Read Online Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio by L. E. Modesitt Jr. - Free Book Online
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
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that covered the brick lane and then along the foot-packed path from the scholarium to the anomen.
Gauswn led the way to the main door of the building and stepped into the vestibule. “The private hallway is this way.” He opened a narrow ancient ironbound door that Quaeryt had only vaguely noticed in passing on the few occasions he had visited the scholarium’s anomen.
The long hallway, barely illumined by a single oil lamp, led to a narrow staircase whose stone steps bore the hollows worn by years of choristers’ footsteps. At the bottom of the staircase, there was another passage to the right, again dimly lit by a single oil lamp in a wall sconce. Quaeryt found the near darkness oppressive, but less than five yards from the bottom of the steps was a door, beside which stood two older students.
“He’s in his bed.” Gauswn pointed to the door. “He said he needed to talk to you alone. I’ll wait out here.”
“I’ll try not to tire him.”
Gauswn nodded, but then said, “Please … sir … do let him say what he must, whatever that may be.”
Quaeryt smiled sadly. “I will.” He opened the door, stepped into the chamber, and shut the door behind him. The sole light came from a pair of high and narrow windows, only one of which was unshuttered, and just on one side. The furnishings were few, just the bed, a night table beside it, an armoire, a writing desk, and a chair—which had been pulled up close to the bed.
The old chorister, whose still wavy brown hair, without a trace of white, was so in contrast to the drawn and lined features of his face, smiled faintly as Quaeryt walked over to the narrow bed and sat on the chair.
“I came as soon as I could.”
“I … thought … you would.”
Quaeryt waited.
“Thank you … for Gauswn. He will be … a good chorister.” Cyrethyn took a wheezing breath. “A better chorister than an officer…”
“He was a good officer,” said Quaeryt.
“He will be … he already is … a better chorister … and you … you have not disappointed him. He will always look up to you.”
That was something Quaeryt had worried about more than once. “I wish he did not.”
“No … you must understand that he does … Never forget it … you … there is more about you … and … you must … must never … disappoint those who believe … in you.…” Cyrethyn was gasping as he finished those words.
Quaeryt wanted to ask if there was any way he could make Cyrethyn more comfortable, but knowing there was not, he remained silent until Cyrethyn’s breathing eased somewhat. “Is there anything else … I should know?”
The slightest smile crossed the old man’s lips. “You would make … a fine chorister … but … the world would be … poorer for it.”
Quaeryt did not wish to dispute either, much as he doubted both of Cyrethyn’s assertions, so he just sat on the stool and smiled warmly. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You … have done all I hoped … so far … just … do … not … disappoint them.…”
Even those words exhausted the old man, and Quaeryt nodded, rather than speak. For perhaps a quint he sat there, long after the chorister’s eyelids closed and he drifted into sleep. Finally, Quaeryt rose and walked to the door, opening it quietly and stepping outside, trying to close it equally silently.
“Is he…?” asked Gauswn.
“He told me what he wanted me to know. He’s sleeping or dozing now.”
“Thank you for coming,” said Gauswn.
“I could do no less for him.” Quaeryt shook his head. “But there is also little else I can do.”
“You saved the scholarium and the anomen, sir, and he cared greatly for both.”
“He was devoted to both.” Unlike some.
After several moments of silence, Gauswn cleared his throat. “I’ll see you out, sir.”
“There’s no need. Cyrethyn needs you more than I do.”
“He’d be very disappointed, sir, if I didn’t at least see you to the
Gauswn led the way to the main door of the building and stepped into the vestibule. “The private hallway is this way.” He opened a narrow ancient ironbound door that Quaeryt had only vaguely noticed in passing on the few occasions he had visited the scholarium’s anomen.
The long hallway, barely illumined by a single oil lamp, led to a narrow staircase whose stone steps bore the hollows worn by years of choristers’ footsteps. At the bottom of the staircase, there was another passage to the right, again dimly lit by a single oil lamp in a wall sconce. Quaeryt found the near darkness oppressive, but less than five yards from the bottom of the steps was a door, beside which stood two older students.
“He’s in his bed.” Gauswn pointed to the door. “He said he needed to talk to you alone. I’ll wait out here.”
“I’ll try not to tire him.”
Gauswn nodded, but then said, “Please … sir … do let him say what he must, whatever that may be.”
Quaeryt smiled sadly. “I will.” He opened the door, stepped into the chamber, and shut the door behind him. The sole light came from a pair of high and narrow windows, only one of which was unshuttered, and just on one side. The furnishings were few, just the bed, a night table beside it, an armoire, a writing desk, and a chair—which had been pulled up close to the bed.
The old chorister, whose still wavy brown hair, without a trace of white, was so in contrast to the drawn and lined features of his face, smiled faintly as Quaeryt walked over to the narrow bed and sat on the chair.
“I came as soon as I could.”
“I … thought … you would.”
Quaeryt waited.
“Thank you … for Gauswn. He will be … a good chorister.” Cyrethyn took a wheezing breath. “A better chorister than an officer…”
“He was a good officer,” said Quaeryt.
“He will be … he already is … a better chorister … and you … you have not disappointed him. He will always look up to you.”
That was something Quaeryt had worried about more than once. “I wish he did not.”
“No … you must understand that he does … Never forget it … you … there is more about you … and … you must … must never … disappoint those who believe … in you.…” Cyrethyn was gasping as he finished those words.
Quaeryt wanted to ask if there was any way he could make Cyrethyn more comfortable, but knowing there was not, he remained silent until Cyrethyn’s breathing eased somewhat. “Is there anything else … I should know?”
The slightest smile crossed the old man’s lips. “You would make … a fine chorister … but … the world would be … poorer for it.”
Quaeryt did not wish to dispute either, much as he doubted both of Cyrethyn’s assertions, so he just sat on the stool and smiled warmly. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You … have done all I hoped … so far … just … do … not … disappoint them.…”
Even those words exhausted the old man, and Quaeryt nodded, rather than speak. For perhaps a quint he sat there, long after the chorister’s eyelids closed and he drifted into sleep. Finally, Quaeryt rose and walked to the door, opening it quietly and stepping outside, trying to close it equally silently.
“Is he…?” asked Gauswn.
“He told me what he wanted me to know. He’s sleeping or dozing now.”
“Thank you for coming,” said Gauswn.
“I could do no less for him.” Quaeryt shook his head. “But there is also little else I can do.”
“You saved the scholarium and the anomen, sir, and he cared greatly for both.”
“He was devoted to both.” Unlike some.
After several moments of silence, Gauswn cleared his throat. “I’ll see you out, sir.”
“There’s no need. Cyrethyn needs you more than I do.”
“He’d be very disappointed, sir, if I didn’t at least see you to the
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