Antiagon fire, p.12
Antiagon Fire, page 12
“If we keep everyone away until your imagers can deal with the locks, it won’t matter,” Skarpa pointed out.
“We’ll also need to capture the men blocking off the canal…”
Skarpa and Quaeryt had finished their plans a good quint before all the regiments had arrived. Once they did, Quaeryt and Skarpa rode near the head of Fifth Regiment as the Southern Army rode into Laaryn. Over her unvoiced objections—not that Quaeryt had not noticed her frown—Vaelora remained farther back with Zhelan and first company.
One of Skarpa’s regiments split off to the north, moving out in order to flank the factors’ men at the barrel barricades. In less than half a glass, the regiments had encircled both locks and had captured most of the men who had been behind the roped-off barrels.
Before dealing with the factors walled up in the warehouse, now surrounded by two companies from Meinyt’s first battalion, and with Voltyr and Horan standing by there just in case, Quaeryt first approached and checked the upper lock, still closed at both ends and holding water, if at a slightly lower level than the canal leading to the River Laar, which he hadn’t noticed earlier. He could find no sign of explosives anywhere. He inspected the smaller lock house, but it was empty. After that he approached the main lock house of the upper lock. He continued to hold full shields and hoped that there weren’t any explosives inside.
Even from fifteen yards away, Quaeryt could see that the door was chained shut, with an old and rusty but large and heavy lock. He paused, then imaged away the lock hasp, and waited. Nothing happened. He moved forward, finally, unfastening the remainder of the chain and easing open the door.
Inside was a figure gagged and bound to a chair. Behind the chair were long and heavy levers, most likely for controlling the water flows into or out of the lock. Quaeryt moved to the chair, then took out his belt knife and cut the ropes binding the man’s hands, then untied the gag.
The lockman, gray-haired, with a short gray and brown beard, coughed several times before he finally spoke. “Never thought I’d be thanking a Telaryn officer for saving me.” He frowned. “You are Telaryn? That’s no uniform I ever saw.”
“I’m a Telaryn commander,” Quaeryt admitted. “We have an army taking back the canal.”
“Hope you get whoever did this.” The lockman rubbed his wrists where the ropes had been fastened, then stood and stretched, gingerly. “Wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Quaeryt thought the man was unsteady. “You need to sit down. I’ll have someone get you some water or ale or something. Who tied you up? What did you mean by it not being as it was supposed to be?”
“They close the canal every so often for repairs. Never saw any repairs most times. This time, I said to Pharn—he’s the head lockman—said that we didn’t need repairs, and with the war, folk in Variana needed grain and food. He looked at me funny, then walked off. Next thing I knew, there were three big fellows in brown. Grabbed me and tied me up. Never saw ’em before in my life.” The lockman snorted as he sat down. “That’s something in a place like Laaryn.”
“Did they say anything that said who or why they did it?”
“Not a word. Just told me I’d be all right if I didn’t fight.”
“You’ve been here for a while.”
“Close to a day, I figure. Ruined my clothes.”
Quaeryt had noted the odor, but ignored it. “Did they mention gunpowder or anything like that?”
“No. Heard some hammering and smelled coal or charcoal, like someone was forging. Don’t know why, though.”
“Take it easy…”
When he finished with the lockman, Quaeryt made his way down to the lower lock, still empty except for a few digits of water covering the bottom of the lock. As closely as he looked, he could find no sign of gunpowder or other explosives. Then he carefully approached and checked the lock houses. The smaller one was empty, as was the larger one. As he left the larger one, he couldn’t help but frown. Only one lockman tied up? That suggested that some of the canal workers, likely the head lockman, had been cooperating with or been co-opted by the factors. But you might never find out which.
He shook his head. The older he got, the more he discovered that there were all too many questions to which the answers remained unknown or obscured in some fashion. He paused and looked closely at the eastern end of the lower lock gate, noticing for the first time a band of iron linking the iron plate of the housing into which the lock gate recessed to the plate at the end of the lock gate. Someone had forge-welded the lock gate closed. Trying to cold-chisel it open would likely damage the gates so much they might not hold water.
Quaeryt smiled. Imaging would take care of that.
14
After dispatching a ranker with a water bottle to the upper lock house, Quaeryt went to find Skarpa. The submarshal was standing in the shaded lane beside the archway Quaeryt had imaged closed with stone. Predictably, by then, Vaelora was also there, if guarded by Voltyr, Lhandor, and Khalis, as was Meinyt.
“So far as I can tell, there aren’t any explosives around the locks or in the lock houses,” Quaeryt announced. “They did tie up one lockman and left him. He could have died, for all they seemed to care. He has no idea who was behind it, except that the head lockman, named Pharn, said they were closing the canal for repairs. When the lockman protested and said that they didn’t need repairs, before long three men he didn’t know grabbed him and bound him to a chair, then chained the lock-house door.”
“It was planned, then, here in town,” said Vaelora.
“By the factors. That’s the way it looks.”
“Your factors haven’t tried to break out,” said Skarpa, adding with a straight face, “I could see that they might have trouble, though. The troopers rounded up close to fifty bravos with clubs or truncheons and a score or so of factors, mostly younger men.”
