The Death of Chaos (27 page)

TAMRA SLOWED HER mount well back from the edge of the trees and waited for Justen. The older man in gray drew up his pony beside her as perhaps two squads of horse troops rode down the road and passed from sight, the hoofs of their mounts clipping on the old stones.

   Behind the cavalry-led van followed a column of figures, also clad in a grayish cyan, marching southward on the old straight road. A single cyan banner with a hawk's claw clutching a sheaf of golden grain fluttered intermittently in the light but cold breeze.

   The hills to the west beyond the road bore traces of white near their crests.

   The dark-haired older man patted Rosefoot on the neck as he and Tamra studied the passing soldiers.

"...had a girl and she was mine...

...had a fire and a cot...

...had a horse and he was fine...

now a blade is all I've got!"

   “Colaris's forces heading out to invade Hydlen from the north?” she asked.

   “Probably.” He nodded. “But they'll have to take the Hydolar Road, and that runs through Certis. The Viscount might have some objection.”

   The soldiers in the column carried what appeared to be thick staffs, resting them against their shoulders as they marched southward.

   She squinted, and her eyes seemed to focus into the distance. After a moment, she shivered, and she looked at Justen. “Rifles? They can't be carrying rifles, can they? That's what they feel like, with all that iron... but Berfir has a white wizard.”

   “They're rifles,” affirmed Justen with a sigh.

   “How?”

   Justen paused before answering, his voice low. “Try to sense what is in their belts.”

   After a long silence, Tamra straightened in her saddle. “Little metal-steel-canisters.” She swallowed. “Will the steel shield them from chaos?”

   Justen nodded. “Miniature shells, rockets... for their guns. No more powder flasks.”

   “Why...why now?”

   Justen shrugged, his eyes still on the long column of soldiers.

   “Is this because of Lerris?” Tamra's whisper was sharp.

   He responded with a sad shake of the head. “This started long before Lerris.” As Tamra's mouth opened, he added, “Long before. But someone has rediscovered what was thought to be safely hidden. Nothing stays hidden forever.” He took a slow deep breath.

   Behind the soldiers came heavy, creaking wagons, each pulled by a four-horse team.

   Tamra and Justen waited and watched, watched and waited.

THE MAN STANDING at the shop door came to my shoulder, and his rabbit-trimmed green cloak and polished boots indicated a limited prosperity. “Master Lerris?”

   “Please come in.” I glanced at Werfel's completed desk. I was getting ready to pack it up into the wagon once Rissa's friend Kilbon arrived to help me. “What might I be able to do for you?”

   He stepped inside and closed the door against the chill. “Durrik. I trade mostly in spices.” He brushed his thinning dark hair off a browned forehead and cleared his throat. “I do supply some spices to Hensil, and... well... Venn told me about the chairs.”

   “You would like some chairs?” I asked.

   Durrik laughed. “Chairs like that-or a desk like that? I couldn't possibly afford or justify them. No... I was wondering about an upright chest, one with compartments...”

   “To store your rarer spices in? Ones you would prefer to keep in the house or office?”

   “Exactly...”

   “That could present a problem.”

   Durrik pursed his lips.

   “The woods... and the finish. You'd need a hard finish, at least in the storage compartments, that wouldn't add or subtract from the spices. Right?”

   “I hadn't thought about that, but it makes sense.”

   “How big would you want the compartments, and how many?”

   “I brought a list of the spices.”

   “How many, roughly?”

   “Say... between a score and a score and a half,”

   I pulled out some sketch sheets and set them on the bench.

   “Some you'll want more space for than others... what about bigger spaces in the base and smaller ones on top?” I began to sketch. “This isn't what it will look like, except for the general shape.”

   The spice merchant watched, his dark-haired head tilted at an angle. “Hmmm...”

   “Do you want doors or drawers?” I paused. “Or some of each?”

   He pointed at the sketch. “What if the top ones, on each side, here, were small drawers? That would work for the rarer ones that you need only a little of. And two rows of smaller drawers here...”

   I could see some problems with his arrangement, because lots of little drawers weigh more than a smaller number of larger ones, and the chest could get unbalanced. “I'd have to balance this somehow. A lot of drawers in the top, unless I make the base wider-like this-will make it top-heavy.”

   “I don't know as I'd like that,” Durrik said slowly. “Isn't there another way?”

   “There are several. Each has advantages and disadvantages...” I sketched out several rough designs, beginning with a straight-sided chest where the larger drawers flanked smaller center drawers and ending with a larger piece with open shelving that could be used for books or display.

   While he looked at them, I added some water to the moisture pot and the glue pot, then brushed a trace of sawdust off the desk chair.

   “I had not thought commissioning a simple chest to be so complex.”

