Cerryl opened the door and stepped inside, noting the scrolls still stacked under a stone paperweight shaped like a mountain cat. The side walls were wooden shelves filled with leatherbound volumes, and a wide window behind the desk offered a view of the harbor. The study was so warm that Cerryl had begun to sweat, and he stepped past the desk and opened the paired windows. Then, turning, he studied the ancient desk, polished wood, adorned with various bronze protrusions-an elaborate and ugly piece of good workmanship. “Sit down.”
Kalesin took the single armless chair on the other side of the desk.
“Tell me exactly how Eliasar was killed. Exactly.”
“It wasn’t anything special.” Kalesin shrugged. “I mean the way it was set up. Eliasar inspected the barracks, the ones we took over from the blues, every six-day. He was riding over there, and someone put three iron bolts in him.”
Cerryl nodded, even as he again wanted to shake Kalesin. “Three bolts? Did they strike him all at once?”
“Pretty much, it seemed. He was ashes before long, before I got there.”
Cerryl turned his eyes full on the sandy-haired mage. “Did you have any thought that something like this might happen?” He concentrated on applying his truth-reading skills to the other.
“No, ser. I mean…we knew the traders were not pleased with the edict that all sea trading had to be carried out here and inspected by me.”
“Three crossbow bolts-and they all hit at once. What does that tell you?”
“There were three crossbowmen.”
“How good were they?”
“They had to be good.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange in a land where most armsmen were killed or had fled?”
“Ah…when you put it that way, ser. Ah, yes.”
“Was there any reaction from the traders?”
“No one said anything.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“Not about Eliasar’s death, except to tell them that nothing had changed.”
But it had…From what Cerryl could tell, Kalesin was telling the truth, and that meant that whoever had planned Eliasar’s death had understood both the Guild and Kalesin’s obvious limitations. That meant Cerryl had to act immediately.
“Kalesin…I wish to see every factor in Spidlaria, and every trader. I also want a listing of the assistants to each of those traders. Not all the assistants, but the ones who are important, who might take over each factor’s house if the factor died. Oh, and I want to see them starting tomorrow. Make sure Reylerk is here, but not the first one I see.”
Kalesin swallowed. “They will not be pleased.”
“The High Wizard is not pleased. The Council is not pleased. The Guild is not pleased. You might suggest to those who wish to demur that Diev is no more because a mage died.” Cerryl smiled coldly. “And suggest to them that they would not like to suffer because one of their brother traders was unavailable to meet with the arms mage of Spidlar.”
“Yes, ser.” Kalesin’s words were resigned.
“You had best be going to arrange those meetings. Make sure that a full company of lancers is on duty outside here before they arrive.” Cerryl let the smile fade. You sound worse than Anya…He stood. “When you have all the arrangements made, come back and inform me. Bring a list that holds the names of all those I will see-and those you could not find. Best there not be many of the latter.”
“Yes, ser.” Kalesin backed out of the study.
Once the door closed, Cerryl sank into the armchair behind the too-ornate desk. You’re where you don’t want to really be, with an assistant who thinks he should be Eliasar’s successor and a bunch of local traders who hate Fairhaven and probably would pay to kill every mage in Spidlar if they could get away with it. And you’re supposed to come up with a way to improve trade and tariffs.
CXLIX
MORNING FOUND CERRYL in the study munching through cheese and hard biscuits and studying the stack of scrolls and papers Eliasar had left behind, many of them lists. Lists of shops, lists of existing provisions, lists of provisions needed, lists of names, some without even the sketchiest of explanations.
Abruptly he looked up. Lyasa! She was somewhere around, and he had yet to see her. He rang the handbell.
Kalesin peered in.
“Kalesin, where is Lyasa?”
“Ah…she’s been in charge of the patrols maintaining order in Spidlaria and on the roads.”
That made sense, from what Cerryl had seen of Kalesin so far. “Get a message to her. I’d like to see her at her convenience early this afternoon. How are we coming with the merchants?”
“The merchants and factors are waiting, ser.” Kalesin inclined his head, then handed Cerryl a sheet of rough brown paper. “Those are the ones who cannot be found.”
Cerryl glanced down the list. None of the names meant anything to him, and that would be another problem. He rolled the list and slipped it into his right hand. He stood and walked around the overornate desk. “You had the table moved? So that I can see them in the hall?”
“Yes, ser.”
Cerryl walked toward the former dining hall. Hiser and four lancers stood waiting outside the carved and polished double doors.
“Natrey and Jlen will stand by you inside, ser,” Hiser said. “Foyst and Lyant will guard the door.”
Kalesin glanced from Hiser to Cerryl, then back to the lancer captain. The mage assistant moistened his lips. “Four…?”
“I suggested six, ser, but the master arms mage convinced me four would be enough.” Hiser smiled. “With a full company outside.”
“These people…they…” Kalesin’s words trailed off.
“We’ve lost enough mages in Spidlar,” Cerryl said. “And I’m going to put a stop to it.” Just like Jeslek was going to conquer the place and like Eliasar was going to put it in order? He pushed open one of the double doors and stepped into the former dining hall, glancing at the big chair, standing alone in the long room. “I’ll need a small table here, to the side where I can write.” He could feel and sense the repressed sigh and anger from his reluctant assistant mage. “I think I mentioned that earlier, Kalesin. I would appreciate it if you would take care of it now.” You sound like Sterol-or Jeslek. Does power do that? Or is it the frustration that comes with trying to do more than you have time for or knowledge about?
Kalesin bowed and left.
After the door closed, Hiser glanced from the closed door to Cerryl.
Cerryl nodded. “I know.” He smiled wryly. “I’m guessing that you have concerns about our assistant mage.”
“Begging your pardon, ser…and it not be a captain’s place…”
“Go ahead. You’re more interested in my health than he is.”
“He is most wroth that you were picked to succeed Eliasar. The lancers are not.”
“Let us hope they continue to feel that way.” Especially since you have no real idea how to fix the mess that Spidlar has become.
Kalesin returned, followed by two lancers, one bearing a side table and the other paper and an inkwell, quill, and stand.
“Did you get that message off to Mage Lyasa?”
“Yes, ser.”
“I hope so. We’re old friends.” Cerryl offered a cold smile that he hoped showed Kalesin that Cerryl was well aware the message had not been dispatched. “I’m ready to see the first of the traders.”
Flanked by two lancers with bared blades, Cerryl sat in the chair he had once claimed for Jeslek, looking down at the thin black-haired and bearded trader who had walked in and stood a good five paces back from Cerryl. The man bowed his head deferentially, although Cerryl could sense the defiance.
“Your name?”
“Joseffal.”