“We’ll have to talk to all of them,” said Quaeryt. “Well … maybe not all the bravos, but all the factors. I think we need to find a good inn and use a chamber there. I’d suggest we start with the younger ones first … and leave the factors inside the warehouse for now.”
“They won’t be happy.” Skarpa grinned.
“That’s the idea. I don’t think they understand what they did. Or rather the seriousness of what they did.” Quaeryt paused. “Either that, or they thought that in the disruption following the conquest of eastern Bovaria, no one would notice.”
“Why did they do it?” asked Meinyt.
“If grain shipments to Variana are stopped, the price of grain will go up. The factors will receive more when they resume shipping,” Quaeryt said.
“Why didn’t they just refuse to ship?”
“They could do that, but grain likely comes down the River Laar from other growers, factors, and High Holders. Unless they take control of the canal, the shipments go on, and the prices stay lower than they desire.” Quaeryt shrugged. “Then when we showed up they spread the story that mutineers did it … and, well, if the mutineers ran off when we approached or got tired and gave up, who’s to know?”
“Why didn’t they just stick to the story about repairs?” asked Meinyt.
“I’m guessing that they’re saving that for all the future times when Bhayar doesn’t have an army near. Even if people suspect, who is going to accuse any group of factors who can raise enough muscle to seize the canal? The High Holders won’t care. The price for their grain goes up as well. Besides, there’s grain and flour here in Laaryn, and the local price will likely go down for a time, and most people don’t care that much if it costs more somewhere else.”
“Real bastards,” offered Meinyt in a low voice.
Vaelora nodded.
“We need to find an inn and quarters for the regiments,” Skarpa announced.
Close to another glass passed before Skarpa, Vaelora, Meinyt, and Quaeryt stood just inside the entry hall of the Canal Inn, located on the east side of the square set just to the east of the point of land that overlooked where the canal joined the River Laar. The inn was not that ancient as Bovarian inns went, Quaeryt judged, likely only thirty years old and probably built not that long after the Great Canal had been completed. The three-story squarish structure with the dull red brick walls that seemed so prevalent along the canal boasted a large public room, two plaques rooms, one larger and more elegantly appointed than the other, a good-sized entry hall, and an imposing facade with stone columns flanking the entry, and two covered side porches.
Khaern remained in charge of the canal area, and Zhelan and first company had taken over the exterior of the warehouse imprisoning the local factors, with Voltyr in charge of the imager undercaptains, who remained there in order to assure that the factors remained behind the walls.
“How do you think we should handle this?” asked Skarpa, looking to Quaeryt.
“You shouldn’t be the one questioning all the factors. That makes them feel too important. They should be almost beneath your notice—at least until their punishment is announced.”
“What about justicers?” asked Vaelora.
“Blocking the Great Canal isn’t a matter for a local justicer, assuming Kharst even had them. Besides…” Quaeryt smiled.
“You’ve acted as a justicer for Bhayar,” she finished.
“And you’re a full commander,” added Skarpa.
“We’ll just take over one of the plaques rooms and bring them in one at a time,” said Quaeryt. “By the time I finish with the younger ones, the ones in the warehouse might be getting a message.”
In less than a quint, Quaeryt was seated behind a table in the more luxurious of the plaques rooms, waiting.
The first of those captured to appear before Quaeryt, escorted by two solid rankers, did not look much older than Khalis, the youngest of the imager undercaptains, a beardless youth with well-trimmed brown hair and matching gray trousers and jacket … not to mention a bruise along his left jaw and a slight scabbed cut on his forehead. His hands were bound behind him.
“Who are you, and what were you doing with the bravos who were blocking people from getting near the canal?” asked Quaeryt.
“Might I ask who you are and what your authority over me is?”
The question was worded politely enough, but the condescending arrogance behind the words grated on Quaeryt. He smiled politely, projecting absolute authority and total contempt before he uttered a single word. “I’m Commander Quaeryt Rytersyn, scholar, former justicer, and officer in the Telaryn Southern Army. My authority comes from Lord Bhayar and the nine regiments that have occupied Laaryn after some group unlawfully blocked the Great Canal. Now … answer the questions.”
The youth staggered back a step, then swallowed. “You can’t…”
“This is wartime. You were part of a group that was caught blocking a canal to cargo and supplies. That’s treason. If necessary, I can order your execution. I will if I have to. I’d rather not, because you’re not worth the time or effort.” Rather than say more, Quaeryt waited.
“I’m Coryal D’Coryt. I was trying to get to my father’s warehouse when your men snatched everyone in sight. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Quaeryt sighed, loudly, then looked to the two rankers. “Put him in the empty cellar. We’ll take care of him later, along with the others. Have the major send in a few of the bravos.”
“You will be sorry,” said the youth.
Quaeryt shook his head sadly.
The next man was a broad-shouldered bravo in brown, with a wide leather belt and well-trimmed hair and beard.
He’s too well groomed for a typical bravo. “Your name?” asked Quaeryt.
“Huddn.”
“Why were you blocking off the canal?”
“Why not? The swells paid half silver a day for me to hold a truncheon and keep folks off.”
