Princeps

Vaelora nodded. “I have almost a hundred, and Bhayar will give me at least two hundred after our first year anniversary. He said it would be a delayed dowry.”

“We can’t count on promises … even your brother’s.”

“I won’t.” She frowned. “I will need an escort when I look for something suitable. Don’t object. It’s reasonable that I have one, since the lava destroyed a very suitable dwelling … and I promise not to commit more than a hundred golds for the dwelling … or more than twenty golds a month to run it.”

“And you can’t obtain it by promising or even hinting at favors-or difficulties-from me,” Quaeryt added.

“No, dearest. Even I understand that.”

Quaeryt winced at the arch tones in her voice. “I’m sorry. After the way Wystgahl treated me, I just worry.” What Vaelora proposed seemed reasonable enough under the circumstances, but he still worried, even as he said, “I’ll let Skarpa know about the escort tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll be pleased,” she promised.

And so will you. But then, he could certainly understand, given that she’d been raised in a palace and especially given all the places she’d had to sleep over the past month. “I’m sure I will be.”

30

Meredi morning Quaeryt was up early, very early, so that he could rewrite sections of his report to Bhayar, and dispatch it with a special courier immediately after breakfast. As soon as he’d seen Vaelora off on her quest for a governor’s house with two squads of troopers, he cornered Skarpa again outside the stables.

“Yes, Governor? You have that look … sir.”

Quaeryt grinned. “I’m certain I do. You may have heard that I’m trying to re-form the Civic Patrol…”

“The guards told me that you left orders to admit up to eight patrollers yesterday, and Dhaeryn told me you’re converting an old factorage. You seem to have that well in hand.” Skarpa raised his eyebrows.

“The chief and his captains didn’t appear to survive … or if they did, they’re nowhere to be found.”

“Some of both, I’d wager.”

“I was wondering if you might have a very senior, hard-as-nails captain close to being stipended, who could finish his service as a chief patroller here. The locals need someone to keep them in line.” And then some.

The commander shook his head. “Too bad they won’t keep you as governor.”

“Oh?”

“Sir … begging your pardon, you’re here for the same reason I got promoted to commander. Lord Bhayar needs someone he can trust, someone who’s honest, and someone who will do what’s necessary … even if it means tromping all over the polished boots of every High Holder and wealthy factor in Montagne.”

One aspect of the qualities mentioned by Skarpa immediately struck Quaeryt-and that was the separation of trustworthiness and honesty, suggesting that trustworthiness was more akin to loyalty. What Skarpa said didn’t conflict with what Quaeryt had observed, but in a way it saddened him. “I’m well on the way to scuffing at least a few boots.”

“You’ll likely have to do more than that, sir.”

“About one of those captains you or your battalion commanders could recommend?”

“If you’d give me a day or so to think about it … and talk to the majors…”

“I’m assuming it’s not something you or Meinyt would want.”

“No, sir. Not me. Couldn’t speak for Meinyt, but he’d be better off elsewhere.”

Quaeryt nodded. That suggested Meinyt might be useful in another capacity … perhaps.

“I’ll talk it over with all of them,” Skarpa added.

“Thank you.”

Quaeryt had only taken a few more steps back toward the headquarters building when he saw Heireg hurrying toward him. He stopped and waited for the major.

The slightly rotund officer stopped short of Quaeryt and announced, “Sir … I have to report that the flour we got from High Holder Wystgahl is filled with weevils. By the time we strain it and sift it, we’ll lose almost half of it.”

“Is that true of all the barrels?”

“We’ve checked five of them. They’re all like that.”

Quaeryt sighed. “He delivered what … some fifty barrels?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Check them all, and then let me know when I get back to the post. I’ve got to meet with what’s left of the Extelan Civic Patrol.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt made his way back to the headquarters building, where he gathered up the items he needed, and then briefed Baharyt on what he expected of the young clerk at the meeting. Then he went to the strong room where he and Jhalyt counted out sufficient silvers and coppers to pay forty patrollers from the time of their last payday … with some extra, just in case.

Then, accompanied by Taenyd and third company, Quaeryt and Baharyt rode out from the post. The young clerk was clearly uncomfortable on a horse, much the way Quaeryt had been a year earlier.

Less than a year, really. So much had happened since the previous summer, and all because of his ideas for changing the positions of scholars and imagers in Telaryn, plans about which he’d done little enough, except for restructuring and improving the scholarium in Tilbora. Still … that had been a start.

The ride was uneventful, and Quaeryt noted that there were more people on the streets, even some women and children, and to him that was a good sign.

When they reached the patrol station, Quaeryt studied the roof and the front of the building before dismounting. While the places where the old slates had been replaced were obvious, the roof looked far better, as did the front of the building, with freshly oiled shutters in place on the four windows. Two men worked on planing one of the heavy double doors to the main entry. One might have been one of the brigands Quaeryt had captured, but he wasn’t certain.

He dismounted and turned to Baharyt. “Just follow me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt didn’t see Dhaeryn after he tied the mare to the old railing and stepped up onto the narrow stone porch, but one of the senior squad leaders of the engineers appeared and said, “All of the patrollers are inside, Governor.”

“Thank you.”

When Quaeryt stepped inside the entry area of the Civic Patrol station, two things struck him. First, the receiving desk or counter was largely finished, the wood already oiled, and there were around thirty patrollers, all in uniform, standing in groups.

The murmurs died away as he moved toward them. While a few looked at him with what resembled hope, there was certainly an air of something that was not quite indifference, and certainly skepticism.

Quaeryt stopped several yards in front of them and smiled politely, image-projecting authority and confidence. “Good morning. Your patrollers first may have told you. I’m Governor Quaeryt, and I’ll be acting patrol chief for a bit. This will be Civic Patrol headquarters, and in the next few days, there will be twenty cells in the back. For now, while we reorganize the patrol, the troopers of the Third Tilboran Regiment will patrol the streets. By next week, you-or those of you who wish to remain patrollers-will begin taking over those patrols. The engineers will finish converting this building and making other repairs around the city.…”

Quaeryt went on to explain what he expected of them and that those expectations would be posted as a written code for the Civic Patrol, although he would consider changes based on their suggestions and experience.

“… We will clearly need more patrollers, and any of you who recruits a new patroller will get a bonus-after that new recruit completes three months of paid service. The bonus will be two silvers.” He paused. “Do you have