Shomyr drove the wagon down Nordroad and then turned northeast on the Boulevard D’Este.
“How long will it take?” I asked.
“With the wagon this light, a little more than a glass,” offered Shomyr.
“Have you ever been at Ryel’s?”
“No. We’ve driven past the grounds. High Holder Tierchyl’s chateau is on the west side of the road a bit farther out.” Seliora paused. “Will his family keep it now that he’s dead?”
“It depends on what’s left after Ryel extracts his pounds of flesh. Tierchyl’s family is probably still there for now.”
“Not for long, from what we’ve heard of Ryel,” suggested Shomyr.
“What do you recall of Ryel’s estate here?” I asked.
“It’s near the top of one of the hills to the north, the ones between the higher ground and the valley, but not at the top. At least, the chateau isn’t . . .”
I listened until Seliora and Shomyr could say no more, and then we talked more about family. I did tell Seliora that her aunt Staelia was very much her partisan.
While we conversed, Shomyr drove on, through the Plaza D’Nord and along the boulevard for another mille before turning due north on an unmarked but well-paved road.
“To find those with golds, just follow the best roads,” Shomyr said cheerfully.
“Or the worst roads with the deepest ruts,” countered Seliora.
Before all that long, as the wagon began to head down a gentle slope, Shomyr nodded. “There it is, on the hill ahead, the right side, in the middle of the walls.”
I immediately put a sheet of paper on the drawing board and began to study the grounds framed by the wall. The chateau was set on the east side of the road, and dominated the gentler slope just below the hilltop, the building itself a good three hundred yards from end to end. It made the Council Chateau look tiny by comparison, and I would have guessed that it well might be smaller than Ryel’s chateau on his main holding north of Rivages. A gray stone wall a little more than two yards high extended around the grounds.
I began to sketch, not wanting to waste a moment, since I was imposing on both Seliora and Shomyr.
From what I could tell as we approached, the structure was laid out in a “Y” shape, with the base of the Y running parallel to the road. The southern extension ended at what looked to be a cliff-one created artificially by digging away the hillside and running a solid stone foundation straight up. A squarish tower was set on the southern-most section of the terrace overlooking the gardens and valley. It appeared no more than five yards on a side, but rose another three levels above the roofed and pillared but otherwise open terrace.
“You could see all the way to Imagisle from the top of the tower,” I observed.
“I’m certain that’s the point,” replied Shomyr. “The terrace offers almost as good a view, and the extensions of the roof allow one to sit there in the late afternoon without getting that warm. They’ll doubtless have shades or screens for the time around sunset.”
I kept sketching as quickly as I could, trying to put in the various buildings in a quick diagram of where everything was located in respect to the walls and the gates, and the curving drive from the gates leading to the covered front portico looked as though it fronted a gallery or a grand salon stretching across the west side of the chateau.
Shomyr let the mules take their time plodding up the relatively gentle, if long, slope. Neither he nor Seliora spoke as I drew.
Once we passed the gates, I scrambled to the back of the wagon and continued my work. The gates were simple but heavy iron grilles, without even a crest or coat of arms on them. Two heavy iron bars on the inside secured the gates. The stone pillars anchoring them rose almost a yard above the top of the adjoining wall. There was no exterior gate house, but I could see the shape of one against the wall and just inside the gates. The paved drive was wide enough for two carriages abreast and curved northward to the portico, then circled back eastward to rejoin itself. In the middle of that circle was a miniature garden, with a fountain statue in the center, although I could not make out the figure in any detail. The ground to the north continued to slope upward. Against the northern wall, some four hundred yards uphill, was a curved stone structure that puzzled me for a moment, until I realized that it had to be some sort of cistern or water reservoir, feeding both the chateau and the fountain, and the water source was probably a spring or a stream even farther uphill.
“There’s a turnout at the top of the hill. I can stop there for a bit. That would seem natural,” Shomyr said.
“I’d like that.”
I couldn’t see all of the chateau from the turnout, but since the wagon was barely visible from below, I took my time-almost a glass-before I told Shomyr that I had what I needed.
He turned the wagon back around and headed slowly downhill-as would any teamster.
I kept drawing and filling in all the details that I could. In fact, I drew all the way back. When we pulled up in the courtyard of NordEste Design, it was just past fourth glass. Dark clouds were massing to the northwest, and the wind had turned chill.
Once the wagon stopped and Shomyr set the brake, Seliora turned in the seat. “Could I see?”
“Of course.” I showed her the first sketch, which was almost a diagram of where all the buildings were, then the others in turn.
Shomyr looked at the sketches as well, then shook his head. “I didn’t see half of that.”
“It takes practice. Master Caliostrus would put an arrangement of fruit or something on a table, and tell me to look at it carefully. Then he’d remove it all, and make me draw it from memory. He got most upset if I left something out. You practice like that for seven years, and you get very good at noticing details.” Unless it was something that I hadn’t looked at that way, or hadn’t known how to study when I’d last seen it-like the back of the factorage.
“Can I help with the wagon?” I asked.
Shomyr shook his head. “You need to change and get back, don’t you?”
“I have some time.”
“That’s all right.” Shomyr nodded to his sister.
Seliora took my arm, not saying anything until we were farther away. “He’s happy to be able to help. He’s also pleased that you offered to do what you could with the wagon, but he likes to handle things in his own way.”
I could understand that.
“You go change,” she added, “and then we can talk, can’t we?”
“For a little,” I admitted.
She used a heavy key to unlock the door at the top of the steps, then locked it behind us. Once we were in the main foyer, she turned to me. “Go change. I’ll wait here.” She took off the scarf and shook out her hair.
For a moment, I just admired her, then headed for the stairs, carrying the drawing board and all the sketches. When I finished changing and made my way back down to her, carrying my bag filled with exercise clothes and the sketches, she had two mugs of hot tea and a plate of biscuits waiting on a side table flanked by two chairs.
“How did you manage that so quickly?” I asked, settling into the chair across from her.
“I didn’t. Mother did. She was watching for our return.”
“You and your family . . . you’re all remarkable.” I paused. “Thank you for today. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” I took a sip of the tea, a small sip. It was hot, very hot. “If I could ride, it would have been easier.”
“You can’t?” She grinned. “We should teach you.”
“You can ride as well?”
“Why wouldn’t I be able to? I used to ride messages for Papa when I was little.”
“I should learn . . .”
“Good. Next week, we’ll put you on the mare.”
“Just like that?”
“You can’t ride without getting on a horse, Rhenn.”