Natural Ordermage (45 page)

He was at the desk cleaning his pen, when Daelyt arrived, with a frown on his face.

“Is everything all right?” asked Rahl.

“Have you been out through the courtyard?”

“No. I brought in a bucket of water last night so I wouldn’t have to this morning. I usually do because it takes so long to unlock the gates and relock them.” Rahl paused, then asked, “Why?”

“Something…” Daelyt shook his head. “Chenaryl found some weapons by the gate. I wondered if you’d seen them.”

“I wasn’t out there this morning… well, except I walked by the gates when I went to get some bread, but they were still locked.”

“Daelyt!” Shyret’s voice was harsh, as well as a trace higher than usual.

Without a word, the older clerk turned and headed back , to the archway where the director stood.

Even with order-senses, Rahl could not make out what they discussed, except that Shyret was gesturing and clearly unhappy. Then both walked toward Rahl.

“Did you hear anything… unusual last night?” asked Shyret.

“I woke up once,” Rahl admitted. “I was hot all over and sweating, and I thought I heard something in the street outside, but then it all went away.”

Shyret looked to the older clerk, who frowned.

“Ah… ser, could you tell me what’s the matter? Did I do something wrong? Is this about the weapons? What kind of weapons?”

“There were two blades left on the pavement inside the courtyard,” the director explained. “One was an ancient Cyadoran blade. It had to belong to a mage. The other was a falchiona.”

“Why would anyone leave blades like that?” asked Rahl. “They’re valuable. At the least you could sell them. I got several silvers for that dagger.”

“You couldn’t sell the wizard’s blade without Chalyn telling the mage-guards,” Daelyt pointed out.

“But even if whoever left it knew that, why would they leave the falchiona?” Rahl did his best to look puzzled. Daelyt shrugged.

Shyret looked at Rahl, then at the older clerk.

“Is anything missing from the warehouse?” Rahl asked, trying to instill concern in his words.

“I’m going to have Chenaryl look, but it doesn’t look like anyone opened the gates or climbed them.” Shyret turned and headed for the rear door and the warehouse courtyard.

“Mage-blades at the gates…that’s not good at all,” Said Daelyt.

“Does it mean that a mage is angry at the director or one of us?”

Daelyt laughed harshly. “No. It means that someone killed a mage, and the mage-guards don’t like that at all.”

Rahl shook his head. “But… if someone killed a mage… aren’t they supposed to be registered or something?”

“There aren’t any mages—not ones that are any good unless they’re outlanders—except for the mage-guards. Killing a mage-guard will get you flamed on the spot, unless it’s an accident, and then you’ll spend the rest of your life—what little will be left—in the ironworks.”

“Oh…”

“Exactly.” Daelyt looked directly at Rahl. “How are you coming on the copies of the new schedule?”

“I have one done, and I’m starting the second.”

At that moment, the front door opened, and Hassynat appeared, this time by himself. “Daelyt, what do you have that will handle five hundred stones in about three eightdays?”

“Five hundred stones’ worth of what, Trader Hassynat?”

“Lead plates,” replied Hassynat. “Metals cost more, an additional two golds per hundredstone.”

“That’s banditry, even for you,” complained Hassynat. ‘Then why, with your score of vessels, are you looking for cargo space?“ queried Daelyt with a laugh. ”Might it be that you can carry more of a lighter cargo, items that weigh less?“

Hassynat looked to Rahl. “Is this the way you should treat one who would pay for cartage?”

“Daelyt has far more experience than do I, Trader Hassynat.”

Hassynat laughed ruefully, although Rahl could tell it was largely for show. “You brigands stick together. Four golds a hundredstone? That’s an additional ten golds.”

“In addition to the cartage and valuation reserves,” Daelyt replied.

“What vessel?”

“In two eightdays, we’re expecting the
Legacy of the Black Holding
and then the
Legacy of Nylan
.”

“Those old tubs?”

