Wellspring of Chaos (19 page)

Outside, the wind was gusting, and scattered sheets of rain swept around them as they stepped out of the gate. Unlike the wizard’s, the bodies of the guards remained right where they had fallen.

“Murder! Someone’s murdered!” came a call from somewhere. Kharl ignored that, too, and half trotted, half hobbled, not a counterfeited hobble, but one from the pain in his leg, toward the alley. Each step also stabbed through his left arm. There was no one in the alley, and another gust of wind blasted over them, rustling the graying leaves of the trees surrounding the ancient dwellings on both sides of the alley.

Kharl and Jeka managed three blocks before Kharl slowed to a true hobble, finally turning out of the last alley and onto Gemstone Road. Just after they turned the corner, they found themselves less than a rod from a Watchman on patrol.

“You!” snapped the Watchman. “What are you doing here?”

“Just a poor man, ser… a poor man… my boy, ser, he’s not right… ran off he did, and I’ve just gotten him…”

Truncheon in hand, the Watchman looked at Kharl, then at Jeka. Jeka did not look at the Watchman, but remained standing beside Kharl.

“Does he speak, fellow?”

“Sometimes, ser…” Kharl looked at Jekat. “Can you tell the man your name, Jekat?”

“Jekat.” The two syllables were uninflected, dull, and she continued to look straight ahead.

The Watchman studied Jeka and then Kharl. He shook his head. “On your way! Away from decent folk. And make it quick!”

“Yes, ser… yes, ser… thank you, ser…” Kharl whined.

He just hoped that they didn’t run into more Watchmen or, worse, Egen, although he suspected the lord’s son might not even recognize him any longer. Not unless they held him and stripped him and found the scars on his back.

The rain began to fall more heavily, and by the time they were back in the serviceway beside the rendering wall, both Kharl and Jeka were soaked through. The rain had come too late to help Kharl with the wizard, but it might have helped them escape.

Kharl took a deep breath. Despite the chill of the rain, the staff continued to feel warm to Kharl’s hands. He looked at Jeka.

“Climb over the wall and wait.”

She did, and he followed, laboriously, and with inadvertent tears streaming down his face. Every movement sent stabs of pain through his injured arm and leg.

Only when they were under the roof, such as it was, did he touch the staff to Jeka.

She collapsed.

Then he eased her into her hidey-hole, pulling off her wet cloak, but not more, and wrapping her in drier woolen rags. Then, in turn, he collapsed against the stone wall, just sitting there, breathing deeply, and wondering what he had done.

He knew why—but not how.

Sevenday was cool and cloudy, even at dawn, but the clouds were high. Kharl thought it was unlikely there would be rain. For that he was grateful as he sat against the stone wall and checked his wounds. Three sets of half-scabbed and oozing lines ran from the knee to just above Kharl’s boot tops on his left leg. A shorter trio of lines ran between Kharl’s elbow and shoulder, also on his left arm. The pain from the night before had faded into a dull aching in both his injured leg and arm, unless he moved suddenly, then it sharpened.

Kharl still did not understand exactly what had happened. He knew that he had fought well enough to disable the guards, but he doubted that he had struck hard enough to kill them; and he certainly had not struck the wizard hard enough to stun him—yet he had. Or was Kharl deceiving himself? Had he really used that much force? He wasn’t sure he’d ever know. What he did know was that, if he couldn’t find a friendly ship soon, he needed another way to get out of Brysta. All around him bodies continued to mount, and if Egen ever suspected that Kharl was alive in Brysta and had killed his wizard, there would be more Watchmen looking everywhere.

He glanced up to find Jeka sitting on the edge of the hidey-hole ledge, studying him. While there were dark circles under her eyes, her face was not so drawn as the day before.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You came after me.”

Kharl nodded, not knowing exactly what to say.

“You killed the wizard.”

He nodded again. “I was lucky.”

“You were brave.”

“I’m not brave.” How could he explain that he wasn’t, that he’d just had to try, because it might have been the only chance left in his life to try to help someone who had helped him? He looked at Jeka carefully.

Her face was still pale. “I’ve got a few coppers. I’m going with you to the lower market. You need to eat.”

