“Zorlyn … that sounds familiar, but I couldn’t say why…” Quaeryt had never heard of Zorlyn. At least, he didn’t think so.
“Oh … he’s the one that no one knows beyond his name. One of his youngest sons-and going through three wives, he has many-is a scholar.” Rewhar frowned. “He’s the princeps of that scholars’ place…”
“The Ecoliae?” At that moment, the connection struck Quaeryt-Zarxes Zorlynsyn. He didn’t want to mention the name Zarxes, because no one at the palace or in Tilbora had ever mentioned Zarxes by name.
“That’s it. The fellow’s name … I can’t remember, but it has to start with ‘Z.’ Zorlyn names all his sons something beginning with ‘Z.’ I heard that somewhere.” Rewhar glanced past Quaeryt toward the serving table.
“Don’t let me keep you from enjoying the food. I did find the small mutton rolls and the pate quite tasty. The sauce on the pickled sliced eggs is rather highly spiced.” Quaeryt smiled again and gestured toward the table.
The next two factors to enter and greet the princeps were careful to avoid Quaeryt, and he decided to wait until more had arrived. When a good fifteen or so had appeared, he moved toward a pair standing somewhat away from those clustered around the serving table.
“Honorable factors … I’m Quaeryt, the scholar assistant to the princeps. I was sent here from Solis by Lord Bhayar to offer aid to the princeps and to gather information.” He smiled.
“Oh…” replied the taller factor. “Jussyt … I’m not really a factor so much as a quarryman who became fortunate enough to discover better ways of splitting and dressing stone. They all claim I’m a factor, though. Even Raurem here.”
Quaeryt turned to the shorter man.
“Produce, especially apples and the rough grains. But apples … they’re the most notable fruit of Tilbor. More varieties grown here than anywhere in Lydar. Better, too. It’s a pity we can’t ship them farther away than the east coast without drying them.” Raurem shook his head.
“What’s the best eating apple?”
“Ah … that depends on when you eat it. Right off the tree or in a day or two, it’d be the black thorn. The best keeper, to eat, that is, is the red mottled, and that’ll keep most of the winter in a tight cold cellar, but not one that’ll freeze them. You’ll just have mush that way…”
Quaeryt smiled and kept listening, wondering how much he’d remember about the apples of Tilbor. Then he learned about the gray split slate-the best roofing slate in all Lydar, according to Jussyt. Since neither seemed inclined to discuss scholars, after a time, he slipped away and talked to others, each more than willing to discuss what they did.
Almost a glass later, he eased up to an angular factor, whose left eye had a pronounced tic, but before he could say a word, the other spoke.
“You’re the scholar … apparently most unlike those in Tilbor … from what I hear.”
“I couldn’t say, not yet. I’m Quaeryt.”
“By the way,” the factor grinned, “I’m Cohausyt. We have the sawmills north of Tilbora on the river.”
“Most seem … reluctant to discuss the scholars resident here.”
“That is because it is either unwise to do so, or, if one is a High Holder … unnecessary.”
“Unwise?” Quaeryt did his best to look puzzled.
“Some of those scholars have ties to the hill holders, and they pursue … other goals, although it is said that one of those most rumored to be … less scholarly … recently vanished.”
“They actually bear arms and do … other unseemly things?”
“We have no need of an assassins’ guild here, as they do in Antiago, not with scholars such as those.”
Quaeryt winced. “That troubles me. Scholars have a difficult enough time as it is. To have a group behaving so…”
“It troubles many in Tilbora as well.” Cohausyt leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Can you tell me why the governor ignores such a pox?”
“I did not know that the local scholars were such a pestilence. Because I did not, I never inquired into the matter. I had heard that those here on Lord Bhayar’s service were not to deal with the scholars. I had thought that was because Lord Bhayar has always said that his ministers were to leave the scholars alone unless they broke the laws of the land…”
“Would that…” Cohausyt shook his head. “Enough said.”
“I will look into the matter,” promised Quaeryt.
“I would that you would … but not because any have suggested it.”
“I will only say that I overheard some remarks, but could not determine who made them.”
For the next two glasses, Quaeryt mixed, mingled, conversed, and mainly listened. While there were more allusions to the local scholars, none of those factors said more, nor did Quaeryt press them. All in all, by the time the last factor left, he felt exhausted. So did Straesyr, he suspected, because the princeps merely said, “We’ll talk on Lundi.”
That was fine with Quaeryt.
63
On Solayi, Quaeryt took the mare for a ride, telling himself that he needed to try to locate some of the factorages belonging to those whom he had met at the reception. While that was partly true, he also felt he needed to escape the confines of the palace. He did indeed locate Cohausyt’s sawmills and saw from a distance stone quarries that might have belonged to Jussyt.
He returned in time to write up his weekly report for Straesyr and then went to the evening meal, and, because he had not been around during the day, he also attended the evening services, presided over by Phargos. Most of the regimental chorister’s homily was forgettable, but one phrase did catch Quaeryt’s attention and linger in his thoughts.
“… if there were no higher power, men would do what they would, for then there would be no spirit to face the Nameless and no reckoning to a life ill spent…”
Are men and women so weak and so stupid that they can only do what is right because of the threat of an almighty power? Can they not see that if all behave well, then all benefit more, even the most powerful?
Unfortunately, he feared that Phargos might well be right, and that saddened him.
On Lundi morning, Straesyr was waiting for Quaeryt even before seventh glass and beckoned him into his study.
“Close the door, if you would.” The words were pleasant, and the princeps was smiling, not that smiles meant much, Quaeryt had long since discovered.
Quaeryt laid the single sheet that was his weekly report on the desk and took a seat across the desk from the princeps and waited.
Straesyr ignored the paper. “Did you have a pleasant ride yesterday?”
“I did. I spent some time trying to locate factorages, those of factors I met on Samedi.”
“What did you find out at the reception?”
“A great deal about the practical side of a number of factorages,” replied Quaeryt, “especially stone quarrying, sawmills, and milling, among others. I also overheard some comments about the local scholars … and then several factors approached me about them.”
Straesyr nodded. “I had hoped some might reveal their concerns. Who might those be?”
“I gave my word not to reveal their names because all were either concerned or actually fearful about their safety if any word of their names were bruited about.”
The princeps frowned. “Do you believe them?”
“I fear I do. Perhaps it is time for me to visit the local scholars.”
Straesyr fingered his clean-shaven chin. “Do you think that wise?”
“I think it would be unwise not to. As a scholar, I can see what might be amiss. Also, as I reported earlier, many of the shopkeepers I visited in Tilbora were most standoffish until I revealed I had come from Solis and was your assistant.”
“If they are dangerous…”
“An escort would be helpful,” said Quaeryt with a wry smile.
“The governor has already approved your visit to Fhaedyrk. I dispatched a messenger on Samedi. He returned yesterday, and the High Holder will receive you on Meredi afternoon at the second glass. The governor did agree that I could approve any escort of a squad or less for you, with the approval of Commander Myskyl.”