Rhamuel laughs. “The landowners certainly think so. They claim the merchanters come and go, just like the goods they trade for.”
“And the land remains,” adds Ascaar. “Often overgrazed, overharvested, and near useless, but it remains … with what little soil has not blown away.”
“Bad landowners and inept merchants aren’t that much different.” Rhamuel smiles sardonically. “They both end up poor and blaming someone else.”
“While an ineffective Guard officer just ends up disabled or dead,” comments Ascaar.
And unfortunate or bad rulers end up even worse. “I think you answered my question.” Lerial clears his throat. “What can you tell me about Merchanter Graemaald?”
“He is both a landowner and a merchanter,” replies Rhamuel. “He invented a device that separates the seeds from the cotton bolls. He didn’t tell anyone. Not until he bought a vast holding of land that was somewhat salty, and the rights to water from the local river. He planted cotton, and is now the largest cotton factor in Afrit.”
Lerial wonders exactly why such a wealthy factor might feel himself beholden to the arms-commander. Unless … “Does he supply the cloth for the Guard uniforms?”
“He does, but there are others who would feel that they should also be able to sell their cloth to the Guard.”
Will all of the merchanters at this dinner be looking for similar advantages? Most likely, Lerial suspects.
The large dwellings become larger as the boulevard rises gradually, Then, after another kay or so, Rhamuel gestures. “There.”
The iron-grille gates on the north side of the boulevard—set into two redstone posts—are drawn back. Two guards, wearing white livery with brown leather belts, scabbards, and boots, stand in front of the gatehouse. A stone-paved lane, flanked on both sides by a trimmed juniper hedge slightly more than a yard in height, leads from the gates through a park-like setting, although Lerial does not see either gardens or flower beds. On a rise at the end of the lane stands a three-level redstone dwelling with two wings angled back from the circular main section. Lerial estimates the distance from the end of one wing to the end of the other at more than a hundred yards.
Six of the Afritan Guard rankers remain at the gatehouse, while the other four trail the arms-commander and the two officers as they ride up the stone lane. Two more liveried guards are posted at the base of the steps up to the columned entry portico, and four stableboys stand ready to lead away mounts. Rhamuel dismounts first, followed by Lerial, then Ascaar.
A burly man in shimmering white trousers and an overtunic belted in gold, with shimmering white boots, hurries forward to greet the arms-commander as Rhamuel reaches the shade at the top of the steps. “Arms-Commander! Welcome to Maaldyn!”
“Thank you. For the welcome and especially for hosting this dinner.” Rhamuel’s words are warm, as is his smile, and both are practiced, Lerial can sense. “Might I introduce you to Lord Lerial, not only the son of Duke Kiedron, but a quite accomplished overcaptain in the Mirror Lancers?”
Graemaald inclines his head, then says, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lerial. A pleasure indeed. Come, I must show you to the terrace. Many of the guests are already here. They are anxious to meet you both.”
Lerial notices that Graemaald does not even look in Ascaar’s direction, but Rhamuel has also noticed, for he immediately says, “And this is Subcommander Ascaar, a senior battalion commander in the Afritan Guard.”
“Subcommander! Welcome!” With that, and a gesture for them to follow, Graemaald turns and walks swiftly along the center of the columns and through the open double doors into a vaulted entry hall a good ten yards wide and almost as deep, then straight back along a wide corridor floored in large shimmering white tiles. The walls are plastered in a shade of off-white that holds the faintest greenish hue.
Lerial looks into the chambers they pass, for the doors are all open. He sees a lady’s study, which adjoins a ladies’ salon. On the other side of the wide hall is a spacious library, and a study that adjoins it. Then there is what appears to be a receiving room, with a large dining chamber beyond, but Graemaald does not lead them through that archway, but through an open set of double doors out into a walled courtyard garden, filled with blooms and greenery, that stretches some twenty-five yards on aside. The archway at the rear of the courtyard leads out into an immense semicircular and roofed terrace that stretches from the outside of one wing to the outside of the other. A long table is set in the middle with white linen and shimmering cutlery, tall candelabra, crystal goblets and beakers, and porcelain chargers at each place setting.
“Refreshments before dinner are on the east side,” explains the merchanter, leading the way. “Where you can see almost all of Shaelt and the river.”