“You shoulda taken coins from the wizard.”

“I was more interested in getting us out of there before anyone found us. Coins don’t do much good if they hang you.”

“Coulda grabbed ‘em without stopping.”

“You could have,” Kharl said. “I’m not that good. Besides…” He paused and offered a grin. “Wasn’t that what got you in trouble with the wizard in the first place?”

“Yeah…” Jeka looked away slightly, then back. “But if he was dead…”

“If there were coins missing, the Watch might be looking for us a lot more. This way… the wizard’s dead. So are his guards, and there’s a rope tied to a bedpost. No wizard’s going to kidnap a ragged urchin everyone thinks is a boy. Clearly…” Kharl paused. He hoped it was clear. “The wizard kidnapped the wrong person and paid for it.”

“That’s what you hope.”

“You think Egen is going to believe that a beggar and an urchin killed two guards and a wizard—and didn’t take a thing?” countered Kharl.

“Probably not,” Jeka agreed.

“Now… let’s go get something to eat.”

“I could do it myself.”

“You aren’t going alone.”

“You got hurt. Maybe you shouldn’t walk that far.”

“We both got hurt. Besides, I can limp for real.”

Jeka smiled.

Kharl stood. He would take the staff.

Pog finally rolled in early on eightday, sometime well before Kharl woke. The air was cold and clammy. Even his hair was damp. He glanced toward the canvas that covered Jeka’s hidey-hole, hoping she was warm enough. He stood quietly, trying to stretch out sore muscles without pulling the scabs on his injured leg and arm. The burns weren’t deep, but at times they were painful, and doubtless would remain so for days.

The Seastag hadn’t tied up in the harbor by sunset the night before, and with the fog, wasn’t likely to in the next day. It could be eightdays before Hagen’s ship showed up, and there wasn’t even any certainty that Kharl could buy or beg his way aboard. Even if he did, what about Jeka? Sooner or later, she’d run into something she couldn’t handle. What could he do for her?

He laughed silently, ruefully. He couldn’t even solve his own problems, and he thought he could do something for Jeka, an urchin whose only skills were cadging food? But were they? She’d mentioned once that she’d been a weaver.

Kharl frowned, thinking.

He was still thinking about it a glass later, when he slipped out of the serviceway, the dark staff in his hand. Jeka was still dozing. He’d listened to Jeka enough to know that the market was dangerous, even for her at times, and there were few he could trust in buying or cadging food. But he wanted to do his share, and with the wizard gone, he could try the White Pony.

With the fog covering Brysta, the Watch wasn’t likely to be able to follow him, although he doubted that they were all that interested in a ragged beggar. He walked slowly, trying not to stretch his left leg too much. The fog was so thin at times that Kharl could see almost a hundred cubits, and then so thick moments later that he could scarcely glimpse the tip of the staff he carried. He made his way southward until he reached Copper Road, where he paused.

He heard heavy steps, close by, and he ducked into the alley and flattened himself against the wall as the two members of the Watch walked down Copper Road toward the harbor.

“… cold day…”

“… just the fog… always have hot and cold days in midfall…”

Kharl waited for the two to go on, but they stopped opposite the alley.

“… say that fog makes it harder for the white wizards…”

“… you really think someone killed Hanryl? All they found was his garments.”

“… two dead guards.”

“… had their blades out. Clubbed… couldn’t have happened without wizardry. Lord Egen’s worried… thinks there’s another wizard loose, stronger…”

“Long as they fight each other… don’t much care.”

“Better get on over to Cargo Road…”

Kharl waited until the footsteps had long died away before heading toward the White Pony, where he hoped that Enelya would accord him the same courtesy as she did Jeka.

In the late afternoon, from the point of rock north of the slateyard, Kharl watched as the Seastag maneuvered toward the outermost pier. More than an eightday had passed since he had managed to rescue Jeka from the wizard, and, every day, he had checked the harbor, but few vessels had entered, although he had seen Lord West’s gunboats more than a few times.

He took a last look at the Austran vessel, sails furled and using her steam engine and paddle wheels to move toward the pier, before he began to walk southward toward the piers, his eyes open for the Watch. It would probably take him several glasses to circle the harbor to the piers from where he was, but Hagen spent at least three days in Brysta.

