“I would not wish to ….”
“There’s but three of us, and Hyul took Da’s place last year. Wryul’n I … our place got rooms we don’t use from one season to the next. Now … I couldn’t give ma’s place away. You’d be doing me a favor, a’ sorts, and, well, without the trade you and your friends at Ryalor House broughtme … be a harder life for us ….” Dustyn smiles almost sheepishly.
Lorn lifts his hands helplessly. “Done.” He extends two silvers. “I’ll take two bottles, and if this would pay for the use of the dwelling for a pair of seasons.”
“Your trust speaks well for you, Captain, but best you see it, first.” Dustyn glances outside, not taking the coins. “Not yet. You have a mount. I’d be meeting you in front.”
Not long after Lorn has mounted, Dustyn appears on an almost sway-backed brown mare, and the two men ride along the narrow lane until it joins the road leaving Jakaafra to the east.
Lorn hopes that what Dustyn has said about the dwelling is accurate, but the factor has been reasonably fair in all his dealings. So the lancer captain rides and watches to see what awaits him on the east road.
The dwelling sits on a low rise on the eastern road from Jakaafra, less than a kay from the square, and just beyond the kaystone that notes the town center is one kay away. The new roof tiles glisten pale green, even in the dim light of the cloudy day.
Dustyn dismounts heavily, and limps slightly, past the privacy screen and to the door, which he opens with an ancient bronze key. Lorn follows, and silently walks through the house.
The dwelling is small, as Dustyn has said, with but a bedchamber, a larger room containing a tiled stove and space for eating and meeting, a bath-chamber, and a rear room for storage, no more than five cubits on a side. There is a serviceable bed, even a doorless armoire, in the sleeping chamber, and a table with three old oak chairs in the main room.
“Even got a handful of pots there.” The factor gestures to the golden oak cabinet beside the stove. “And a few pieces of crockery.”
The floor tiles are a pale blue, faded by time, but not cracked, and the joins have been recently grouted. There are both interior and exterior ceramic privacy screens, and the hedge providing privacy for the small rear portico needs butlittle trimming. There is a stable that will hold two horses, but without space for a carriage.
As the two stand looking at the privacy screen before the front entrance, Lorn nods. “This will do well for me.”
“I was thinking it might.”
Lorn extends the silvers again, adding a third. “If I could trouble you to bring the goods in your cellar sometime in the next eightday or so …?”
“A pleasure, Captain, a pleasure.” Dustyn glances upward.
“Best we be getting back. I’d not be thinking I’d like to be getting too damp, and you’ve a much longer ride than do I.”
Lorn nods at that and remounts the gelding.
The first drops of rain begin to dribble out of the gray sky when Lorn is little more than a kay out of the town of Jakaafra on his return to the compound. By the time he rides through the gates the rain is falling so fast that he can scarcely see a hundred cubits ahead, and he is most grateful for the stone-surfaced roads of Cyador.
Water pours from his uniform and has plastered his garrison cap and hair flat against his skull as he leads the gelding from the downpour into the stable.
“Ser …” Suforis looks at Lorn wide-eyed.
“I know,” Lorn says tiredly. “I know. But there are few days I even have free to get to Jakaafra.”
“Yes, ser. I’ll make sure he gets dry and rubbed down.”
“Thank you.” Lorn takes the wine and marches back through the rain-filled courtyard. His feet squush in his boots as he walks down the corridor to his quarters. After wringing out his uniforms, and hanging them out to dry-slowly, he suspects, Lorn changes into dry trousers and a dry undertunic. Then, he dries and oils the sabre and leaves it out of the scabbard, hoping both will dry before he has to leave on patrol again.
Only then does he seat himself at his desk and read through the last scroll from Ryalth once more.
… we are a quiet house and becoming regarded as an example for the Clanless Traders. I have triedto keep our image that way. This has been helped by the occasional appearance of a senior enumerator from elsewhere. It has also been aided by the growth of our shipments of a golden brandy that is of high quality. Since it and many of our more profitable items are shipped through Fyrad, we are known to have distant contacts. Some of those contacts date from the other ship disaster that we discussed. They are now pleased to see that house reborn through its heir. That is well these days.
While we remain on the topmost level, we are now paying for three times the space we had previously, and I have purchased a warehouse from the Jekseng Clan that has never been regarded as well-fated since it was once rented by a Hamorian trader. It helps to know the past of some matters.
I see I have forgotten to tell you that, because of certain information about timbers, Ryalor House has become involved in other ventures which we should discuss before too long. The serving lady you never met also says all is well.
… and I look forward to hearing from you.
Lorn smiles and begins to pen his reply.
My dearest trader,
My two-eightday furlough begins the ninth eightday of winter, and I have made the arrangements discussed a year ago, and am well-pleased with the thought of keeping my word on this matter. I am hoping that it will be convenient for you to come to the town of Jakaafra at that time, and I have arranged a modest dwelling for you, so that all can be handled with decorum and grace. Should I not be immediately present on account of my duties, inquire of the factor who has arranged much ….
Should you wish to demur, I will make otherarrangements to keep this word whenever you desire it to be such ….
Lorn frowns at his words. He does not wish to seem too formal, but he does not wish Ryalth to be compromised in the event the scroll falls into the wrong hands.
Finally, he concludes.
As you know, I am less than most perfectly able to express myself under these circumstances, and must trust to words more formal than what I feel, but I trust that my actions will express me far better than my poor words, and that you will understand as you have done so well and so often over the years.
He looks blankly toward the window and the rain beyond as he finally seals the missive, his eyes fixed far beyond the grayness of the compound.
XCIII
AS THE WHITE gelding carries him southeast along the road beside the white granite of the ward-wall, Lorn wipes the cold drizzle off his forehead. Sweat continues to ooze from under the garrison cap to mix with the fine rain. Without the oiled white leather winter jacket, he would be soaked, but cold as it had been when they had left Jakaafra, he had chosen the warmer jacket over a waterproof. The weather has warmed somewhat, and under the jacket, even unfastened as it is, he is too warm.
No lancer can carry enough for all types of weather, not and be able to fight giant cats-not and carry two firelances and two sabres.
“Far too wet and cold not to wear a jacket,” Shynt observes from where he rides on the outer side of the ward-wallroad, echoing Lorn’s feelings, “and too warm to wear such.”
Lorn shakes his head. “And it’s not really wet enough for this to help crops much, and too damp for healthy riding. No one really benefits. Some patrols are like that.”
“Most … in the winter.”
The lancer captain nods in agreement, then glances ahead. Through the mid-day drizzle, the white granite oblong bulk of the structure housing the non-functioning midpoint chaos tower looms ahead and slightly to the left of the ward-wall road. Before long, the first squad will have to ride around the mid-point tower, and then, somewhere beyond that, farther southeast, they will find another fallen tree.