“His study,” Cerryl suggested.
Kalesin turned down the hallway to the left of the marble staircase, stopping at a small door some fifteen cubits to the left of the double doors to the dining hall. “Eliasar used the dining hall for meetings but the study here for his own working space.”
Cerryl opened the door and stepped inside, noting the scrolls still stacked under a stone paperweight shaped like a mountain cat. The side walls were wooden shelves filled with leather-bound volumes, and a wide window behind the desk offered a view of the harbor. The study was so warm that Cerryl had begun to sweat, and he stepped past the desk and opened the paired windows. Then, turning, he studied the ancient desk, polished wood, adorned with various bronze protrusions-an elaborate and ugly piece of good workmanship. “Sit down.”
Kalesin took the single armless chair on the other side of the desk.
“Tell me exactly how Eliasar was killed. Exactly.”
“It wasn’t anything special.” Kalesin shrugged. “I mean the way it was set up. Eliasar inspected the barracks, the ones we took over from the blues, every six-day. He was riding over there, and someone put three iron bolts in him.”
Cerryl nodded, even as he again wanted to shake Kalesin. “Three bolts? Did they strike him all at once?”
“Pretty much, it seemed. He was ashes before long, before I got there.”
Cerryl turned his eyes full on the sandy-haired mage. “Did you have any thought that something like this might happen?” He concentrated on applying his truth-reading skills to the other.
“No, ser. I mean… we knew the traders were not pleased with the edict that all sea trading had to be carried out here and inspected by me.”
“Three crossbow bolts-and they all hit at once. What does that tell you?”
“There were three crossbowmen.”
“How good were they?”
“They had to be good.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange in a land where most armsmen were killed or had fled?”
“Ah… when you put it that way, ser. Ah, yes.”
“Was there any reaction from the traders?”
“No one said anything.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“Not about Eliasar’s death, except to tell them that nothing had changed.”
But it had… From what Cerryl could tell, Kalesin was telling the truth, and that meant that whoever had planned Eliasar’s death had understood both the Guild and Kalesin’s obvious limitations. That meant Cerryl had to act immediately.
“Kalesin… I wish to see every factor in Spidlaria, and every trader. I also want a listing of the assistants to each of those traders. Not all the assistants, but the ones who are important, who might take over each factor’s house if the factor died. Oh, and I want to see them starting tomorrow. Make sure Reylerk is here, but not the first one I see.”
Kalesin swallowed. “They will not be pleased.”
“The High Wizard is not pleased. The Council is not pleased. The Guild is not pleased. You might suggest to those who wish to demur that Diev is no more because a mage died.” Cerryl smiled coldly. “And suggest to them that they would not like to suffer because one of their brother traders was unavailable to meet with the arms mage of Spidlar.”
“Yes, ser.” Kalesin’s words were resigned.
“You had best be going to arrange those meetings. Make sure that a full company of lancers is on duty outside here before they arrive.” Cerryl let the smile fade. You sound worse than Anya… He stood. “When you have all the arrangements made, come back and inform me. Bring a list that holds the names of all those I will see-and those you could not find. Best there not be many of the latter.”
“Yes, ser.” Kalesin backed out of the study.
Once the door closed, Cerryl sank into the armchair behind the too-ornate desk. You’re where you don’t want to really be, with an assistant who thinks he should be Eliasar’s successor and a bunch of local traders who hate Fairhaven and probably would pay to kill every mage in Spidlar if they could get away with it. And you’re supposed to come up with a way to improve trade and tariffs.
CXLIX
Morning found Cerryl in the study munching through cheese and hard biscuits and studying the stack of scrolls and papers Eliasar had left behind, many of them lists. Lists of shops, lists of existing provisions, lists of provisions needed, lists of names, some without even the sketchiest of explanations.
Abruptly he looked up. Lyasa! She was somewhere around, and he had yet to see her. He rang the handbell.
Kalesin peered in.
“Kalesin, where is Lyasa?”
“Ah… she’s been in charge of the patrols maintaining order in Spidlaria and on the roads.”
That made sense, from what Cerryl had seen of Kalesin so far. “Get a message to her. I’d like to see her at her convenience early this afternoon. How are we coming with the merchants?”
