Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (51 page)

“We’ll need to leave in less than a glass.”

Quaeryt understood.

He washed up and dressed, then went down to his study and wrote what he could for Solayi’s homily, then waited for Vaelora to appear. When she did, he escorted her out to the end of the portico, where the coach was waiting, with a ranker teamster and two outriders.

Neither spoke much until the coach was headed westward on the avenue, partly because Quaeryt was half bemused by the fact that he was traveling in a well-appointed coach, with velvet upholstered and padded seats, and even with real glass windows that could be swung up and fastened in place to keep out rain or snow. More amazing was that the coach was effectively his, at least so long as he was governor. A former scholar in a villa with a coach and team and a beautiful and devoted wife?

“It almost feels strange to be traveling somewhere in a coach,” said Vaelora. “Until this week, it’s been so long since I’ve been in one.”

Quaeryt glanced at the pair of ranker outriders, a precaution suggested by both Skarpa and by Heireg, who was now essentially the post commander, since Zhrensyl had taken a turn for the worse and was bedridden. He couldn’t help but think about how quickly things could change. While Zhrensyl had looked worn when Quaeryt and Vaelora arrived in Extela, the commander’s decline had been precipitous, as had that of Aextyl—at least, it had seemed that way to Quaeryt.

Health, life … everything could change so quickly. One moment, Extela had been a city where all had been going well, and a day later a quarter of it had been in ruins.

“What are you thinking about, dearest?”

“How things can change so swiftly.”

“Is that for your homily tomorrow?”

“More likely for a later one. I’m got some ideas for tomorrow.”

“Well … one day you were a scholar assistant and single, and the next…” She smiled.

“The next I was a princeps and betrothed to a lovely lady.”

“And now you’re a governor.”

“And it’s not exactly what I thought it would be,” he replied with a laugh. “Very few people are happy with what I’ve done.”

“But Extela is doing so much better.”

“It will be harder when the regiment leaves, and that’s in two weeks from tomorrow—unless I get a dispatch ordering them out even sooner.”

“You don’t really think that will happen, do you?”

“It seems unlikely, but even two weeks may not be enough to complete some of the work. It won’t likely even be soon enough to begin work on the governor’s building, and that will mean paying more to local workers.”

“You’ll make it work. You always do.”

“So far … How are you and Shenna coming on finding a dining set?”

Vaelora shook her head.

For the rest of the ride out to Aramyn’s chateau, Quaeryt listened as Vaelora explained how she was coming in refurbishing the villa … and the problems she faced.

The coach and team slowed as the teamster guided it along the curving drive through the High Holder’s private park and up the gentle rise to stop before the main entry of the old yellowish red brick chateau. While a doorman immediately stepped forward to open the coach door, Aramyn, dressed in a deep red velvet jacket and gray trousers, stood at the top of the steps waiting.

“Greetings, Governor and Lady Vaelora,” offered the High Holder. “That’s a handsome team and coach.”

“We picked them up for the governor’s residence from a widow who needed only one coach,” replied Quaeryt.

“Ah, yes, that fellow Lysienk. I heard he was riding and suffered a seizure. They say it couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow.” The irony in Aramyn’s voice was so light that it was barely discernible. “Well … that was good for you. Do come in. Everyone’s wanting to hear about how you’ve managed to restore order in the city.” There was a slight pause. “This is just a small dinner … the four of us and my nephew and his wife, who are visiting from Montagne.”

While Quaeryt was more than happy for the smallness of the gathering, he could see the slightest hint of a frown on Vaelora’s brow, gone so quickly he doubted anyone else had seen it.

“We appreciate the chance to see you again, in less urgent circumstances,” replied Quaeryt.

“There are so many things that Lady Minya and I did not have a chance to discuss,” added Vaelora.

“Good,” replied Aramyn with a warm and broad smile, turning at leading the way to the same salon where Quaeryt and Vaelora had spent the better part of an afternoon once before.

The four others in the salon rose as Quaeryt and Vaelora entered.

