“They might, but the collections were used to buy food and clothing for the poorest women in Extela. It seemed that they needed that help more than the troopers needed a refurbished anomen.”
Neoryn nodded. “No one could find fault with helping the poor.”
In spite of himself, Quaeryt had the feeling that Neoryn actually meant what he said, as opposed to Siemprit, whose every word he doubted.
Quaeryt didn’t have an answer to that question. “There will be times when there are very few congregants, and even upon those infrequent occasions when there are more, the collections will not be large.”
“There is no anomen near the post. Could it not be opened to those who live nearby, and not just be limited to those stationed at the post?”
“That might be possible.” Neoryn’s suggestion made sense. Quaeryt just hadn’t thought of that option, most likely because he hadn’t wanted to think at all about dealing with the anomen and finding a chorister. “Why do you think you might be the right chorister for such an anomen?”
“I cannot say that I would be the right chorister, Governor. I am a chorister, and I would do my best. Whether a chorister is best for any anomen depends as much on the congregants as upon the chorister.” Neoryn smiled crookedly. “Part of a good chorister’s task is to persuade those who come to look beyond what they wish to see and hear without offending them so much that they do not return.”
Quaeryt did not reply immediately, because while he certainly recognized the truth of what Neoryn said, he also realized that what the chorister said applied, in many ways, to what he was trying to do as governor. The problem was that, in governing, one had to do things for the common good that were often not popular or acceptable to those with one kind of power or another. And sometimes, the law worked against justice, as in the cases of Wystgahl and Lysienk, something that few wanted to acknowledge, even as they bemoaned injustices either created by the very laws they supported or ignored by those laws.
“You disagree, Governor?”
“No. I was thinking that your words applied to more than being a chorister.” Quaeryt smiled. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I don’t know that there’s anything special about me. I was born in Ilyum…”
Quaeryt listened, occasionally asking questions, while Neoryn explained how he’d come to be a chorister. In spite of how little Quaeryt trusted Siemprit, he couldn’t help but think that Neoryn actually might make a good chorister … just about anywhere.
In the end, Quaeryt made no commitment, except that he would be in touch in the next few weeks.
He rode back to the post, still thinking about the questions his meeting had raised.
53
By Samedi morning Quaeryt had still received no dispatches from Bhayar. Because Samedi was the thirty-fifth of Avryl, the last day of the month, it was beginning to look more and more as if Third Regiment might actually remain in Extela until the fifteenth of Mayas. Since Quaeryt had heard nothing from Bieryn, he was getting the feeling that the advocate wanted no part of becoming a justicer. Quaeryt couldn’t say that he blamed the man. Perhaps, at least, he could consult with Bieryn about the advocates who had put their names forward for the position … if he ever had time to spend a day riding out to see the advocate.
On the other hand, Pharyl was reporting success in both recruiting and initial training of patrollers, and Ghaelt was working on getting together the crafters necessary to construct the governor’s building … and there were no more complaints on Samedi morning about the lack of cheap or free flour.
Quaeryt left the post earlier than he otherwise might have on a Samedi, although most military posts gave most of the men Samedi afternoons off, as well as all of Solayi-except, of course, those posts engaged in dealing with rebellions or war. It was slightly before third glass when he stepped onto the portico of the villa.
“Good afternoon, Governor,” offered Shenna, clearly preparing to leave for the day. “Lady Vaelora is upstairs preparing.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt inclined his head slightly. “Have you found other sources of provisions?”
“Yes, sir. They are much more reasonable, and so are those who purvey them.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“So was Lady Vaelora.”
“She’s quite pleased with all the help you’ve provided.”
“I’m pleased to be of assistance.” With a slight bow to Quaeryt, Shenna said, “Good day, sir,” and headed down the steps to the drive and then up toward the street.
Quaeryt turned and made his way into the villa, glancing in at the now perfectly respectably furnished receiving parlor and then at his study. The doors to the formal dining room were closed, since that chamber remained empty-finding a suitable table and chairs for a reasonable price had proved impossible … so far.
The master dressing chamber was where Quaeryt found Vaelora, who had just donned the same gown she had worn to the last ball in Tilbora.
“You look wonderful.”
“It’s too dressy, but nothing else is right, either. If there’s a ball here, I’ll have to wear this again, and hope that Aramyn and his guests tonight won’t say anything … unless I can find another good seamstress.”
“Shenna might know one.”
“She knows the same ones Grelyana knows.”
Quaeryt wasn’t about to address that issue. “I’ll wash up and be ready before long.”
“Your best browns are laid out, with the dress jacket.”
“Thank you.”
“Alsyra did that.”
“But you told her, and I appreciate that.”
“We’ll need to leave in less than a glass.”
Quaeryt understood.
He washed up and dressed, then went down to his study and wrote what he could for Solayi’s homily, then waited for Vaelora to appear. When she did, he escorted her out to the end of the portico, where the coach was waiting, with a ranker teamster and two outriders.
Neither spoke much until the coach was headed westward on the avenue, partly because Quaeryt was half bemused by the fact that he was traveling in a well-appointed coach, with velvet upholstered and padded seats, and even with real glass windows that could be swung up and fastened in place to keep out rain or snow. More amazing was that the coach was effectively his, at least so long as he was governor. A former scholar in a villa with a coach and team and a beautiful and devoted wife?
“It almost feels strange to be traveling somewhere in a coach,” said Vaelora. “Until this week, it’s been so long since I’ve been in one.”
Quaeryt glanced at the pair of ranker outriders, a precaution suggested by both Skarpa and by Heireg, who was now essentially the post commander, since Zhrensyl had taken a turn for the worse and was bedridden. He couldn’t help but think about how quickly things could change. While Zhrensyl had looked worn when Quaeryt and Vaelora arrived in Extela, the commander’s decline had been precipitous, as had that of Aextyl-at least, it had seemed that way to Quaeryt.
Health, life … everything could change so quickly. One moment, Extela had been a city where all had been going well, and a day later a quarter of it had been in ruins.
“What are you thinking about, dearest?”
“How things can change so swiftly.”
“Is that for your homily tomorrow?”
“More likely for a later one. I’m got some ideas for tomorrow.”
