“As well as we can,” says Sammyl. “I’d guess it will be a few days. The merchanters didn’t start gathering again until yesterday, or late oneday at the earliest.”
“Let’s hope so.” Because you won’t be able to do much any sooner. “Oh … what about Maesoryk?”
“His villa is empty,” reports Sammyl. “Only a handful of retainers are there. They said he had repaired to his hill villa for the summer.”
“Summer?” Lerial frowns. “It isn’t even midspring.” Then he nods. “So that, if we defeat Khesyn, he can claim he wasn’t even around when all this happened, and that he had no idea about any of it.”
Rhamuel nods. “And there won’t even be any proof that he was involved.”
Lerial understands all too well. Even as duke, with no direct proof, Rhamuel would face immense difficulties in trying to hold Maesoryk responsible. Most likely, any retainer who could link him to the putative mislabeled barrels of cammabark has vanished, one way or another. He takes a slow deep breath, trying not to think about how hamstrung the dukes of Afrit have been. “I suppose I should pay another visit to Aenslem.”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” says Rhamuel. “You might press a bit about that tonic…”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Lerial makes his way back to the stables and Third Squad, and they set out for Aenslem’s villa under a sky that is only slightly hazy, the white-hot sun burning down on them with an intensity that is more like midsummer in Cigoerne, again reminding Lerial why he definitely would rather not be in Swartheld in full summer. Yet …
He pushes that thought away.
When they reach the iron gates, this time Aenslem’s guards admit them without difficulty, but the gates close quickly behind Third Squad, a quickness that comes from long practice. Long practice and mistrust of anyone not known … and perhaps some known all too well. When they reach the entrance to the villa, a single retainer, not a guard, waits by the steps.
“Lord Lerial, there are refreshments for your men and water for your horses in the rear courtyard.”
“Thank you.”
“It is Master Aenslem’s pleasure.”
Lerial dismounts and walks quickly up the steps, to the double doors, where a guard opens one for him. He is more than a little surprised to see Kyedra standing just inside the double doors. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Why not?” Kyedra’s tone is practical and matter-of-fact. “We’re perfectly safe here at Grandpapa’s. It appears it’s safer here than in the palace. His guards are well trained. Uncle Rham even said so.”
“Every one of them is trustworthy?” asks Lerial.
“You doubt me?”
“I’ve led many men for a few years. There are usually a few one has to watch or have watched. I doubt that is any different here.” Especially with what you’ve learned about the merchanters of Afrit.
Kyedra frowns.
“I mean it. Think it over.”
After a moment, Kyedra nods … and that also surprises Lerial.
“You’re right. There is one. Well … he may not be here now. He did special duties for Grandpapa. That’s all Grandpapa would say. Sometimes, the way he looked at me scared me. So did the black gloves he always wore. I never saw him without them.”
Black gloves? Lerial has an almost sinking feeling. “What was his name? What did he look like?”
“I never knew his name. I didn’t see him that much, but the few times I did he kept watching me.”
“His looks?”
“You are persistent. He was perhaps five years older than you, but he looked much older. He had a narrow face. Pinched really. He had floppy blond hair that looked dirty, and a dark mole on one cheek. Maybe it was a scar. He was thin. He always had a long blade at his side. Why are you asking?”
“I might have met him once.”
“When?”
“On the way to Swartheld. How is your grandfather?”
“You don’t want to talk about that man, do you?”
“Not until I know more. I’ll need to talk to your grandfather. How is he?”
“Much better. He’s beating me at plaques again.”
Lerial wonders if that is because plaques don’t matter than much to Kyedra.
“You have that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“It’s not a look, except your head tilts just a bit … as if you’re thinking.”
“I was. I was wondering whether you really care that much about winning at plaques.”
“I wouldn’t let even Grandpapa win.”
Lerial smiles. “That’s not the same thing.”
“I suppose not. Does that answer the question you didn’t ask?”
“With an answer you didn’t really give?”
Kyedra laughs, then smiles ruefully. “We had better get you to see him.” She turns and looks at him, then starts toward the north archway.
Lerial immediately takes two quick steps to catch up. “How are you and your mother doing?”
“As we can.” Kyedra looks sideways at him. “Thank you for asking.”
Later than you should have. “All of this has to have been hard on you both.”