Quaeryt nodded. “That’s not unexpected after all that’s happened. And the good?”
“We found almost a hundred shops and crafters and even fifteen factors that haven’t been paying tariffs.”
“But they likely won’t make up what we’ve lost?”
“No, sir. Maybe a third part. Might be half, but that’d be pushing it.”
“We’ll just have to do what we can.” In the future, he might have to ease up tariff levels, even with the lower level of spending he’d imposed, because the Civic Patrol needed to be larger, and there had to be more permanent troopers at the post. Both those were more than evident to Quaeryt.
When he finished with the clerks, a good glass later, he went to find Skarpa, to tell him about Zhrensyl, but discovered that the commander had the entire regiment out on “maneuvers.” Given that Third Regiment was headed to Ferravyl before too long, Quaeryt didn’t find that surprising. Certainly, Skarpa had been diligent in continuing training, although he’d said little enough to Quaeryt.
When he inquired after Dhaeryn and Ghaelt and discovered that they were already at the site for the governor’s building, he decided to ride there and see how matters were progressing.
The two engineers had staked out where the corners of the building would be, and were using heavy cord and stakes to mark out where the foundation trenches would be dug. Two small boys peered at the two engineers from across the street and beside a cart where a woman was trying to sell what looked to be knitted goods in front of a boarded-up shop of some sort. Once the building was completed, Quaeryt had no doubt that someone would either buy or refurbish the old building, most likely for a cafe or the inland equivalent of a chandlery.
He rode closer to the engineers and reined up. “You look to have it well laid out.”
“Not well. Not yet,” replied Dhaeryn.
“That’s a good way of putting it, Governor,” replied Ghaelt. “Look to-that’s if we don’t run into problems with the foundation trenches. And if we don’t hit an underground spring. Don’t expect that here, but you never know.”
“Do you have laborers ready?”
“Plenty of those around here, sir,” said Ghaelt. “Even masons aren’t that hard to come by. Finish carpenters, good ones, they’re not so easy to find.”
Quaeryt couldn’t help frowning. “Carpenters?”
“The good ones leave for places like Solis or the shipyards in Estisle … or they work for the High Holders, or they become cabinetmakers. Make a lot more silvers doing those things.”
Put that way, it made sense, although Quaeryt hadn’t thought of it in that fashion. “Do you have any men at the post with those skills?”
“Torkyn’s not bad, and we can hire his cousin, once we get that far along.”
Seeing as he was only slowing matters down, Quaeryt said, “Thank you. I won’t take any more of your time.” Then he turned the mare and started back toward the post.
At least, if bit by bit, he was making progress. Slow progress.
55
On Lundi night Quaeryt did not get to the villa until late, because he had to stay at the post late and offer words of farewell, as chorister, before Zhrensyl’s pyre was lit. He did the best he could for an officer he scarcely had known, as he tried to explain later to Vaelora.
Then on Mardi, Quaeryt spent the morning at the Civic Patrol station, conducting five hearings, four of them minor, requiring either confinement for a week or a few strokes of the lash, and a theft and assault requiring both a flogging and a branding. In that instance, the man convicted had grabbed the coin box in a public house while the two sons of the woman who owned it were within yards and then tried to beat the older woman with a chair he picked up.
Quaeryt almost felt guilty ordering the punishment of a man that foolish, yet someone that stupid was likely to do the same thing again … and again, and then find himself facing beheading, still wondering how it had all happened.
That evening, when he finally reached the villa, Vaelora informed him that she still hadn’t located a proper table for the villa’s formal dining chamber, let alone matching chairs, and she continued to fret over the lack of social interaction and the invitations they had not received.
“We were invited more places when you were just a princeps in Tilbor.”
“Tilbora wasn’t mangled by an eruption,” Quaeryt pointed out, even while he silently shared her concerns. “And factors and High Holders expect us to entertain, and we can’t. Not yet. You saw that in Tilbora.”
“I didn’t realize just how much you’d have to do for the city, dearest.”
“Neither did I.”
On Meredi, Ghaelt reported that the laborers had begun to dig the foundation trenches for the new governor’s building, and that there appeared to be no problems, but that it would be several days before he could be certain of that. Jhalyt reported that the tariff collectors had taken in over a hundred golds in the first few days of Mayas, and that cheered Quaeryt somewhat, given how many shops and factors had vanished under the ash and lava.
Jeudi morning, he made certain he was at the Civic Patrol station by seventh glass.
Pharyl greeted Quaeryt even before he reached the long duty desk. “Good morning, Governor.”
“You have that look, Chief. What is it?”
“We have another problem.” Pharyl walked beside Quaeryt, back to his study.
“Besides a dead patrol recruit?” Quaeryt closed the door behind them.
“An interesting case of theft and assault also took place on Samedi evening. I’ve scheduled it after the murder hearing.”
“Is there anything about the murder that won’t come up in the hearing?”
“Besides the fact that Caesyt is the advocate? No. There’s something else, but I shouldn’t bring it up until the hearing. I’d like you to hear it without my opinions.”
“What else can you tell me that won’t come up in the hearing?” Quaeryt asked.
“This fellow Cauflyn in the second hearing … he’s a hired tough. He keeps order in Hyleor’s pleasure house. One of them. The one that’s less than a block from the southern market square.”
“What was he doing away from it on a Samedi night?”
“It wasn’t night. It was a couple of quints before fifth glass, too early for much business, when he tried to grab the felter’s wallet.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He’s got a job.”
“It does if you’ve pissed off your boss.”
“But you said he has an advocate. That makes even less sense.”
“I’m guessing. Cauflyn’s been in a cell since Samedi. Where else in Extela would he be safe from Hyleor’s other toughs? Already, people know the patrol isn’t what it once was and that Hyleor can’t buy someone out of gaol. If Cauflyn thought Hyleor was out for his neck…”
“Where else could he have a chance of being safe?” said Quaeryt. “That means whatever he did was enough to cause Hyleor to want his neck, and he had to hurry. Otherwise…”
“That was my thought. Because Caesyt is defending both of them, there has to be a connection.”
“It could just be that Hyleor wants them both free … for very different reasons.”
“That’s possible, but I don’t know.”
Neither did Quaeryt, and he had the feeling that regardless of how the hearing turned out, he still might not ever know.
After finishing with Pharyl, and waiting until just before eighth glass, Quaeryt walked into the hearing room and to the dais, seating himself behind the table desk, and setting the two files before him. A good fifteen locals were in the chamber, including a younger woman whose red eyes suggested she had been crying, and several hard-faced men.
“The justicing hearing in the city of Extela, the province of Montagne, will commence. I am Governor Quaeryt, acting as justicer. This hearing is the matter of Jubyl Jonsyn, charged with the murder of Shannar Fhandsyn and assault.” Quaeryt looked to the stocky advocate standing by the bench for the accused. “Are you representing the accused?”