Wellspring of Chaos (34 page)

He walked to the workroom door and rapped, once. After a moment, he rapped again.

“Come on in, and close the door, if you would.”

Kharl stamped his boots clear of snow and stepped inside. Once there, he surveyed the work space, which looked as though it had indeed once been a barn. While Kharl’s breath did not steam, the cooperage was still chill, and only a handful of barrels were stacked inside, just behind the loading doors. The forge that had been added later, to the right side of the barn, was cold, and had been for a time. A single cylindrical iron stove sat in the middle of the work space. Kharl could feel the heat, but he was distracted slightly to realize that the stove was not a true cylinder, but had six vertical sides. He’d never seen a stove shaped like that.

Almard stepped toward the door. The cooper was a heavy man, just a shade shorter than Kharl, but carrying a good two stone more than the carpenter. “What can I do for you?” Although the words were hearty enough, Kharl could sense a falseness behind them.

“Taleas sends his best,” Kharl began. “He said I might stop and see you.“

“You be needing some cooperage?” Interest sparked in the eyes of the heavier man.

“I was wondering if you could use an assistant cooper. He said that you might.“

“Not hardly. Not any more ‘n he’d need another scrivener. Not with the heart of winter comin’ on.”

“I heard there was good fishing here, even in winter,” Kharl suggested.

“Used to be. No more. Why’d you think there’d be any place here? Not enough work for those of us still left.”

“I’d heard about Vizyn a while back,” Kharl replied. “It took some time to get here.“

“Waste a‘ that time, you ask me.” Almard gestured toward the barrels by the loading dock. “That’s what I got for the last two eightdays, and they’re still waitin’.”

“I’m sorry.” Kharl nodded. “The best of fortune to you.” He stepped back and opened the door.

Almard did not say a word as Kharl stepped back into the afternoon chill, closing the door behind him.

After taking a deep, slow breath, Kharl headed back toward the harbor. While he had not checked with any other coopers, it was clear enough from what he had seen of Vizyn that it was not the place for him. So he might as well tell Herana or whoever was on watch on the Southshield that he’d need the return passage to Valmurl. It was also clear that he’d spent almost a gold on nothing.

He winced within the winter jacket at that thought.

After leaving his pack and staff in the cabin on the Southshield, and paying a few coppers extra to be able to sleep on board that night, Kharl had turned around and walked back to the White Deer for an early supper. Behind him a crew of men used a short crane to swing lengths of planks from heavy wagons on the pier to the ship.

The clouds had not lifted, and the streets were hard, either with cold cobblestones, or clay frozen just as solid. A few stray flakes of snow fluttered down around Kharl, but they had stopped by the time he reached the inn.

A woman in a heavy gray tunic and trousers met Kharl as he entered the White Deer and stood in the archway to the public room. “Ale or food or both?”

“Both.”

“Got a small table at the side. Early enough you can have it to yourself.”

“Thank you.” Kharl followed her.

The public room of the inn was close, but warm, with heat oozing out from the hearth on one side of the room and the large iron stove on the other. There were close to a half score of tables, most of them long and narrow, but there were three smaller tables against the outside wall, and the server led Kharl to the one closest to the hearth, for which he was grateful. His feet were cold, almost numb.

“What do you have?”

“Not much choice tonight, fellow. Got fowl pie or stew. Three coppers, either way.”

“Which is better?”

“Most times, the fowl pie. I’d go for the stew tonight.”

“Then I will. Light ale?”

“Berk’s lager’s better. Two coppers either way.”

“I’ll try the lager.” Kharl flashed five coppers, and the server nodded and left.

Within moments, the woman had returned. “Lager. Be a bit for the stew.“

“That’s fine.” He handed her the two coppers, and then a third. With a smile, she was gone. He took a sip of the lager—not so good as many, but passable, and despite the cold outside he was thirsty. Something hot, like cider, would have been too cloying.

A group of men in sheepskin jackets entered the public room and took the long table nearest to Kharl without a word to anyone. When the server appeared, one of them just announced, “Hard jack for us all.”

Kharl took another sip of his ale, listening to the newcomers.

“… been a cold one this winter… a sow’s burden keeping the mill-race ice-free…”

The cooper frowned. The mill he’d seen had been closed. Or were the men from a sawmill?

