Ordermaster (48 page)

Kharl waited.

"I cannot imagine that there are significant differences, though ..."

   
Kharl smiled apologetically. "Small differences in past years can lead..."

   
"You advocates ..." The clerk shook his head. "We'll go into the library. There's a table in the middle of the back wall. It's handy to most of what would be of the greatest interest to you."

   
Kharl followed Fasyn, as did Demyst, his hand still on the hilt of his sabre, his eyes checking every shadow in the ancient and musty library.

   
Unlike the library in the Hall of Justice in Valmurl, there was not a single advocate or student in the library.

   
"If you would wait a moment..." Fasyn walked slowly around one of the freestanding shelves and toward a locked cabinet. From the ring on his belt he took a small key and unlocked the cabinet, extracting a folder and a thick volume bound in faded green leather. After relocking the cabinet, he carried both back, setting them on the table.

   
He looked to Kharl. "The folder here holds Ghasad's guide. It is not complete, as I said ... and here is the Code of Cyad. It's not original, course, but it is the first-the only-version, and it's a copy. The original, well, it would be more than a thousand years old, more like seventeen hundred, really, but every new chief clerk has it copied, and I am most certain it is accurate. The first part has the original Cyadoran text. Most of you don't know that, but the translation is in part two, and it's an honest transcription. Honest, but awkward." Fasyn smiled.

"You must be one of the few that know Cyadoran," Kharl said.

"There are not many, and fewer every year."

   
Kharl looked at the folder, then at the ancient volume. Would they help in his plans, or would they be little more than a cover? He could only read them and see.

LVIII

Again, Kharl, Demyst, and Erdyl ate the evening meal together, using but one end of the long table in the formal dining chamber. Supper was a stew, although Khelaya, the cook, had called it ratouyl. To Kharl, it was a stew, and not bad, but not so good as what Adelya had prepared. Khelaya's brown bread was good, and that helped.

   
"Tell me again how you were received." Kharl took a swallow of his ale, then a last bite of the bread.

   
"I presented myself and was shown to Mihalen, Lord West's secretary." Erdyl broke off a chunk of bread, then passed the silver bread tray to Demyst. "He was pleasant, but not warm. He left me in his chamber for several moments while he went into the adjoining study to talk with someone else. The door was ajar when he walked in, and I caught the name ... I thought he said Lord Osten."

   
"It might have been," Kharl said. "Osten is Lord West's older son. The youngest is Egen. There's another one, I think, an overcaptain, but no one talks much about him. Does something with the tariff farmers, or he did several years ago." Kharl couldn't help frowning. Was Osten making decisions for Lord West? What was Egen doing? He pushed those thoughts away. He needed to know more. "What did they say?"

   
"I couldn't hear any more because they closed the door, and I didn't want to get up and try to listen through the door itself. Mihalen came back and said that he expected that Lord West would receive you formally within the eightday, but that it had been noted that you were the representative and envoy for Lord Ghrant. He asked me to convey Lord West's greetings and welcome." Erdyl shrugged. "That was all that happened." Abruptly, he looked down.

"What is it?"

   
"I am most sorry, Lord Kharl. I had forgotten. There is a missive. I left it on your desk in the library. I was told that it contained an invitation for you to have refreshments with the Sarronnese envoy on threeday afternoon.

I'm most sorry, ser. I meant to tell you as soon as you returned this afternoon."

   
"That's all right." Kharl smiled. "A few glasses' delay won't matter." Sarronnyn? That was one of the northwestern lands in Candar. Kharl thought it was one of the places that still followed the Legend. The ruler was called the Tyrant, or something like that. But why would he get such an invitation so quickly?

   
"If it is an invitation," Erdyl said, "you will need to send an acceptance."

"First thing in the morning, then."
        
' i

"Yes, ser."

   
"What do you think of Brysta?" Kharl looked to his secretary, then to the undercaptain.

   
"Sort of... old ... run-down," offered Demyst. "Didn't see many ships in the harbor. Not when we ported. Looked at the docks from the hillside yesterday, and there weren't any more, either. Valmurl's smaller, and there are more ships in the harbor, all the time."

   
Kharl had noticed the same, but he just nodded. "What struck you, Erdyl?"

The young secretary swallowed, then blushed, but did not speak.

"Erdyl?"

   
"Well... ser." He swallowed again. "I didn't see any girls out. Not any young women. Most places I've been, at least in Austra, you see a few."
  
•

   
Kharl frowned. Now that Erdyl had mentioned that, he couldn't recall seeing any younger women, either.

"I say something wrong, ser?"
     
'

   
"Oh, no. I think you're right. I just hadn't thought that way." Was he getting old before his time, not noticing comely young women? Did dealing with order do that?

   
"More than a few Watch patrollers out, too," added Demyst. "In pairs, mostly."

   
More patrollers and no young women, Kharl reflected. That suggested that matters were not well, but, again, in what fashion he could not say. "Anything else that either of you saw or thought about?"

   
"People don't wear bright colors," offered Erdyl. "Everyone was in gray or brown or maroon." He looked down. "Perhaps that is the custom here. I haven't seen much of the world."

Kharl tried to recall what it had been like when he'd been younger.

He'd had a crimson jacket once, and Charee had often worn a brilliant purple shawl. "We'll have to look more, but... folks used to wear brighter colors."

