“You flatter me, Master Scholar, by recalling what I said nearly two months ago. Such flattery is pleasurable, but I do not deserve it. That is why I am here. I am old. I am old in part because I am not brave. I have known for many years that Zarxes and Phaeryn received golds from Zorlyn. I knew that Chardyn had something to do with the death of Lord Chayar’s envoy. I knew many things. But I did nothing because I knew nothing would change, and I would die. As I said, I am not brave. So I am here to do what little I can.” The chorister smiled wryly. “Are you an honest scholar, Master Quaeryt?”
“I would like to say that I am, but I have been known to stretch and distort the facts of situations. I have misrepresented matters upon occasion by not revealing all that should have been revealed. I have rationalized that by telling myself that I did so in the service of seeking greater truths and more information. I do not know that I have been totally honest in that regard.”
“That you are willing to assess yourself so suggests you are honest.”
“Honest does not mean good,” Quaeryt pointed out.
Cyrethyn chuckled. “That might make a good homily.”
“It might, at that.”
After a brief silence, the chorister spoke again. “There is one other matter that I believe you should know.”
“What might that be?”
“As in all things, matters are not what they might seem to be. Your governor-Rescalyn-met with Phaeryn. That was five years ago. So far as I know, that was the only time they met.”
“That … it seems unlikely…”
“That may be, but only two people here and alive know about that meeting. I was one; the other was Zarxes. I do not sleep well. Many of my age do not. I was walking well after midnight when I heard a rider. As I told you, I am not brave. I hid in the bushes near where the secret tunnel emerges. I was surprised to see another man walk down the lane. It was Zarxes. They said little, except that Phaeryn said Rescalyn had offered a workable arrangement. Phaeryn said he had accepted it. He had no choice, not if he wanted to keep the Ecoliae intact and the golds coming from Zarxes’s sire. Zarxes agreed. Neither asked whether the governor could be trusted. Then Phaeryn entered the tunnel, and Zarxes walked the mount back to the stables. No one would have known that the Master Scholar had left the Ecoliae that night.”
“Why would they do that?”
“You know why Phaeryn would. The Ecoliae was failing. The only golds outside of fees for the school that he received came from Zorlyn. Yes, I know about the canvas bag sent monthly. As for the governor … it had to suit his ends. What those might be, I do not know.”
Quaeryt feared he knew exactly what those ends were. “Why did you come here? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you better than you think, scholar. You are a scholar who offers a better homily than most choristers. You profess not to know whether there is a Nameless, but act in accord with the principles set forth by the best of those who have followed the Nameless. You question more than you declare, and listen more than you speak.” Cyrethyn smiled.
“That sounds like you’ve been talking to a certain undercaptain.”
“Why not? I’ve known him since he was a student here, years ago. He was honest then and seems to have remained so. I saw him ride up, and I begged a few moments of his time.”
Quaeryt nodded. That, in a strange way, made sense … if anything did.
“I do have one favor to ask, master scholar. I ask that you not disappoint Gauswn. He believes in you.”
Quaeryt almost swallowed his tongue. That was the last thing he would have expected.
“For all the goodness you try to conceal, scholar, you are too cynical.” The chorister paused. “Then, perhaps, that cynicism is what protects your ideals.” He rose, slowly, from the chair. “I hope that what I have told you may assist you in determining your course. Every datum refines a position more accurately. So the experienced quartermasters say.”
“Unless it reveals that other sightings are inaccurate.” Quaeryt rose.
“You are too careful for that, master scholar.” Cyrethyn smiled, and his eyes twinkled. “I just may talk about honest evil on Solayi.”
“If I’m still here, I’ll be there to listen.”
After the old chorister left, Quaeryt sat back down behind the table desk, thinking.
Had Cyrethyn been telling the truth? Quaeryt had no way of verifying that. Yet why would the old chorister lie? Certainly, choristers, for all their professions of sanctity, ranged from the purest in word and deed to those who cloaked pure evil in the raiment of the Nameless. At the same time, every word Cyrethyn had spoken rang with truth … and, if true, explained more than a few things, and possibly provided an even greater reason why poor Kellear had been killed, because with Phaeryn and Kellear dead, who besides Zarxes would have known about the “agreement” between Rescalyn and Phaeryn? But then, Kellear might not even have known.
Quaeryt shook his head.
73
Vendrei passed without word from the palace, as did Samedi morning. During that time, Quaeryt met several times with Nalakyn about changes in the course of study, adding in more history, and more emphasis on both Bovarian and Tellan. He also spent time with Yullyd formalizing the charges for the services that the scholarium provided, from rooms and meals to visitors to study and board fees for students. He also periodically met with Squad Leader Rheusyd, but the squad watches and patrols had discovered nothing out of the ordinary.
Shortly after midday on Samedi, a student Quaeryt did not know peered into the study. “Master Scholar, there is a Factor Embrayt here to see you.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt stood and walked out of the study and out to the front foyer, trying not to limp, because, for some reason, his leg was bothering him more than usual.
The man who stood there was not quite of Quaeryt’s stature, square-bearded, and slightly stoop-shouldered. He did not speak.
“Welcome to the scholarium. How might I help you, Factor Embrayt?” Quaeryt smiled politely, holding his shields ready, since he had no idea in these days whether a visitor might be unpleasant or truly inimical.
“Might I have a few words with you?” The factor glanced down the corridor.
“The Master Scholar’s study is this way.” Quaeryt gestured, then turned.
Embrayt did not speak until he was seated across the table desk from Quaeryt. “I have heard that you are truly a scholar, but not from Tilbor. Your speech would also suggest that.”
“But you would like me to confirm that? No … I am not from Tilbor, at least not in the sense you mean. I do not know where I was born because I’m an orphan. My parents died in Solis while traveling when I was barely more than an infant. I was raised there by the scholars.”
Embrayt nodded slowly, and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. “What of … those who used to be in charge of the … scholarium?”
“The former scholar princeps slit the throat of the Master Scholar and fled. The Sansang master vanished some weeks before that, and his assistant fled, presumably to the Boran Hills, with the scholar princeps. The governor has requested that I serve for a time as Master Scholar in order to return the scholarium to a place of learning and study, similar to other scholaria throughout Lydar.”
“There has been some word of that,” admitted the factor.
“I have found that the preceptor of students has always been devoted to the schooling provided by the scholarium. He has also not been involved in those activities that many have found less than scholarly. Likewise, the bursar appears most honest.” Quaeryt smiled politely and waited.
“I had not heard ill of the preceptor … even under the previous Master Scholar.”
“Are you considering having one of your children study here?”