Wellspring of Chaos (14 page)

“Thought so,” Kharl mumbled.

“Why’d you say you’d lose the place?”

“Tariff farmer—Fyngel. Twice-doubled my tariff. Said he’d been ordered to by Lord West. Egen, I figure. No way I’d be able to raise twelve golds by the turn of winter.”

“Twelve… golds?”

Kharl nodded.

“Like a fortune. Egen musta wanted to hurt you bad,” said Jeka. “Don’t know which is worse, lord or tariff farmer.”

“Lord,” suggested Kharl. “Tariff farmers do as they’re told. May be greedy, but that’s what the lords want.”

“Justicers aren’t much better.”

“Not from what I’ve seen,” Kharl agreed. “My father, he said they were better in the old times, when Lord West’s grandsire was lord.”

“Can’t go back. Past doesn’t come again.”

“No.” Kharl swallowed, a lump in his throat at the words, sitting on stone rubble on the ruined northern side of the harbor, realizing again all that he’d lost. “It doesn’t.”

For the next eightday, every morning Kharl woke up listening, wondering whether that day would be the one that the Watch would find him, or whether another set of beggar-brigands would track and attack them. Neither happened—not in the space between the walls nor on their journeys down the shadowed sides of streets, alleys, and serviceways, but he was all too aware that either could—and still might.

After two days, he’d found a length of cast-off timber, and, over the next several, managed to use his belt knife to carve a grip on it, so that it could function as half staff or cudgel, while looking like a walking stick for a creaky old man. Since Kharl felt it was unwise to take the black staff with him, the makeshift stick and weapon offered some reassurance.

On sixday—at least, he thought it was sixday—Kharl woke early, almost shivering in a morning that verged on frosty. Jeka was still asleep behind her canvases. He wondered how long it might be before Hagan returned, but he knew that was eightdays away, maybe a half season at best, even with the so-called short voyage the Austran captain was making. If matters got too bad, perhaps Kharl could find another ship. Too bad? He nearly laughed out loud, but that would have wakened Jeka. He wasn’t certain how things could get much worse, not unless Egen caught him and tortured and hanged him. Had he been wrong just to leave the cooperage? He frowned, thinking. He couldn’t have sold the building and the business for enough golds even to pay the tariffs due. That was clear. But he still wondered.

The canvas shivered, and before long, Jeka appeared. “You look as if someone was goin‘ to hang you.” Kharl almost burst into laughter at the cheerful tone of her voice expressing such dour thoughts. “Sad to think I don’t dare show my face to buy food.“

“You do, and the Watch’ll be lookin‘ for you, quick-like. They keep asking for you.“

“You haven’t—”

“Haven’t told no one. Vaskal—one of ‘em sorta nice to me—get a copper from him now ’n then, he told me if I ever ran across you—said the cooper Kharl—be a gold in it for me…”

Kharl shook his head.

“I wouldn’t take no gold. Wouldn’t turn anyone over to Egen.” Jeka’s voice turned dark.

After a moment, Kharl spoke. “I was thinking about the cooperage. Was my da’s and my grandsire’s. Thought I’d be able to pass it on to my boys.“

“Not with pisser Egen after you. They say…” Jeka broke off her words.

“What?”

“… just things. He’s mean, a lot meaner ‘n he should be.”

Kharl could agree with that. “I thought I’d go out for a bit.”

“If you want… best be careful… still don’t know the alleys well as you should…”

Kharl stood. “I’ll be careful. Can’t always ask you to do everything.” After taking his makeshift stick and weapon, and gathering the ragged cloak that was far from warm enough around him, he eased his way up the wall. Once he was certain no one was in the serviceway, he clambered over and scuttled out of the serviceway and onto the street.

It was early enough that there were few about, just servants headed down to the fish market, and dockers and laborers. No one looked at the ragged beggar moving uphill toward the crafters’ section of Brysta, and when he began to ask for coppers, most moved well away from him.

As he neared his cooperage, Kharl moved from the main street into the alley that ran behind the Tankard, an alley likely to be empty in the morning. He kept his eyes open, and listened carefully, as he neared the rear of the cooperage. Both the rear door and the loading dock doorway had been carelessly boarded up. He watched for a time, but neither saw nor heard anyone.

He edged past the cooperage to Fifth Cross, where he turned back toward Crafters’ Lane. There he turned and limped slowly past the tinsmith’s, then Derdan’s woolen shop, and finally past the cooperage, as slowly as he could. The display window of the cooperage was covered with boards, and what he could see of the glass was streaked with dirt and a few pigeon droppings.

