Lorn finally releases the image. Flutak definitely bears watching.
The overcaptain locks the door and hurries down the front steps to the courtyard and across to the stable where Helkyt and two lancers wait, already mounted. In the warm afternoon sunlight that pours through a clear green-blue sky, Chulhyr holds the reins to the chestnut.
“Thank you, Chulhyr. She’s a good mount.”
The ostler bows, and retreats.
Helkyt gestures to the two lancers. “This is Nayhul, and this Kurbyl.” Nayhul is brown-haired and older, his face bearing a certain weathering, while Kurbyl is black-haired and fresh-faced.
“Good.” Lorn mounts the chestnut. “You two and Squad Leader Helkyt are going to give me a tour of Biehl.”
The three nod.
“I’d like to ride back along the harbor road, and the piers, and have you show me the crafters and important factors in town first, then the dwellings of the more noted local families,” Lorn explains as the four ride out through the gates.
As they head down the slope, Nayhul coughs gently.
“What is it, Nayhul?”
The older lancer gestures to the right, to the west, at a large section dug out of the hillside that adjoins the one on which the compound sits. “There be the clay quarries of Jahlyr and his family. Fine clay for china, and crockery, so fine that the Spidlarians ship it all the way to Spidlaria,” offers one of the young lancers. “And even some from Hamor.”
“He is wealthy?” Lorn asks.
“Most so. Beyond, you see the villa?”
Lorn studies the brick structures on the far side of the hill, whose roofs and upper levels alone are visible from the road. “It looks large.”
“They have many dwellings there, and stables, and a warehouse, and even a pool for bathing.”
“Is there a large tariff on clay?” Lorn asks Helkyt.
“That…I would not know.”
They pass the olive warehouse and then near the ocean piers. At the outermost pier in the harbor rides a two-masted deep-sea vessel, with an ensign of red and gold-Hamorian. “Do you know what the Hamorians come here for?” Lorn asks. “I cannot imagine that there is great enough wealth here for them to offload large cargoes.”
“They buy most of all salted fish,” offers Kurbyl. “My sire has sold some. And the china at times, and olives.”
“I take it you didn’t like being a fisherman,” Lorn says.
“I much prefer a mount to a boat, ser. And a dry bunk.”
The other riders laugh at the wry tone of the youngest.
“Anything else the Hamorians buy?”
“Mayhap some scented oils,” ventures Helkyt.
The other piers are empty.
Lorn points to the crossed-candles sign, as if to ask about the chandlery.
“The chandler, he is Reycuh, but he is not much of a chandler,” says Nayhul. “But Fuycyl, he is a most excellent cooper.”
“Most excellent,” adds Kurbyl. “My sire pays a copper more for his barrels for the salted fish he sells to the Hamor traders.”
At the chandlery they turn southward, and Lorn listens as Nayhul offers explanations and names for almost every structure or dwelling they pass.
“The blue house…that be where the entertainer Fyella lived…old now, but my grandsire remembers her…. the yellow shutters…the cabinetmaker…and over there be Systyl, the chemist, with his powders and potions…The firewagon portico…that all lancers know…”
Before long they have left the center area of Biehl and follow a more winding road toward the southwest.
“Here be the dwellings of those of import, ser,” offers Nayhul. “Over there, the reddish tower, that be the watchtower of Master Duplyr, above his mill.”
In time, perhaps a kay more to the northwest, Lorn notes a long villa that sprawls across a low hill. “Whose dwelling might that be?”
Helkyt shifts in the saddle, but does not answer.
Nayhul finally answers. “That be the dwelling of one of the Emperor’s Enumerators, the big one with no hair.”
“Is that Enumerator Flutak’s dwelling, Helkyt?”
“Ah…I believe so…”
“It is rather…substantial,” suggests Lorn.
“It be the grandest in all of Biehl. So said my grandsire,” adds Kurbyl, the younger lancer. “Near-on threescore builders worked on it for three seasons.”
“And the villa on the next hill?” Lorn asks.
“That be the olive-grower Baryat,” Helkyt says slowly.
“His daughter is Flutak’s mistress?” Lorn asks.
“Ah…that is rumored…”
As he turns his head, Lorn catches the look between the two lancers, who clearly have not heard that rumor. A faint smile crosses the overcaptain’s lips. “Rumors…one must be most careful with them…If they are untrue, then the innocent suffer, and if true…”-Lorn laughs gently-“then often the innocent also suffer.”
Helkyt frowns.
“Ser?” asks Kurbyl, as Lorn has hoped he will.
“If a rumor is false, then those about whom it is told suffer. If it is true, then those about whom it is told often make those who tell the truth suffer.” He shrugs. “That is why rumors are dangerous, especially about an Emperor’s Enumerator.”
Another look passes between the two lancers, and Helkyt shifts his weight in his saddle once more, most uneasily.
After the group has ridden almost another kay with more explanations of dwellings, and a sawmill, almost in relief, Helkyt gestures. “See! We have circled Biehl, and we ride toward the piers once more.”
As they ride back through the compound gates, Lorn smiles, for he knows how to find Flutak’s villa, and has accomplished a few more tasks.
“Thank you,” he tells the two lancers as he dismounts. Then he turns to Helkyt. “And thank you, Helkyt. Before long, I will know my way around Biehl without guidance.” Lorn looks at the late-afternoon sun, then adds, “I think I’ll work on some things in the study in my quarters. I may not see you until tomorrow. Then, we’ll need to go over the plans for getting the old barracks ready and setting up training sessions for the current lancers.”
“Ah…yes, ser.”
Lorn turns to the waiting Chulhyr. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, ser. My pleasure.” The ostler takes the chestnut’s reins and leads her back into the stable.
Lorn walks back to his quarters. In the small study, with the shutters closed to dim the strong, late-afternoon light, he tries the glass again, seeking the Emperor’s Enumerator.
This time Flutak is not alone, but ushering a man from a room-and the room is not in the enumerators’ building, but one of white stone-presumably the lavish villa Lorn has seen earlier in the day. The thin man who leaves bears twin daggers at his belt, and a coil of black rope. Lorn does not recognize the man personally, but there is little question what kind of profession he represents.
“So…more than a few rats in the granary.” Lorn laughs harshly, then replaces the glass he knows he will be using more than he ever intended when Jerial had given it to him. He needs to make some preparations for the evening ahead, including using the glass to see how best to approach Flutak’s villa, and in particular, his bedchamber.
XVII
Daelya has left a small stew in a pot, and a loaf of fresh bread, for Lorn’s evening meal. Sitting in the breakfast room off the kitchen of his quarters, Lorn begins to eat both, wishing he had even Byrdyn to sip with it, but from what he can tell, there is no spirit factor at all in Biehl, unless the chandler or some other factor also trades in wine or spirits. Then, he has not had time to look, and wine is the least of his problems.
He is not sure whether his posting to Biehl is a test, or another attempt to remove his presence from the lancers-a presence apparently unwanted by some-or both, with different players trying to use him for differing purposes. His thoughts skitter to the questions his father had posed, particularly the first, for which he yet has no truly satisfactory answer: What is it that allows Cyad to exist? Other cities exist without chaos-towers, he knows, and without Magi’i. Other cities exist without emperors or harbors or without the riches that Cyad possesses. He snorts. Biehl exists, wretchedly, without any of those. All cities have people and structures, or they would not be cities, but those are answers far too simplistic, especially for his father.