L. Modesitt - Scholar

The hand that had written his name was not unfamiliar, but he did not immediately recognize it, and he didn’t want to ponder over it with Straesyr looking on. “Thank you, sir. I had not expected correspondence.”

“Neither had we expected any for a scholar whose presence we had not anticipated prior to Lord Bhayar’s orders.” Straesyr rose from behind the desk. “The messenger is waiting.”

“Thank you, sir,” repeated Quaeryt. “I’ll be here at seventh glass tomorrow.”

The princeps merely nodded, and Quaeryt inclined his head in reply, then turned and left the study.

The messenger turned out to be a youthful ranker who jumped to attention when Quaeryt stepped back into the anteroom, slipping the missive and the document case inside his jacket.

“You’re in the northwest tower, sir. I’ll take you down past the officers’ mess first, and then to your quarters. That way, you’ll know the most direct way to the mess.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

As he followed the young ranker back to the upper rotunda and down the grand staircase, Quaeryt pondered the implications of what the princeps had said. Bhayar had said he would be quartered in the barracks, but Straesyr had placed him in a chamber in the palace proper. Was that because Rescalyn didn’t want him anywhere near the soldiers, or because both the governor and the princeps wanted to keep a close eye on him? Or both? And then, it was clear that Straesyr was more than a little unhappy with the local scholars.

“… all the chambers for the officers and the mess are in the west wing … it’s more like a separate building, except it’s connected by a covered and walled passageway … still cold as a corpse in the winter…”

Quaeryt listened attentively as the young man led him along the main corridor and then through the windowless walled passage to the “west wing” and through another two sets of double doors and then past the mess and to the far end of the building and up a narrow staircase to the third level.

“… think you and the chorister are the only ones up here … bathing chambers are all on the main level … be quite a cold climb in the winter…”

At the top of the stone staircase, they turned right and walked to the first door, which the ranker opened. As promised, Quaeryt’s “gear” was in the chamber, the canvas bag and the rolled-up scholars’ garments set neatly beside a narrow armoire. There was a wide writing desk, with a sconce above it holding an oil lamp. The bed was single, but wider than a scholar’s pallet, and bed linens, two blankets, and a single towel were folded and set on the bottom of the mattress. On one side of the bed was a night table and on the other a narrow three-drawer chest. The door had a sturdy bolt, but no bar and no lock.

“… captain says that the chambers on this end are for field-grade officers, majors and subcommanders,” concluded the ranker.

Once the ranker left, Quaeryt slid the bolt on the door and looked through his gear. It had been searched. That was clear because everything had been more neatly folded than he’d had time to do in his haste in leaving the Ecoliae. Then he hung his spare clothing in the armoire, and put his additional undergarments in the dresser. The chamber had been recently-and hurriedly-cleaned, he suspected, but whoever had done so had been thorough, because there was no dust anywhere.

He walked to the single narrow window and eased it open, enjoying the cool breeze and looking westward, although all he could see were the western walls and the sky above them, which held puffy clouds in the distance.

His room was doubtless one of the coldest in the palace in winter, but possibly one of the more comfortable in harvest and early fall, but it was also the farthest from the palace center where Rescalyn and Straesyr conducted the affairs of the governor on behalf of Lord Bhayar. Definitely, for the moment, at least, they didn’t want him too close to anyone.

He sat down at the desk and took out the mysterious missive, studied the script that spelled out his name, then used his belt knife and a touch of imaging to remove the blue wax seal without damaging the imprint. The first words told him the identity of the writer-and had she been anyone but Bhayar’s sister, he would have recognized the writing immediately. He just hadn’t believed that she would have written him.

Dear Scholar Quaeryt-

I take this liberty in writing you to continue the discussion we began in Solis, and I hope that this missive finds that you have arrived in health for your duties on behalf of Lord Bhayar …

Lord Bhayar? He shook his head. Without any reference to Bhayar as her brother, anyone who intercepted and read the letter could only assume that the writer was a woman-from the graceful script-highly placed in the court in Solis. Only someone who knew the court would likely understand to whom the “V” as a signature referred. But the references and the dispatch by Telaryn courier would make it more likely that, even if intercepted and read, the missive would reach him and also, he had to admit, give anyone with less than charitable intentions toward him some pause before acting immediately.

Had Vaelora thought that out as well?

Based on both letters he had received so far, he had to believe that she did-and that meant he was far more involved in the intrigues surrounding Bhayar than he’d ever had any intention of being … especially since one of the reasons he’d left Solis was to avoid such intrigues, knowing that he had no real power in the court.

… also trust that you have had a chance to think over my previous thoughts, unschooled as they may be, in view of your own observations …

… Lord Bhayar has observed on previous occasions that pursuit of the practical is most necessary for a ruler to be successful, but, from my own most limited experience, I believe that what is practical for one man may not be so for another, and even what is practical for most men may not be so for a woman. Likewise, what is practical for most women may not be so for most men. Such questions might seem to some as similar to an attempt to split a hair with a broadsword, yet the very raising of such an inquiry about any law or practice of a ruler can lead the way to greater insight and, one would trust, a more effective ruler.

Many have questioned the value of scholars and others who seek knowledge that has no apparent immediate value. I am no scholar, yet it would seem to me that the ores from which metals are refined have no immediate value, nor does a newborn babe have any immediate value …

Quaeryt could not but help smiling as he continued reading and finished the letter. He was also having trouble in not yawning.

He would have to reply to Vaelora, but he wasn’t about to try to write a cogent response after a long night with no sleep whatsoever … and certainly not when he still had not been able to deduce her motivations for writing. He re-folded the missive, then took both her letters and placed them in the document case.

The bed looked very inviting, and it would only take a few moments to make it up.

When Quaeryt woke, it was past noon, and by the time he had walked down to the main level, found the bath chambers, washed and shaved, and climbed back up to his quarters and changed into clean scholars’ browns, it was closer to half past first glass. The west wing was apparently deserted, not surprisingly for early afternoon on a working day, and he set out to explore the grounds of the Telaryn Palace, beginning with the area west of where he’d been quartered. Just beyond the west entrance to the building was a stretch of gravel, and beyond that a flat and level area that looked like it might be used for turf bowls.