On the door, also boarded shut, was an oblong of parchment with a blue wax seal and a blue ribbon. Both parchment and ribbon showed signs of water spots and dust. Kharl peered and squinted at the parchment.

… know all by these present that the premises and contents will be presented at public auction on sevenday, the tenth week of fall… all may bid, save any related by blood to the former owner, the cooper Kharl…

Kharl caught sight of someone walking up the far side of the lane and looked away, slowly limping toward the square. From what he’d glimpsed, the rest of the notice had declared that no bid under fifteen golds would be accepted and had then merely spelled out the need for the winning bidder to be prepared to pay in gold at the conclusion of the auction.

The signature had been that of Reynol, Lord Justicer.

That didn’t surprise Kharl in the slightest, nor did the minimum price. Lord West wanted his tariffs, one way or another.

Kharl kept limping past Tyrbel’s scriptorium. The door was closed, but not boarded up. He wondered if Sanyle still lived there, or if she had gone to live with one of her older sisters—or if, horribly, Egen had taken her for his own purposes. The cooper’s lips tightened as he limped downhill toward the upper market square, the one now too good for him, where a beggar would be run off.

Sevenday came and went, as did eightday and oneday. Kharl’s stomach growled most of the time. The end-days had been lean, with fewer places for Jeka or Kharl to cadge or buy food cheaply. Thin clouds promised a brisk and cool day, but one without rain, and one suited for what Kharl needed to do. He opened his pack and took out a tunic.

Jeka looked at Kharl, quizzically, but not speaking.

“I’m going to leave for a few days,” he said. “You want to come?”

“Where?”

“Out to the southeast, a hamlet called Peachill.” Jeka cocked her head. “No. Better that you go alone.”

“You be all right?”

She laughed. “I was fine ‘fore you came… be all right if you go.”

“I’ll be back in a day or so.”

“That’s what—”

“I will,” Kharl said.

“I’ll see you then.” Jeka turned her head away. “I’m going out to see my boy.” Kharl didn’t know why he had to explain to Jeka, but he did. “I want to know if he’s all right.” He knew that, in some ways, going to Peachill was dangerous. Dangerous or not, he had to know that Warrl was all right.

“Why’d you leave him?”

“I didn’t. I told you. He left me. He was afraid I’d lose everything, and that somehow it was all my fault, and he wrote his aunt, and she came, and he left with her.”

Jeka looked up at him.

Kharl wasn’t sure how to read the darkness in her eyes. “I knew they were right, but how… how could I have just given up the cooperage?”

She didn’t say anything, but she might as well have stated that he’d lost it anyway, and lost his sons as well.

“I have to make sure he’s all right.” Kharl knew he was repeating himself, but she had to understand.

Jeka nodded. “I’ll be here.” She turned away.

Kharl pulled on his tunic and winter jacket. He’d wear the ragged cloak over the jacket until he was clear of Brysta, but he wasn’t going to see Warrl as a beggar. Especially not when his son was staying with Merayni.

Once he left the space between the walls, it took him more than a glass to reach the southeast road at the foot of the harbor on the outskirts of Brysta. No one seemed to be following him, but he kept walking until he was a good kay beyond the pillars that marked the limits of Brysta and until the road was empty. Only then did he shed the ragged cloak, roll it into a cylinder, and hide it in the hedgerow behind the stone wall. He paused a moment, trying to mark the location in his memory.

He kept the short walking stick, and it was almost a pleasure to be able to straighten up and stretch his legs along the gently curving road.

Midmorning came… and went, and he was still on the road.

Early in the afternoon, he saw a woman cleaning out her garden, and for several coppers, persuaded her to provide him with a half a loaf of bread, some hard cheese, a leek, and permission to use her well for water. The water and the food added some spring to his step, at least for another three or four kays, when his feet began to ache, and his steps slowed.

Still, by late afternoon, he reached the kaystone that announced Peachill. He knew that Dowsyl’s orchards were off a lane on the west side of the road, somewhere short of the hamlet, but it had been more than five years since he and Charee had visited Merayni, and Kharl could not remember the lane exactly. He walked another five rods, and stopped.

With a sigh, he walked another fifty cubits to a hutlike dwelling set amid gardens needing preparation for the winter. There, he knocked.

After several moments, the oblong peep-door opened. “Don’t need nothing sharpened,” came a woman’s voice.

“I’m not a tinker. I’m a traveler. Could you tell me which lane leads to Dowsyl’s place?”

“Why you want to know?”

“Because they’re family,” Kharl replied.

While the small part of the woman’s face Kharl could see expressed doubt, she cleared her throat. “If you were coming south, you already passed it. Last lane back. Go in about two kays, and the house is just past the peach trees.”

