L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“My thanks to you, and I am most certain that I will draw on your experience.” The overcaptain inclines his head a last time before he turns and departs.

Lorn does not speak again until he has mounted the chestnut and they are passing the harbor piers on the return to the compound. “They have a new building, one of the few I have seen in Biehl.”

“It is but four years since it was built.”

Lorn studies the piers. The brig and one of the schooners have sailed, but a fishing boat is tied at the innermost wharf, where baskets of fish are being unloaded into a small cart.

“They did not seem pleased,” suggests Helkyt.

“I doubt they are.” Lorn laughs. “Lancer officers are never seen as totally welcome, but I am certain that they will be helpful and most supportive. I need to jot down several things, Helkyt, when we get back to the study. Then, after that, we may need the mounts again.”

“Yes, ser.” Helkyt remains silent as they continue riding, the expressions on his face varying from concern to puzzlement as he occasionally casts a sidelong glance at Lorn.

Two lancers are sparring almost desultorily in the shadowed northeast corner of the compound as Lorn and Helkyt ride to the stable. Lorn nods to himself.

“How she be, Overcaptain?” asks the ostler after Lorn reins up outside the stable and dismounts.

“Fine, but I will be needing her for a longer ride shortly.”

“The exercise, that she can use.”

“She will be getting more.” Lorn smiles before turning and walking quickly across the courtyard. Helkyt scurries to keep pace with him.

Once back in his study, Lorn begins to jot down all his impressions, and where and about what the enumerators had lied. It seemed like almost every other sentence uttered by Flutak bore either a degree of untruth or a veiled threat, and Lorn has two sheets of paper before he is finished. He shakes his head before he calls the squad leader.

“Yes, ser?”

“Helkyt, we’re going to take a ride in a few moments. It may take a large part of this afternoon as well. Do you know where Flutak and Neabyl maintain their quarters?”

“Ah…It is said…”

Lorn raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. We will take a ride, with several of the local lancers who may know about Biehl. You will point out all the places any overcaptain should know. Those will include the dwellings or quarters of the enumerators, prominent local merchanters, shipowners, factors…any crafters who might supply goods for the compound. It would be well for me to know such.”

“Yes, ser. That I can see.”

Lorn stands. “I will meet you in the stable in a few moments. I need to get something from my quarters.”

Helkyt nods.

“And you need to find two lancers who were raised here and know the town and the gossip.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn ushers the senior squad leader out, then closes the door to his own study, and walks out into the courtyard, along the headquarters building until he reaches the main stairs to his own spaces at the north end. The dust has been swept from the quarters, and the aroma of baking bread comes from the antique oven, although Daelya is nowhere in sight.

Lorn reclaims the chaos-glass from its hiding place in the armoire under his smallclothes and carries it into the front study. There, he closes the door and slides the bolt in place before he takes out the chaos-glass and concentrates.

The silver mists appear, then fade, and a figure swims into view. Flutak sits alone at the oblong table. His brow furrows, and he glances out the window. The enumerator mutters something, but no one joins him while Lorn watches.

Lorn finally releases the image. Flutak definitely bears watching.

The overcaptain locks the door and hurries down the front steps to the courtyard and across to the stable where Helkyt and two lancers wait, already mounted. In the warm afternoon sunlight that pours through a clear green-blue sky, Chulhyr holds the reins to the chestnut.

“Thank you, Chulhyr. She’s a good mount.”

The ostler bows, and retreats.

Helkyt gestures to the two lancers. “This is Nayhul, and this Kurbyl.” Nayhul is brown-haired and older, his face bearing a certain weathering, while Kurbyl is black-haired and fresh-faced.

“Good.” Lorn mounts the chestnut. “You two and Squad Leader Helkyt are going to give me a tour of Biehl.”

The three nod.

“I’d like to ride back along the harbor road, and the piers, and have you show me the crafters and important factors in town first, then the dwellings of the more noted local families,” Lorn explains as the four ride out through the gates.

As they head down the slope, Nayhul coughs gently.

“What is it, Nayhul?”

The older lancer gestures to the right, to the west, at a large section dug out of the hillside that adjoins the one on which the compound sits. “There be the clay quarries of Jahlyr and his family. Fine clay for china, and crockery, so fine that the Spidlarians ship it all the way to Spidlaria,” offers one of the young lancers. “And even some from Hamor.”

“He is wealthy?” Lorn asks.

“Most so. Beyond, you see the villa?”

Lorn studies the brick structures on the far side of the hill, whose roofs and upper levels alone are visible from the road. “It looks large.”

“They have many dwellings there, and stables, and a warehouse, and even a pool for bathing.”

“Is there a large tariff on clay?” Lorn asks Helkyt.

“That…I would not know.”

They pass the olive warehouse and then near the ocean piers. At the outermost pier in the harbor rides a two-masted deep-sea vessel, with an ensign of red and gold-Hamorian. “Do you know what the Hamorians come here for?” Lorn asks. “I cannot imagine that there is great enough wealth here for them to offload large cargoes.”

“They buy most of all salted fish,” offers Kurbyl. “My sire has sold some. And the china at times, and olives.”

“I take it you didn’t like being a fisherman,” Lorn says.

“I much prefer a mount to a boat, ser. And a dry bunk.”

The other riders laugh at the wry tone of the youngest.

“Anything else the Hamorians buy?”

“Mayhap some scented oils,” ventures Helkyt.

The other piers are empty.

Lorn points to the crossed-candles sign, as if to ask about the chandlery.

“The chandler, he is Reycuh, but he is not much of a chandler,” says Nayhul. “But Fuycyl, he is a most excellent cooper.”

“Most excellent,” adds Kurbyl. “My sire pays a copper more for his barrels for the salted fish he sells to the Hamor traders.”

At the chandlery they turn southward, and Lorn listens as Nayhul offers explanations and names for almost every structure or dwelling they pass.

“The blue house…that be where the entertainer Fyella lived…old now, but my grandsire remembers her…. the yellow shutters…the cabinetmaker…and over there be Systyl, the chemist, with his powders and potions…The firewagon portico…that all lancers know…”

Before long they have left the center area of Biehl and follow a more winding road toward the southwest.

“Here be the dwellings of those of import, ser,” offers Nayhul. “Over there, the reddish tower, that be the watchtower of Master Duplyr, above his mill.”

In time, perhaps a kay more to the northwest, Lorn notes a long villa that sprawls across a low hill. “Whose dwelling might that be?”

Helkyt shifts in the saddle, but does not answer.

Nayhul finally answers. “That be the dwelling of one of the Emperor’s Enumerators, the big one with no hair.”

“Is that Enumerator Flutak’s dwelling, Helkyt?”

“Ah…I believe so…”