   “Simple chests aren't. You want a chest with all the drawers the same size, and you can have it-but you waste space, and there's nothing particularly special about it.”

   “I don't need a work of art, Master Lerris, just a chest.”

   “Fine.” I sketched out a simple twelve-drawer chest. “What about this?”

   “That's too squat.”

   I gave him a fifteen-drawer one, thinner and taller.

   “I don't know...”

   I laughed. “You say you just want a chest, but when I give you a plain chest, you don't like it.”

   “I can't afford a work of art, young master.”

   “Part of the cost is wood. It's less costly to work in softer woods and use a harder varnish. Of course, softer woods will get dented more quickly.”

 
  “Are you trying to sell me the most expensive chest possible?”

   I shook my head. “You misunderstand. A more expensive piece from a good craftsman will be a better piece. You know that. You want the best you can get, but you fear the cost.”

   He nodded. “Indeed I do.”

   I took a deep breath. “All right. Let's start with what you would really like. I'll tell you about what it will cost...”

   “About?”

   “I'll give you a firm price once we work out what you want. The amount of turning and carving can change the cost of the same-sized chest a great deal. So can any metalwork or ornamentation.”

   “Then... proceed.”

   I must have used nearly ten sheets of sketch paper, more than a few coppers' worth, before we agreed on a basic design-a variation on the original sketch with the larger drawers on the outside, except that I put in a single shelf in the center of the upper part-for balance and display.

   In the end, we did agree.

   “Eight golds... the golden oak, and at least three coats of the hard varnish, and this design. No cracked wood, mind you.”

   “No cracked wood-and if you don't like it, you don't have to take it,” I added.

   “Do you tell all your customers that?”

   “Yes.”

   Durrik shook his head. “The confidence of youth...”

   I didn't know as it was confidence. I thought my work was good enough to sell to someone else-but even if it weren't I wasn't about to force customers to purchase woodwork they didn't like. They wouldn't feel good, and neither would I. “I would not force anyone to buy...”

   “I hope you will always feel that way.” He smiled, almost sadly, before asking, “When might the chest be ready?”

   I had to think for a moment. “It might be four eight-days or a season. I don't have enough oak, and that means seasoning so it will not split.”

   “I would hope not more than a season.” He pulled his cloak around him and turned toward the door. “So would I.” My voice was dry. “Good day, Master Lerris.”

   “Good day.”

   I finally did manage to pull out the plans for Antona's desk and start on the sketch for the bracing-unlike Uncle Sardit, I had to sketch some things out. Then, maybe he did when he was younger, too.

   Kilbon arrived on a thin and bony brown mare right before midday. The sound of strange hoofs brought me to the shop door, but not any sooner than his mare brought Rissa to the kitchen door.

   Kilbon's face was as thin as the mare's, but he smiled when he saw Rissa, and inclined his head to me. “Master Lerris?”

   “Kilbon. I appreciate your help. I'm working on getting an apprentice, but since I don't have one...” I shrugged. “Good help is, mayhap, hard to find.”

   “Especially if the master wants a bright lad who can also sense the woods with more than clumsy hands,” added Rissa.

   “Ah, Rissa, lass, were I Master Lerris, that I'd want, too. I can't use a lad who can't find and bend the rushes without breaking them.”

   Rissa looked from Kilbon to me and back again. Kilbon, thin as he was, had a wiry strength, and we had the desk and chair in the wagon in no time. It took me longer to pad them and cover them with the oiled canvas. I even remembered my staff.

   I offered Kilbon two coppers, but he shook his head.

   “Rather trade a favor for a favor...”

   I smiled. “Fair's fair.”

   “... and some warm food from the lass.” He winked at me and smiled fondly at Rissa, putting his arm around her shoulders.

   She actually smiled back at the basketmaker.

   “You sure you won't be needing me on the trip?”

   “Enjoy the warm food from the lass,” I suggested.

   “Master Lerris...” Rissa actually blushed.

   I flicked the reins and ignored the muffled whuff from the black mare. The wind continued to blow cold out of the northwest, and it felt as if I were in the Westhorns themselves even before I drove the wagon into Kyphrien.

   A guard outside the autarch's palace waved to me as I passed, and I waved back without recognizing him. There were getting to be far more people who knew me that I didn't know than the other way around.

   Wertel had his house and hauling business northwest of Kyphrien on the road to Meltosia. As I guided my small wagon up the hard-packed drive, a blue-sided hauler's wagon easily twice the size of mine rumbled by. The driver tipped his hat. The blue side panel bore a picture of two horses and a wagon, more of a black outline really-with the name “Werfel” underneath.

