knowing that despite the light misty drizzle that enshrouded Extela, Vaelora would be shopping to see what other items she could find for the villa … those most needed, since it would take months, if not years, not to mention more golds than Quaeryt wanted to think about, in order to finish refurbishing the old dwelling.

When Quaeryt reached the post and made his way to his study, he found Pharyl waiting for him in the corridor. “Good morning, Governor.”

“Good morning, Chief.” Quaeryt gestured for the older officer to enter the study first. “Is your visit because of a problem or just to keep me informed?” He tried to keep his tone lightly ironic as he closed the door and took his seat.