“Has your scholar assistant reported to you yet?” Rescalyn’s voice was moderate.
Straesyr, clearly startled, rose. “I haven’t seen him. I take it you have.”
“Did you tell him to report directly to me?”
“No. He’s always been very respectful of the line of command.”
“He left my study just a while ago, and…” Rescalyn stopped. “You read his report. What do you think?”
“He seems to have handled matters relatively well, Rescalyn. No one got killed except for the Master Scholar, and clever as Quaeryt is, I don’t think he could manage killing a Sansang practitioner with a single knife slash. It was a single slash, was it not? Also, Quaeryt doesn’t carry that large a blade.”
“That was the report from the undercaptain to Major Skarpa.”
“Then you should be pleased that the damage was so little and that the scholar is reorganizing the Ecoliae along more traditional lines. You should also be pleased that the two guilty scholars escaped to the hills. That was your intention, wasn’t it? That someone escape to warn the hill holders?”
“I’m concerned,” said Rescalyn smoothly, “that he may have an agenda of his own.”
“That is a surprise to you? Anyone who has survived the palace of Lord Bhayar, and as a seaman, and the situations in which you placed him, has a modicum of intelligence. Any man with intelligence will have his own ideas. The question you might consider is to what degree he is loyal to Lord Bhayar.”
“Bhayar thinks him highly loyal. He would not be here otherwise.”
“I agree. He also has other contacts in the palace, as I mentioned.”
“Yes, you did … as I recall.”
Straesyr shrugged. “So far, nothing would appear out of the ordinary.”
“That may be. I would trust that it will remain so.” Rescalyn paused, then added, “Do give my best to your wife.”
Straesyr stiffened for a moment, then said coolly, “Thank you.…”
Quaeryt could see the impact the mention of Straesyr’s wife had, as if the pleasantly spoken words had been a threat, but he concentrated on what followed.
“… As for matters remaining as they are, as you have intimated, I have no reason for it to be otherwise. Even if Quaeryt has another way of reporting what he has observed, all that you have done is entirely within the purview and discretion of a good governor.”
“As I have always been.”
“That is true.”
Rescalyn nodded brusquely before turning and leaving.
Quaeryt had less trouble exiting the study behind Rescalyn, because the governor did not even try to close the door behind himself.
Quaeryt eased out of the anteroom and down to “his” study, where, after looking in both directions, he dropped the concealment, realizing, belatedly, that holding it had taken almost no effort at all. A result of all his practice with the heavier shields? Most likely.
He unlocked the study door, opened it slightly, and then walked back to the princeps’s anteroom, where he heard voices.
“… shows up, want to see him immediately.”
Quaeryt repressed a smile and put on a serious face, stepping into the anteroom.
Straesyr looked up. His expression was not quite grim. “I was trusting you might be here shortly. We need to talk.” He turned and walked into his study.
Quaeryt followed and closed the door behind himself.
Straesyr turned. “You’re my assistant. Why didn’t you report to me first?” While his voice was mild, his eyes were like the coldest blue ice Quaeryt had ever seen.
“I was under the impression, with the governor’s orders, that I was under the military chain of command, sir, and had to report to him first. After that, I had to … ah … and after that I came here, except I saw the governor march into your study. So I waited until he left.”
Straesyr opened his mouth … then closed it.
Finally, he said, “Scholar Quaeryt, I appreciate cleverness in support, but not in opposition.”
“Sir … I am in no way opposing you. If my actions appear that way, it is only appearance and not substance.”
“Would you mind explaining that?”
“Might I report on what I told the governor, sir?”
“Please do.”
Quaeryt repeated, nearly word for word, what he had told Rescalyn, as well as what Rescalyn had said, then added, “I got the impression he thought I was right to tell him, but that he wished I had told you first.”
Straesyr nodded. “That’s likely to be so.” After several moments, he smiled wryly. “The governor is a most capable man. He could achieve great things. Were Telaryn at war, he would doubtless distinguish himself for his forethought, his planning, and even his deep understanding of intrigue and when it is best used and when it is not. I would like to think that in the former areas I have close to equal abilities, but, unlike the governor, I have never been more than adequate in dealing with intrigue, as he has gently reminded me, and as I remind you.”
Quaeryt nodded thoughtfully in reply. “I see, sir.”
“Knowing from where you come and whom you serve, I believe you do. Need I say more?”
“No, sir.” Quaeryt paused. “Will our conversation serve as my weekly report, sir?”
“That, it will. After refreshing yourself, you should return to the Ecoliae … the scholarium … and continue your work at reforming it. If either the governor or I require your presence, we will summon you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Quaeryt … I do appreciate your handling of the situation after you met with the governor. I would not have wished to have had to seek you out.”
“No, sir. I never intended that you should.”
“I thought as much. Have a pleasant ride back to the scholarium, and do take care.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt maintained full shields all the way out of the palace and until he and the two rankers were more than a mille from the lower gates, when he returned to the triggered shields.
For the remainder of the ride back to the scholarium, he reflected on what he had seen and heard that morning. The conversation between the governor and the princeps had been most interesting, for what had been said, what had not been said, and what had been intimated and implied. What Straesyr had said to Quaeryt tended to confirm what Quaeryt believed about Rescalyn’s ambitions, especially given Kellear’s “accidental” death, the mention of Straesyr’s wife, and Straesyr’s veiled warning-he’d never told Quaeryt to take care before. Yet Quaeryt had nothing that amounted to hard proof, and he doubted that he ever would. Rescalyn was far too shrewd for that.
72
Mardi passed without incident, as did Meredi. They also passed without any word from either the princeps or the governor. By midday on Jeudi, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder exactly what was happening at the Telaryn Palace … or elsewhere in Tilbor. He had the feeling that a storm was looming over the horizon, most likely coming from the Boran Hills, but then … maybe he’d just misjudged both Rescalyn and the hill holders.
At the knock on the open door of the Master Scholar’s study, Quaeryt looked up. He tried not to stare at the ancient chorister who stood there. “Yes … what can I do for you, chorister?”
“Master Scholar … a few words with you?”
“I’m not the Master Scholar. I’m just acting as one, trying to reorder matters. You can certainly have a few words and more.” Quaeryt paused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
As he settled into the seat across the desk from Quaeryt, the old man laughed. “That’s fitting enough for a servant of the Nameless, don’t you think?”
Quaeryt shrugged helplessly and offered an embarrassed smile. “I’ve heard two of your homilies. I’ve liked what you had to say in both of them, but no one ever mentioned your name.”
“You were there last Solayi. I fear I do not recall the other time. Oh … I am Cyrethyn.”
“That was when I first visited the scholarium, in Agostas. I was only here for a few days. You talked about the arrogance of the young and the strong, equating it in a sense, to Naming.”