“There is a ship flying the ensign of Cyad entering the harbor,” Helkyt announces as he peers into the study.
“And you are here to tell me so that I may be at the piers before it lands to confer with the senior enumerator?” Lorn grins.
“You had said that you wished to avoid unnecessary unpleasantnesses, ser.”
“I did say that.” Lorn rises. “And I’d best be heading down there.”
“Chulhyr is saddling the chestnut.”
“Thank you.” Lorn inclines his head as he departs the outer study and heads down the corridor and out across the courtyard, under high, hazy summer clouds. His forehead is damp by the time he reaches the stable, but, as Helkyt had promised, the chestnut is waiting. So is a squad of mixed lancers and trainees, with Tashqyt leading them.
The Cyadoran vessel has still not reached the pier, carefully tacking its way southward, when Lorn reins up in the harbor at the end of the pier, where Neabyl and Comyr stand in their enumerators’ uniforms, with two linemen dressed in brown behind them.
Neabyl glances at Lorn and the lancers, but does not speak immediately.
“Greetings, Senior Enumerator,” Lorn offers.
“And to you, Overcaptain.”
Lorn dismounts and looks at Tashqyt. “Just have the men stand by here, except for those to accompany the senior enumerator.” He turns to Neabyl. “I had thought I would announce to the master right away that we are both here to prevent the kind of misunderstandings that have occurred in the past about tariffs and their administration. Is that satisfactory to you?”
Neabyl offers a pleasant smile. “It is, and I appreciate your present thoughtfulness.”
“And I apologize once more for the earlier awkwardness.”
Neabyl steps along the pier, away from the lancers and Comyr, inclining his head. Lorn follows.
“I have received a scroll from the Hand of the Emperor,” Neabyl begins. “I have been confirmed as the senior enumerator in charge of this station, and commended for my initiative in supporting your efforts to improve the port of Biehl.” Neabyl smiles. “While this has not been easy, it is apparent that your…initiative has been regarded favorably in Cyad, and I wanted to thank you for understanding the full extent of the previous circumstances.”
“Hello there, the pier!” comes a call from the vessel.
The two linemen scurry toward the forward bollard, past the overcaptain and the enumerator.
Lorn bows his head, slightly. “I thank you for sharing such. After meeting Flutak, I had felt it could not have been otherwise.” He pauses. “Did you ever have any success in locating the missing ledgers?”
Neabyl offers a crooked smile. “There were ledgers in Flutak’s dwelling. They showed little resemblance to what they should have, but no entries that would establish anything beyond great irregularities. I took the precaution of sending them to the Hand of the Emperor, with copies to the senior enumerator. I have not heard about them.”
Lorn nods.
“Lines out!” comes the order from the three-masted vessel.
“I appreciate your perception,” adds Neabyl.
“Double up!”
Lorn and Neabyl study the vessel as it is being tied to the pier. Red Lands is the name carved into the plaque on the stern. Once the vessel is tied to the pier, Lorn follows Neabyl up the gangway, and Comyr and two lancers follow him.
“Senior Enumerator, Overcaptain.” The ship’s master, who wears a blue tunic with a double row of gold braid on his shoulder bows. “Captain Elvygg, at your service.” He looks at Lorn. “You would be Overcaptain Lorn?”
“I am.”
“Most excellent. Most excellent. Then I need not search you out.”
Neabyl offers Lorn a sidelong glance.
“It is good to see you, Captain,” Lorn says. “I might explain before you speak that both the senior enumerator and I are here, because, in the past, there have been…shall we say, some discrepancies in tariffs.”
Elvygg smiles broadly. “Of that I had been appraised, and that, frankly, is why the Red Lands has risked a landing here. That, and the cargo, of course.”
The captain extends the manifest and the supporting bills of lading to the enumerator. “Here you be, Enumerator. You will find them in order.”
“Thank you.” Neabyl takes the manifest and separates it from the bills of lading, which he hands to Comyr.
“Overcaptain.” The man in the blue tunic bows once more to Lorn, and extends a scroll. “From your consort and Lady Trader. We also have a small cargo for you which we will offload once we have paid any tariffs due. Some wine, some baskets of goods…” He frowns, as if trying to recall the other items. “And also a halfscore of riding gear, saddles, and bridles in white leather.”
Neabyl looks at Lorn. “You mentioned being related to traders and having an interest in trade, but not that your consort…”
“She is a merchanter; I was not born such,” Lorn explains. “I have tried to have her explain trade to me, but we have had little time together.” He laughs ruefully. “Lancers see little of Cyad.”
“That is so.”
Lorn looks at Neabyl. “I would that you inspect any cargo due me with the utmost of care. I would not have it said that ever I escaped what was due.”
“Ah…sers…”
Both look at the captain.
“The lady sent golds for the tariffs with me so that the overcaptain might not be troubled.”
Neabyl smiles broadly. “Your lady is indeed thoughtful.”
Lorn grins back, adding, “And wise.”
While Neabyl and Comyr inspect the vessel and its documents, Lorn slips away to find Tashqyt.
“Do we have a cart at the compound?”
“Yes, ser.”
“If you’d send for it…we’re getting some riding gear, it appears.”
“Yes, ser!” Tashqyt smiles for a moment. “Ser…we usually get gear on the firewagons.”
“We have a different supplier, I think.” Lorn’s lips curl ironically.
A lancer is riding up to the compound by the time Lorn has walked back to the base of the gangway, where he waits for the enumerators to finish their work.
“How are the tariffs?” Lorn asks as Neabyl and Comyr come down the gangway.
“All is well, both in terms of our collections and his papers.” Neabyl nods. “He is pleased, and the Emperor will be pleased. What more could any ask?”
“That the enumerators be pleased,” Lorn suggests.
“We are pleased.”
“Good.”
Neabyl looks at Lorn. “You have quite a cargo there.”
“There are a few items which I requested for you,” Lorn admits.
Neabyl lifts his eyebrows.
“I am not suggesting anything improper,” Lorn says, “but you have been supportive, and I did not think you would take amiss a few bottles of a good vintage.”
The enumerator laughs. “Overcaptain…no one would take amiss such as that, and I will accept in the spirit in which you offer it.”
“As soon as we have it offloaded,” Lorn says, “you will have it.” He pauses. “I would let it sit for an eightday. It will taste better.”
“For such as you received, I will wait.”
It is well into afternoon before the saddles and bridles have been carted back to the stable and the two cases of Alafraan, the case of Fhynyco, and the three large baskets which Lorn suspects contain uniforms and clothing, have been carried up to his quarters.
Lorn leaves them there and returns to his study in the administration building.
“Tashqyt said we got more saddles. That right, ser?”
“A halfscore, lancer-white.”
Helkyt shakes his head. “First time since I been here.”
Lorn just shrugs. “We do what we can.”
Once he is back in his official study, Lorn opens the scroll from Ryalth.