Once the initial arrangements with the innkeeper had been worked out and Quaeryt had seen to men and mounts being settled, he returned to talk to the innkeeper and see what he could learn from the black-bearded Jhoseal, scarcely older than Quaeryt was himself.
“What would you be wanting to know, Commander?”
“Have you seen any other Telaryn forces recently?”
“A few couriers every week or so. No large forces since early last fall. Heard tell they’re all settled somewhere near Rivages.”
“Who are the most important factors here in Yapres?”
“Might be Zoalon … mayhap Locand … or Suelyr … depends on what you mean?”
“The wealthiest, or the head of the factors’ council.”
“Wealthiest is likely Suelyr, but Zoalon is the head of the factors’ council.”
“What does he factor?”
“This and that … late apples and fruit downriver, when the southern orchards are done, hardwoods from his mill, because the southerners have mostly soft timbers, except oak … even sends some north to Rivages. Mostly pines north of there…”
“Where could I find him?”
“That’d be easy enough. He’s usually at his factorage. Six blocks north, right on the river. Has his own piers. Only him and Suelyr do.”
“What about High Holders?”
Jhoseal frowned. “Caemren’d be the only High Holder here. On the river four milles north. High stone walls. You can’t miss the place. Doesn’t like visitors. They say some who tried to visit ran afoul of his guards, and no one ever saw ’em again.”
“Any others nearby?”
“Well … you want to travel nine-ten milles east or so on the road to Choelan, there’s Magiian. Choelan’s but fifteen milles east beyond his holding.”
“Is there a town patrol?”
“Good one. Don’t find the beggars here. No street sluts here. Not in Yapres.”
Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t get me wrong,” said the innkeeper. “We got good women. Madame Besseri’s got a fine house on Arbor Lane, and Laynela’s is good, too. None of the low street types.”
“Who’s in charge of the patrol?”
“The chief patroller. That’s Sabotyr.”
“And how do the patrollers get paid?”
“None of the shaking down folks. Not here. The merchants and factors and tradesfolk all pay a tariff. Factors’ council collects it last day of each season. Glad to pay it. Folks come here to have a good time, especially in the spring and late harvest and early fall. Well … most years. Been slow last fall and this spring. Still get folks from a lot farther than Choelan.”
“From Rivages?”
“Only if they don’t want folks in Rivages to know,” replied the innkeeper with a laugh.
“What else can you tell me about Yapres?”
There wasn’t that much else Jhoseal wanted to volunteer beyond saying how this and that happened to be good, and Quaeryt didn’t know enough to ask more than general questions. In another quint, he was back on the gelding, headed north with four rankers as escorts.
The six blocks mentioned by Jhoseal turned into almost ten, and calling Zoalon’s establishment a factorage was a bit of an understatement, Quaeryt decided as he approached the complex of buildings that included a large lumber barn, or so it appeared, and three sizable warehouses as well as three wide but short piers. In the middle was a handsome red brick building with stone windowsills and lintels, as well as stone corners and cornices and a slate roof. Since there was a bronze hitching ring by the stone steps to the entrance, Quaeryt reined up there and dismounted, then said to his escorts, “It shouldn’t be that long.” He checked his shields, reflexively, before he turned toward the entry.
“Yes, sir.”
Immediately inside the center building was an entry hall, in which sat a gray-haired clerk. He looked up from the ledger in which he was either making entries or checking them. His eyes widened slightly as Quaeryt removed his visor cap and stepped forward.
“Commander Quaeryt to see Factor Zoalon.”
The older man smiled, if ruefully. “I’d say that he probably wouldn’t want to see you, but there’d be little enough point in that these days. Commander Quaeryt, you said?”
“That’s correct.”
“Let me tell him you’re here.” He paused. “You didn’t come alone, I presume, Commander?”
“I have a few rankers with me here, and two companies in town.”
“At the Copper Tankard?” The clerk stood.
Quaeryt nodded.
“The boys said something about that. Hadn’t seen so many soldiers since last fall when all your regiments came through.”
“They haven’t been patrolling this far south, though.”
“No. Haven’t seen anyone in a Telaryn uniform since then except you … and the occasional dispatch riders.”
Quaeryt nodded and then waited while the clerk walked down the corridor leaving the entry hall, pausing at what looked to be the last door on the right.
“Sir … a Telaryn commander here to see you. Commander Quaeryt.”
Quaeryt didn’t hear the response, but the clerk gestured and said, “This way, sir.”
Quaeryt was well aware of the unevenness of his gait as his boots seemed to echo on the polished gray marble tiles as he walked to the open door and then stepped inside, finding himself in a square chamber of modest size, roughly four yards by five. Polished wooden cases lined the wall to his right, and two small bookcases flanked the door. Zoalon was younger than Quaeryt expected, only about forty, balding with short blond hair above his ears. He stood behind a table desk. Two armless straight-backed chairs faced the desk, although the desk chair had arms, with its back and seat upholstered in a tan leather. All the furnishings appeared to be made of the same wood, either natural or stained a dark brown.
“Might I ask, Commander, how much of your visit is courtesy call and how much will result in my losing goods or being paid less for them than they cost me?”
“That depends on what goods you have and what we need.” Quaeryt offered what he hoped was a genial smile. “Although that wasn’t the reason why I came to see you.”
“Oh?” Zoalon’s deep voice and expression expressed skepticism.
“I’m after other goods. Information, in fact.”
The factor gestured to the chairs and seated himself. “What sort of information?”
“A variety. One thing that has always puzzled me is how exactly did Rex Kharst raise and pay some forty regiments of troopers.”
“At great cost to the factors of Bovaria,” replied Zoalon dryly.
“He required an additional tariff?”
“Four parts in ten above the normal for the past two years. Some factors failed. Not here in Yapres, but times have been lean for several.”
“Where did he get the men?”
“Most towns managed to find blade fodder, one way or another.”
“And the factors had a great deal to do with it?”
“I wouldn’t say that. We did encourage the young fellows with few prospects and others…” Zoalon shrugged. “You know how it is.”
Quaeryt was afraid that he did. “There don’t seem to be many High Holders between Talyon and Yapres.”
“There were more, years ago.”
“We ran across a holding that used to be a High Holder’s. The holder’s name was Daalyn.”
“Laedica’s husband. They’re officially produce factors, and so is Geongyst. Their grandsires were smart enough to renounce being High Holders. The others were a stiff-necked bunch. They weren’t used to reading the wind, and they got burned.”
“Literally, from what we’ve seen. Have you ever seen any of the imagers who did that sort of work for the rex?”
The factor shook his head … then frowned. “I don’t know as I saw them, or didn’t. Years back, when Baernhem’s hold was torched, the troopers who did it stayed in Yapres for a few days. There were men in uniform who didn’t look like rankers or officers. They might have been imagers, or they might have been clerks who totaled up the value of the goods they returned to the rex. They might have been both.”