“I think it unlikely, but stranger things have happened.”
“Indeed.” Rhamuel nods. “We now need to plan for Mykel’s memorial and contact the Merchanting Council.” He looks to Lerial. “I trust you will remain for the memorial? After that, we can discuss your departure from Swartheld. I realize I am imposing somewhat, but you and your men have traveled hard and fast, and a day or two would rest them and their mounts.”
“Of course.” What else can Lerial say?
“I would also request that while the commanders and I discuss the details of the memorial you inform Lady Haesychya and Merchanter Aenslem of what happened at the lakes. They would be more inclined to hear it from you than from me, particularly since the lady has no interest in visiting the palace any time soon.”
“I would be pleased to undertake that duty.” Lerial rises.
“Thank you.”
After making his way back down to the stables, Lerial has to wait for a time before Kusyl returns. Then the two mount up and lead the squad out of the palace onto the ring road and then onto the avenue that leads to the merchanters’ hill.
“Did you find out anything?” asks Lerial.
“Not much. The duke has replaced a number of retainers in the palace staff. He’s ordered a special saddle that will hold his legs so that he can ride again. They’ve promoted some majers to subcommander.”
“Any we know?”
“Aerlyt and Paelwyr. Oh … and they made Captain Grusart a majer.”
For a moment, Lerial struggles to remember Grusart, then smiles. “Good. Anything else?”
“One of the masons rebuilding the palace found a leather bag with a hundred golds in it.”
“And he didn’t keep it?”
“He said that if he showed up with so much as one gold in his house, everyone would think he stole it. The duke gave him twenty silvers and a letter saying that he’d earned every one of them through his honesty.”
“No one knows whose bag it was?”
“Word is that someone thought it looked like a wallet the old retainer wore at his belt, but no one knows for certain.”
A hundred golds? Would that have been enough to buy Dafaal? Or was it cheap at the price as a way to shift blame? Lerial doubts that he or anyone else will ever know.
When they reach Aenslem’s villa, the guards immediately open the gates, and shut them just as quickly. Then, at the door to the main entry, Lerial is greeted by a man a good fifteen years older than Lerial himself.
“Lord Lerial, I’m Cathylt. I’m Merchanter Aenslem’s ship master. He has requested a few moments of your time. He awaits you in his study.”
“Thank you. I take it you were here for other matters?”
“I’m here every day, unless he is at the merchanting building.”
“Ship master—the one who keeps track of what ships and cargoes are where?”
“As much as one can … yes.”
Cathylt walks with Lerial only so far as Aenslem’s study, then closes the door as Lerial steps inside.
Lerial lets his order-senses range over the merchanter as he walks toward Aenslem, who has risen to stand by his table desk, but he can detect no wound chaos or other overt injuries or illness. “You asked to see me.”
“I did. I’d prefer not to be surprised. Since you seem to create surprises, I thought the best way to avoid that was simply to ask you what you’re willing to tell me.” Aenslem offers a pleasant smile, then motions to the leather armchairs before walking to the nearest and seating himself.
“You’ve placed me in a difficult position,” Lerial says as he sits. “The duke requested that I inform Lady Haesychya of certain facts, but you are the head of the Merchanting Council, and this is your villa.”
“That does present a problem. If you will answer a question or two, I will not press you.”
“That depends on the questions, ser.”
“Do you intend to take advantage of your abilities and the Mirror Lancers of Cigoerne to invade or dominate Afrit?”
“That thought had never crossed my mind. In the end, I fear, such an attempt now, or any time in the near future, would eventually result in disaster for Cigoerne.”
Aenslem frowns. “Why do you say that?”
“The merchanters of Afrit have too many golds and too much experience in using them in ways to undermine simple lancers or even most Cigoernean factors and crafters.” That is not all he has learned, but all that he needs to say.
Aenslem laughs, heartily. “Stars! You’re wasted as an overcaptain. I suspected that from the beginning.” With that, he picks up a small silver bell that rests on the desk and rings it gently.
Lerial can sense a door opening and turns to discover that an entire panel in the south wall of the study has swung out, revealing a space and a circular staircase to a lower level. Stepping into the study is the serving girl he has seen before, who closes the panel behind herself.