“If you can wait almost five eightdays, you can have space on the Founders.”

“We’ll take the Nylan. I’ll be back tomorrow morning with a draft on the Exchange.”

“The consignment forms will be waiting, ser.”

Hassynat departed, not nearly so unhappy as his words might have indicated, Rahl realized.

“Captain Wyena won’t be happy with that,” Daelyt remarked. “Lead’s a spavined mule to load and stow.”

“I’ll be gone for a bit.” Shyret nodded to Daelyt as he hurried past and headed for the front door. He did not look at Rahl, who had paused from copying a revised port call listing for the Association ships.

“Yes, ser.” Daelyt took out a consignment form. “You can make the copies for me, if you would, Rahl.”

“I’d be happy to.”

The longer Rahl was at the Association, the more worried he’d become. Not only were Shyret and Daelyt clearly hiding even more than their diversion of coins, but when renegade mages were involved in break-ins, far more was at stake than Rahl wanted to be involved with. But he didn’t have that many alternatives, and the idea of being a mage-guard made more sense than anything else. That he might be right about that occupation being the best for him was even more disturbing. He really didn’t know enough, but maybe he could visit the registry building on sevenday afternoon and talk to one of the mage-guards. He certainly didn’t want to wait until he was forced to leave the Association… or even close to that long, the way matters had gone. By the end of the working eightday, he should know enough more to have a better idea about when to leave. At least, he hoped he would.

For the moment, though, all he could do was his job. He picked up the pen and resumed work on the schedule.

As on oneday and twoday, traders, factors, and more merchants than Rahl had seen before made their way into the Association, all wanting something. That meant Rahl was doing mostly copying, while Daelyt and Shyret, after he returned, sold and bargained, except for the time when Shyret sent Daelyt to the Exchange with the golds from the night before. Clearly, the director was having second thoughts about Rahl.

Yet what could Rahl do? Even if he sent a message—or even managed to persuade a captain to return him to Reduce, how would that help him personally? He had no real proof of what was happening. The ledgers reflected what Shyret said, and Rahl had no way to show that “spoilage” was not taking place. No one seemed to believe him anyway, and even when they did, all the magisters said was that it was his problem.

Outside, the sky grew slowly darker as the day progressed, and in midafternoon, after both clerks had eaten, Shyret departed again.

Not that long after, Guylmor and Sastrot—lone of the other teamsters—made their way through the front door with a roll of something that was more than six cubits long.

“Got a carpet here for the director,” Guylmor announced. “He said to put it here. Didn’t say why.”

“Just so it’s at the side out of the way,” Daelyt replied.

Rahl had to wonder why the carpet was in the office when it would have been just as easy for someone to pick it up from the warehouse.

Before long, Shyret returned. “The weather mages say that we’ll have rain through the late afternoon and until tomorrow.” He looked at Daelyt.

“We might get caught up on all the consignments, then, ser.”

Another factor walked in. He’d been in before—a rope factor, as Rahl recalled, although he did not remember the man’s name.

“Yes, ser?”

“When is the Legacy of the Founders due back?”

“We’re looking at close to five eightdays, ser. The Black Holding and the Nylan will be here in about three.”

“Thank you.” With that-, the man turned and left.

“He’s got cordage on it,” Daelyt said absently.

It was almost sunset before the last factor left, and the rain had begun to fall once more. Rahl was feeling more than a little hungry when Shyret approached the two clerks.

“It’s late enough that we can close up. I need some quiet around here anyway. I have to reconcile some inventory before I can put down the right figures on the draft seasonal tariff report for the Imperial enumerators. Why don’t both of you go eat? Lock the door. Just check back here after you eat and before you leave, Daelyt. I was hoping that you two could load that carpet in the wagon, and Chenaryl could follow me home with it, but I’ll have to wait until it stops raining.” The director snorted. “It never rains here, except on the days when you need it clear.”

“Yes, ser.” Daelyt inclined his head.