“He still have the little barn between the pearapples and peaches?”

“Yes.” Even with the single word, some of the suspicion lifted from the woman’s face. Then, the peep-door closed with a click.

“Thank you.” Even with the door closed, Kharl bowed. Then he headed back northward to the first lane.

It could have been that he was tired, but the distance to Dowsyl’s orchards seemed far longer than two kays. The sun hung low in the western sky above the rolling hills covered with a mixture of graying broadleaf trees and pines before Kharl stopped at the low stone wall that bordered the lane.

Beyond the peach trees, their leaves now almost entirely winter-gray, Kharl could see the square dwelling with the heavy thatched roof, and beyond the house, the rows of pearapple trees, with some leaves still showing patches of green. After standing in the lane for a time, he walked through the gateless opening in the stone wall. He had almost reached the clear area around the house when he heard footsteps to his right and turned.

“Da! You came!” Warrl ran from the small barn toward his father. He looked as though he might throw his arms around his father, then stopped. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Your aunt said I was welcome, and I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’ve learned a lot, and…” Warrl stopped and looked past Kharl. Kharl turned. The broad-shouldered Merayni, wearing a ragged apron covered with flour, appeared on the narrow porch of the orchard cottage.

The cooper nodded toward Charee’s sister, then began to walk toward her.

Warrl walked beside his father. “Aunt Merayni… Da came.”

“I see that.” Merayni’s voice was level.

“Merayni…” Dowsyl appeared behind Warrl. “Kharl’s walked a long way. I’m sure he could use something for his thirst.”

Merayni looked at her consort, then at Kharl. “I’ll find something.” She paused. “Everything is wonderful, and you’re going to take Warrl?” Her voice was cold and edged.

“No. Things are not wonderful. You were right.” Kharl met Merayni’s eyes directly. “I lost the cooperage, and I’m getting by best I can. I may have to go to sea. But I wanted to see Warrl.”

Abruptly, Merayni looked down, if but slightly.

“Hard thing, to lose something like that,” said Dowsyl slowly. “Wouldn’t want to lose the orchards and land. Know I wouldn’t take to that.”

“Da… I’m sorry.” Warrl’s voice was low.

“You didn’t do that, son. I made some mistakes. Sometimes… you make mistakes, and bad things happen.”

“How did you lose it, Da?” asked Warrl.

“I couldn’t make the golds for the tariffs. The justicer put it up for public auction. Said no one related to me by blood could bid on it.” Kharl was troubled by his own words. Although what he said was truthful, what he implied was not exactly so.

“Comes from upsetting lords…” murmured Merayni.

“It does,” Kharl agreed. “But there’s little I can do now.”

Merayni slipped into the squarish dwelling.

Dowsyl stepped closer. “Long walk, Kharl.”

“It was, but I wanted to see Warrl. I wasn’t sure when I might be able to get back here.”

“Said you were welcome to stay here. I meant it.”

“I know,” Kharl replied. “I thank you for that, but I’m a cooper. I’m not a grower. I don’t know trees or the land.”

Merayni came back out onto the porch, bearing a large mug. “Just drew this.”

Kharl accepted the worn clay mug and took a long swallow of the cool water. “Thank you.” He took another, draining the mug and handing it back.

“Well… your Da’s here, Warrl,” Dowsyl said. “He’s had a long journey. Least we can do is have a solid supper and offer him a bed for the night.“

Before Merayni could say anything, Kharl replied. “Both would be welcome, but just a mat and a blanket in the little barn would be good. I’ll have to leave in the morning.”

“There’s a comfortable pallet there,” Merayni said, “and we’ve blankets to spare.”

“Thank you.”

“Be a bit before supper, though.”

“Anything would be welcome… anytime.” Kharl bowed his head slightly.

“Da? Can I show you the orchard and the trees Uncle Dowsyl let me prune?“ asked Warrl.

“You surely can,” replied Kharl.

“Over this way… he had me start on the pearapples…”

As Kharl followed his son, he could not but overhear the words behind them.

“… was such a proud man… almost feel sorry for him…Almost…“

“… not right, what happened…”

“… doesn’t matter… should have known better. Charee warned him… she did…”

They were right, Kharl reflected. Charee had warned him. She’d warned him that helping people could hurt her and the children, and Kharl had tried to help Sanyle and Jenevra… and one was an orphan and the other was dead—and Kharl had lost his consort and cooperage, and at least one son. For all that Merayni said, a sadness fell across the cooper as he considered that trying to do good had created such awful results. He forced a smile onto his face as he followed and listened to his son.

“This one… I had to do twice. There was a graft… you see, here…“

Kharl just watched Warrl, listening.