For several moments, Quaeryt just stood there, not really thinking, stunned as much as anything.
In not quite a month and a half, almost seven weeks exactly, he’d effectively restored Extela to a working city, an incredible achievement by any standard, given the conditions he’d encountered, especially with the loss of most tools of government and those who knew how to wield them both effectively and honestly. Except there were few who were truly honest.
And what was his reward-and Vaelora’s? Removal and replacement, because in trying to put things back together, he’d stepped on too many pairs of boots. Yet it would have taken months, if not longer, any other way, and he still likely would not have accomplished all that had to be done. Not that you have yet, either.
He shook his head, then slipped the sheets back into the envelope. He needed to talk to Skarpa.
Finding the commander wasn’t difficult because Skarpa was standing outside the door to the post commander’s study, talking to Meinyt. Quaeryt was willing to wait, but when both officers saw him they stopped talking.
“We can finish this later,” Skarpa said to the major.
Meinyt nodded and hurried toward the courtyard.
Quaeryt followed Skarpa into the small study, not that any of the studies were capacious, and closed the door behind himself. “So what did your dispatch say?”
A puzzled expression crossed Skarpa’s face as he stood beside the desk. “The same as yours, I’d imagine. That we’re to depart as soon as possible, but that one company will receive special instructions from you.”
“That’s all?”
Skarpa lifted a single sheet from the desk and handed it to Quaeryt.
Quaeryt read it, then nodded as he handed it back. “That’s what it says. Now … you’re wondering why I asked. I’ll tell you, but only if it remains between the two of us.”
“You know-”
“I know you don’t talk, and some of this will be known in a day, but … you’ll see why. You’ll also understand why I want you to know.” He handed the dispatch he’d received to the commander.
Skarpa began to read, first nodding, and then frowning. At the end, he looked up. “Since this is between us … it’s all pigshit. He doesn’t want to piss off anyone at the moment … and I’d wager he’s got more trouble than he can handle in Ferravyl.” A rueful smile followed as he returned the dispatch to Quaeryt. “I did tell you that we were just here because no one else dared stomp on enough boots to fix things.”
“I remember some words to that effect.”
“I’m also going to suggest that you pay yourself a travel allowance and expenses, and your pay as governor for all of Mayas. You deserve that, and more, and Lord Bhayar will expect it and the new governor won’t miss it.”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
“Don’t think too hard. You’ve got your wife to think about … and it’s likely to be a good while before any of us gets paid once we’re in Ferravyl.” Skarpa shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. Well … I guess I can … I did tell you-”
“That governing wasn’t like winning battles. You did, and it isn’t. Any time you get anything done, someone else gets upset, and the faster you do it, the louder they complain.” Quaeryt offered a grim smile. “Do you think I should pay the regiment in advance, or just send the coins in a pay chest?”
“Send the pay chest. Too many of the rankers will spend every copper they have as soon as they get it.”
“I can do that.” Quaeryt couldn’t keep a true half smile from his face at the way Skarpa had conveyed the need to get his men paid. “How soon will you be ready to leave?”
“We’ve been mostly ready for weeks. Samedi morning, I’d thought.”
Quaeryt managed not to wince at the thought of telling Vaelora she had only a day to pack and leave Extela behind. “Then we’ll leave on Samedi.” Not that we have any real choice. “Have you told Heireg and the others?”
“Only that we’d likely be leaving before long on short notice.”
“Then I won’t keep you.”
Quaeryt spent the next two glasses with Heireg and Jhalyt, since the major would effectively be not only acting governor but paymaster for the Civic Patrol and the post until Markyl arrived. When he left them to carry out his instructions, he reclaimed the mare and rode out the post gates, heading for the villa, and what he knew would be another sort of eruption.
On the ride back, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Bhayar had in mind for him in Ferravyl. Was it simply to give him something to do, a meaningless position? Or had Bhayar decided that because Quaeryt had done more than he had ever admitted in Tilbor that he might be actually useful in Ferravyl?
Either way, what awaited him in Ferravyl meant trouble. The only question was what kind.
Vaelora came out of the villa to meet him on the portico after he stabled, but did not unsaddle, the mare, and walked up from the villa stables. Her expression was quizzical as she asked, “What is it, dearest? You’re never home this early. Is something wrong?”
Wordlessly, Quaeryt handed the dispatch to her.
Unlike Skarpa, Vaelora frowned from the moment she began to read the dispatch, and that frown deepened with each line. Finally, she looked up.
“They’re all lies! That bitch Grelyana … all of them! What did he expect with a quarter of the city destroyed? He had to know that schemer Scythn was skimming off too much in tariffs.”
“As are most governors,” said Quaeryt dryly.
“Except you. We’re both being punished for your honesty and effectiveness.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “I had a choice. I could have acted the way Scythn did, and few would have said anything. Or I could have proceeded slowly and deliberately, flattering and toadying, and doing nothing until everyone agreed, and doing nothing where people disagreed. I would have accomplished almost nothing in the time we’ve been here. Instead, I did everything in the dispatch. I did keep the price of flour down-just for a few weeks and to help the poor. I did cause Wystgahl’s death because he wanted to make golds off the suffering of others, while stealing from your brother. There was a reason for everything I did-a good reason, but people with influence felt they suffered because I was trying to do things I felt would help everyone … and in some cases, those who truly wanted or needed the help. Poor Zhrensyl was dying already. He couldn’t really do his job. I set it up so that he wouldn’t suffer, and he knew that. But he’s dead, and the only people who know what really happened are a few officers. It’s like that with everything in his dispatch.” Or most things, anyway.
“Bhayar has to know better.”
“I’m certain he does,” replied Quaeryt. “There’s the phrase about most of the charges being false.”
“He won’t stand up for you…”
“He’s facing attacks by Kharst and the Bovarians. The last thing he wants is a bunch of unhappy factors and High Holders in his ancestral home. He replaces me, and it solves everything. This Markyl, if he’s smart, and I’m certain he is, will placate everyone and blame me. Things are getting back to normal, and no one will complain if the Civic Patrol is better, and if Markyl can find a justicer who does a better and more honest job than Tharyn and the other one did, the new governor will get the credit for it. He won’t have to take the blame for getting a governor’s residence-”
“That I found and negotiated for, had cleaned and furnished, and had little enough time to enjoy after months of travel and poor accommodations,” snapped Vaelora. “Bhayar didn’t even think of me, except to order me back to Solis like a discarded plaque in a game he’s playing with Kharst.”
Quaeryt couldn’t blame her for her anger as he added, “And replacing us will allow him to remove Third Regiment as well, which he needs immediately in Ferravyl.”
“How immediately?” demanded Vaelora.