Princeps

45

Quaeryt and Vaelora sat at the table in the private dining chamber, eating breakfast. Quaeryt was enjoying a puffy almond pastry and sipping truly hot tea when Vaelora, who had appeared pensive since before the two had seated themselves, set down her cup and looked at her husband.

“Dearest … I’m worried.”

“So am I … about quite a number of things. So are you. This sounds like a specific worry. What is it?”

“We’ve been here a month, and we haven’t received a single invitation to dine anywhere.”

Quaeryt managed not to laugh or grin … barely. No invitations to dine when a quarter of the city had been buried in lava and ash? When he’d had to detail troopers to patrol the streets to restore a semblance of order. “We’ve only been here a month, and for the first few weeks, I doubt anyone was hosting dinners.”

“Shenna tells me that there have been a number of dinners. We should have been invited. We weren’t.”

“It could be that you’re being snubbed because you married a scholar,” suggested Quaeryt.

“A scholar who is a governor and who has been a princeps … and who’s wed to the sister of Lord Bhayar,” Vaelora replied. “This is where I was born. It’s not right.”

“Grelyana, you think? Should we have pushed as we did on the furnishings?”

Vaelora tilted her head. “I wouldn’t think so … but…”

“Why don’t you see if Shenna can find out?”

Vaelora laughed softly. “She’s been trying, but it’s not something anyone’s talking about, and there are only a few people she can ask directly.”

Quaeryt nodded and took the last sips of his tea. Even after working in the Telaryn Palace as a scholar and then as princeps, he’d never realized just how complicated being a provincial governor would be, especially in a partly destroyed city.

Although it was Jeudi morning, there were no hearings scheduled, and Quaeryt didn’t rush in riding to the post. He did have the feeling that it wouldn’t be long before his Mardi and Jeudi mornings, if not part of the afternoons on those days, would be taken by hearings … at least until he could find an honest justicer. And that was another task he needed to get on with. He did enjoy the ride, since the air was warm, if slightly damp, and the trees were beginning to leaf beyond mere buds, and even a few early flowers were peering out.

He glanced to Mount Extel, but the peak showed no signs of throwing out ash or even hot gases, and that was good.

After he arrived at the post, he went looking for Pharyl because he wanted to talk to the Civic Patrol chief about scheduling the hearing on Caesyt’s petition, but Pharyl was already on his way to the Civic Patrol station. So he stopped to see Skarpa.

The commander looked up from what appeared to be a sheaf of papers containing rosters. “Haven’t seen you around much lately, sir.”

“I’ve been around … more places than I’d like at times and then spending more time than I’d ever thought likely on various things I never thought I’d have to deal with-from buying a governor’s residence to acting as a justicer … and a supply quartermaster for the poor.”

“That seafaring background still shows through.”

“Oh…”

“For cavalry and foot, a quartermaster is supply. A supply quartermaster is redundant.”

“Whereas for those of us who’ve trod the pearly deep, or some such, a quartermaster is a navigator. Old habits die hard.” Quaeryt smiled, then asked, “How are the night patrols going?”

“We haven’t had any more trouble, but the squad leaders are reporting that they’re being watched, especially in the areas where the Civic Patrol isn’t going yet.”

“That will mean trouble for Pharyl once you leave for Ferravyl.”

“Have you heard anything new?” asked Skarpa.

“Not yet.” That was more a courtesy, reflected Quaeryt, because Skarpa would have known the moment a dispatch rider came through the post gates. So should the post commander.

Quaeryt frowned. “Have you seen Commander Zhrensyl lately?” Since he and Vaelora had left the officers’ quarters for the villa and were no longer eating at the officers’ mess, he couldn’t recall seeing the older commander at all.

“He’s around, but he avoids me.”

“He’s the one who offered his study to you, isn’t he?”

Skarpa nodded. “He’s only got five months before he can take a stipend. He doesn’t want any sort of trouble … and you asked him a lot of hard questions.”

“So far as I could tell, he did almost nothing.”

“True … but in his defense, he had next to nothing to do it with. He doesn’t even have a full company left here. Half his men were killed because they were stationed at the old palace or around the governor’s square.”

Maybe you were too hard on him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Governor … you don’t have to say much. The men follow you because they can tell you’ll put yourself out on the line. They can also tell that you’re not one to tolerate shiftlessness. Maybe it’s because you’re a scholar, but it’s like it’s written all over you.”

Quaeryt shook his head. “Not always.”

“No … you can be as inscrutable as a blank slate. You always were with Marshal Rescalyn. Sometimes you’re like Artiema and sometimes like Erion. I think that bothered Rescalyn a lot.”

After discussing how to organize the regiment’s departure, either in mid-Mayas or when the order came, Quaeryt left Skarpa, still pondering about the commander’s comparison of him to one moon and then the other-the open pearly warmth of Artiema and the reddish imperviousness of Erion, the great hunter.

He’d have to ask Vaelora about that.

Pushing that thought aside, he went to see how Jhalyt and Baharyt were coming with the restructuring of the tariff collections and the reassignments of the tariff collectors. Then he needed to check with Major Heireg on supply questions. What with one thing and another, the day slipped way, until it was close to third glass.

