Shaking his head, Quaeryt retraced his steps, stopping and moving close to the wall as a maid of some sort hurried past him toward, he presumed, the kitchen. Then he continued past the entry hall and staircase. He passed a small sitting chamber on his left, then a large salon on the right, holding a clavecin at one end, followed by a lady’s study on the left, and a large library on the right. All were vacant.
Quaeryt headed back to the staircase and started up, trying to be as careful and quiet as possible. At the top of the steps were two men in livery. Quaeryt listened as he neared them.
“… avoid the master if you can … for a time…”
“… heard him talking to himself about imagers … they with those Telaryns?”
“… don’t think so … the ones at Fiancryt…”
“… better see if the salon is set up…”
The two parted, one coming down the steps past Quaeryt and the other heading south along the corridor.
From somewhere on the upper level, Quaeryt heard the voices of small children. When he reached the top of the staircase, he turned to his right, hoping he had better luck. The third door he came to was ajar. Even before he reached the doorway of the corner chamber, he could hear voices, one of which sounded like that of Daefol. The door was open just wide enough for him to slip into the room, which looked to be an upper-level private sitting room.
Daefol stood near the window, looking down at the rear courtyard, while talking.“It’s intolerable, I tell you. Being forced to quarter two companies, even for a night.” The High Holder looked to the visibly pregnant woman in the loose-fitting but still stylish pale blue linen dress, trimmed with lace.
“You could have told them no.”
“With all those armed men? And with six regiments at Fiancryt or nearby?” Daefol winced at a peal of childish laughter that penetrated the sitting room. “They don’t have to be that loud.”
“They are children.”
“I just can’t believe that he rode in like that.”
“The commander didn’t commandeer the hold house, dear.”
“Don’t condescend to me, Elajara. It’s still intolerable. Absolutely intolerable. If I’d had to talk to him another moment … He sounded just like one of Kharst’s courtiers…”
“He spoke Bovarian?”
“Most of the senior Telaryn officers do. Not as well as this one, and they’re not as condescending. Or stupid.”
“Tell me about the commander. Why did he upset you so much? Besides being condescending and stupid.”
“He was so arrogant … You’d have thought he was Bhayar himself … and he couldn’t even get his directions straight…”
“He couldn’t get his directions right? And he’s a commander?”
“He’s likely a commander by grace. I think his major does all the thinking.”
“But how could he end up here and think it was Fiancryt?”
“There’s a new bridge across the Aluse south of here. That’s what he said, and he’s too stupid to lie about that. That’s intolerable, too. That submarshal must have had his imagers create it, and they didn’t even have the courtesy to let me know.”
“I don’t understand about the imagers, dear. I thought you said all of Bhayar’s imagers were in the south.”
“So did I, but Paliast claims that some of the three have thrown in with the submarshal. It makes sense. That way Bhayar gets more imagers, and they have a patron.”
“What about the commander?”
“I just don’t understand why he’s here. He powders his hair to look older than he is.”
“Do you think he might be a minion of that imager who married Bhayar’s sister. The one you said has enthralled Bhayar with some sort of Pharsi spell?”
Quaeryt stiffened at those words, then smiled ruefully. That explanation made sense in light of Myskyl’s and Deucalon’s actions.
“The submarshal didn’t say enthralled. He said that the imager has convinced Bhayar to pursue unwise policies with regard to High Holders here in Bovaria and also with regard to the larger factors.”
“You’ve never been that enchanted with the factors, yourself.”
“No … but they were a necessary buffer between Kharst and us. This imager … and he’s apparently converted Bhayar’s sister as well … well … he’s already become the Minister of Administration for Bovaria, and he’s personally destroyed high holds all over Bovaria.”
“Why does Submarshal Myskyl care? He’s from Telaryn. I know you’ve explained this before, but I didn’t quite understand.”
Quaeryt had the impression that Daefol’s wife understood very much, and was trying to get the High Holder to think about matters more deeply, without being able to say so.
“He feels that, before long, the High Holders here and in Telaryn will turn against Lord Bhayar, and that some will try to unseat him. That will mean fighting, and no one will benefit from that.”
“Kharst destroyed the holds of anyone he felt was disloyal for years. No one did anything. Why would that change? Perhaps, dear, I’m missing something, but I really don’t understand.”
Quaeryt almost choked as he heard the sweet and seemingly guileless words from Elajara.
“You’re right. You don’t understand. Fiancryt and Ryel were close to Kharst. If anyone is vulnerable to charges of disloyalty, it would be the northern High Holders.”
“I suppose that’s true, but Fiancryt and Ryel are dead. I wouldn’t think Lord Bhayar would have to worry about them. Myranda, perhaps, but from what you say, she’s been most accommodating to the submarshal.”
“You’ve never liked Myranda.”
“Dear … I’ve never said a word. I’ve never acted in any way other than the most proper toward her. You know that’s true.”
Daefol snorted. “I’ll be in my study.” With that, he turned and headed toward the door.
Quaeryt quickly stepped away from the door, hoping that Daefol didn’t slam it on the way out.
“Dear … please don’t slam the door,” added Elajara. “You know how that upsets the children.”
Daefol did not reply, but he left the door wide open as he stormed out.
Quaeryt watched Elajara.
The young woman shook her head, then slowly stood and walked to the window.
After several moments Quaeryt, still holding his concealment, slipped from the chamber and walked slowly toward the stairs. He had heard more than enough … and doubted he could learn much more by staying.
45
For all his determination to make his way back to his forces, Quaeryt found that getting out of the hold house was more involved than getting in had been-at least getting out undetected, since there were two guards at the main entry. He also discovered that there were guards at side doors at the east and west ends of the long corridor, and that none of the chambers on the main floor had exits onto terraces or porches or verandahs. That left the serving and kitchen doors.
The main door from the side hall to the kitchen was closed, as was the one from the formal dining chamber. From the noise rising from behind those doors, Quaeryt was reluctant to open either, deciding to wait for someone else to open the one between the side hall and the kitchen. After what seemed a good two quints, but was probably less than half a quint, someone did, a footman who hurried out.
Quaeryt darted in, only to find himself in a small chamber filled with drawers and shelves, all of which seemed filled with platters, plates, serving pieces, goblets, and who knew what else. The chamber was empty.
But how were you to know?
The din came from the chamber beyond-and below-a long stone-walled room filled with tables and ovens … and at least four cooks and several assistants.
“… you send Deltryt packing?”
“… he was just hanging around…”
Quaeryt decided that no one was moving toward the stone ramp leading up to the pantry. He made his way down along the wall, just to be careful. His concealment seemed to hold. At least no one looked his way by the time he was on the lower level … and sweating from the overpowering heat in the kitchen.