“Did they tell you why they wanted the canal blocked?”
“Yesterday, it was for repairs. This morning they said it was because Lord Bhayar’s army was coming.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Whoever pays me.”
“Who paid you yesterday?”
Huddn shrugged. “Don’t know his name. Young fellow dressed like a factor. Blond, short beard. Probably not old enough to grow more. Didn’t give his name. Paid all of Voryn’s crew.”
Quaeryt asked more questions, but it was clear that Huddn knew little more than he’d revealed at the beginning. The same was true of the next five bravos. The sixth gave his name as Voryn.
“So you have a crew,” said Quaeryt. “What do they do for you?”
“Work. Most times, we load or offload the canal boats. Other times, we’ll keep order for factors, like when they have a fest for their help.”
“Or when they want people kept away from the Great Canal?”
Voryn nodded, his wide-spaced eyes wary.
“How often does that happen?”
“Not often. Maybe three-four times in the past few years. Called in more muscle this morning, though.”
“Who pays for you and your crew when that happens?”
“Factors’ council.”
“Who’s on the council?”
“Don’t know them all. Old factor Coryt … Aelsam, Yudrow … Barkudan. Those are the ones I know.”
“What other factors use the canal for shipping, enough to need a crew…”
Quaeryt continued with his questions.
Three glasses later, Quaeryt decided he’d heard enough. He’d also finished quick interrogations with those the rankers had rounded up—more than ten young factors or factors’ assistants, and more than a score of hired bravos or loaders.
Once the last of the assistants was out of the chamber, he sent word to Zhelan to have the imagers open the sealed warehouse and to bring all those inside to the inn for questioning. Then he requested that Skarpa and Vaelora join him. He was pacing around the plaques table when they arrived and closed the door behind themselves.
Skarpa said nothing, just looked at Quaeryt inquiringly.
“I’m sure we don’t know everything. From what I’ve heard, this isn’t the first time the factors have closed the canal. They’ve done the same thing before, once for almost two weeks.”
“Just to keep their prices higher?” asked Skarpa.
Vaelora only nodded, sadly.
“The one thing that’s strange is that someone called in more bravos—and paid them—this morning. None of the bravos knew who had paid. They didn’t recognize the man who had the silvers.” Quaeryt frowned. “That doesn’t make much sense. Why would they do that with Southern Army marching toward Laaryn?”
“Maybe someone else did,” suggested Vaelora.
Quaeryt shook his head. “Of course.”
Skarpa glanced from Quaeryt to Vaelora and back again. “Of course?”
“Someone who’s not happy with the canal closings paid for more bravos … either to make things seem worse than they were or to make certain we did something to stop the closings.” Quaeryt shrugged. “We may have trouble finding out who that was. I think it’s time to talk to the factors we walled up. I’ve already sent for them.”
“Do you want either of us there?” asked Skarpa.
“Not now. I might need Vaelora before long, though.”
“Me? A mere woman?”
Quaeryt managed to avoid wincing. “An envoy and sister of the mighty Lord Bhayar, far more prestigious than a mere commander, of whom there are many.”
Vaelora did smile. “I’ll take my leisure in the other plaques room.”
“That’s a very good idea … but not until we get word that the factors have arrived.” He turned to Skarpa. “What do you think about the whole matter?”
“From what I’ve seen, the factors here are wealthy. They were surprised that we offered no deference to them.”
“I don’t think many of them have ever seen troopers,” added Vaelora. “The children peer out of windows at them.”
Quaeryt found himself frowning. How had Kharst kept order, especially given the nature of his High Holders?
“There are also no High Holders close to Laaryn,” added Skarpa. “The scouts report that the closest high holding is fifteen miles north.”
The silence that followed was broken by a knock. Then Zhelan eased the door open. “Sirs, Lady Vaelora … the captives from the warehouse are outside on the porch.”
Skarpa rose, as did Vaelora.
“Send in the white-bearded town councilor first,” instructed Quaeryt as he rose, “after the submarshal and Lady Vaelora leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vaelora gave Quaeryt a parting smile. Skarpa shook his head as he left.
A short time later Moraes—the white-bearded town councilor—stepped gingerly into the plaques room. He peered at Quaeryt, then shuffled forward. “Sir … you’re the officer who walled us up. I tell you, sir, it wasn’t my idea to close the canal.”
“This time or all the other times?” asked Quaeryt dryly.
Moraes was silent.
So was Quaeryt.
Finally, the older man cleared his throat. “What would you have me do, sir? No one dares go against the factors’ council.”
“Why not?”
“Things … happen to those who do. Unfortunate things … dwellings burn … dray horses sicken … accidents happen to children … shipments of goods vanish…” Moraes did not meet Quaeryt’s eyes.
“Who serves on the factors’ council?”
“The wealthy factors.”
“Who?”
“Aelsam, Fuadan, Coryt, Barkudan, and Yudrow.”
“Just five men?”
“There have always been five.”
“Moraes … do you have civil patrollers here in Laaryn?”
The councilor looked totally confused. Finally, he asked, “How did you know my name?”
“I’m good at listening. About the patrollers? Do you have them? I didn’t see any.”
