L. Modesitt - Scholar

“For me, this is very special.” Quaeryt’s words were heartfelt.

Jorem dished out a large helping of the ragout and handed the platter to the scholar. “The olive bread is a family tradition, too.”

“You’re both most kind, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your asking me to supper.”

“Nonsense,” replied Jorem, with an intonation that recalled his mother to Quaeryt.

Hailae smiled.

For a time after everyone was served and had taken bread, there was a silence. From the first mouthful Quaeryt enjoyed the ragout-covered with a flaky pastry crust and with a filling consisting more of vegetables and leeks than fowl. Even so, it was tasty, if more subtle in flavor than most of the dishes in Solis, and the olive bread enhanced the flavor of the ragout.

“Your father mentioned your brothers in Tilbora-do you see them often?” Quaeryt finally asked.

“Lankyt takes one of the ferries down to see us when he can, every other week or so,” replied Jorem. “We usually send him back with fruit, or in the winter, dried fruit. He doesn’t get much of that from the scholars.”

Quaeryt glanced to Daerlae. “Do you like your uncle Lankyt?”

“He’s nice. Sometimes, he brings me things. He brought me a doll for my birthday.”

“Uncles should do things like that.” Quaeryt smiled, then shifted his glance back to Jorem. “Does he say much about how things are in Tilbora these days?”

“He doesn’t talk much about Tilbora. He tells us about his studies.”

“Do you go there often? To Tilbora?”

Jorem and Hailae exchanged the briefest of glances before Jorem replied. “We haven’t been north of the river in years. It takes all our time to keep things going here. We’ve been fortunate enough that some of the cafes in Tilbora send buyers for our specialties almost every week.”

“They always want the anise leeks,” added Hailae, “and the sweet red onions.”

“I take it there are more cafes in Tilbora.”

“We have some here,” replied Jorem. “The Painted Pony is good, and so is Brambles. They also are good customers.”

“Do you see many armsmen here?”

Jorem shook his head.

“Do they do much to keep the peace in Tilbora, or do they just chase the local girls?” Quaeryt injected light sarcasm into his voice.

“Most girls know enough to stay away from them,” answered Hailae.

“Some years back,” said Jorem, “a few of them decided that Pharsi girls couldn’t protect themselves.”

“They were wrong,” interjected Hailae.

“But the governor razed an entire block of Pharsi houses when two soldiers were killed, and three were wounded,” continued Jorem. “Almost all the Pharsi families around there moved to places in Bhorael.”

“Your family was already here, though, wasn’t it?” Quaeryt asked Hailae.

“They were.”

The simplicity of the answer suggested that Hailae didn’t really want to say more, but Quaeryt thought an indirect question might shed some light on the matter, from what he knew of Pharsi customs. “I imagine you had some cousins who decided to move.”

“They’ve been much happier here,” she replied.

“I’m glad, and you both seem to like Bhorael.”

“It’s much friendlier than Tilbora,” said Jorem.

“Is there anything you think I should be aware of in Tilbora?” Quaeryt offered a gentle laugh. “I’m afraid I can’t remain in Bhorael.”

“Well … I wouldn’t mention that you’re on Lord Bhayar’s business-except to armsmen or the governor’s people. Where you come from doesn’t bother the scholars much, but most of the Tilborans don’t like the way the armsmen behave. Other than that … it’s probably like anyplace else. There are places to avoid and places where everyone is friendly and helpful.”

After that, Quaeryt steered the talk back to his time with Rhodyn and Darlinka.

A good glass later, he smiled and said, “I fear I have imposed too much, and I should take my leave. Poor Daerlae can barely keep her eyes open.”

“Oh, no. I fear we have kept you too late,” said Hailae quickly. “You will not be able to find anywhere to stay.” She glanced at Jorem. “We do have a guest chamber above the stable.… It is modest … but it is clean and most private.”

“I would not wish to impose.…”

“It is not an imposition, not after all the news you have brought us,” said Jorem. “And Father would not wish it otherwise. Nor would we.”

“That would be most appreciated.” Quaeryt paused. “Are you certain?”

“Most certain,” said Hailae firmly.

“Let me get a lamp for you, and show you.…” Jorem stood.

So did Quaeryt, bowing to Hailae. “My deepest thanks for your hospitality, and for a marvelous dinner.” He turned to the sleepy-eyed Daerlae. “And for your company, young lady.”

“Am I a lady?” Daerlae looked to her mother.

“You are, and you will be,” answered Quaeryt. “If you listen to your parents and mind them.” He smiled at Hailae.

She smiled back.

“I heard that,” murmured Jorem, returning from the kitchen with a small lamp. “I hope she remembers the last part.”

“So do all parents,” said Quaeryt with a laugh as he turned to follow the factor down the steps into the factorage and then out to the stable.

Quaeryt had intended to slip away early, but Jorem found him in the stable before he had saddled the mare and had insisted on his joining the family for breakfast. Even so, it was well before sixth glass when Quaeryt left the factorage. Daerlae and Jorem stood on the front porch, and Daerlae waved, as the scholar rode northward toward the ferry piers. Quaeryt waved back, a smile on his face at the enthusiasm of the little girl.

Once again, he couldn’t help but wonder what lay behind the fracture in the family. It clearly had something to do with Hailae and the fact that she was Pharsi, yet Rhodyn and Darlinka didn’t seem to be the kind who would object to their son falling in love with a Pharsi girl, especially one who was attractive and able and who had a family of worth. Not only that, but it was obvious that Hailae and Jorem had endured some hardship and still were deeply in love-without the storminess that Quaeryt had observed from a distance between Bhayar and Aelina.

Absently, he wondered if Vaelora could be as stormy as her brother. Although the tone of her missive had been formal, there had been no mistaking the will behind the words. He shook his head. It would be months before he returned to Solis. Yet … why had she written such a formal missive? Why had she written at all? He shrugged. There was little point in speculating, and he certainly wouldn’t find out for seasons … if he ever did. Yet … he had to admit he was intrigued.

The ferry pier was located a half mille or so upstream from where the Albhor River actually entered the harbor and offered several different alternatives, from small boats just for individual passengers all the way up to a donkey-powered paddlewheel craft that could carry two wagons and several horses and their riders. Because the paddlewheel craft was the one that looked the safest and the most ready to depart, Quaeryt paid the five-copper fee, then had to walk the mare into a crude stall and tie her there.

Just as he finished, a one-horse wagon rolled aboard after him, and the teamster paid a silver. When no one else appeared within a quint, not all that surprisingly to Quaeryt, considering that it was early on Samedi, the ferryman groused under his breath and rang a bell. The donkeys began to walk on the slatted platform backed in heavy canvas and wrapped around two rollers, one of which was linked to the rear paddlewheel that churned the gray-brown waters and pushed the unwieldy craft toward the Tilbora ferry piers, close to half a mille away.