   
"Could be because of the season?" Demyst asked, then shook his head. "Can't be. Bright garb is for spring and summer."

   
"What will you be having us do tomorrow?" blurted Erdyl. "Besides the reply to the Sarronnese envoy, I mean."

   
Kharl smiled, sheepishly. "I'll have to think about that this evening. We've really only a half day tomorrow. Sevenday afternoon is part of the end-day. Many of the shops close in the afternoon, and the Hall of Justice is closed on both sevenday and eightday."

"That's not so different from Austra," ventured Erdyl.

   
"Some things aren't," Kharl admitted. But some things were very different, and he had the feeling that those differences had gotten worse. He needed to remind himself to be careful, and to think out what he did. He definitely did not wish to repeat his mistakes-not in Brysta.

LIX

Devenday morning was quiet, and after writing a reply to Luryessa, the Sarronnese envoy, Kharl dispatched Erdyl with the missive. The fact that the envoy was a woman confirmed in Kharl's mind that Sarronnyn, along with Southwind, was a land that still followed the Legend of ancient and vanished Westwind. The invitation, merely for afternoon refreshments, also raised the question of what the envoy wanted. Did she wish merely to learn more about Kharl and what was happening in Austra? Somehow, Kharl doubted that. The invitation had been too immediate.

   
Once Erdyl had left to tender the acceptance, Kharl went looking for Undercaptain Demyst and found him inspecting the unused barracks section of the space over the stables.

"What do you think?" Kharl asked.

   
Demyst turned, slowly. "They kept the place clean. Not much wear. Even has an armory off the back hall."

"Ah... ser ..."

Both Kharl and Demyst turned. Fundal stood at the end of the hallway.

"Yes, Fundal?" said Kharl.

   
"I couldn't help but overhear what the undercaptain said, Lord Kharl. I'm gratified that he finds the barracks space here clean."

Kharl repressed a smile. "It wasn't clean when Lord Hensolas left?"

   
"No, ser. It was more like a hog pen." The steward shook his head. "Too many armsmen."

   
At Fundal's expression, Kharl had another thought. "Did you do the cleaning up and the painting by yourself?"

   
"Mostly, ser. After they all left, things were quiet. Thought it was best to put matters to right. No sense in having someone else do it. Besides, I was worried about the coins."

"You did a good job. We couldn't even tell there were so many here."

   
"Far too many," Fundal replied. "At the end, there were almost threescore armsmen packed in here. Some of them couldn't even speak properly. Mercenaries. I suggested to Lord Hensolas that it might be wiser to quarter some of them elsewhere, but he just put me off. 'We'll talk of that later, Fundal.' Then, one twoday, they all left, and Lord Hensolas with them. He didn't even leave any extra golds in the residence account. Drew out all the golds he could. The armsmen left some blades and a half score of rifles in a crate that they hadn't even opened. I sold all that and put the golds in the account. Even with that being so, it barely lasted till you got here."

   
Kharl could sense that the steward was telling the truth-and that he felt strongly about the situation. "Did they leave anything else? Other weapons? Tools?"

   
"Just an unopened keg of cammabark." Fundal shook his head. "Cam-mabark, in a place where folk live. Didn't get a bad price for it, though, but half of that went to Guarlt because I had to go through the Armorers' Guild."

   
Cammabark? A keg of it? In quarters over a stable where it could explode and burn down both the stable and the envoy's residence? That bothered Kharl, not because it confirmed Hensolas's treachery, but because it was so at odds with everything he had heard about the lord's caution. "I'm glad you took care of all that."

"That's what a steward's for, ser." Fundal smiled, if faintly.

"Did you ever find out where all the mercenary guards came from?"

"Seemed like they came from everywhere. I heard one say he was from

Jellico, and another was talking about being glad to leave Analeria. The others ... they could have come from anywhere."

"Thank you."

"If you'll not be needing me ..."

"I'll let you know if there's anything," Kharl promised.

   
He moved on toward the back hall. As Fundal had said, the armory had been repainted recently, and there was but the faintest sense of chaos in the space. In less than half a glass, Kharl finished going through the barracks and retainer quarters, and he and the undercaptain made their way back to the library in the main residence.

   
Kharl closed the door before speaking. "What do you think about what Fundal said?"

"He was telling the truth, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

   
"Cammabark? Be an idiot to keep that except in an underground and stone-walled armory, even with what it's worth."

   
"He didn't take it with him," Kharl mused. "I'd wager he didn't buy it, either."

   
"Why didn't he sell it, then, the way Fundal did? Why did he leave the rifles?"

   
Those were good questions, especially since Hensolas had taken out all the golds he could. Kharl could only shrug.

   
He walked to the study window, the one nearest the rear of the dwelling, and looked out at the corner of the formal gardens. The white roses were in bloom, as were the lilies. One of the gardener's boys was following his father, picking up the clippings that fell from the shears as the older man trimmed the boxwood hedge.

   
Beyond the garden and the grounds, through the trees, Kharl could just make out a far larger dwelling. For all that he had lived in Brysta most of his life, this was a section of the city about which he knew little.

"Ser?" asked the undercaptain.

   
"We need to take a ride," Kharl said. "A carriage ride through and around Brysta. Mantar can tell us everything he knows. We need to learn more about Brysta." Especially the parts that Kharl had never frequented.

"I suppose so, ser."

"We might not have time, later."

Demyst nodded.