Quaeryt saddled the mare himself, then rode out to Aextyl’s dwelling, arriving some two quints before fourth glass, dismounting so quickly that he almost tripped over his bad leg before going out of his way to pet the sad-faced hound, who rewarded him with a few wags of the tail. Then he made his way to the small entry porch, where the justicer’s daughter opened the door with a smile.

“Good day, Lady,” he responded.

“It is, indeed.” She gestured.

Quaeryt hurried back to the study.

Aextyl waved Quaeryt to the chair. “You write well, Governor. Too well for a justicer or an advocate. Every word is chosen with little ambiguity, except, unhappily, over the years justicers and advocates have determined that all too many of the words that have no ambiguity or ambivalence in everyday usage do indeed have such when employed in legal documentation. So I have turned your apparently clear recommendation-one that justicers would find less than convincingly so-into one that seems far less lucid, but which should convey a single meaning to the high justicer.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile. “Is there any time period I need to wait before holding the hearing?”

“No. You must provide two days’ notice at a minimum, and a week is customary.”

“I think we’ll stick with two days and set it for next Mardi.” Quaeryt frowned. “Do you know where Caesyt has a place of study or advocacy?”

“He used to have a small study on the east side of the south market square. I don’t know that he still does.”

“We’ll have to see. Can I persuade you to join me and advise me on Mardi?”

“I don’t see why not. I’d like to see Caesyt’s face when he catches sight of me.” Aextyl’s smile was close to impish.

“There’s one other matter. Is there anyone here in Extela that you could recommend for me to appoint as a justicer? I shouldn’t be doing this, and I can’t for long, not under the guidance put out by Lord Bhayar.”

“That’s true.” Aextyl’s brow furrowed, and he was silent for a time. “There’s an advocate in Mynawal, a young fellow … well not so young as you. His name is Bieryn … Bieryn Blaksyn. You might talk to him. If I can think of any others … I’ll let you know on Mardi.”

“Thank you.” With a nod, Quaeryt gathered up the papers Aextyl had waiting for him and made his way outside to the waiting mare and escort troopers.

He rode back to the post at a quick trot, because he wanted to catch the chief clerk before he left for the day. He almost didn’t make it, because Jhalyt was leaving the small chamber that had likely once been a storeroom when Quaeryt hurried up.

“Sir? Is there a problem?”

Quaeryt extended the documents. “You don’t have to stay tonight, but I’ll need copies of these three documents as soon as you can manage. By tomorrow afternoon if possible. They have to be word-for-word copies, each line identical to the line in the original.”

“Justicing documents?”

Quaeryt nodded.

“Baharyt’s better at that, sir. Is there any reason he couldn’t do it?”

“None at all, but I want you to proofread them after he’s done, to make sure the copies are exact.”

“I can do that.”

“Also, I’ll need several copies of a hearing notice, but I’ll have to give that to you in the morning, since I haven’t drafted it yet.”

“Yes, sir.” Jhalyt took the documents and carried them back into the chamber, then returned and locked the door with an overlarge and tarnished brass key. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night.”

Quaeryt was getting ready to leave for the villa when Pharyl hurried in.

“Sir … I’m glad I caught you. Would have preferred not to ride out to the villa tonight.”

“That sounds like a problem … What sort?”

“Some toughs smashed the shutters on a cooper’s place, then broke inside. He took a mallet and crushed one’s skull. The other slashed his arm with a knife-blade more like a short sword.”

“The kind that’s too long to carry under the laws of Telaryn?”

Pharyl nodded. “Dead man had one, too. Cooper says that the third fellow had one also. He got away.”

“Are you holding the cooper?”

“No, sir. I told him he’d have to appear when there’s a hearing.”

“Any others that will require a hearing?”

“One other. So far. Things are getting back toward the way they were, according to the patroller firsts.”

“That’s a mixed blessing.”

“More like the Namer’s blessing,” snorted Pharyl. “The other is a killing. Girl knifed a man. Likely her pimp. At least, he was wearing one of those pimp’s jackets, and she isn’t saying anything.”

Quaeryt winced. That was an offense he didn’t want to hear, not in the slightest. “Will anyone else testify?”

“Not likely. No one else was around when the patrollers got there, and the people in the rooms around said they never heard anything. They’re lying, but there’s no way to prove it.”

“We can certainly hear those on Mardi … but I have to handle a complicated civic hearing that day as well. It has to do with a complaint against a High Holder over water rights, and I have to refer that to the High Justicer of Telaryn. If you don’t mind, I’d like to put that first. You’ll need to post notices for it, but those won’t be ready until tomorrow.”

“A complaint against a High Holder.” Pharyl shook his head. “Don’t envy you, sir.”

“The advocate is our friend Caesyt.”

“He’s the kind of friend no patrol chief needs.”

“And the kind governors don’t need, either.”

“Better you than me, sir.”

“That’s one of the things governors are appointed for.” Or should be.

After Pharyl left, Quaeryt walked out to the stable to saddle the mare. He had more than a few matters to consider on the ride back to the villa. He also couldn’t help but recall Skarpa’s comment about governing, that it wasn’t something he could win like a battle.

That’s becoming more and more obvious.