By the time Kharl had made his way past the warehouses, avoiding the harbor posts of the Watch, and reached the pier holding the Austran ship, several wagons had already appeared and were being readied to take cargo about to be off-loaded.

Kharl eased out along the pier, moving from unused bollard to bollard until he was almost at the stern of the Seastag. Then he watched for a time as palleted bundles were winched up from the center hold. Hagen stood on the poop deck watching.

After several loads filled the first wagon, the winching stopped.

Kharl slipped forward until he was on the pier, just below the captain.

“Hagen!” Kharl hissed.

The master of the Seastag glanced down, frowning as he took in Kharl.

“It’s Kharl, the cooper.”

For a moment, Hagen studied Kharl. “What happened to you?”

“Could I work a passage to Austra?”

“Work a passage? What happened to you?” repeated Hagen, as his eyes continued to study the ragged figure.

“Lord’s son doesn’t exactly like me. Doubled my tariffs twice over. No way I could pay that. Lost the cooperage. Lost most everything.” All of what Kharl said was true, but he dared not be more truthful.

“You look that way.”

“I can still work. Carpenter’s assistant until you make landfall in Austra?”

“I just came from there. I won’t be making landfall there for half a season.

“Could you use a carpenter’s assistant for half a season?”

Hagen glanced down the pier, then back toward Kharl. “What about your boys?”

“One left to be an apprentice ship’s carpenter on the Fleuryl. The other’s with Charee’s sister. She said I had no business raising Warrl. He agreed. He’d even written her…”

Hagen fingered his chin. “I don’t know…”

“I know how to work. You know that.”

“You look…”

“Disguise,” Kharl admitted. “I don’t want anyone to see me. You can understand that. I’ll come aboard in a good tunic and trousers.”

“I don’t know. Been a hard trip already.”

“You can’t get a good worker for less.”

“Passage is about all I can afford, Kharl.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Hagen frowned. “Suppose… I suppose.”

“I’ll be back later tonight with my gear. Would that be all right?”

“How much gear?”

“Very little. Some clothes, a pack. No tools.”

Hagen shook his head. “Hate to see a man so down on his luck.”

“I’ll be fine once I’m away from Brysta.”

“We’ll be here in port almost an eightday.”

“I’ll stay on board. Give you an extra body to help load and unload.”

The captain laughed. “For that, I could even pay you bottom level.”

“I won’t object.” Kharl smiled. “Later tonight?”

“I’ll tell the deck watch to get me.”

“Thank you.” Kharl nodded, then hurried down the pier. He had more than a few loose ends he wanted to tie up, and he wanted to get back before Hagen had a chance to change his mind, although he didn’t think Hagen was that kind of man. Still, he had a lot to do, including trying to do something for Jeka. What he had in mind might not work… but it was all he had been able to come up with, and he had to try.

On his way back to the walled hideout, Kharl stopped by the fountain and, when no one was too close, washed up as he could, removing the worst of the dirt and grime.

Still, for all his concerns about Jeka, she was not between the walls when Kharl returned. He hoped she would not be too long in returning. In the meantime, he rummaged through his pack until he found the old scissors. By feel, he slowly trimmed his beard and mustache, making sure that it was shorter and more rounded than it had been before.

Then he dressed in his spare tunic and trousers. He hoped that he could get the dirt and soil out of the clothes he had been wearing, which he folded and put into his pack.

“Well… you’re looking good.” Jeka stood at the foot of the wall. “Are you going somewhere?”

“The ship I was waiting for is here.”

“Goin‘ to miss you,” Jeka said warily, her eyes avoiding Kharl’s.

Despite the stench of the hidey-hole, and the dirt, Kharl realized he was going to miss Jeka as well. “I’ll miss you, but…” He shook his head. “Can’t stay here. You know that. Sooner… later, Egen’d find me.”

“You can go, be a cooper anywhere. Me…?” She spread her hands.

“You were a weaver once, you said?” Kharl asked.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Were you good at it?”

“Light-fired good, Ma said. So did Hunat, but he had three sons and a daughter there.“

Kharl nodded to himself, then eased his fingers into the pouch he’d replaced around his neck and slipped out a silver. He handed it to her.