“You’ve already met Minya. Might I present my nephew Jaekyt and his wife Buhlyn. Governor Quaeryt and Lady Vaelora.”

“My pleasure,” offered the trim Jaekyt with polite warmth.

“I so wanted to be you,” offered Buhlyn, a tall and broad-shouldered woman with curves only slightly excessive for her frame, if accentuated by the clinging mauve velvet gown she wore. She smiled warmly at Vaelora. “I saw you and your sisters ride through Extela years ago, and you all carried yourselves so well.”

“She still does,” added Quaeryt.

“Would you like to try some of my white winter wine?” asked Aramyn. “I must say that it’s better than the un-iced wine … this year, at least.”

“Most years,” added Jaekyt.

“Please,” said Vaelora.

Quaeryt nodded.

While the group might have been small, it was obvious that he and Vaelora were more than welcome, and that the evening would be enjoyable …

… and it was, through the wine and apéritifs, the turtle soup, the braised and marinated beef with lace rice and other side courses, the lemon tarts, and the Montagne brandy that Jaekyt had brought with him. The conversation only touched the superficialities of the situation in Extela, and then moved on to other less substantive matters, such as the best wines from the hills around Extela, and the difficulty of finding good seamstresses.

Quaeryt was almost sad to go, except he was tired.

When they had left the chateau, in the darkness of the coach, he turned to Vaelora. “Did you enjoy the dinner?”

“I did indeed. The food and company were both excellent.”

“Except what?”

“Did you notice that all the guests, except for us, were from his family?”

“I did. You think that signifies we’re not in the greatest of favor among other local High Holders?”

“I do, dearest.”

“That’s doubtless because I’ve trod on the polished boots of all the others, except for Thysor.”

“He wouldn’t count. He’s so far away that he’s scarcely local. We’ll just have to see how things turn out.”

Indeed we will.
Quaeryt reached out and squeezed her hand, as the coach rolled eastward, back to the villa. But he still worried.

54

Solayi was without event, and Quaeryt managed another homily, loosely based on what he and Vaelora had discussed in the carriage, rather than on what he worked on earlier, which he saved for the next time he had to give a homily. He rode to the post, cheerfully, on Lundi morning. There were no dispatches, which was likely for the best, but his cheer began to vanish when he saw Major Heireg waiting for him outside his study, a solemn expression on his face.

“What is it, Major?”

“Commander Zhrensyl … he died in his sleep last night.”

“I’m sorry.” Quaeryt nodded slowly. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Does he have any other family we should notify?” Quaeryt knew Zhrensyl was a widower, but little more.

“His son lives in Ilyum, but Hrehn says that they weren’t close.”

“Arrange for services and a pyre tonight, then, and … if you’d draft a letter for me?”

“Yes, sir.” Heireg paused. “He was a good man at heart.”

“I know.”
Perhaps not as strong as he should have been, but you might have only seen him when he was failing.

Not moments after Heireg left, a fresh-faced patroller appeared, likely a recruit, since the young man wore the uniform without insignia.

“Governor, sir.”

“Yes?”

“I have an urgent message for you from the chief.” The recruit extended a sealed envelope.

“Thank you. Is he expecting a response?”

“He told me to wait to see if you had a response.”

Quaeryt frowned. “How did you get here?”

“On the patrol wagon, sir. It’s the only one left, Captain Hrehn said.”

Quaeryt nodded.
Only one left?
There hadn’t been any, but Pharyl was the kind who would work out how to get something his men needed. For that matter, so would Hrehn. “I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt entered the small study, closed the door, then opened the envelope.

Governor—

On Samedi evening, a patroller team consisting of two patrollers and a patroller recruit saw a fight occurring outside a café facing the south market square. Because passersby were endangered, they broke up the fight. Then a male companion of the man the patrollers took into custody knifed the recruit in the back and then slashed his neck. The recruit died right there.

I had planned to schedule the hearing for tomorrow, but Advocate Caesyt protested that Solayi does not count as a day of notice, and I have scheduled the hearing for Jeudi, along with several other less serious charges.

