“The innkeeper says the local garrison commander is someone named General Attemill,” Donald told them when he got back to the table. “He has a house in town. That’s who would get a message about something like this, isn’t it?”
General Attemill? Several years had suffered snowy deaths since Kwestor last heard the name. He thought he had retired. “Yes, probably. Or he’d at least be aware of it. I didn’t know he’d been posted here. But trying to see him would be a waste of time.”
“You know him?”
“I served as a scout for him a couple times. That was years ago, though.”
“Do you think he’ll talk to me?”
“He might. But I still don’t see the point. If we leave now, we can be back in Greatbridge in about two weeks.”
“Kwestor, I don’t think staying a few more days will hurt anything, and I really do need to see how the commoners live. This seems to be like a good place to do that. I know I’ve had a few unfortunate encounters, but I really think I’m learning a lot. How much trouble can I get into in town, after all?”
A lot, thought Kwestor, but he could sense the prince’s determination, so he decided to acquiesce for the moment. He would just have to make sure to keep a closer eye out for him. “If you insist.”
“Thank you. So, what can you tell me about General Attemill? What’s he like?”
“Competent. He’s a bit more casual than your standard military type, though, and he tends to be disturbingly cheerful unless there is a crisis.”
“But you think he’ll see us.”
The ranger shrugged. “Probably. We parted on good terms, and none of your father’s officers would turn down a social visit from a prince unless it conflicted with their duties. Whether he’ll tell you anything about that message or not is another thing, so prepare to be disappointed.”