“The merchants and factors are waiting, ser.” Kalesin inclined his head, then handed Cerryl a sheet of rough brown paper. “Those are the ones who cannot be found.”
Cerryl glanced down the list. None of the names meant anything to him, and that would be another problem. He rolled the list and slipped it into his right hand. He stood and walked around the overornate desk. “You had the table moved? So that I can see them in the hall?”
“Yes, ser.”
Cerryl walked toward the former dining hall. Hiser and four lancers stood waiting outside the carved and polished double doors.
“Natrey and Jlen will stand by you inside, ser,” Hiser said. “Foyst and Lyant will guard the door.”
Kalesin glanced from Hiser to Cerryl, then back to the lancer captain. The mage assistant moistened his lips. “Four… ?”
“I suggested six, ser, but the master arms mage convinced me four Would be enough.” Hiser smiled. “With a full company outside.”
“These people… they…” Kalesin’s words trailed off.
“We’ve lost enough mages in Spidlar,” Cerryl said. “And I’m going to put a stop to it.” Just like Jeslek was going to conquer the place and like Eliasar was going to put it in order? He pushed open one of the double doors and stepped into the former dining hall, glancing at the big chair, standing alone in the long room. “I’ll need a small table here, to the side where I can write.” He could feel and sense the repressed sigh and anger from his reluctant assistant mage. “I think I mentioned that earlier, Kalesin. I would appreciate it if you would take care of it now.” You sound like Sterol-or Jeslek. Does power do that? Or is it the frustration that comes with trying to do more than you have time for or knowledge about? Kalesin bowed and left.
After the door closed, Hiser glanced from the closed door to Cerryl. Cerryl nodded. “I know.” He smiled wryly. “I’m guessing that you have concerns about our assistant mage.”
“Begging your pardon, ser… and it not be a captain’s place…”
“Go ahead. You’re more interested in my health than he is.”
“He is most wroth that you were picked to succeed Eliasar. The lancers are not.”
“Let us hope they continue to feel that way.” Especially since you have no real idea how to fix the mess that Spidlar has become.
Kalesin returned, followed by two lancers, one bearing a side table and the other paper and an inkwell, quill, and stand. “Did you get that message off to Mage Lyasa?”
“Yes, ser.”
“I hope so. We’re old friends.” Cerryl offered a cold smile that he hoped showed Kalesin that Cerryl was well aware the message had not been dispatched. “I’m ready to see the first of the traders.”
Flanked by two lancers with bared blades, Cerryl sat in the chair he had once claimed for Jeslek, looking down at the thin black-haired and bearded trader who had walked in and stood a good five paces back from Cerryl. The man bowed his head deferentially, although Cerryl could sense the defiance. “Your name?”
“Joseffal.”
“You factor what?”
“Today, ser, I factor nothing. There are no ships, and the people have no coins.”
Ceryl could sense the lies. “You mean that you report no factoring and you try to keep it hidden?”
Joseffal did not raise his eyes. “The great White wizard took the most part of what all of us had.”
“What did you factor?”
“Cloth, ser. Wools, linens, silks, velvets.”
“You didn’t factor… say… crossbows?” The bewilderment from within the trader was clear. “No, ser.”
“Do you know any armsmen who have been in Spidlaria recently?”
Cerryl persisted.
“No, ser. Except those in white.” The sweat dribbled down the side of the man’s face, but his words remained true.
Cerryl unrolled the paper Kalesin had given him. “What do you know about Yerakal?” He’d picked the name at random.
“Yerakal?” Another puzzled expression crossed Joseffal’s face. “He left long before even Kleth fell.”
“What did he factor?”
“He was a wool factor, ser. Just wools, from everywhere in the world.”
“What about Hieraltal?”
Joseffal swallowed. “Ah… he left also.”
Cerryl could sense the man’s apprehension, but his words came across as true. “And he was one of the ones who factored arms for Spidlar? Like crossbows and blades?”
“Ah… I’d be only guessing, ser, but some said he made golds on blades and bolts.”
“And he’s never returned?”
“No, ser.”
Cerryl asked about another three factors on Kalesin’s list before nodding. “We will have another talk about what you’re really factoring later, Joseffal. You may go.”
As the trader bowed and turned, Cerryl glanced at Kalesin. “A moment before the next.”
“Yes, ser.”
