Recluce - Colors Of Chaos Part 53

Cerryl stepped forward as Pullid eased out of the carriage. "Ser Pullid?"

The bulky man in gray and scarlet turned. "I do not believe I know you ser mage. Young ser mage." Cerryl ignored the condescending tone. "I was hoping you might ring your vast knowledge of finance to my aid." He offered what he hoped was a warm smile.

Pullid merely scowled. "What would a mage need to know of finance?"

"Well... we do raise some coins, through the a.s.sistance of rulers like the viscount, of course, in order to build and maintain the great White highways. All say you are the one who is most important in a.s.sisting Finance Minister Dursus and that you know the best ways to ensure the collection of tariffs and such. We have had some difficulty in Montgren," Cerryl lied, "and I thought I might ask for your advice."

Pullid continued to frown without responding.

Cerryl could read the man's thoughts from his face. He didn't want to offend a mage, particularly one brought on a war campaign, since that meant one able to turn him to ash. But Pullid clearly did not wish to talk to Cerryl.

"I wondered... obviously the viscount has roads of his own to maintain. Is that a separate tariff, or do you collect them both together?"

"We would not dare to collect taxes more than once." Pullid offered a slightly off-key laugh. "Even once is difficult enough."

Cerryl nodded as he gained a definite feel for the man.

"Now ... if you will excuse me ..."

"Of course." Cerryl bowed, if but slightly.

Back in his guest quarters, he took out the gla.s.s. Perhaps he had stirred Pullid into action. The next image was that of Pullid talking to the finance minister, but from what Cerryl could tell, Dursus seemed unmoved, talking easily, before finally motioning Pullid out of the paneled study or office. Pullid walked until he reached a smaller, a much smaller, paneled room, where he sat behind a table for a long time, long enough that Cerryl finally had to let the image lapse before his head threatened to burst.

His problem still remained. How could he prove the viscount was diverting coins? Everything Cerryl felt told him that it was happening, but he had not one single vision or item even remotely close to proof. Most likely, his efforts had only made everyone nervous and unhappy with one mage named Cerryl. Yet if he didn't push, how would he find anything in a city where he knew no one?

He sat on the bed and ma.s.saged his neck and forehead, trying to ma.s.sage away the headache.

Perhaps later.

Lx.x.xII.

Cerryl sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the gla.s.s that rested on the braided oval rug-a rug that might once have been green but now appeared gray.

The silver mists vanished, and he was left with a blank gla.s.s reflecting the timbered ceiling. He was getting nowhere through screeing.

His brief interchange with Pullid had led nowhere, nor had his repeated attempts to track the man with the screeing gla.s.s. Finance Minister Dursus never seemed to leave the palace, except to be driven to and from his luxurious home on the hill south of the one on which the prefect's palace perched. While Pullid traveled to meet a number of people, even armsmen and those who appeared to be tax collectors, Cerryl could never see any trace of coins, let alone anything other than conversations, usually brief. He wished he could hear what he watched, but the gla.s.s did not allow such.

In the three days since their arrival, the viscount had hosted no more meals.

Cerryl and Fydel had eaten with the Certan officers on a less formal and far less sumptuous basis in a stone-walled hall in the lower level of the barracks building.

Cerryl had already explored the barracks building in which he and Fydel were housed, finding it more than half-empty but with the feel of recently having been more fully utilized. Were the absent armsmen and officers those hara.s.sing Spidlar in one way or another?

Speculating and observing through the gla.s.s wasn't going to reveal any more than it had. Of that Cerryl was rapidly being convinced. Either he couldn't see what was going on or he couldn't recognize it. He somehow needed to find another approach.

Cerryl leaned back on the bed.

He'd been trying to find out things from those who collected the taxes and tariffs... and finding nothing. That could be because he didn't know what to look for and where or because the collectors knew he or someone was watching and could simply outwait him.

Who paid the tariffs?

Those who had coins, and the ones most likely to have coins were factors and traders. Cerryl, unhappily, hadn't met that many traders, either inside or outside Fairhaven. In fact, Narst, the trader he'd begged a ride from on his rather painful journey from Hydolar to Fairhaven, was probably the only real trader Cerryl had met, just as Layel was the only real factor he knew.

Narst had mentioned some names... The one from Spidlar wouldn't do, but what had been the name in Jellico? Fedor? No... Freidr, or something like that.

You can't do any worse than you're doing so far.

He struggled to his feet and pulled on the white jacket. While his room was cool, outside would be cold and wet from the spring snow flurries. After closing his door, he made his way down the corridor and steps to the courtyard and to the stable.

He stood for a moment outside the stable, then cleared his throat. Finally, he whistled.

A pale face appeared. "Ah, yes, ser?"

"I'm going riding," Cerryl told the ostler.

"Oh, you've the big gentle gelding?"

"That's right."

"Be a few moments, ser."

"I'll wait."

Cerryl studied the courtyard, sensing the age of the structures that surrounded the stable, seemingly far older than even the ancient buildings of Fairhaven.

"Here he be." The ostler led out the gelding.

Cerryl glanced at the red and white livery, wondering if he would be better off without such an announcement, then shrugged. "Thank you."

The ostler nodded.

The gelding whuffed as Cerryl swung himself into the saddle, then walked easily toward the archway from the courtyard. From the low gray sky occasional intermittent fat flakes of snow fell, all melting almost instantly upon hitting the stones of the street. A few patches of white clung to sections of roofs. Cerryl guided the gelding downhill and eastward to the Market Square.

He reined up beside the porch of a store, where an older man, dressed in dark blue was talking with a younger bearded man.

Both turned as they became aware of the rider watching them.