“This might help.”

“You had silvers?” Jeka looked at the coin. “Had this, and you stayed here?“

“Know anyplace I’d have been any safer?” he asked. “With Egen wanting my head?“

The trace of a smile crossed her lips. “You got more alley-smarts than you let on.“

“Come on…” He pulled his pack into place and arranged the ragged cloak over both tunic and pack. Then he picked up the staff.

“Where we goin‘?”

“To see a man. He’s a good man. The only one who helped me and stood by me.” Who was still alive—but Kharl wasn’t about to say that.

“Why…?”

Kharl took her arm. “We don’t have that much time.”

Jeka followed Kharl over the wall and out into the serviceway, clearly reluctant, and then along the alleys and cross streets until they were in the alley paralleling Crafters’ Lane—the alley on the south side, not the one on the north that ran behind the cooperage. In time, they came to the rear door of Gharan’s shop.

Kharl glanced around, then drew back the ragged hooded cloak enough to reveal his face and the better tunic underneath. He rapped on the door.

Amyla opened it. Her eyes widened.

“Get Gharan. I won’t be a moment.”

After a long look at the cooper, Amyla stepped back, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Gharan appeared instantly. “Kharl…” He looked down the alley, then back at the cooper.

“There’s no one out here. Not now. You’ve stood up for me, and you’ve been honest,” Kharl said. “I’m leaving Brysta, but I have a favor to ask—not for me.”

Gharan looked from Kharl to Jeka, quizzically.

“Jekat isn’t Jekat, exactly. She’s Jeka, and an orphan. She’s also a good weaver.” Kharl fumbled at the pouch around his neck and under his undertunic, then handed three silvers to Gharan. “I’ll pay you to try her as a helper or an apprentice for two eightdays. You like what she does, then you keep her on. You don’t, at least try to find her a place.”

Gharan looked to Jeka again. “Where are you from?”

“Sagana.”

“Why didn’t you stay there?”

“I couldn’t. Hunat had three sons and a daughter, and the tariff farmer took everything when Ma died, wanted to indenture me to a pleasure house.”

Gharan winced, then looked at Kharl. “Two eightdays’ trial. There is a chance.”

“Say she’s a distant cousin.” Kharl turned to Jeka. “You stay here now. You don’t need anything back there.” He handed her two silvers. “These are for decent clothes for you.” He straightened. “I’d better go.”

He stepped back, leaving Jeka standing there with Gharan, then ducked back along the alley, almost at a run, before anyone could say anything. He did not slow down until he was several blocks away. He forced himself not to look back.

He reached the pier where the Seastag was docked just after sunset. He stopped to study the area around the ship, but saw no Watchmen. He slipped off the ragged cloak and rolled it up, slipping it next to an unused bollard, then straightened up and walked toward the Austran vessel.

The crewman at the top of the gangway watched as Kharl approached.

The cooper stopped at the foot of gangway. “I’m Kharl. Captain Hagen is expecting me…” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“He told me. You’re to come aboard and wait here on the quarterdeck.”

Kharl walked up the gangway and stepped down onto the deck planks, although he saw nothing that resembled a quarterdeck.

The sailor on watch looked strangely at the ironbound staff.

Kharl did not offer to explain.

The sailor took a tin whistle and piped something. Shortly, Hagen appeared with a muscular and blocky man who looked to be about Kharl’s age.

Hagen smiled as he saw Kharl. “You look somewhat better than this afternoon.” He turned to the other man. “Furwyl… we’re payin‘ a debt and getting some help. Kharl here’s a cooper. Lost his consort and his family, then his cooperage to the tariff farmer. Done a lot of good work for us in the past. Working his way to Austra, as assistant to the carpenter. Doesn’t do rigging, but anything else you need him for.” Furwyl smiled. “He’s a mite big to put up there.”

“Furwyl is first mate, number two,” Hagen said to Kharl. “You answer him and any of the other mates, like they were me. Mates are the ones with the vests, or the jackets with the stripes on the sleeves.”

“Yes, ser.”

