‘Be at ease,’ he said softly. ‘I have not come as a bailiff. Do you sleep well, my lady?’
‘Ay,’ she said cautiously. ‘Though not as deep as I used to.’
‘I was just wondering if the noise of the wagons disturbs you late at night.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I sit at my window sometimes and watch them go by. I don’t get out much now. Too cold for me. It’s nice to watch life below my window.’
‘How often do they come through?’ he asked.
‘Maybe three times a week. Great convoys of them.’
‘Did they come last night?’
‘Ay, they did. Three hours before dawn.’
‘How many?’
‘Maybe fifty. Maybe a little less.’
‘I thank you for your time.’ He turned to leave. ‘It is very cold in here. Do you have no fuel?’
‘The Duke’s pension don’t extend to luxuries,’ she said.
‘My man fought for him for thirty years. He’s dead now, and his pension is halved. I get food, though. As for the cold – well, I’m used to it.’
‘I shall see that coal is delivered to you before the day is out, my lady.’
Pooris bowed once more, then stepped out into the cold, fresh air.
Chapter Ten
The cleric Cellis was arrested at his home and taken to the palace dungeons, where he was offered the choice between confession and torture. An intelligent man, and not without bravery, Cellis knew that following confession they would torture him anyway, and he chose to remain silent.
Pooris, Niro, the Duke and Karis observed the beginning of Cellis’s ordeal, then retired to the Duke’s apartments. Niro was sent to man the small office at Warehouse Street.
Just after dawn, with the stove recently lit and the room still cold, Niro was studying Cellis’ neat ledger when the door opened and a tall, burly man entered. Bald at the crown, his receding black hair cropped short, he removed a cloak lined with expensive fur and stood before the stove. ‘Where is Cellis?’ he asked.
‘He has been taken ill, sir. I am Niro, and – temporarily one hopes – in charge here.’
‘Ill? He seemed in good spirits yesterday.’
‘Frightening, is it not, how swiftly the onset of illness can render a man incapable?’ said Niro. ‘How may I be of service, sir?’
‘I have a convoy due today. But I fear it may be delayed until after dark.’
‘I see, sir, and so you would like me to request written authorization for the guards to open the gates?’
‘We could proceed that way,’ agreed the man, pulling up a chair and sitting down opposite Niro. He was wearing a heavy silk shirt of blue, embroidered with gold thread, and a fur-lined waistcoat of soft grey leather. If Niro saved his meagre wages for half a year he could not afford to buy either garment. ‘But it would be simpler,’ the man continued, ‘to find another solution.’
‘Another solution, sir? How can that be? The Duke’s orders are specific. The gates are closed at dusk and there can be no traffic thereafter, save with written authorization.’
‘Indeed that is the case,’ said the man. ‘But, in my experience, such authorization takes time, and effort, and – ‘ he grinned ‘ – a man’s weight in paperwork. I am sure there is a good reason for the Duke to create such a rule, but poor merchants like myself need to earn an honest crust. Often that means conducting one’s business swiftly – especially with perishable food.’
‘I am sure that is true, sir,’ said Niro, rising and adding two logs to the stove. ‘However, my understanding is that there is no private trade in food at present. The Duke, through merchants like yourself, buys all available supplies to keep the city fed. Therefore, whatever food is contained in your convoy is already under the ownership of the Duke. Not so?’
‘In theory, that is the case . . . Niro, did you say?’ The cleric nodded. ‘Well, Niro, I can see that you are an honest man. Do you know how I can make such a judgement?’
‘Indeed I do not, sir.’
‘Your tunic cost around eight copper pennies. The cloak hanging from the peg was no more than three.’ He glanced down. ‘Your boots are worn thin, the leather poor quality. Only an honest man would wear them.’