Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [109]
Kavarthin smiled back. “Well, Captain—my lord Captain, I suppose that will be next season—you may find you enjoy such clothes. I’m certain you will enjoy your new rank. Most men do.” He glanced at the sleeves of his traditional banker’s black gown, where four narrow rows of velvet decorated the black cloth.
Arcolin had not noticed them before and was moved to ask. “If it is not impertinent—and forgive my ignorance—what does that signify?”
Kavarthin smiled. “That I am of the first degree in the guild. And this—” He pointed to the ring on his finger. “—this says I am Guildmaster here in Valdaire. All members of the Moneychangers’ Guild answer to me.” His smile broadened. “At a certain profit to me, of course.”
Arcolin remembered the merchant stripped of his Guild membership in Cortes Vonja. “What happens to those you dismiss?”
Kavarthin shrugged. “It matters nothing to me. Of all the trades, my lord Captain, the trade of money itself must be most closely observed. It is too easy to cheat, too easy to shave a coin or pass false coinage, too easy to take as one’s own the money entrusted to us by others. We must be diligent, we must be honest, and we must be unfailingly harsh with those who lie to or steal from those who trust them. Else no one will trust any of us, and when that trust fails, we are all back to trading a cow for two pigs or a shirt for a loaf of bread. Commerce would cease; cities would fall; it would be worse chaos than Siniava’s War. And so I, and the other city Guildmasters, keep watch over our guild members.”
And who kept watch over the Guildmasters? Arcolin did not like to ask, but Kavarthin was already answering.
“You will wonder who watches over us—we also are men, and all are tempted at some time or other. At any time, members of my guild, or certain other guilds, may demand to go through our accounts, and even count what is in our vaults. If I were not honest, this would keep me so, for the penalty for a Guildmaster’s dishonesty is unpleasant in the extreme.” He paused, his nose wrinkling. “Public torture and death. It is that serious.”
Arcolin spent the rest of the day preparing for the cohort’s arrival and buying the few supplies he and Stammel would need on their ride to Vérella.
Arcolin and Stammel rode away from Valdaire several days before the cohort was due to arrive. They made an early start and by midday were well above the city. The air was already crisper, and a cool breeze slid down the mountains toward them.
They switched to their spare mounts and rode on. That night they avoided the clutter of wagons and animals, the noise and smells of the one caravansary, and camped higher on the mountain slope, the pass itself looming above them. It was chilly but quiet, peaceful. When the horses had been grained and hobbled, Arcolin unrolled their blankets on a soft stretch of ground, and they ate supper looking back down the Vale of Valdaire.
“I can see it in my mind,” Stammel said. He had been quiet all afternoon. “We’re up above the road, around the bend from the noise … and that way is Valdaire … it’s getting dark; we’ll see—I’d see the lights soon, even from here.”
“D’ you remember the first time you saw it, Stammel?” Arcolin asked.
“Oh, yes.” Stammel smiled. “Just a lad I was then, a recruit who thought he knew more than he did. I’d seen Vérella and thought I knew all about cities. Mountains, too, I thought I knew. And then we came over the pass, and the Vale of Valdaire opened out below, all the way to the sea, it seemed, and a southern breeze came up with smells I’d never imagined. I’ve seen it on their faces every year since, the northern recruits.”
“I saw it first from the west,” Arcolin said. “You know I came from the Westmounts. Very different view, walking in from Czardas. Lived there a year, off and on … but I never really knew it until I’d gone north and come back, over the pass.”
“I suppose … now … there’s no chance my sight