“In time, if it is necessary, I certainly will.”
“I’m surprised that you haven’t already. You seem to have accomplished a great deal in the time you have been here. Surely, hiring a chorister would not take that much effort…”
“Hiring a chorister probably wouldn’t. Finding one suited to addressing a regiment might well take time.”
“Your words suggest that you believe the Nameless regards soldiers differently from others.”
“I doubt that the Nameless makes any such distinction, chorister,” assuming that there even is a Nameless. “The distinction lies in the ways of making the Nameless and what is required by adhering to the doctrines of the Nameless relevant and directly applicable to soldiers.”
“You’re suggesting that soldiers are a breed apart.”
“You don’t think they are, chorister? How many men have you killed in your life? How many of them were likely guilty of only serving a different worldly master?”
“How many have you killed, Governor?” countered Siemprit.
“I didn’t try to keep count, not after the first battles of the revolt in Tilbor.”
Siemprit’s forehead screwed up into a frown. “You’re a scholar.”
“That may be, but at the time I was a scholar advisor to the military governor, and I was ordered into combat.” That wasn’t technically true, because Quaeryt had only been ordered to accompany the regiment into battle, but he’d discovered that the only way to obey that order and survive had been to fight.
“Oh…” After the slightest pause, the chorister went on. “I hadn’t realized you had also been an officer, as well as a scholar, and princeps of Tilbor. Most princepses come from a factoring background, those that aren’t High Holders, that is.”
Quaeryt had not been an officer, but because he’d been accorded that status and had men assigned to obey him, he didn’t correct Siemprit. “Did you have a recommendation for a chorister here?” There wasn’t any point in not asking, and it just might defuse some of the chorister’s not-so-veiled polite hostility.
“My assistant, Neoryn, would make a most capable chorister.”
“That is good to know, and I appreciate your bringing his name to my attention. Once we get matters here more settled, I’ll have to meet him.”
“I trust that will not be too long, Governor.”
“No more than a few weeks, chorister.” Quaeryt rose. “I do appreciate your coming to see me.”
“And I appreciate your courtesy in hearing me out.”
Once Siemprit had left, the door closed behind him, Quaeryt took a deep breath. It seems as though no one likes what you’re doing, and everyone wants something. He knew he was overreacting, but that was the way he felt.
He was still wondering if-and when-he should see the junior chorister when there was another knock on the study door.
“Yes?”
“Some documents for you, sir, it looks like.”
“Bring them in.”
“Yes, sir.” The door opened, and the duty squad leader stepped in and handed Quaeryt an overlarge envelope, one that clearly contained a number of pages within it, then quickly slipped out before Quaeryt could even say “Thank you.”
He opened the envelope and immediately read the short missive on top of the more than ten sheets beneath.
Governor-
The attached brief details a practice of the High Holders of Aramyn, dealing with unlawful water diversions, contrary to common law, established practices, and prior agreements, and seeks redress and damages commensurate with the injuries suffered by the plaintiffs. In keeping with the legal customs of Telaryn, I am lodging this brief with you, as acting high justicer of Montagne, for either your judgment or your referral, as you see fit, according to precedent and practice …
The signature was that of Caesyt Klaesyn.
Quaeryt took a deep breath and began to read. After struggling through the nine long pages, far more abstruse than any scholarly treatise he had ever read, he set the brief back on the desk and massaged his forehead. What did you do to deserve this?
From what he could decipher, the local holders of the lands bordering those of Aramyn claimed that the High Holder and his father had both made the practice of diverting more of the water from the stream, identified as Minawa Creek, than was theirs by right to divert, and that they had left insufficient water in the creek for the downstream users to irrigate their lands and crops.
Quaeryt had no idea what to do-except pay a visit to former high justicer Aextyl and ask for his advice and counsel. He didn’t even know how soon he had to act and whether he had to give notification to Aramyn and in what form, if he did-or if the so-called brief was a legal bluff of some sort.
He did have the idea that Advocate Caesyt, having seen Quaeryt make an immediate decision in the case involving Vhalsyr, believed the evidence was on his side and was trying to get an immediate judgment on this issue as well.
Less than a quint later, Quaeryt was riding the mare northwest to the dwelling of the former justicer, with the document he’d received and Ekyrd’s treatise in one of his saddlebags. While the drizzle had stopped, the sky was still overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining. He didn’t see the sad-faced hound, either. After reaching Aextyl’s house, he had not even tied the mare to the hitching ring when the front door opened, and the justicer’s daughter stood there.
“He can’t be a justicer, Governor. You’ll kill him if you insist.”
“I won’t insist. I’m just here for his advice … and to return the book I borrowed.” Quaeryt walked up the steps, carrying the book and the brief and leaving the pair of rankers mounted and waiting. “Might I see him?”
The woman nodded, sadly. “He’s reading in the study.” She turned and led him through the small entry hall and down the hallway. “The governor is here, Father.”
“I thought he’d be back.” There was a laugh.
Quaeryt eased his way into the study and closed the door.
“Good morning, Governor.” Aextyl gestured to the straight-backed chair.
“I wanted to return this”-Quaeryt lifted the maroon-bound book-“and to ask you to read something and offer your opinion. I won’t ask you to read it as a favor. I’ll pay for your time.”
“I just might take you up on that. Times aren’t what they used to be. You can keep the book as long as you need it.”
Quaeryt extended the sheets, then sat back and waited.
Almost a quint passed before Aextyl looked up. “Slimy ball of offal. You don’t have any final jurisdiction on this, not as a governor or even as an acting provincial high justicer. Any petition or brief involving the rights of a High Holder has to be decided by the High Justicer of Telaryn, who must be a High Holder.”
“Good-”
“But,” the old justicer went on, “you have to write an opinion on the brief, and whatever Aramyn submits in rebuttal, and offer a recommendation.”
“I could certainly write something, but it wouldn’t be phrased correctly.”
Aextyl smiled. “That’s what Caesyt is counting on.”
“What if I draft what I think, and you redraft it in the proper form? Would two golds be a fair payment?”
“More than fair, Governor, and I’d be happy to do that.”
“There’s one other thing. Don’t I have to have a hearing and announce my decision or referral or whatever?”
“You do.”
“Could I persuade you, for another gold, to sit beside me and advise me on anything that comes up? Caesyt knows I’m no advocate or justicer. I’ll act as justicer, but I’d have someone come and get you, pay you, and return you here.”
“Just advise you?” Aextyl’s tone was somewhere between doubtful and weary.
“I’ve already used the treatise to get through four hearings, but I don’t trust Caesyt.”
“You shouldn’t. He’s slimier than an eel, and more disgusting than hog offal in midsummer … like I said before.”
Quaeryt didn’t want to press the old justicer. “I won’t ask for your decision on advising me in the hearing now. I’d like you to think about it, but I do want your expertise in redrafting my opinion.”