Cerryl dipped the quill in the inkstand and began to jot down notes about Joseffal and the “missing” factors. Then he nodded.
The second trader was burly, but he, too, kept his eyes averted as he stepped into the converted dining hall.
“Your name?” Cerryl asked.
“Aliaskar, ser wizard.” Aliaskar had a high, thin voice, surprising for such a big man.
“What do you factor?”
“Clay, ser.”
Cerryl wanted to laugh. Of course, with the need for pottery, china, and storage urns, someone had to factor clay.
“What do you know of crossbows?”
Aliaskar frowned under his lowered brow but answered, “They kill people. Beyond that, I little…”
Cerryl nodded and continued as he had with the first factor.
After each factor, he made notes on the sheets of paper.
Midday had neared when Reylerk stepped into the converted hall, bowing as he stepped forward, clearly not recognizing Cerryl. “You summoned me, master of Spidlaria?”
“I summoned all the traders and factors. You are Reylerk?”
“Yes, ser. That I am.”
“And what do you factor?”
“I once factored many things-timber, rare and precious woods, even the spidersilk from Naclos. Now there is little to factor and few who would buy such.” Like the others, Reylerk avoided Cerryl’s eyes.
Cerryl looked at Reylerk. “What do you know of how the mage Eliasar was murdered?”
“I know nothing…” The portly merchant’s words trembled, as if to reinforce his fear-and his lies. He coughed several times, dryly, as if forcing the cough, and his hand went to his mouth.
“Tell me what you know of crossbows.”
“They are weapons, ser.” The factor coughed again. “Save they are little use to a trader. They take too long to reload.”
“That is true. Have you traded in crossbows?”
“No, ser.”
Cerryl could sense that the crossbow subject was making Reylerk nervous, though the man hadn’t lied outright, from what Cerryl could tell.
“Have you met any crossbowmen in the past few eight-days?”
“No, ser.” Reylerk coughed and put his hand to his mouth again.
That had been an outright lie. “Reylerk… I spared you once. You are lying to me. Now… did you help plan the murder?”
The merchant gulped convulsively once more, swaying. Abruptly he collapsed on the stone tiles of the floor.
“Kalesin!” snapped Cerryl, sensing the ebb of both chaos and order that signified death.
The door opened, and the sandy-haired mage walked in. “Darkness!” His eyes went to the contorted figure. “Poison?”
“It would appear so.” Cerryl shook his head. “Have the body removed and dragged out past the others. Then turn it to ashes in the square.”
“Me… in the square.”
“Why not? Announce that he was one of those who plotted Eliasar’s murder. He was, but he wasn’t the only one.” Cerryl gestured for Hiser, who had peered inside the chamber. “Hiser. Kalesin will need an escort. This merchant admitted that he had helped plan Eliasar’s murder. He swallowed some poison before I could discover more. Kalesin is going to announce that in the square and then turn chaos on the corpse.”
“His… family… they will not… like that,” offered Kalesin.
“I’m sure they won’t. But the High Wizard would be most offended if he received an honorable burial after killing one of the most respected mages in Fairhaven.” Cerryl fixed his eyes on Kalesin. “Don’t you think so?”
“Ah, yes, ser.”
“Hiser, have one of your subofficers provide the escort for Mage Kalesin. I would like you to usher the remaining traders in to see me, as Kalesin was doing, while he is occupied.”
“Yes, ser.”
Cerryl waited until Kalesin left with two lancers and Reylerk’s body. Then he nodded at Hiser, and the questions resumed.
As Cerryl suspected, he learned little more about Eliasar’s death but a great deal more about which factors had traded in what-and received continued false protestations that no trading was occurring in Spidlaria.
He finished interviewing the factors Kalesin had rounded up early in the afternoon and retired with a pounding headache to the study. He carried a tray of bread and cheese and wine that one of Hiser’s lancers had gotten for him.
Lyasa was waiting, sitting in the straight-backed chair. She stood and offered a sheepish smile. “I sneaked in. I hope you don’t mind.”
Cerryl closed the study door and looked at Lyasa. The circles under her olive brown eyes were as dark as her black hair. “Sit back down before you fall over.”
“I look that bad?”
“Worse.” Cerryl offered a wry smile. “Tell me about it.” He set the tray on the edge of the desk closest to her. “Have some.”