"Ser mage?"

"I'm looking for a trader. Freidr or some such," Cerryl offered.

"Freidr?" The younger man frowned.

The older one nodded. "Son of Fearkl."

"Could you tell me where his place is?"

"Like as I recall, not that many trade as much with him as his sire, the narrow street off the north corner of the square-back there." The older man pointed. "His place is about a hundred cubits off the square. It be a plain building without a sign."

"How will I tell if it doesn't have a sign?" Cerryl asked.

"Between the cooper's and Wrys the silversmith's. Should have said that."

"Thank you both." Cerryl inclined his head.

"Freidr ... a trader? Fop and a fool... sister a better man than he be."

"Takes all kinds, Biuskr."

The trader's sister a better man? Cerryl frowned but kept his eyes on the north side of the street, ignoring for the most part the bustle of the square to his right.

The corner street was narrow, barely wide enough for a wagon and a mount at the same time, and the building was ancient. How long had the family been in factoring?

Cerryl dismounted and tied the gelding to the iron ring set in the stone post almost at the door, then rapped loudly. There was no answer. He waited a time, then rapped again.

Finally, the door opened, but Cerryl could see the heavy chains on the inside of the antique oak. Behind the chains stood a thin woman with fine blond hair twisted into a single braid down her back. Wispy hairs escaped both the braid and the sides of her head. "Yes, ser?"

"I'm looking for the trader Freidr."

Her eyes widened, not meeting Cerryl's, and she swallowed. "A moment, ser, a moment, I a.s.sure you he will be here." The door was not closed quite all the way, as if to make a statement, but the iron chains remained in place, forming an arc between door and frame.

"Who be it now?" came a rough voice from the dimness beyond the door.

"... one of them ... another one ... didn't say ..."

A pale face appeared behind the chains. "I'm Freidr."

"I'd like to speak to you, then," Cerryl said politely.

After a moment, the man loosened the chains, held the door, and stepped back.

Short and squat, he wore a new dark blue tunic and matching trousers. His boots glistened even in the gloom of the small foyer.

Cerryl took in the dark beard and the cold blue eyes, eyes that did not meet his gaze, though they almost seemed to. The man was hiding something, but why was he afraid of Cerryl? Surely not just because I'm a mage?

"Might as well go to the office." Freidr closed the door, replaced the chains in their slots, and turned to his right, heading down a narrow pa.s.sageway, then turning into a small room. The trader closed the door after Cerryl entered.

An ancient oil lamp set in a green-tinged copper bracket on the wall spilled light across the s.p.a.ce. On one wall was a cage of iron bars with heavy wooden racks behind it. The three strongboxes behind the iron seemed almost lost in the rack shelves that could have held nearly a score.

Freidr sat behind the table-desk, his arms on the table, waiting. Cerryl took one of the antique wooden straight-backed chairs, a chair that felt as old as the building that held it.

"How might I help you?" Freidr offered a professional smile, but his eyes still did not quite meet Cerryl's.

"The trader Narst mentioned you," Cerryl offered.

"I'm a factor who deals with many traders." Freidr presented an apologetic smile.

"I am sure you do. You also deal with the prefect's tax collectors."

"Every factor must do so, especially with the road taxes imposed by the Guild at Fairhaven." Despite the chill in the room, perspiration had already begun to seep from the dark-bearded factor's forehead.

"Do you keep records of the taxes you pay?" Cerryl raised his eyebrows.

"Surely you're not suggesting ... You already had the warehouse searched."

"I didn't have anything searched," Cerryl pointed out, wondering just what had been going on in Jellico that Freidr was so fearful of a young White mage.

"No ... you might as well have ... The prefect's inspectors did."

"Was it Pullid?" Cerryl tried to keep his tone casual.

"He stood there, but you think he'd dirty his hands? I don't know their names, the ones who went over the accounts. They said they were looking for goods stolen from you White mages."

Cerryl looked at the sweating trader, then smiled. "Why don't you just show me the tax records?"

"You'll take them. Then what will I do when Pullid comes back next year?"

"I won't take them," Cerryl a.s.sured him. "I'm looking for something very different. It appears ... Let me just say that there are irregularities in the tariff records. It would help ... and I'm sure you'd want to be helpful." As he smiled more broadly, Cerryl felt as though he were acting just like Anya.

Freidr sighed.

Cerryl let his senses range ahead of the trader as the man turned and lifted out a ledger and an old wooden box, one that reeked of age.

"Here ..." The factor offered another sigh as he pushed the ledger toward Cerryl.

"You can see. I've paid them all-every last one."

Cerryl scanned the receipts, mentally totaled the numbers ... then frowned. One was signed with another name-Liedral.

"Liedral-that's your ... sister ..." A cold feeling settled over Cerryl, and his eyes felt like ice as he looked at the factor.

Freidr cringed in the chair, as though he had been struck. "I did what you people wanted ... what the other bearded ..."

"Fydel, you mean?" Cerryl asked.

"That's what he said his name was ..."

Cerryl forced himself to be calm, although he wasn't sure why he was getting agitated. He hadn't done anything. He hadn't even been able to see what had happened until it was over and done. You still feel guilty ... because the Guild did it and you feel it was wrong? "The matter with your sister is something entirely different. This deals with golds. You have paid on the order of 15 percent of your receipts-at least is what you claim."

"It's 15 percent.. . and it's of everything. Pullid, he went through everything ...

everything. That's what you mages require."

Cerryl nodded. "And he told you that he would send one of us after you if you didn't show everything?"

"He didn't have to ... We know that."

Cerryl forced a smile. "Would you mind telling me how you know that?"