at Quaeryt. “I’m Skarpa, in charge of Sixth Battalion, cavalry.”
“Quaeryt, recently appointed scholar assistant to the princeps.”
“First a chorister, and then a scholar. Why did you get posted here?”
Quaeryt shrugged. “The short answer is that I couldn’t give Lord Bhayar an answer he liked.”
“What was the question?”
“Whether the people of Tilbor were so much different than other people and whether that was the cause of the continuing problems.” Quaeryt offered a wry smile. “I made the mistake of suggesting I couldn’t offer a good answer because I’d never been to Tilbor.”
Skarpa laughed.
Phargos frowned, then shook his head.
“Why so dour, friend?” asked the major.
“There is no answer to a question such as that.”
“Certainly, there is. Every person is similar in some ways to others. Every people is similar to every other in ways, but all peoples are formed by their lands, and that makes them different.”
“That is not the answer Lord Bhayar seeks,” pointed out the chorister. “Your answer is akin to saying that because all people must have names, all are in some fashion servants of the Namer.”
“Arguing again?” interjected another voice.
Quaeryt looked up to see a grizzled captain, apparently far older than the major.
“Why not? It’s more entertaining than complaining,” replied Skarpa. “Meinyt … have you met our new scholar assistant to the princeps?”
“Quaeryt.”
“Pleased to meet you. He could use one … if he’d listen or read anything besides the regimental ledgers and the Tilboran tariff records.”
“Careful … the princeps…”
“What can he do but complain to the governor? Rescalyn doesn’t have anyone else whose company can chase the backlands brigands through the winter snows.” Meinyt looked to Quaeryt. “You can even tell the princeps that.”
Quaeryt shook his head and laughed. “I’m a scholar, and I don’t think the princeps or the governor is about to listen to my words on military tactics and who’s best at what. I’ve already learned that scholars who say too much about what they don’t know are like fish.”
Phargos smiled, but said nothing.
“Like fish?” asked Meinyt.
“Did anyone ever catch a fish who kept its eyes open and its mouth shut?”
The two officers laughed, and Meinyt sat down beside Quaeryt.
By then the table was almost full, and as Phargos had said, most of those farther up the table looked to be undercaptains.
“You came all the way from Solis?” asked the captain.
“By sail, with one storm and a shipwreck.” Quaeryt offered a wry smile. “I thought it would be easier than riding, and I ended up riding the last part, from the Ayerne north, anyway.”
“Sometimes … trying to get out of things just gets you in deeper,” said Meinyt.
“That’s a lesson that’s hard to learn.” Quaeryt grinned sheepishly.
“Don’t tell me we’re getting fried squid again,” groaned Skarpa, looking at the platter that the server set in the middle of the table. “What’s wrong with plain old mutton?”
“It’s the season for squid,” replied Phargos. “Besides, most of the officers and men like fried squid, and the governor tries to make sure they get the fare they like.”
“I know,” sighed Skarpa. “But why the Namer do they all like squid?”
Meinyt laughed, and, for the rest of the meal, Quaeryt did his best to listen and say as little as possible.
35
Samedi morning Quaeryt was up early, not because he particularly wanted to be, especially with the soreness and bruises on his upper arm and shoulder, but because the officers’ mess was open only from fifth to sixth glass and because he wanted to eat before he met with Straesyr, and he hadn’t seen anywhere else around the palace and its grounds to obtain food.
He ended up sitting at the junior officers’ table, several spaces from two undercaptains. No one joined him, and he was reluctant to press himself on others. He did listen, but most of what he overheard dealt with duties and routine, except for a brief interchange.
“… kept talking about the sisters…”
“… so she’s got sisters…”
“… no … this was something different, like the scholars or the choristers…”
“Sisters? Never heard of them…”
“Me neither … gave me the chills … left her right there…”
That had been the second time Quaeryt had heard about the sisters, whatever they were, and it sounded like he needed to learn more about them.
After eating a breakfast heavy on oatmeal porridge, which was thicker and more solid than any Quaeryt had sampled almost anywhere else, along with ham strips, dark bread, and even fruit preserves, Quaeryt made certain that he was in the anteroom outside the princeps’s study a good half quint before the palace bells rang out seventh glass. Even so, he waited another half quint before the aide at the writing table, upon hearing a bell, said, “You can go in, scholar.”
Quaeryt opened the door, entered the study, and closed the door behind himself.
Straesyr did not rise, but gestured to the chairs in front of the table desk. He wore a pale green tunic instead of the blue, with a high collar that reminded Quaeryt of a factor, yet in a way, he wore it almost as if it were a uniform.
“I trust all the arrangements are satisfactory.”
“Most satisfactory, sir.” Quaeryt settled into the chair on the left. “The food in the mess is quite good.”
“The governor insists on good fare for both soldiers and his officers, among other things. He’s very particular about that.” Straesyr’s lips curled momentarily. “Before we begin on dealing with your mission, I’d be curious to know how you became acquainted with Lord Bhayar.” The princeps smiled, but his eyes remained icy blue.
“When we were younger, he studied with the same scholars as I did. Lord Chayar sent him to the Scholarium, rather than have him tutored in the palace.”
“It’s said that Lord Chayar also had him trained in arms, both with the rankers and with junior officers. What do you know of that?”
“Very little, sir. Once, in passing, he made a remark about the sons of High Holders and that they should all spend time being trained like rankers in his father’s regiments. That was the only time I recall him saying anything.”
“You didn’t spend time as a soldier or armsman, then?”
“No, sir.”
“So you’ve been a scholar from birth, essentially.”
“No, sir. I was orphaned very young in the Great Plague and raised by the scholars. I left the scholars and spent six years or so before the mast, and then persuaded them to take me back.”
“Why did you return to the scholars?”
“Seafaring isn’t a way of life that takes to questions. Too much has been learned at the cost of lives, and trying new ways usually doesn’t turn out well.”
“Isn’t that true of most ways of life?”
“It is.” Quaeryt smiled wryly. “But a scholar can ask a few more questions and has the time to try to work out better ways. Or to find better reasons why the old ways work as they do, and that sometimes leads to better