   The white-walled structure sat on a very low rise, just enough to ensure good drainage really, and formed a square around a central court. Two sides of the square were for the dwelling, and two for the stables and wagon-barns. The hauling sides opened outward, while the dwelling sides opened onto the courtyard.

   There were no guards around-unlike Hensil's establishment-but a broad-shouldered hauler who looked as though he could have eaten most of Hensil's guards for breakfast without taking a breath directed me.

   “Looking for Master Werfel? He's in the office, round the corner.”

   I flicked the reins, gently, not wanting the wagon to jerk, and guided the horse around to the south side of the building. By the time I had set the brake and gotten down, Werfel was standing by the heavy, iron-banded front door.

   “Master Lerris... you'd deliver to a hauler?”

   “Why not? I'd have to come out to tell you it was ready.”

   Werfel laughed and turned to the big hauler who had followed me. “That's a good crafter, not willing to waste his time.”

   Then he gestured and the big hauler and another man walked into his office and carried out a flat table, setting it outside the door. They lifted the desk out of the wagon as easily as if it were a saw or a basket of potatoes, and the desk wasn't light. That oak was solid.

   They carried it into the office and set it down about four cubits out from the wall, right in front of the iron-barred door. Werfel followed them, and I brought the chair in and set it down.

   The haulers nodded to me, and left us in the office, a white-plastered room perhaps ten cubits deep and fifteen in width. The single window, though nearly two cubits wide and three tall, was protected with heavy iron grillwork on the outside. The desk dominated the room, as I realized Werfel must have intended, although the hauler himself would have dominated any room. He was a head taller than me, all lean muscle.

   Werfel said nothing, but he had a fixed frown on his face as he studied the desk. He ran his fingers along the beveled front edge. Then he kneeled down and glanced up underneath at the joins from beneath.

   He opened each drawer, and ran each of the three back and forth several times. Then he took out each in turn and examined the back and inside. After that he sat in the chair, forward and backward and on the edge. Finally, he straightened. “There's only one problem...”

   I tried not to swallow, and I didn't know whether to brain Werfel or not.

   “You haven't put a maker's mark anywhere.” I hadn't even thought about a maker's mark. Sardit had marked his better pieces, but Destrin certainly had not. Then again, who cared about the maker of cheap tavern benches? “I hadn't thought about it. Each piece I do is unique.” Werfel laughed. “Don't worry about it. I was just giving you a hard time. To me, it doesn't make a difference. You might think about it, though.”

   He opened the iron-barred door behind the desk and disappeared for a moment before returning with a leather purse. “It fits well, I think, Master Lerris. Don't you?” I smiled. “I think so, but I may not be the best one to ask.”

   “Who else could I ask?”

   He had a point there. Good crafters and traders are harder on themselves than most others.

   He counted out the golds-ten of them-and laid two silvers beside them. “There. The silvers aren't much-but times haven't been what I'd hoped for. But I will praise the piece to others.” He gave me a wry look. “Although I think it can speak for itself.”

   “Troubles?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable with the praise, and wanting to change the subject. My work still wasn't as good as Uncle Sardit's. “Hamorian traders?”

   “No. Not yet. Poor harvests. Do a lot with cabbage, fruit, potatoes, and the olives, especially the olives.”

   “You said 'not yet.' That sounds like you expect problems with the Hamorian traders.”

   “Not the traders themselves, Lerris, but what follows them. They've got cheap cloth, made with those power looms, and pretty soon they own the dry-goods business. Then come cheap tools and cheaper glassware and pottery. Pretty soon, they start their own hauling businesses, and their own mills and you name it.” He snorted. “Saw it happen in Austra, and south Nordla. It's happening now in Delapra.”

   “What happens if the Duke, or whoever, won't let them?”

   “Tariffs, taxes-that sort of thing?” He snorted. “They still find a way.”

   I nodded.

   “Then they start bringing in their troops and ships. Figure that's what's happening in Freetown. Colaris can't stand up to Hydlen, nor to the Viscount. Hamor will support him, but only if he lets their stuff in. Won't be long before they own him.” He smiled grimly. “Not that there's much a hauler and a woodcrafter can do. Could be hard on your consort, 'fore long, though.”

   “It could be.” Anything ended up being hard on Krystal- or me-or both of us these days.

   “Glad it's not me.” He looked toward the door.

   I took the coins, and the hint, and bowed. “Thank you.”

   “Thank you. Fine desk. Always wanted one like this. Might as well enjoy it while I can.”

   He sat and enjoyed the desk while I walked out and reclaimed the wagon. I checked to see if the staff was handy, but it was right where I left it and where I could reach it instantly.

   While I didn't need the staff on the trip home, I had the feeling it might be necessary sooner than I wished.