L. Modesitt - Magi'i of Cyador

The factor finally grins. “Captain … all say you keep your word in a place that it be most hard to do, and I must confess that I am mightily curious, but there be times to wait for the cat to move, rather’n chase it, and this, I’d be thinking, is one of those times.”

“It is indeed one of those times.”

“Still … for it to be recorded here, as a real consorting, I needs must know the names two days afore. Should be an eightday, but … two days I can arrange, if that be suitable.”

“Two days before you shall know, and you will understand then.” Lorn grins. “If you do not do so before.” He inclines his head. “Now … the second matter … the one less difficult.”

Dustyn inclines his head.

“You have seen that goods are coming to reach me …?”

“Ah, yes, ser. In point of being, that I was going to tell you, it dropped clean from my thoughts at your … request

… you have received three more cases, and two others, of which I cannot fathom.”

Lorn nods. “It appears as though I will be stationed here for a time, perhaps for many years, and my family is attempting to make my life more comfortable, yet …”

“You’d be looking for a small place a yer own? Thinking on … consorting, say?”

“I’m too young for that, yet,” Lorn says with a straight face, “as this business has shown me for sure. But … I’d not want to go through what this fellow will face when the time might come. And, I cannot keep leaving cases in your cellar, not dry goods, nor …” Lorn shrugs. “You know that officers often do such, because we cannot keep much more than uniforms and weapons. I think I have a local woman, a consort of one of those who maintain the compound who will keep such a dwelling for when I need it. If you can find such a dwelling.”

Dustyn laughs. “That be easier, far easier than the first, for I know of four such, and that be without lifting my eyes past the road east.”

Lorn frowns.

“Ah … captain, the young folk now flock to Cyad or Fyrad or even Geliendra. Even my own Asbyl-she be consorted to a factor’s son in Geliendra, and never shed a tear on her way south.” Dustyn shrugs. “Fact be … my ma’s place. I fixed it for her, Asbyl, I mean, even new tiles on the roof. I’d been wondering … you could have it for a silver a season, if you’d be keeping it neat. If it’s as you say, I’d be selling it to you for ten golds, any day you wish.”

“I would not wish to ….”

“There’s but three of us, and Hyul took Da’s place last year. Wryul’n I … our place got rooms we don’t use from one season to the next. Now … I couldn’t give ma’s place away. You’d be doing me a favor, a’ sorts, and, well, without the trade you and your friends at Ryalor House broughtme … be a harder life for us ….” Dustyn smiles almost sheepishly.

Lorn lifts his hands helplessly. “Done.” He extends two silvers. “I’ll take two bottles, and if this would pay for the use of the dwelling for a pair of seasons.”

“Your trust speaks well for you, Captain, but best you see it, first.” Dustyn glances outside, not taking the coins. “Not yet. You have a mount. I’d be meeting you in front.”

Not long after Lorn has mounted, Dustyn appears on an almost sway-backed brown mare, and the two men ride along the narrow lane until it joins the road leaving Jakaafra to the east.

Lorn hopes that what Dustyn has said about the dwelling is accurate, but the factor has been reasonably fair in all his dealings. So the lancer captain rides and watches to see what awaits him on the east road.

The dwelling sits on a low rise on the eastern road from Jakaafra, less than a kay from the square, and just beyond the kaystone that notes the town center is one kay away. The new roof tiles glisten pale green, even in the dim light of the cloudy day.

Dustyn dismounts heavily, and limps slightly, past the privacy screen and to the door, which he opens with an ancient bronze key. Lorn follows, and silently walks through the house.

The dwelling is small, as Dustyn has said, with but a bedchamber, a larger room containing a tiled stove and space for eating and meeting, a bath-chamber, and a rear room for storage, no more than five cubits on a side. There is a serviceable bed, even a doorless armoire, in the sleeping chamber, and a table with three old oak chairs in the main room.

“Even got a handful of pots there.” The factor gestures to the golden oak cabinet beside the stove. “And a few pieces of crockery.”

The floor tiles are a pale blue, faded by time, but not cracked, and the joins have been recently grouted. There are both interior and exterior ceramic privacy screens, and the hedge providing privacy for the small rear portico needs butlittle trimming. There is a stable that will hold two horses, but without space for a carriage.

As the two stand looking at the privacy screen before the front entrance, Lorn nods. “This will do well for me.”

“I was thinking it might.”

Lorn extends the silvers again, adding a third. “If I could trouble you to bring the goods in your cellar sometime in the next eightday or so …?”

“A pleasure, Captain, a pleasure.” Dustyn glances upward.

“Best we be getting back. I’d not be thinking I’d like to be getting too damp, and you’ve a much longer ride than do I.”

Lorn nods at that and remounts the gelding.

The first drops of rain begin to dribble out of the gray sky when Lorn is little more than a kay out of the town of Jakaafra on his return to the compound. By the time he rides through the gates the rain is falling so fast that he can scarcely see a hundred cubits ahead, and he is most grateful for the stone-surfaced roads of Cyador.

Water pours from his uniform and has plastered his garrison cap and hair flat against his skull as he leads the gelding from the downpour into the stable.

“Ser …” Suforis looks at Lorn wide-eyed.

“I know,” Lorn says tiredly. “I know. But there are few days I even have free to get to Jakaafra.”

“Yes, ser. I’ll make sure he gets dry and rubbed down.”

“Thank you.” Lorn takes the wine and marches back through the rain-filled courtyard. His feet squush in his boots as he walks down the corridor to his quarters. After wringing out his uniforms, and hanging them out to dry-slowly, he suspects, Lorn changes into dry trousers and a dry undertunic. Then, he dries and oils the sabre and leaves it out of the scabbard, hoping both will dry before he has to leave on patrol again.

Only then does he seat himself at his desk and read through the last scroll from Ryalth once more.

… we are a quiet house and becoming regarded as an example for the Clanless Traders. I have triedto keep our image that way. This has been helped by the occasional appearance of a senior enumerator from elsewhere. It has also been aided by the growth of our shipments of a golden brandy that is of high quality. Since it and many of our more profitable items are shipped through Fyrad, we are known to have distant contacts. Some of those contacts date from the other ship disaster that we discussed. They are now pleased to see that house reborn through its heir. That is well these days.

While we remain on the topmost level, we are now paying for three times the space we had previously, and I have purchased a warehouse from the Jekseng Clan that has never been regarded as well-fated since it was once rented by a Hamorian trader. It helps to know the past of some matters.

I see I have forgotten to tell you that, because of certain information about timbers, Ryalor House has become involved in other ventures which we should discuss before too long. The serving lady you never met also says all is well.

… and I look forward to hearing from you.