“… already broke one of the bars…”

“… coins though… and they’re hard enough to come by now…”

“… still cold as a lord’s heart…”

“… say that every winter…”

“Well, it’s cold every winter.”

Laughter welled up at the long table.

The server reappeared with a large bowl, a spoon, and a small loaf of rye bread, setting them before Kharl. He handed over four coppers and received another smile, a brief one as she hurried back to the kitchen. She reappeared in moments carrying a tray on which were five steaming mugs that she set down, one after the other, before the men at the long table.

“That’s a lass!”

Kharl took a small mouthful of the stew. It was thick, tasty, and only slightly overpeppered, and the vegetables actually had not been cooked to mush. The bread was still warm, if slightly dry. Still, it was the best meal he’d had in days. After several mouthfuls, he began to pick up on the conversation at the long table once more.

“… hear about what happened to Heyol’s cousin down in Gyran? The innkeeper… well, he was an innkeeper till they hung him…”

“… for what?”

“… for nothing… magistrate there strung him up for some law no one ever heard of… He never studied no books to be a magistrate… just got the job ‘cause Lord Estloch liked him. Justice… what he thinks it is…”

“… better than they got in Elkyn… magistrate there hung a fellow for puttin‘ lead in his wine… said it was poison…”

“… nothin‘ anywhere that says that…”

“… just wanted wine to taste better… who could blame him for that?… hung him anyway.”

Kharl frowned. Tyrbel had told him something about that years back, about how powdered lead made wine taste better, but how too much of it was a poison that drove men mad if they drank it too much and too often.

“… who’s he to hang an innkeeper for some fool law no one ever heard of? Magistrates and justicers… just tools for the lords and them with coins…”

“… be good to have a justicer… understood people, not coins…”

Kharl had to wonder about that. From what he’d seen, most people didn’t want to be understood. They wanted to do what they wanted to do, whether or not others got hurt. He took another swallow of ale from the mug.

“… save that kinda dreams for hot nights in summer…”

“… hot nights… not gonna happen… not here, not there, not anywhere…”

Another burst of laughter rose from the table beside Kharl.

Before long, he would head back to the Southshield. There wasn’t anything else he wanted to do or anyone else to see in Vizyn. Of that he was certain.

The voyage back from Vizyn to Valmurl was swifter, but colder and rougher, than the trip north to Vizyn had been, and Kharl was more than elad when the Southshield finally tied up at the pier in the harbor at Valmurl late on a cloudy fourday afternoon.

Herana stood by the railing as Kharl neared the gangway. “You going back to the Seastag?”

Kharl grinned sheepishly. “If Captain Hagen’ll take me back.”

“I’d wager he will.” Herana offered a broad smile, one that carried a trace of laughter in her gray eyes, and took away the lines in her narrow face.

“Let’s hope you’re right.” Kharl returned the smile and, staff in hand and pack on his back, headed down the gangway.

Valmurl didn’t feel all that much warmer than Vizyn. Was winter that cold in all of Austra? Kharl glanced at the warm gloves Taleas had given him, and for which he remained most grateful. He owed Taleas something, both for his honesty and the gloves, but how, and with what, could he repay the scrivener? Taleas had said Kharl had repaid him and would again, but he’d never explained, and Kharl hadn’t asked. A sense of sadness passed through him as he thought of another scrivener. He continued to make his way down the pier toward the harbor way.

“You! With the staff!”

Kharl turned.

Three men in yellow-and-black tunics—uniforms of some sort— stood on the stone causeway at the shoreward end of the pier. The shorter armsman on the right pointed at Kharl. “Best get back on whatever ship you came in on.”

Kharl forced himself to look at the lead armsman directly, but openly, and not with hostility, despite the anger in the man’s voice. The fellow had no hint of chaos, and Kharl did his best to project directness and honesty as he replied. “I’m a carpenter on the Seastag. I went to see friends while the ship was in refit.”

“Who’s the master?”

“Hagen’s the captain, Furwyl’s the first…”

“Get back out to the refit yard then, and, if you know what’s good for you, don’t carry a dark staff like that, not now.”

“Yes, ser. I will, ser, but I was traveling, and a staff helps…” Kharl paused as he realized that there were more of the uniformed armsmer everywhere. “What’s happened? When I left…”

“Lord Estloch was murdered, that’s what.”

“Oh… that’s not good.”

