and there. After two quints, it was clear he wouldn’t learn much more, and he left for the next shop.
He visited almost a score of shops, but people were wary, and no one told him as much as Syen had. He never did find a bookstore, nor a cooperage in the harbor area, and it was more than three glasses later when he finally returned to Thayl’s and paid the extra copper. Instead of riding back directly, he headed north from the harbor area, through an area of dwellings that were slightly larger than those he’d passed to the northwest of the harbor on his way in, but all had higher-pitched roofs than he’d seen anywhere but in Tilbora, and narrower windows. No one looked askance at him, and several women and older men waved.
By midafternoon, the sky had clouded over, and the wind had shifted from the northwest. A light sprinkling of rain had begun to fall when he finally returned to the palace grounds just after third glass. By the time he’d logged back in, unsaddled and groomed the mare, and washed up, it was close to fourth glass. Even so, he did return to his study, but found no more envelopes and messages.
At half past fourth glass, he made his way down to the mess, where, as Dueryl had explained, there was a pay table. He waited behind several undercaptains until it was his turn.
“Scholar Quaeryt … yes … here you are, sir.” The ranker clerk eased three silvers and five coppers across the pay table.
“I thought meals were a copper each.”
“They are, sir, except for mess night, and that’s two.”
“Oh … thank you.” Quaeryt certainly didn’t mind the charges. The food was better than it would have been in Tilbora, at half the price, and certainly better than at the Ecoliae.
As he stood there, waiting for supper, he couldn’t help but wonder about the fare. Yet both the princeps and Major Skarpa had insisted that what the rankers got was about the same as what the officers got. Somehow, if that were true, and he suspected it happened to be so, he doubted that such was the case for rankers elsewhere in Bhayar’s service.
45
Samedi morning, Quaeryt lingered over breakfast, talking to another set of undercaptains, not learning anything new, but more of what he’d already picked up, if from a slightly different viewpoint. In a way, that suggested there might not be that much else truly new that he could learn from the junior officers about the regiment itself, at least for the moment, because what he could ask was limited to some extent by what he already knew … and what he didn’t.
After breakfast, he hurried up to his study, arriving just before seventh glass, where he sat down and tried to think about what he had discovered so far and how he could recommend-if he could-a reduction in troops in Tilbor. If he couldn’t, what could he do … that wouldn’t leave him in a precarious position with Bhayar? The other problem he faced was the scholars. He’d been seeking a way to bolster and improve their position in Telaryn as a first step toward what he really envisioned, but so far all he was discovering was how they were destroying their support among both the landholders and the people.
After a time, he decided to go back down to the library to see if there were any books dealing with scholars. Once there, in less than a glass, he found that there were none, and there hadn’t been any references to the scholars in either the governor’s dispatches or the records of the Khanar’s Council. The lack of mention of the scholars by Rescalyn reinforced Quaeryt’s decision to move slowly in dealing with them.
Somewhat discouraged, he decided to make a more thorough survey of everything that lay within the walls of the Telaryn Palace, starting at the west end. That effort took most of the day, from eighth glass until nearly fifth glass. In the process, he did discover that, despite housing more than a full regiment, many of the troop quarters were currently empty, that at least two springs and numerous cisterns supplied and stored water, and that, in effect, the space within the palace walls could house and support more than five thousand people.
With his feet sore from walking on stone pavement and floors for more than seven glasses, something that often happened because of his uneven gait, he returned to his quarters and cleaned up, then made his way to the main part of the palace to find the Green Salon, which he discovered on the third level of the center section of the main palace.
The first person Quaeryt saw-after the senior squad leader in the dress green uniform by the door-when he entered the Green Salon was Princeps Straesyr, wearing a white formal tunic over dark blue trousers. Beyond Straesyr, Quaeryt glimpsed several officers in dress uniforms, including the governor and Commander Myskyl, as well as a woman dressed elegantly in a flowing black gown, and Chorister Phargos.
The princeps stepped toward him. “Master scholar … I had forgotten that scholars do not have formal attire. We will have to take care of that. I will request the regimental tailor make you a brown formal jacket of the same cut and cloth as a dress uniform.”
Quaeryt didn’t have an immediate direct response that would not have been either obsequious or flippant. “I had not anticipated such formality, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“You are likely to be here for a time, and we do want you to be appropriately attired.” The princeps gestured toward a sideboard behind him and to his left. “You might try the Noiran white ice wine. It’s rather delicate … but potent.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.” With a smile, Straesyr turned and eased back in the direction of those surrounding the governor.
Quaeryt surveyed the salon quickly. The walls of the oval-shaped chamber, a good twenty yards in length and perhaps fifteen in width at its widest point, were cloaked in deep green hangings, flowing down from the gilded crown moldings carved into floral designs. The ceiling rose two levels, at an angle that suggested a mansard exterior, and light-and a gentle breeze-poured in from the open upper-level windows, although the shimmering brass lamps set on protruding brackets at intervals around the salon were also lit. At one end of the salon was placed a clavecin, as if someone might be playing the plucked keyboard instrument later during the reception.
Since no one moved toward him, he stepped toward the sideboard, tended by a ranker in dress greens.
“Sir?”
“The white ice wine, please.”
“Very good, sir.”
Quaeryt took the goblet, almost tulip-shaped, with a crest he did not recognize cut into the crystal, and took the smallest sip of the colorless wine. Even that small sip convinced him that the princeps had been right. He’d have to make the wine last a long time.
As several other officers entered the salon, also greeted by the princeps, Quaeryt eased toward those already gathered, not all that far from the end of the clavecin, an instrument whose unadorned but polished wood shimmered.
The gray-haired Commander Myskyl caught sight of Quaeryt and turned, stepping toward him. “Scholar, I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”
Quaeryt noted a pattern of faint, but long-healed, scars on the commander’s left cheek and jaw. “No, sir. I’ve only seen you from across the mess.”
“What do you think of the regiment so far?”
“I’ve been very impressed by everything I’ve seen.”
“I understand you’ve also visited Tilbora and taken a local patrol.”
“I have. It appears that your officers and men are held in high regard here.”
“Here in the south, that is true.”
Behind the commander, Quaeryt heard both Skarpa and Phargos laughing, apparently at something the governor had said. “And elsewhere?”
“We’re accepted in the north. We have troubles in the lands bordering and encompassing the Boran Hills.”
“I assume you have some sort of post in the north.”
