Scholar

tight-rigged, and older Telaryn or Tilboran vessel in outstanding repair.

The first and southernmost pier in the harbor was the smallest, and the vessels who tied up there were either local coasters or fishermen. Quaeryt started with the second pier, even though that meant walking farther. He thought the second ship from the foot of the pier was Tilboran, what with the high sides and sturdy timbers, but planks at the waterline were green and the gunwales were neither oiled nor varnished, and she creaked too much even in the gentle swells of the harbor. While a Tilboran vessel would have been ideal, he wasn’t about to trust one whose maintenance had clearly been slighted.

Next was a sleek northern vessel, most likely Jariolan, with shorter sloop-rigged masts to deal with the force of northern gales. Quaeryt had to wonder if she was a spice trader, stopping in Solis for repairs, in order to avoid the high porting tariffs imposed by the Rex of Bovaria. Beyond the Jariolan was a bulky Ferran barque whose crew looked to be re-rigging the foremast.

“Good-looking ship,” he murmured, even if he had no intention of sailing under a Ferran ensign.

The ship at the end of the pier on the seaward side had to be Antiagon-much smaller and sloop-rigged. Quaeryt had to admit that she was trim and well-kept, but he needed a Telaryn vessel, and he didn’t like the idea of a smaller craft in the rougher waters off the eastern coast.

He trudged back down the second pier and started studying vessels on the third pier, the most likely one for his needs, since the fourth pier held both of Bhayar’s warships, used solely if the Lord wished to travel somewhere by sea, and several of the larger ocean clippers designed for faster ocean crossings and unlikely to be calling on coastal ports-even had he wanted to pay their exorbitant rates for passage.

Halfway out the third pier, he spied a ship that was close to what he sought, a three-masted barque, a few years older than he would have liked, but the care and cleanliness showed. The fantail plaque proclaimed her as Diamond Naclia, suggesting she was ported out of either Nacliano or Estisle. She might be outbound from there, but then again, she might be headed back, and if she weren’t headed north from her home port, he’d have a chance to pick up a Tilboran ship there.

The gangway was down, and two heavy wagons were blocked in place roughly opposite where the forward-hold hatch was likely to be located. The teamster of the forward wagon was unfastening the canvas from his wagon bed.

Quaeryt stopped at the base of the gangway and looked to the sailor at the opening in the railing, a mate judging from the sleeveless jacket with the black cloth stripes angled up toward his neck. “Permission to come aboard.” His words were Tellan.

“Polite now, aren’t you, scholar?” replied the mate in Tellan. “That brown shirt and trousers says you’re that, right?”

“That’s right.”

The mate gestured, and Quaeryt limped up the gangway to the area that would have been called the quarterdeck on a passenger ship.

“What can I do for you, scholar?”

“I’m trying to get to Tilbora.…”

“You are? And you’d be wanting to work your way, I suppose?”

The top of the mate’s head was barely level with Quaeryt’s nose, but the scholar wouldn’t have wanted to tangle with the sailor, not with his knotted muscles and unscarred face.

Quaeryt laughed. “I’m a scholar. I can write letters, copy manifests and waybills, total shipment values, but I’ve got a bad leg, and I’m clumsy when I carry heavy things because of it. You look to be headed back to Estisle, perhaps farther.…”

“Passage to Nacliano would be a gold, plus two coppers a day for the crew’s fare, four for the captain’s.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t be helpful,” replied Quaeryt. “Years ago…”

“What? Cabin boy?”

“Quartermaster stryker. I can do navigation calculations, and, if you’ve got the tables, double moon triangulation … or just spell your lookouts.”

“With Artiema full twenty degrees above the horizon in the west and Erion at the zenith, and the Triad fifteen above the water…”

Quaeryt let himself grin. “You’d not be seeing the Triad in the morning light…”

A faint smile crossed the mate’s lips. “How about Artiema twenty degrees above the horizon in the east…?”

For close to half a glass, the mate asked questions about navigation. Abruptly, he stopped. “I’ll have to talk to the captain. If he agrees, a half gold, and a copper a day for fare, and you can have the bunk in the fantail storage locker. We’ll be casting off at dawn on Vendrei. No extra cost if you want to sleep aboard tomorrow night.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow to see if he agrees.”

The mate nodded. “I’m Ghoryn.”

“Quaeryt.”

After he left the Diamond, the scholar found himself smiling. He’d enjoyed the navigation exam and puzzles posed by Ghoryn.

The smile faded as he considered that, while he had the beginnings of an idea to deal with his problems, he still didn’t have a real solution to Bhayar’s difficulties, even though he’d known he wouldn’t until he’d spent time in Tilbora. Still …

5

A little after eighth glass on Jeudi, Quaeryt presented himself at the library gate desk.

The student scholar looked up and swallowed. “Scholar Quaeryt? Ah … sir. Scholar Parelceus has the book in his study, sir.”

Quaeryt smiled politely. “Thank you.”

As he walked from the gate desk down the dingy corridor to the study claimed by the principal assistant scholar to the princeps of the Scholarium Solum, Quaeryt reflected that even the seemingly simplest tasks often required more effort to accomplish within laws and procedures than outside them, a fact overlooked by too many rulers, governors, and chiefs of patrollers … or officious scholars.

He knocked on the proper door, then opened it, and entered without waiting for an acknowledgment.

“Scholar Quaeryt … this is most untoward.” Parelceus was the rotund form of scholar with chubby red cheeks, the brown hair on the sides of his head slicked into place with a scented grease pomade. His brown eyes were as hard as the top of his balding skull as he looked up from where he sat behind a desk so ancient that the wood was more black than its likely original brown finish.

“Untoward?” Quaeryt let a puzzled expression appear on his face. “Untoward? In what fashion, Scholar Parelceus?”

For a moment, the assistant to the princeps said nothing, his mouth opening once slightly before closing with almost a snap. Finally, he spoke. “The library assistant said that you wished to remove this valuable reference tome from the library.” As he pointed to the ancient leather-bound volume, Parelceus shook his head. “Surely you know, Scholar Quaeryt, that all books, volumes, folios, and maps must remain within the confines of the library. Otherwise, before long, we would have nothing remaining.”

“I understand, Scholar Parelceus.” Quaeryt smiled. “In the years I have been here, first as a student, and then as a scholar, have I ever asked for that privilege?” Quaeryt refrained from pointing out the years he had been away from Solis.

“That is not the point. Rules are rules. What is the point of having rules if they can be broken?”

“Have you looked at the book?”

“What do you mean?”

“Until I picked it up yesterday, it had not been read since it was placed in the library. I left the original seal in place.”