“You are, if I might say so, among the younger scholars entrusted with such.”
“An older scholar would have more wisdom and knowledge. That is true, but such an older scholar would be far less willing to take such a journey … and far less likely to need to do so.”
Nalakyn nodded slowly. “I had not thought of that.”
“If you will excuse me, I see Scholar Chardyn, and I have been seeking him. I need to make an inquiry of him.”
“Of course. Of course … and thank you.”
Quaeryt rose and smiled pleasantly. “You are most welcome.” He walked toward Chardyn.
The Sansang master turned, as if sensing Quaeryt’s approach, and waited.
Quaeryt reminded himself to keep Chardyn’s almost preternatural awareness in mind, particularly in the future. “Good afternoon.”
“The same to you. You have that expression of inquiry, I do believe, Scholar Quaeryt, as befits your name.”
“I do, but the inquiry is, alas, most mundane in nature. I think I’d like a change for supper this evening. Are there any good tavernas around?”
“Tavernas?” asked Chardyn. “Are you looking for a good meal, or one of those where it doesn’t matter what you eat, so long as you can drink and listen to singers and spend too many coins?”
“A decent meal, and a decent singer or two would be nice,” replied Quaeryt.
Chardyn frowned. “Terazo probably has the best food, and the lager’s the cheapest at Rufalo’s. The food’s decent, sometimes better, at Jardyna. All three have singers, and so does Sullah’s, but you’d be fortunate to walk away from Sullah’s without losing your wallet or more. If you want to ride farther and don’t mind spending a silver or two, I’ve heard that Svaardyn is outstanding.”
“That sounds a bit rich for me.”
“Of those closer, the food’s better at Terazo, and the singing better at Jardyna,” offered Chardyn.
“Thank you. I’ll have to give each a thought.” Quaeryt paused, then went on. “I was talking to Sarastyn the other day, and he mentioned a group who called themselves partisans. He didn’t seem to think that highly of them.”
Chardyn laughed. “When life is calm, no one likes those who call themselves partisans, but when a ruler becomes tyrannical or a land is ruled by an outsider, the partisans are considered champions by those who feel oppressed.”
“And now?”
“Some think they’re brigands and thieves, and others think they’re champions.”
“Who’s likely to think they’re oppressed?”
“I think every man in Tilbor would have a different opinion,” replied Chardyn with a smile.
Quaeryt nodded. “That’s likely true anywhere, from what I’ve seen. Oh … by the way, I haven’t seen Sarastyn today. Have you?”
“He had a few too many of his ‘medicinals’ and didn’t feel well this morning. Scholar Tharxas has been looking in on him. I’m certain it will pass.”
“I do hope so. He has proved most helpful.”
“I am certain he has, but … he does have … certain lapses of memory, certain beliefs that are of the past, rather than the present.”
“Such as his belief that the taverna where he takes his ‘medicinals’ is still the Ice Cleft?”
“Precisely. When names change, more changes than the name.”
“That is a very good point.” Quaeryt nodded.
“I thought so.”
“Thank you … and if you will excuse me…”
“Of course.…”
As he walked westward toward Jardyna, Quaeryt considered several things. He didn’t like the fact that Chardyn had known Sarastyn’s condition so precisely, but, while Quaeryt couldn’t help wondering about Sarastyn, he couldn’t very well accuse Chardyn of ill-treating Sarastyn, nor could he keep track of Sarastyn’s every move. He also hadn’t cared for Nalakyn’s inquiries. Both suggested it was time for him to move on … and sooner than he had told anyone.
Lankyt’s directions proved adequate. It took far less than two quints for Quaeryt to reach the crossroads that held Jardyna on the southeast side and Rufalo’s some hundred yards to the north, on the west side, past a local chandlery and wool factorage. The painting of the garden on the signboard was far less artistic than the painting on Jorem and Hailae’s factorage, and while the signboard had been touched up, there were still parts where the paint was threatening to peel. The single oversized door, hung with massive iron straps, was of well-oiled oak, and the scents of food did not carry the odor of burned grease.
Quaeryt opened the door and stepped inside. A slender woman dressed in a deep maroon tunic over black trousers turned. While her figure was girlish, the silver and blond hair and the slightly lined face were not.
“Drinks? Or food?”
“Both,” replied Quaeryt. “More food than drinks.”
“You’re from the west, aren’t you?”
“From Solis.”
“I didn’t know Phaeryn was seeking scholars from there.”
“He isn’t. I had a patron who sent me here.”
“He must be indifferent to your wishes, then.” The woman’s smile was friendly, her tone bantering.
“Not indifferent. Just wanting me to earn his support.”
She laughed. “I’m Karelya. You can take any of the small tables that are empty-unless you’re expecting more than one person to join you.”
“A small table will be fine.”
“Pick any one that suits you.” She gestured toward her right.
That half of the large room held fifteen or sixteen tables, with a massive ceramic stove in the middle of the end wall. It was covered with plants in pots, most of them flowering. What Quaeryt noted was that the small tables were those set against the oiled pine plank walls, while the larger tables, those seating six or eight and those seating four, were in the middle of the room. Two of the small tables were occupied, one by a white-haired man, and the other by a young couple. Three men wearing the leathers of teamsters sat around a table for four.
“Thank you.” Quaeryt smiled, then made his way to the unoccupied table closest to the stove, taking the seat that put his back to the plants on the stove.
He’d no sooner seated himself than Karelya reappeared.
“Greeter and server?” he asked.
“For the moment, until the evening girls appear. We stay open until ninth glass. That’s later than most, but still means we can close down before midnight.”
“Unless there’s a really good crowd?”
“That sometimes happens on Samedi nights, usually in midfall. In winter, it gets too cold. What will you have?”
“What is there for me to have?”
“The dinners tonight are fowl paprikash with potato dumplings, Skarnan noodles and beef, and mutton cutlets and fried potatoes. Each one is three coppers.”
“The fowl, please. What about lagers or ale?”
“Light and heavy lager, gold and brown ale. Two coppers for any of them.”
“I’ll try the light lager.”
“The light lager it is.” With a friendly smile, she was gone.
If Jardyna was the less expensive taverna, he didn’t want to think about the more expensive places. He glanced to the other side of the taverna, where the tables were all small and crowded together, and where close to fifteen men were already seated and contemplating or drinking from large mugs. Only a surprisingly low murmur oozed into the eating area.