“Lord Rheyam … he’d flay me alive, if Clukyn didn’t first. Anyways, they’re all locked up. Clukyn took the keys.”
“Let’s have a look.”
“The warehouse has thick walls and iron bars…”
“We still need a look. After we inquire with others in the hold house that you are who you say you are.”
Exbael gave Quaeryt a despairing look followed by a deep sigh. “Most are hiding in the cellar, except for the cook.”
Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Major, if you’d provide a squad to accompany Undercaptain Desyrk to verify matters?”
“Yes, sir.”
Desyrk rode forward and dismounted, frowning momentarily as he looked to Quaeryt.
“You understand what your task is?”
“Yes, sir. I’m to make certain this man is who he says he is.”
Quaeryt nodded, then watched the troopers escort Exbael and Desyrk into the hold house.
Almost a quint later the group returned, with Desyrk in the lead.
“It’s like he said, sir,” said the undercaptain. “I talked to all of them. They all say pretty much the same thing.”
“Mount up, then.” Quaeryt turned to Exbael. “To the warehouse.”
“This way, your mightiness.” Exbael began to walk, dejectedly, to the right, toward the paved lane that led to the outbuildings on the north side of the hold house.
“Undercaptains, and first squad, with me,” ordered Quaeryt.
Exbael took his time, and it was close to half a quint later when Quaeryt, Skarpa, and the imagers reined up before a large oblong structure, the outbuilding farthest from the hold house. The walls were brick and windowless. The heavy, iron-bound, oak-timbered double doors were secured with eight iron bars that were slid into iron-lined circular holes in the oak-timbered lintels, and held in place by iron hoops on the doors. Each bar ended in the middle with a heavy iron circlet, with an equally heavy iron lock joining the two tightly mated circlets.
“You see, your mightiness?” Exbael gestured to the doors.
“I do see,” replied Quaeryt. “You’d best go and get some writing materials. You do write, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” The assistant steward’s voice was worried.
“You’re going to need to write out two copies of what we purchase and what we’ll be paying High Holder Rheyam.”
“Sir…”
“Don’t complain, and just fetch the writing materials.”
“Yes, sir.” Exbael turned and began to trudge back toward the palatial hold house.
“Imagers forward.” Quaeryt dismounted and handed the mare’s reins to the nearest ranker. “Thank you.” Then he walked to the warehouse door and waited.
Once they were gathered, he gestured to the door. “You’re going to take turns imaging out just enough pieces of the lock shackle so that we can remove the locks and bars. When we’re finished loading the wagons, we’ll replace the bars and locks, and you’ll image the shackles back together. We’d like to leave things as we found them-with the exception of what we’re purchasing.” He gestured to Akoryt. “Why don’t you start with the shackle on the top lock?”
“Yes, sir.” As usual, the undercaptain’s flat brown eyes revealed little, but he imaged away two small chunks of iron, and the heavy lock dropped. He barely managed to catch it.
“That’s right,” said Quaeryt. “Try not to let the locks get broken.” He motioned to Baelthm. “You work on the next lock.”
In less than half a glass, the locks and bars had all been removed, and the heavy warehouse doors opened. Even after Exbael returned and offered some assistance, it took time to find a lantern and light it, then to study the contents, to check the dates marked on each barrel, and then to open several barrels to inspect the contents. Finally, Skarpa sent for the wagons.
While Quaeryt waited for their arrival, he turned to Skarpa. “You’ve seen what’s there. He’s got barrels of salted mutton, salted pork, a fair number of barrels of flour, and even a few barrels of rice. Don’t see any potatoes or root vegetables. They’d likely be in a separate root cellar. How much do you want?”
“As much as the wagons will hold. Who knows when we’ll have another chance to resupply with this little difficulty.”
“The difficulty will come later,” Quaeryt said dryly, “when the High Holders of Bovaria protest. There are too many of them for Bhayar to replace them.”
“You’re assuming he’ll conquer Bovaria.”
“He’ll at least hold the eastern part. He won’t let that go, and I can’t see Kharst taking it back anytime soon.”
Skarpa only nodded at that.
With a company of troopers, and four wagons, it still took over a glass to pull out the barrels, and then roll them up planks onto the wagons, and wedge and stack them in place. Quaeryt had Baelthm make certain that every barrel was counted and entered on the manifest that Exbael was writing up.
When the loading was finished, with every wagon loaded to its limit, and the two copies of the manifest completed, Quaeryt turned back to Skarpa. “That’s sixty barrels of flour, twenty of salt pork, and ten of dried salted mutton, a total of ninety barrels. The going rate is around eight silvers a barrel for flour. Since we’re doing the transporting and this is war, we shouldn’t pay that much. What if we give High Holder Rheyam four silvers a barrel? That’s thirty-six golds.”
Skarpa frowned. “I’ll give him twenty-five. Tell the assistant steward that we’ll post that amount in the town so that everyone will know … and so that he can’t make off with it.”
“I will have to flee anyway,” said Exbael despondently.
Quaeryt smiled. “Let’s do this another way.”
The steward offered a puzzled look.
“Let’s leave the golds and the manifest and payment statement inside the warehouse, right on top of a barrel behind the doors. We’ll close the doors and replace the locks.” He grinned at Exbael. “How could you have anything to do with it? You don’t have the keys, do you?”
“No, sir.”
Quaeryt could see Skarpa smiling behind the assistant’s back.
“Roll one of the barrels we’ve left over there right in the space behind where the doors close and set it upright.” Once the barrel was in place, Quaeryt took the manifest, the payment statement, and the golds and weighted down the two papers on the upper barrel butt with the coins, then stepped out of the warehouse. “Close the doors, and replace the bars.” Quaeryt waited until that happened. “Undercaptains forward.” He nodded to Ghaelyn. “If you’d take the steward over behind the wagons.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the steward was where he couldn’t see the doors, Quaeryt nodded to Voltyr. “If you’d repair the first lock.”
“Yes, sir.”
Voltyr gingerly held the lock up to the shackle and concentrated. The first attempt left the shackle crooked, but when he could remove his hands from the lock and study the lock and shackle, the second attempt resulted in a joining so smooth that none could have told the shackle had been severed.
“Threkhyl … you do the second.”
The ginger-bearded imager managed to repair lock and shackle in one attempt. So did Shaelyt with the next lock. Desyrk took two attempts with the last one.
“Exbael, you can return.”
The steward walked from behind the wagons and looked at the iron-bound and locked doors. His mouth opened, then closed. Then he stepped forward and inspected and pulled on the locks one after another.
“The High Holder’s goods are safe,” said Quaeryt. “The golds and the manifest are inside.”
Exbael looked at the locked door and murmured something.
“What did you say?” asked Quaeryt.
The assistant to the steward swallowed, then finally spoke. “Just that I might as well have chanced on a black hare, sir.”
“It could have been worse, Exbael, much worse.” Do all the southerners have this worry about black rabbits? Quaeryt didn’t say anything, though, as he mounted.
They left Exbael standing forlornly by the warehouse and rode back toward the front drive, the wagons creaking. There, the rest of the company joined them for the trip back to Rivecote Sud.