“Perhaps we should talk for a moment.” Flutak moves gracefully toward the corner of the room and returns with two armless oak chairs. He sets one at each end of the oblong table. All four men seat themselves at the narrow oblong table.
Flutak looks at Lorn, as if suggesting he begin.
“As you may know,” Lorn says slowly, “the barbarians have increased their attacks in many places on the northern borders of Cyad, and more trained lancers are needed to deal with these attacks. It was noted that Biehl has both the space and the facilities to recruit and train young lancers, and that the payroll is adequate to handle such.” Lorn smiles. “So it is that I find myself here.”
Flutak smiles easily, a smile that reminds Lorn of the late Majer Maran. “We have indeed heard of the depredations that the Mirror Lancers have faced in the field against the barbarians, and many had thought that the compound might even be closed, and its lancers sent elsewhere, for certainly lancers are scarce needed in Biehl itself. So I am most glad that is not the case, and so will those merchants who sell to the compound and the lancers.”
“Yet, it is passing strange that more have not arrived with you,” observes Neabyl.
Lorn shrugs. “It is scarcely strange. The Majer-Commander believes this task can be accomplished by an overcaptain. If it cannot, doubtless a majer and an undercaptain will follow. There may be an undercaptain before long, in any event, but it makes little sense for him to arrive until there are tasks for him to undertake.”
The faintest flicker of a shared glance passes between the two senior enumerators.
“I understand that you inspect the cargos being ported here, and collect the imposts on such, and ensure that contraband, such as iron weapons and the like, does not makes its way from vessels trading here. What other duties do you perform that a lancer would be unlikely to have great knowledge of?”
“We provide the payroll for the compound,” says Neabyl with a smile.
“That I understood, and for such we are grateful.” After a moment, Lorn asks, “And I suppose you keep records of the ships that port so that one may compare from season to season and year to year?”
“That we do, and send the tariff revenues to Cyad.”
“And perhaps with a stronger lancer presence, tariff revenues to the Emperor might indeed increase.”
“The enumerators have never needed to rely on the lancers for that,” suggests Flutak.
“Then, you are indeed fortunate here, for that is not so in all ports,” Lorn replies evenly. “In any case, I did wish to inform you of that, and to assure you that, because of my deep and abiding interest in trade, I am indeed willing to support your efforts to carry out your duties to the Emperor and the Land of Light, as may be required by the Emperor and the Majer-Commander…” Lorn pauses, then adds, “and, of course, by you…as necessary.”
“Overcaptain Madlyr had begun to take some interest in tariffs and trade…but he died rather suddenly after taking such an interest,” observes Flutak smoothly.
“That was most unfortunate.” Lorn smiles, his eyes cold. He concentrates on fixing the man’s face in his mind. “But perhaps it will be to everyone’s advantage that the garrison here is restored with the protection of trade in mind.”
“We would all look to the advantages of all,” agrees Flutak.
“I see you do not maintain quarters here,” Lorn observes before either enumerator can follow up on his last words.
“There is little reason to do such. Biehl has heretofore been such a peaceful port, with little need of lancers and guards.”
“Of that I am certain, and certain it will continue as such,” Lorn agrees, “for the lancers are being trained for their abilities against the barbarians, and there certainly are none here.”
“No, indeed, Overcaptain.”
Lorn rises. “I do thank you both, and I look forward to working with you as most necessary.” He bows fractionally.
The enumerators rise more slowly.
“It is good to see you, a young and vigorous overcaptain here in Biehl, and we do hope that our experience will prove of assistance to you, Overcaptain,” replies Flutak. “And that you will see fit to draw upon it.”
“My thanks to you, and I am most certain that I will draw on your experience.” The overcaptain inclines his head a last time before he turns and departs.
Lorn does not speak again until he has mounted the chestnut and they are passing the harbor piers on the return to the compound. “They have a new building, one of the few I have seen in Biehl.”
“It is but four years since it was built.”
Lorn studies the piers. The brig and one of the schooners have sailed, but a fishing boat is tied at the innermost wharf, where baskets of fish are being unloaded into a small cart.
“They did not seem pleased,” suggests Helkyt.
“I doubt they are.” Lorn laughs. “Lancer officers are never seen as totally welcome, but I am certain that they will be helpful and most supportive. I need to jot down several things, Helkyt, when we get back to the study. Then, after that, we may need the mounts again.”
“Yes, ser.” Helkyt remains silent as they continue riding, the expressions on his face varying from concern to puzzlement as he occasionally casts a sidelong glance at Lorn.
Two lancers are sparring almost desultorily in the shadowed northeast corner of the compound as Lorn and Helkyt ride to the stable. Lorn nods to himself.
“How she be, Overcaptain?” asks the ostler after Lorn reins up outside the stable and dismounts.
“Fine, but I will be needing her for a longer ride shortly.”
“The exercise, that she can use.”
“She will be getting more.” Lorn smiles before turning and walking quickly across the courtyard. Helkyt scurries to keep pace with him.
Once back in his study, Lorn begins to jot down all his impressions, and where and about what the enumerators had lied. It seemed like almost every other sentence uttered by Flutak bore either a degree of untruth or a veiled threat, and Lorn has two sheets of paper before he is finished. He shakes his head before he calls the squad leader.
“Yes, ser?”
“Helkyt, we’re going to take a ride in a few moments. It may take a large part of this afternoon as well. Do you know where Flutak and Neabyl maintain their quarters?”
“Ah…It is said…”
Lorn raises his eyebrows.
“Yes, ser.”
“Good. We will take a ride, with several of the local lancers who may know about Biehl. You will point out all the places any overcaptain should know. Those will include the dwellings or quarters of the enumerators, prominent local merchanters, shipowners, factors…any crafters who might supply goods for the compound. It would be well for me to know such.”
“Yes, ser. That I can see.”
Lorn stands. “I will meet you in the stable in a few moments. I need to get something from my quarters.”
Helkyt nods.
“And you need to find two lancers who were raised here and know the town and the gossip.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lorn ushers the senior squad leader out, then closes the door to his own study, and walks out into the courtyard, along the headquarters building until he reaches the main stairs to his own spaces at the north end. The dust has been swept from the quarters, and the aroma of baking bread comes from the antique oven, although Daelya is nowhere in sight.
Lorn reclaims the chaos-glass from its hiding place in the armoire under his smallclothes and carries it into the front study. There, he closes the door and slides the bolt in place before he takes out the chaos-glass and concentrates.
The silver mists appear, then fade, and a figure swims into view. Flutak sits alone at the oblong table. His brow furrows, and he glances out the window. The enumerator mutters something, but no one joins him while Lorn watches.