“Worse ‘n that. Be on your way.” The words were gruff, but no longer hostile. “And get that staff put aside soon as you can.”

“Yes, ser,” Kharl replied politely, wondering why the guard had backed down so quickly. Then, he was glad the man had.

He made his way northward toward the street he thought led to the refit yards. He’d only been in that part of the harbor once before, seeking out Chalart to see about a position as a cooper. Had it only been little more than an eightday before? It seemed longer. Once he was away from the main part of the harbor, he saw no more guards in uniform, but there were few people out and about, fewer than he would have thought just from the cold weather and the chill wind.

When he reached the refit yard, Kharl stopped short of the single pier and looked northwest. It was easy to pick out the Seastag in the last dry dock. The other two dry docks were empty, as they had been earlier.

He made his way past the single pier and then along the edge of the water until he stood on the stone edge of the drained dry dock. The ship was resting on keel blocks and angled supports, and was also tethered with heavy hemp cables that ran from the masts and bowsprit to bollards twice the size of those in the harbor. Kharl looked down at the mud-smeared stone base of the dry dock, then toward the gangway.

He walked to the gangway, but stopped short as Ghart appeared from a small shed set short of the gangway.

“You didn’t like the country life so well, I see,” observed Ghart.

“They weren’t too interested in having a good cooper, just a cheap one,” Kharl said, knowing he was shading the truth somewhat.

“That’s the way of the world,” Ghart replied. “Captain told me you’d most likely be back. Never took you off the crew list.” Kharl didn’t know what to say to that.

“He’s done that more ‘n once. Did it for me after my first voyage. Been with him ever since. We’re all in the bunkhouse there.” Ghart gestured toward the low stone structure set back from the refit area, and north of the warehouses and Chalart’s cooperage. “Need to take your gear there, then report back here.” He grinned. “Tarkyn said you’d be back. Been saving some work for you. We’re about through for today, but he’ll still want to see you.”

Kharl laughed. “He was hoping I’d be back.”

“That he was.” Ghart’s eyes darted toward the southwest. Kharl could sense the second’s concern. “What’s going on? I saw armsmen all over the port.”

“Someone murdered Lord Estloch the day before yesterday. Crossbow quarrel from the woods while he was hunting. No one knows who. He’d disinherited his eldest years back. Said Ilteron was cruel, and that cruelty didn’t serve a land well. People have been saying that he— Ilteron, that’s the older one—that he was behind the killing, and that he’s got an army and the support of Guillam. Guillam’s the head of the factors’ council, and most of the factors and crafters leastwise listen to him. Some even say that Ilteron’s marching out of the Shiltons against Lord Ghrant—that’s his younger brother—and the one Estloch had named as his heir.”

“Where’s the captain?”

“He’s in the Great House. He grew up with Lord Estloch, and Lord Ghrant sort of thought of him as an uncle. Sometimes, he’d advise Lord Estloch. That’s what they said.” Ghart looked at the dry dock. “We’re supposed to be out of here by the end of the eightday after this one. Wish it were sooner. Ship in dry dock is like a man with his legs broken.”

“They’ve got guards in uniform—black and yellow—at the piers in the main part of the harbor,” Kharl said.

“Black and yellow—those are Lord Ghrant’s personal guards. The Austran regulars are black and green.”

“You don’t think he trusts the regulars? Lord Ghrant, I mean.”

“Don’t know as I’d trust anyone, were I in his boots,” Ghart replied. “Better get your gear over there in the bunkhouse. Tarkyn said you’d a lot of catching up to do.”

Kharl laughed again as he turned from the gangway and headed toward the bunkhouse.

After a passable supper in the common room of the bunkhouse, a fair night’s sleep, and almost no comment by others in the crew about his absence, except a few jokes about coopers, the next morning Kharl was hard at work. Tarkyn had set up a lathe and a planer in a shed on the northern side of the dry dock, a shed kept passably warm inside by an ancient woodstove and surrounded outside by seasoned oak planks stacked chest high. Kharl’s task was to rough-finish the planks to the measurements Tarkyn had already made.

“I thought the shipwrights were the ones working on the Seastag,” Kharl said.

“They do the hull. Captain’s paid extra to have the whole hull checked for ship worms. Problem is… no one can afford to have every plank in the ship copper-treated. Just treat the hull and main timbers. Turns out that there were places where they ate into the interior planks. We get to craft the planking for the sections bein‘ replaced.”