“I’ll need a moment more with Kharl, Furwyl. Then you can get him squared away in the fo’c‘s’le and take him down to the carpenter. I already told Tarkyn.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Oh, Furwyl… I think we’d better change the shore leave while we’re here. It’s too late for tonight, but from now on, I want the crew to go in pairs. Anyone who leaves alone, or returns alone, loses a silver. There’s something going on. There’s a renegade wizard loose—killed a white mage, one serving Lord West’s youngest son. We don’t want anyone tied up with that.”

“The crew won’t like that.”

“Better that than no leave. We don’t want to lose crew, and they don’t want to end up dead or left here, either.”

“Yes, ser.” Furwyl stepped away, moving toward the bow along the pierside railing.

Hagen turned his attention on Kharl. “I made a quick trip to your cooperage. Someone else is there. He said he bought it at a tariff auction because you abandoned it. Why?”

“To stay alive,” Kharl replied. “I stopped Lord West’s son from forcing himself on my neighbor’s daughter, and he had my Charee killed. He had the tariff farmer raise my levy to twelve golds, and had an assassin kill my neighbor because he testified for me before the justicers…”

Hagen winced. “I thought it might be something like that. You stay on board and out of sight when the port inspectors are around.”

“I can do that.”

“And you do whatever you’re told by the mates, by Tarkyn—he’s the carpenter—or by me.“

“Yes, ser.”

Hagen beckoned. “Furwyl… you can take him now.”

As Kharl followed the first mate, Furwyl looked at the cooper. “You’ve made some of our hogsheads and barrels?”

“Yes, ser. Some of them.”

“Wouldn’t hurt Tarkyn to have some help. It’s been a rough fall. In here.” Furwyl gestured to the open hatchway on the starboard side, leading into the forecastle.

Kharl had to duck as he entered the passageway, dimly lit by a single lamp in a bulkhead bracket. A closed hatch was on the right, an open hatch straight ahead.

Furwyl gestured to the closed hatch. “Women’s crew quarters. Off-limits at all times. You’ll be in the main section forward. Even have an extra bunk or so.”

Most of the bunk spaces were empty, except for three. In two, the sailors were sleeping. The third sailor looked at the mate and Kharl.

“Kharl’s the assistant to the carpenter,” Furwyl explained.

The sailor nodded and rolled over.

The bunk spaces were about four cubits long, two high, and two deep, set against the hull. Each was painted white, and there was a thin mattress with a single blanket on each. Between each set of bunks were two open spaces with nets.

The mate pointed to the last bunk on the port side. “That one’ll be yours. Your gear goes in the bin at the foot of your bunk. Have to lash that staff away down in the carpenter shop.”

The bin was certainly large enough to hold Kharl’s pack, but as he looked around the triangular space, he could see why the staff would not fit anywhere. He stepped forward and put his pack in the bin, then tied the net in place.

Furwyl turned, expecting Kharl to follow. The cooper did, back outside, then into the passageway on the starboard side, and down a ladder one level, and forward into a narrow space where a sailor in gray sat on a stool carving something out of what looked to be a white bone. He looked up, but did not rise.

“Tarkyn,” the first mate said, “this is Kharl. The captain said he’d told you.”

“Didn’t ask me, ser. Told me.” The carpenter was a good decade older than Kharl, grizzled, and white-haired, and he wore a gray shirt, not either tunic or undertunic, and matching gray trousers. He surveyed Kharl. “Least he’s no youngster.”

Furwyl nodded to Kharl. “I’ll leave you two.” He looked to Tarkyn. “Captain said you could store his staff here. It won’t fit in the fo’c‘s’le. Hope he doesn’t need it, but we will be sailing offshore of Renklaar.”

“We’ll find a place.”

Furwyl left.

Tarkyn looked at the staff. “You from Recluce?”

“No. The staff came from a blackstaffer. It’s useful in strange places.”

“You can rack it there.” Tarkyn pointed at the overhead wood bin that stretched aft.

Kharl eased the staff into the long wood bin on one side, carefully rearranging two timbers so that it fit snugly.

Tarkyn looked hard at Kharl. “You after my spot?”

Kharl laughed. “No. I offered my services to help pay my passage. I’m a cooper—”