Quaeryt set down the missive.
Something like this had to happen sooner or later.
Then he frowned. Since when could a café brawler afford an advocate?

He sat down at the desk and immediately wrote his reply.

Chief Pharyl—

Thank you for the notice about the unfortunate occurrence involving a patroller recruit and the scheduling of hearings. Doubtless the advocate is well versed in the precedents, and we should use his expertise in that matter.

I would hope that the hearing would reveal all the details of the event so that justice may be done.

Quaeryt had no doubt that Pharyl would understand what he wanted. He sealed the missive, then rose and walked to the study door, opening it. The young patroller stood there waiting.

Quaeryt extended the missive. “My reply to the chief.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get it right to him.”

“Thank you.”

Quaeryt didn’t return to the study, but made his way to the small room where the two clerks were already at work.

“How are we coming on reconciling Baharyt’s crafter and factor list with the old tariff listings?”

“There’s good, and there’s bad, Governor.”

“Start with the bad.”

“As many as one in ten of those on the old lists aren’t in Extela anymore, not that we and the tariff collectors can find them, anyways.”

Quaeryt nodded. “That’s not unexpected after all that’s happened. And the good?”

“We found almost a hundred shops and crafters and even fifteen factors that haven’t been paying tariffs.”

“But they likely won’t make up what we’ve lost?”

“No, sir. Maybe a third part. Might be half, but that’d be pushing it.”

“We’ll just have to do what we can.” In the future, he might have to ease up tariff levels, even with the lower level of spending he’d imposed, because the Civic Patrol needed to be larger, and there had to be more permanent troopers at the post. Both those were more than evident to Quaeryt.

When he finished with the clerks, a good glass later, he went to find Skarpa, to tell him about Zhrensyl, but discovered that the commander had the entire regiment out on “maneuvers.” Given that Third Regiment was headed to Ferravyl before too long, Quaeryt didn’t find that surprising. Certainly, Skarpa had been diligent in continuing training, although he’d said little enough to Quaeryt.

When he inquired after Dhaeryn and Ghaelt and discovered that they were already at the site for the governor’s building, he decided to ride there and see how matters were progressing.

The two engineers had staked out where the corners of the building would be, and were using heavy cord and stakes to mark out where the foundation trenches would be dug. Two small boys peered at the two engineers from across the street and beside a cart where a woman was trying to sell what looked to be knitted goods in front of a boarded-up shop of some sort. Once the building was completed, Quaeryt had no doubt that someone would either buy or refurbish the old building, most likely for a café or the inland equivalent of a chandlery.

He rode closer to the engineers and reined up. “You look to have it well laid out.”

“Not well. Not yet,” replied Dhaeryn.

“That’s a good way of putting it, Governor,” replied Ghaelt. “Look to—that’s if we don’t run into problems with the foundation trenches. And if we don’t hit an underground spring. Don’t expect that here, but you never know.”

“Do you have laborers ready?”

“Plenty of those around here, sir,” said Ghaelt. “Even masons aren’t that hard to come by. Finish carpenters, good ones, they’re not so easy to find.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help frowning. “Carpenters?”

“The good ones leave for places like Solis or the shipyards in Estisle … or they work for the High Holders, or they become cabinetmakers. Make a lot more silvers doing those things.”

Put that way, it made sense, although Quaeryt hadn’t thought of it in that fashion. “Do you have any men at the post with those skills?”

“Torkyn’s not bad, and we can hire his cousin, once we get that far along.”

Seeing as he was only slowing matters down, Quaeryt said, “Thank you. I won’t take any more of your time.” Then he turned the mare and started back toward the post.

At least, if bit by bit, he was making progress.
Slow progress.

55

On Lundi night Quaeryt did not get to the villa until late, because he had to stay at the post late and offer words of farewell, as chorister, before Zhrensyl’s pyre was lit. He did the best he could for an officer he scarcely had known, as he tried to explain later to Vaelora.