“I’m not likely to be anywhere else,” replied Aextyl cheerily.
Quaeryt made his way to the entry hall, where the justicer’s narrow-faced daughter stood, waiting.
“Thank you … Governor.” Her voice was low.
“Thank me? He’s the one helping me.”
She smiled softly. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. He misses being a justicer.”
Quaeryt thought he understood. Aextyl was too frail in body to remain a justicer, and too alert in mind not to suffer the loss of being one. “I’ll be relying on his advice so long as he’s willing to provide it.”
“As long as he can, he’ll appreciate being able to do so.”
Left unspoken, Quaeryt thought, was the daughter’s appreciation of the fees Aextyl received for that advice … but that was fine with him. After a parting smile, he stepped out into the gusty wind that had appeared from nowhere and untied the mare. He glanced northward toward Mount Extel, but while he could not see the truncated peak because of the trees, the sky appeared clear of ash or the waviness of hot air.
He mounted quickly and turned the mare back toward the post.
45
Quaeryt and Vaelora sat at the table in the private dining chamber, eating breakfast. Quaeryt was enjoying a puffy almond pastry and sipping truly hot tea when Vaelora, who had appeared pensive since before the two had seated themselves, set down her cup and looked at her husband.
“Dearest … I’m worried.”
“So am I … about quite a number of things. So are you. This sounds like a specific worry. What is it?”
“We’ve been here a month, and we haven’t received a single invitation to dine anywhere.”
Quaeryt managed not to laugh or grin … barely. No invitations to dine when a quarter of the city had been buried in lava and ash? When he’d had to detail troopers to patrol the streets to restore a semblance of order. “We’ve only been here a month, and for the first few weeks, I doubt anyone was hosting dinners.”
“Shenna tells me that there have been a number of dinners. We should have been invited. We weren’t.”
“It could be that you’re being snubbed because you married a scholar,” suggested Quaeryt.
“A scholar who is a governor and who has been a princeps … and who’s wed to the sister of Lord Bhayar,” Vaelora replied. “This is where I was born. It’s not right.”
“Grelyana, you think? Should we have pushed as we did on the furnishings?”
Vaelora tilted her head. “I wouldn’t think so … but…”
“Why don’t you see if Shenna can find out?”
Vaelora laughed softly. “She’s been trying, but it’s not something anyone’s talking about, and there are only a few people she can ask directly.”
Quaeryt nodded and took the last sips of his tea. Even after working in the Telaryn Palace as a scholar and then as princeps, he’d never realized just how complicated being a provincial governor would be, especially in a partly destroyed city.
Although it was Jeudi morning, there were no hearings scheduled, and Quaeryt didn’t rush in riding to the post. He did have the feeling that it wouldn’t be long before his Mardi and Jeudi mornings, if not part of the afternoons on those days, would be taken by hearings … at least until he could find an honest justicer. And that was another task he needed to get on with. He did enjoy the ride, since the air was warm, if slightly damp, and the trees were beginning to leaf beyond mere buds, and even a few early flowers were peering out.
He glanced to Mount Extel, but the peak showed no signs of throwing out ash or even hot gases, and that was good.
After he arrived at the post, he went looking for Pharyl because he wanted to talk to the Civic Patrol chief about scheduling the hearing on Caesyt’s petition, but Pharyl was already on his way to the Civic Patrol station. So he stopped to see Skarpa.
The commander looked up from what appeared to be a sheaf of papers containing rosters. “Haven’t seen you around much lately, sir.”
“I’ve been around … more places than I’d like at times and then spending more time than I’d ever thought likely on various things I never thought I’d have to deal with-from buying a governor’s residence to acting as a justicer … and a supply quartermaster for the poor.”
“That seafaring background still shows through.”
“Oh…”
“For cavalry and foot, a quartermaster is supply. A supply quartermaster is redundant.”
“Whereas for those of us who’ve trod the pearly deep, or some such, a quartermaster is a navigator. Old habits die hard.” Quaeryt smiled, then asked, “How are the night patrols going?”
“We haven’t had any more trouble, but the squad leaders are reporting that they’re being watched, especially in the areas where the Civic Patrol isn’t going yet.”
“That will mean trouble for Pharyl once you leave for Ferravyl.”
“Have you heard anything new?” asked Skarpa.
“Not yet.” That was more a courtesy, reflected Quaeryt, because Skarpa would have known the moment a dispatch rider came through the post gates. So should the post commander.
Quaeryt frowned. “Have you seen Commander Zhrensyl lately?” Since he and Vaelora had left the officers’ quarters for the villa and were no longer eating at the officers’ mess, he couldn’t recall seeing the older commander at all.
“He’s around, but he avoids me.”
“He’s the one who offered his study to you, isn’t he?”
Skarpa nodded. “He’s only got five months before he can take a stipend. He doesn’t want any sort of trouble … and you asked him a lot of hard questions.”
“So far as I could tell, he did almost nothing.”
“True … but in his defense, he had next to nothing to do it with. He doesn’t even have a full company left here. Half his men were killed because they were stationed at the old palace or around the governor’s square.”
“Governor … you don’t have to say much. The men follow you because they can tell you’ll put yourself out on the line. They can also tell that you’re not one to tolerate shiftlessness. Maybe it’s because you’re a scholar, but it’s like it’s written all over you.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “Not always.”
“No … you can be as inscrutable as a blank slate. You always were with Marshal Rescalyn. Sometimes you’re like Artiema and sometimes like Erion. I think that bothered Rescalyn a lot.”
After discussing how to organize the regiment’s departure, either in mid-Mayas or when the order came, Quaeryt left Skarpa, still pondering about the commander’s comparison of him to one moon and then the other-the open pearly warmth of Artiema and the reddish imperviousness of Erion, the great hunter.
He’d have to ask Vaelora about that.
Pushing that thought aside, he went to see how Jhalyt and Baharyt were coming with the restructuring of the tariff collections and the reassignments of the tariff collectors. Then he needed to check with Major Heireg on supply questions. What with one thing and another, the day slipped way, until it was close to third glass.
Quaeryt saddled the mare himself, then rode out to Aextyl’s dwelling, arriving some two quints before fourth glass, dismounting so quickly that he almost tripped over his bad leg before going out of his way to pet the sad- faced hound, who rewarded him with a few wags of the tail. Then he made his way to the small entry porch, where the justicer’s daughter opened the door with a smile.
“Good day, Lady,” he responded.
“It is, indeed.” She gestured.
Quaeryt hurried back to the study.
Aextyl waved Quaeryt to the chair. “You write well, Governor. Too well for a justicer or an advocate. Every word is chosen with little ambiguity, except, unhappily, over the years justicers and advocates have determined that all too many of the words that have no ambiguity or ambivalence in everyday usage do indeed have such when
