When they neared the River Aluse, Quaeryt and Vaelora reined up short of the north bridge itself, and Quaeryt studied the old stone structure barely wide enough for two wagons side by side. “We need a better bridge.”
“The one south of the isle is worse,” said Vaelora.
“I haven’t seen it. You looked at it when I was recovering?”
“We came by the roads on the north side of the river. So we rode through Variana and over the south bridge. It’s narrower and older.”
“That figures. Neither Kharst nor any of his forbears wanted to spend much on roads or bridges-except for the road from Nordeau to Chateau Regis.” Quaeryt shook his head, then turned to the squad leader. “We’ll head south along the river road now.” What he called the river road was more like a cobbled lane. Another imager project.
The river was still running high, well above its normal level. That, Quaeryt could tell because he could see that parts of a stone pathway on the east side of the river were almost a yard underwater.
Less than half a mille south of the north bridge, Quaeryt reined up to study the north end of the isle of piers, an expanse of mudflats, brush, and rubbish washed onto the flats, apparently by earlier spring runoff. The flats extended only twenty yards or so before ending in a rocky escarpment that rose at least a good five yards above the flats.
Quaeryt nodded. He’d thought that the majority of the isle was well above the river, and if the imagers built a stone retaining wall, almost like the prow of a ship, at the north end, that would help protect the rest of the isle as well.
After studying the northern part of the isle, he, Vaelora, and the duty squad continued southward until they reached a point opposite the middle of the isle, where he again called a halt.
“You’ll need a bridge across to the isle,” said Vaelora.
“I know. I’d thought about imaging one today, but…” He smiled wryly and shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Because as soon as there is a bridge, the poor and those with nowhere else to go will sneak across it in darkness, and that will make improving the isle just that much more difficult.” He didn’t mention that it was likely many of those who were homeless were likely so because of his own efforts in the battle of Variana.
As he looked across the river to the isle, amid the ruined buildings, toward the southern end of the isle, he thought he saw what might be-or have been-an anomen between two sagging warehouses … an old anomen. Can you restore it? He smiled at the thought, the idea that he wanted to restore the anomen to a deity he wasn’t certain even existed. You’d better find a good chorister first, or you’ll end up being pressed into giving more homilies and conducting services.
“Why are you smiling?” asked Vaelora.
“There’s an old anomen over there in the ruins.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“I didn’t say you did,” he replied with a grin, “but you do have this penchant for fixing up anomens…”
“Only one.” She smiled back at him.
He shook his head ruefully, then said, “We should head back. I hope the south road to the chateau is in better repair.”
“It isn’t,” replied Vaelora.
“You would have to tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
They both smiled.
19
On Solayi evening, Quaeryt and Vaelora dined with Bhayar, who peppered them with questions about what they had observed on their journey back from Kephria. Their observations on the High Holders and factors led into Bhayar’s tales of the endless petitions he had received from factors, not to mention the suggestions for improving trade, and removing the tariffs on trade sent down the River Aluse to Solis. That Bhayar had received almost no communications from High Holders tended to confirm Quaeryt’s sense of how Kharst had ruled.
A quint before seventh glass on Lundi morning, Quaeryt was in Bhayar’s study.
“Deucalon will be here shortly,” announced Bhayar, standing beside his desk. “I thought you might have a few things you wanted to talk over first.”
“I do.” Quaeryt spread the rough map on the writing table, remaining on his feet. “This is the map we mentioned to you last night. It shows the boundaries for four regions of Bovaria, with regional governors located in Laaryn, Villerive, Rivages, and Asseroiles. In time, as roads improve, you might wish to change those cities, but all of them are located on rivers for access.”
Bhayar studied the map, then nodded. “I need to think about this.”
Quaeryt had expected no less, especially given the small number of regional governors he and Valeora had suggested. “There’s also the question of how soon you want me to begin as Minister of Administration and Supply. There are unoccupied studies on the main level”-more than a few, in fact-“but I’ll need clerks and some small amount of golds for tables and cases. Not to mention ledgers. I’m assuming that you don’t want me operating out of the headquarters holding.”
“Take the studies you need, and I’ll get you some golds.”
“Do you want me to take custody of the Bovarian treasury, or just draw on it?”
“Draw on it until you think you can handle it, and then we’ll talk again.”
“Also, I’d like to involve Vaelora. She has a good head, and she’s trustworthy.” And I can trust her if you send me off somewhere.
Bhayar frowned, tilted his head, but finally nodded.
“I’m going to have to find clerks as well. I thought I’d ask for rankers or squad leaders who were wounded, leg injuries, and the like, who know their letters and numbers and who are well recommended. If there aren’t any … then I’ll have to look to local clerks from factors who’ve lost their master to failure or death.” From there Quaeryt went on, until he’d reached the last matter dealing with administration. “How do you want me to proceed in notifying the factors about their ‘token’ tariffs? I’d suggest my having letters prepared for your signature.”
“I’m agreeable to that. Anything that brings in more golds would be useful.”
“Has Deucalon said anything about Meinyt acting as a regional governor? Or Skarpa as acting governor of Antiago?”
“Only that he hopes such can be temporary.” Bhayar’s smile was sardonic.
“Temporary? In Antiago? When you still have a marshal as governor in Tilbor after twelve years?”
“Oh … he certainly thinks there will be a need for a governor there for years.”
“He’d prefer, perhaps, Commander Kharllon? Or would he like the position?”
“Kharllon, I would think,” replied Bhayar. “In time, Deucalon would likely prefer a high holding and the position of whatever regional governor whose territory includes the River Aluse from Ferravyl to Variana.”
“Deucalon might actually be adequate at that,” conceded Quaeryt. Maybe.
Bhayar’s eyebrows lifted. “You’ve never cared for him. Why would you approve him as a regional governor?”
“Because the behaviors I dislike in him as a marshal are those that might make him useful as a governor. He’s cautious and deliberate.” And I don’t want to give the impression of disliking all the old senior officers. “Myskyl is the one I not only dislike, but distrust. When the time comes, if you have to, give him a high holding in the most distant locale possible, but one with a great deal of land, most of it rugged or inhospitable.”
Bhayar chuckled. “And you … you don’t want such?”
“You know what I want.”