Rahl could sense a falsity about the director’s words, but he couldn’t figure out why Shyret would lie or why such an obvious statement about the inconvenience of the weather would ring false.

“You’d better go before the rain gets heavier,” suggested Shyret.

“Yes, ser.”

Daelyt quickly stacked his papers. Rahl didn’t bother. He’d have more than enough time later. He certainly wasn’t going out in the rain after dinner. Daelyt scurried , out, leaving Rahl behind.

After Rahl locked the front door, getting wet while he fumbled with the large brass key, he dashed through the rain that had shifted from a drizzle to a steadier downpour. The gutters were almost full, the water in them moving quickly down the street toward the harbor.

The cantina was steamy, and Rahl found himself sweating as he sat down at the oily back table. He wiped rain and sweat from his face and looked at Daelyt. “Long day.”

“There’ll be more like that. Always are after the turn of fall.”

“Be a moment or two!” called Seorya. “You could let us know you were coming.”

“We would if we knew,” Daelyt replied.

“The lead plates,” Rahl began. “What was all that about?”

“That’s simple. Lead is lead. It doesn’t matter whether it comes from Hamor or Lydiar. The price is the same. Hassynat’s probably got some fine cotton or linen scheduled for his ships, and doesn’t have enough space for the lead. See… we tend to ship fuller on the legs out from Nylan, and they tend to ship fuller on the legs out from Hamor. Not always, but it’s more likely to fall that way. Plus, the lead doesn’t take the cubage, and the supercargo—or the master—or the crew—is likely to try and squeeze in more cargo. That can overload the ship. All around, they’d rather have us ship the lead.” Daelyt grinned. “They also don’t have to worry about spoilage. Lead doesn’t spoil.”

All that made sense, but…

“Here you go, you hardworking clerks!” Seorya set the two chipped crockery platters down, one in front of each man, followed by the two mug-like tankards that held the always-bitter beer.

For a moment, Rahl just looked at the fried flat bread wrapped around onions, pepper, and fish whose origins he preferred not to know, drizzled on top with too little cheese. There was one definite aspect of Seorya’s cooking. It didn’t matter what it was, because all Rahl could taste was the heat and the spices. Even the beer tasted like the spices after a mouthful or two of food. But, he reflected, there was enough so that he didn’t go hungry.

“Frig!”

Rahl glanced up to see that somehow Daelyt had juggled his mug, and sloshed beer out before managing to catch the mug itself—as more beer spilled on his hands.

Daelyt looked at Rahl. “Can you see if Seorya or Eneld has a rag up there?”

Rahl got up and walked forward toward the steamy heat of the big iron stove.

Seorya had already seen what had happened and thrust a rag at Rahl, shaking her head. “It’s a good thing you clerks-aren’t cooks.”

“It’s a good thing you cooks aren’t clerks,” Rahl shot back, grinning‘.

“That is true, because we’d all go hungry.”

Daelyt was still trying to wipe and shake beer off his lower sleeve when Rahl returned with the not-too-clean rag. “Thank you.” The older clerk used the clean section of the rag to wipe the beer off his hands and blot some off his sleeves.

Rahl sat down and worked to finish the mound of flat bread and spiced-fish-flavored onions and peppers. The beer seemed sweeter than usual, but that was welcome. Unlike most nights, Daelyt actually ate all of his meal, and Rahl wondered if Yasnela were with friends.

“We’d better get back,” Daelyt said.

Rahl nodded and stood. He wasn’t looking forward to slogging through the rain, even for the relatively short distance from Eneld’s to the Association.

He yawned as he stepped out into the rain, which continued to fall as heavily as ever. Usually, right about sunset, there was a mage-guard around, but he didn’t see any. He yawned again as he followed Daelyt across the street—far less traveled in the rain. He almost slipped stepping across the gutter to the sidewalk in front of the Association.

Daelyt obviously didn’t like die rain, either, because he’d hurried ahead and unlocked the door.