When the loading was finished, with every wagon loaded to its limit, and the two copies of the manifest completed, Quaeryt turned back to Skarpa. “That’s sixty barrels of flour, twenty of salt pork, and ten of dried salted mutton, a total of ninety barrels. The going rate is around eight silvers a barrel for flour. Since we’re doing the transporting and this is war, we shouldn’t pay that much. What if we give High Holder Rheyam four silvers a barrel? That’s thirty-six golds.”
Skarpa frowned. “I’ll give him twenty-five. Tell the assistant steward that we’ll post that amount in the town so that everyone will know … and so that he can’t make off with it.”
“I will have to flee anyway,” said Exbael despondently.
Quaeryt smiled. “Let’s do this another way.”
The steward offered a puzzled look.
“Let’s leave the golds and the manifest and payment statement inside the warehouse, right on top of a barrel behind the doors. We’ll close the doors and replace the locks.” He grinned at Exbael. “How could you have anything to do with it? You don’t have the keys, do you?”
“No, sir.”
Quaeryt could see Skarpa smiling behind the assistant’s back.
“Roll one of the barrels we’ve left over there right in the space behind where the doors close and set it upright.” Once the barrel was in place, Quaeryt took the manifest, the payment statement, and the golds and weighted down the two papers on the upper barrel butt with the coins, then stepped out of the warehouse. “Close the doors, and replace the bars.” Quaeryt waited until that happened. “Undercaptains forward.” He nodded to Ghaelyn. “If you’d take the steward over behind the wagons.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the steward was where he couldn’t see the doors, Quaeryt nodded to Voltyr. “If you’d repair the first lock.”
“Yes, sir.”
Voltyr gingerly held the lock up to the shackle and concentrated. The first attempt left the shackle crooked, but when he could remove his hands from the lock and study the lock and shackle, the second attempt resulted in a joining so smooth that none could have told the shackle had been severed.
“Threkhyl … you do the second.”
The ginger-bearded imager managed to repair lock and shackle in one attempt. So did Shaelyt with the next lock. Desyrk took two attempts with the last one.
“Exbael, you can return.”
The steward walked from behind the wagons and looked at the iron-bound and locked doors. His mouth opened, then closed. Then he stepped forward and inspected and pulled on the locks one after another.
“The High Holder’s goods are safe,” said Quaeryt. “The golds and the manifest are inside.”
Exbael looked at the locked door and murmured something.
“What did you say?” asked Quaeryt.
The assistant to the steward swallowed, then finally spoke. “Just that I might as well have chanced on a black hare, sir.”
“It could have been worse, Exbael, much worse.”
They left Exbael standing forlornly by the warehouse and rode back toward the front drive, the wagons creaking. There, the rest of the company joined them for the trip back to Rivecote Sud.
As they turned from the paved drive onto the packed earth and gravel road that headed north, Skarpa looked to Quaeryt. “He’ll still have to flee, you know.”
“I know. There’s no help for it with a holder and a steward like that. But we didn’t hurt anyone or damage his property. Removed a bit of it without full compensation, but that’s not unreasonable in a war.”
“I will post a statement in Rivecote Sud, saying that we bought goods from the holding of High Holder Rheyam and damaged nothing.”
“Oh?”
“That way the steward will have to explain … if he can.”
Quaeryt did not smile … quite.
The ride back to the town took a good glass, and Quaeryt couldn’t help but puzzle over the fact that the road to the holding looked to be better than the main road westward along the river. Reloading the barrels across all the supply wagons took even longer than the return to Rivecote Sud, although Quaeryt did not remain to watch that, but spent a good glass checking the patrols, and then briefing Captain Shaask from Skarpa’s Second Battalion, since he’d been chosen to garrison the town and keep order.
The remainder of Meredi was uneventful. Most of the locals stayed off the streets, and the scouts discovered no signs or tracks of Bovarian forces, although Quaeryt had no doubt that there were at least some Bovarian scouts watching Skarpa’s force from a distance. The Bovarians continued to hold Rivecote Nord, as evidenced by the presence of uniformed troopers or officers on the north cable ferry tower.
Skarpa’s scouts from the east reported back in late afternoon that they had spotted Telaryn troops on the north side of the river some fifteen milles east of Rivecote Nord. With that information in hand, Skarpa summoned Meinyt and Quaeryt to discuss preparations for the regiments and Quaeryt’s battalion to depart on Jeudi morning. That meeting took another glass, and Quaeryt’s guts were growling by the time he walked into the public room for what passed for the evening mess.
The skeptical serving woman looked at him, neither warmly nor coldly, then turned away. But when he sat down at the table with Skarpa and Meinyt, she reappeared and set a beaker of pale lager in front of him.
“Thank you.”
“No thanks, not for now.” She nodded and stepped away.
“What was that about?” asked Meinyt.
“I think it’s a reminder and a suggestion that things might not be too bad if we leave the townspeople to their lives.” Quaeryt took a sip of the lager. It was far better than what he’d been served for breakfast. “It also might be a quiet thank you.”
He thought so, but in war, how could he ever know for certain?
17
As the southern army moved out of Rivecote Sud early on Jeudi morning under a hazy sky that promised more hot and damp weather, Skarpa, Meinyt, and Quaeryt rode side by side behind the vanguard.
“If we make good time, we’ll reach Villerive before the first of Agostas,” said Skarpa.
“That’s without trouble, and there’s always trouble,” countered Meinyt.
“What sort of trouble do you see?” Skarpa’s voice held an amused tone. “Besides more merchants and holders happy to take the troopers’ coins? Or do you think our troopers will be enticed by the charms of the local women?”
“Not on this side of the Aluse.” Meinyt snorted. “At Villerive, we’ll all have trouble. They say it’s the bawdiest city on the Aluse. It’s got more taverns and taprooms than even Estisle. Myskyl thought he had trouble with Rescalyn’s vale? He didn’t know trouble.”
Skarpa looked toward Quaeryt. “What sort of trouble do you see?”
Quaeryt thought. “I’d be surprised to see Bovarian troopers or raiders trying to burn crops until we get close to Villerive. That’s more likely on the north side of the river. The lands are better there. So are the roads, and there should be more High Holders.” He added, “I think we should pay a visit to High Holder Cassyon. Or his holding.”
Skarpa raised his eyebrows.
“We already visited Rheyam. It also won’t hurt if Lord Bhayar has a better idea about as many High Holders as possible. Or if they get the idea he keeps a close watch.”
“Won’t he just replace them all?” asked Meinyt.
“He could, but that wouldn’t be wise,” said Skarpa. “The only people he could use that would be trustworthy
