any questions?”
“What about pay?” came a question from the back of the group.
“The pay grades will be the same as before.” Quaeryt knew that wasn’t what the patroller who asked the question had in mind.
“The pay we didn’t get,” said another voice.
“That’s an interesting question. When I arrived here a little over a week ago, there was no one patrolling the streets, and people were afraid to go out. So I’ve had troopers patrolling the avenues and streets. I’ve asked around, and none of you have been doing the duties that you were supposed to be doing, not for the last month, in any case.” Quaeryt projected withering contempt for a moment. “Some of that is understandable. You didn’t have a patrol building or a gaol. Nor did you have any captains or a chief, it appears. For that reason, those of you who wish to continue as patrollers will receive back pay after you sign up and renew your commitment.”
“Why did you put the station here?”
“Because we could and because we needed it quickly. It also appears that we couldn’t put it in the northwest part of the city,” he added dryly. That did get a smile or two.
“Scholars…” murmured someone.
Quaeryt smiled. Coldly. “I am a scholar. I’ve also been a quartermaster at sea, and I took part in all the battles in Tilbor in the last year before I became princeps there. I’ve taken a crossbow bolt to the chest and broken an arm in battle. I’m not much impressed with muttered comments by men who are supposed to be honorable and uphold the law. As I said a moment ago, I expect every one of you to be polite and cheerful to every person.” He paused, then smiled sardonically. “You don’t have to be cheerful to lawbreakers-just polite and forceful enough to keep them well under control.”
He could sense a certain confusion, even antagonism.
Again, projecting total authority, he said, “If you behave like toughs and lawbreakers, then the people will all regard you as worse than the lawbreakers because you’re abusing your authority. More to the point, so will I … and none of you want that.”
The authority projection worked better than the words, he suspected, but he could see the effect. “We won’t go to shifts yet. All of you who intend to continue as patrollers will be here at seventh glass tomorrow morning. In uniform. Right now, you can line up at the end of the receiving desk where Baharyt is. Give him your name. He’ll check it against the duty roster and your rank, and you’ll be given your back pay. Then you can leave until tomorrow morning. Several of you have already been paid, but you still need to check with Baharyt.”
Quaeryt stepped back and then moved to where he stood behind Baharyt, so that he could look at each man as he came forward.
Most of those who stepped up avoided meeting his eyes. Jaramyr did, nodding respectfully, if grudgingly, Quaeryt thought. So did Chelsyr and several of the others Quaeryt had already met.
Once all the patrollers had given their information to Baharyt and been paid, Quaeryt and the clerk left the building to the engineers. As Quaeryt mounted and started back to the post with Taenyd and third company, he could hear the murmurs from a group of patrollers who had remained outside, gathered together and talking.
“… there he goes … bastard…”
“… tough bastard…”
“… you want to cross him?”
“Jaramyr … talked to some of the troopers … related to Bhayar…”
“… not kidding about … killed a score with a staff…”
Quaeryt managed not to wince at the last. But then, he probably had.
As he rode back to the post, he had to wonder. Had he used too much force in facing them? What choice did he have? From meeting the patrollers first and seeing that group, he had few doubts that they’d been only slightly better than organized toughs, probably taking bribes and then some. What else should he have expected after learning the way Scythn had acted?
He didn’t get back to the post until two quints past ninth glass. He barely dismounted before Heireg appeared.
“Sir…?”
“How many barrels were spoiled?”
“All of them in some amount. We might save half of it … if we use those barrels first.”
“Do that. It appears I need to pay another call on High Holder Wystgahl.” Quaeryt turned toward Taenyd, who had dismounted. “Captain! Can you be ready to ride out in a quint?”
“Yes, sir. We can water the horses some and be ready to go. Where to, sir?”
“High Holder Wystgahl’s.”
“Yes, sir.”
A little more than two glasses later, third company rode up to the portico of the hold. As Quaeryt reined up, he caught sight of the graying red hair of Gahlen, the holder’s son, standing on the black stone step below the white marble columns.
“I don’t believe you are expected, Governor.”
“I’m here to see your father.”
“I don’t think he’ll want to see you.”
“I’m quite certain he won’t.” Quaeryt smiled coldly. “That’s not his choice.”
“And if I deny you entry?”
“Gahlen … for your sake, I do hope you don’t try.”
The heir frowned, then gestured. “This way. He’s in the salon. That’s where he always is these days. He says he coughs less there.”
Quaeryt caught up with the redhead and asked, “Consumption?”
“Who can tell whether it’s that or just age?”
Quaeryt could sense the mixed feelings swirling within Gahlen, but said nothing, thinking about what he could or might do. He did raise his shields, close to his body, before he followed Gahlen into the salon.
“Why did you let him in?” snapped Wystgahl, rising from the same armchair in which Quaeryt had last seen him. “I should disinherit you and settle the holding on your brother.”
“It’s rather hard to deny a governor with a company of armed troopers,” replied Gahlen, stepping back, but not leaving the salon. “Haylen would have the same problem.”
“Bah … you’re both worthless.” Wystgahl turned to face Quaeryt. “I sent you your Namer-cursed flour. Now … get out of here.”
“You sent weevil-ridden flour, and more than half of it is spoiled and useless.”
“You insisted on a price for the flour, Governor.” Wystgahl smiled crookedly, a glint in his eyes. “I gave you the kind of flour represented by that price.”
“The price was for good flour, and I offered you a profit of an eighth more than what you could have gotten two months ago. That’s likely a profit of one part in four.”
“I could have gotten more. You set the price. I gave you the quality you paid for.”
“You don’t intend to make good on what was promised?”
“A promise extracted by force has no value, Governor. Lord Bhayar has already upheld that precedent. Besides, you accepted that flour.”
“My men accepted it in good faith. Your faith was anything but good.” Quaeryt was at a loss. He didn’t want to drag an old man out of his holding. Nor did he really have the authority to do so, and Wystgahl certainly knew that. “You effectively defrauded Lord Bhayar out of thirty golds.”
“He can certainly afford it. Or you can.”
“It’s all right to cheat anyone you can if you’re a High Holder? What about the next two hundred and fifty barrels?” asked Quaeryt calmly, although he felt anything but calm.
“That’s your problem as well. Face it. You can’t do anything … Governor. You don’t dare bring your troops in here and seize my holding. You wouldn’t last a season after that. Do you think that the High Justicer in Solis is going to even hear an appeal over a mere thirty or a hundred golds?” Wystgahl laughed.