Kharl’s eyes went toward the timbers stacked high outside the shed. “All those?”

“Probably not, but there’s a whole section in the main hold… and another just above the bilges in the forward hold…”

Kharl had to smile. Fairness aside, there were reasons why Hagen had wanted him back.

“So you rough-finish the ones for the main hold to size, while I’m down getting the sizes for the forward ones…”

“Leaving me the hard work,” Kharl joked.

“Beats being a cooper without a copper to your name,” retorted Tarkyn with a mock-gruff ness. “Should anyway…”

“That it does, most honored master carpenter.” Kharl grinned and offered a deep bow.

They both laughed. Tarkyn was still chucking when he left.

Kharl had been working in the shed for well over a glass and had a goodly sized pile of planks ready for Tarkyn when the door opened. He looked up to see Hagen closing the door and moving toward the lathe.

Kharl slowed the lathe and stepped back.

“Hard at work, I see,” said the captain. “Glad to have you back.”

“Yes, ser. I’ve got some catching up to do. Have to say that I’m glad to be back, ser,“ Kharl replied. ”And I appreciate your kindness. I do.“

“Even with everything Tarkyn had waiting?” Hagen’s eyes twinkled for a moment.

“Even so.” Kharl paused. “Might I ask what’s happening in Valmurl with Lord Ghrant?“

Hagen’s countenance turned sober. “It’s said that his older brother Ilteron has landed an army at Bruel, and the highland barons of the west have thrown in with him.”

Bruel? Where the Hamorians could still send brimstone? Kharl decided not to ask, not yet, instead saying, “I’d heard that Ilteron was a cruel sort. Why would they support him?”

“They can accept his cruelty more than the rule of his brother. They dislike the reforms that Lord Estloch forced on them and Lord Ghrant is said to favor. Especially the right of peasants to buy their way out of indenture. They claim that they’ll lose all their lands because the peasants will all leave.”

“How will most peasants ever raise that kid of coin?” asked Kharl.

Hagen looked sharply at Kharl, then smiled wanly. “Most won’t. It doesn’t matter. The highland lords are used to being absolute rulers over their lands. The merchants and factors have more power in the north and east, and most won’t support Ilteron because they feel that his rule will ruin trade and factoring.”

“Are the east and west of Austra that different?”

“They are indeed.”

“Will the merchants and factors stand behind Lord Ghrant? I’d heard that someone on the factors’ council…”

“Guillam has left Valmurl. The others will hold for Ghrant, but it will be a hard battle because Ilteron has more than a few companies of Hamorian-trained free armsmen.”

“Free armsmen?”

“Armsmen who serve the highest bidder.”

“The Emperor of Hamor is paying them, you think?” asked Kharl. “With the brimstone going there, isn’t that likely?”

“How would one know? I would guess so, but that isn’t something that’s proof…” Hagen shrugged. “The highland barons love warfare, and they have waited for years to take revenge on the easterners and merchants.”

“If they are so warlike, how—”

“They are fewer, and they could never long hang together, and when Lord Estloch’s great-great-grandsire subdued them, he stationed arms-men all along the borders and stopped their raids. It was bloody, because the easterners lost twice as many men, but Lord Isthel kept the highlanders from getting enough food. After three years, they were starving, and he marched into the highlands and leveled all their keeps and took all their weapons. For two generations, he and his son garrisoned the west.” Hagen laughed, ruefully. “Then the garrison commanders became the lords of the highlands…”

Kharl shook his head.

“Seems like what the fathers learn, the grandchildren forget,” Hagen said. “Enough of that. I’m keeping you from your work, and we’ll need the Seastag back afloat as soon as we can.” He nodded. “Good to have you back.” Then he was gone.

Kharl turned his attention back to the planer and the next set of measurements. As always, he recalled his father’s maxim: Measure twice, cut once.

But he still fretted about landowners who seemed just like Egen. Did every land have them? What did it take to keep them from their evil? Was greater power or violence always the only answer? Then he shook his head, ruefully. Just what could a carpenter do?

Abruptly, he stopped.

Taleas had said that if he did not learn more about himself and the staff, he would end up as dead as Tyrbel. With turmoil everywhere he went, those words carried more impact.