The Order War (51 page)

“I think the Council should consider an order for confinement of this…what’s his name?” Ryltar glanced toward Claris.

“You can stop the act, Ryltar,” suggested Jenna, her eyes not meeting his, but drifting toward the light-splashed terrace beyond the Council Room. “You know very well the engineer’s name.”

“What is his name?” asked Claris, her voice deliberately sweet.

“Justen. You two make me sick with all your games, as if you’d never heard about…”

“Heard about what, Ryltar? That this Justen made money with some sharp trading? Or that he’s apparently been a success as a trader while remaining highly ordered? Or is there something else we should know? Has he decided to compete with you on the Hamor routes?” Jenna turned her head and favored the wispy-haired counselor with a smile.

“The marines say that he’s strangely accomplished with weapons,” added Ryltar.

“I believe your…cousin…noted that, even before this Justen went to Sarronnyn. Is there something else?” asked Claris.

“What does it take? The man’s order-mad. I’m not talking about exile or execution. I just want him confined so that he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else.”

“I believe he is resting with his family in Wandernaught. His brother is a Weather Wizard who is directly under Turmin’s supervision. This rest is a confinement of sorts, since he has been effectively removed from the engineering hall.”

“I would like to request that he be physically confined and thoroughly examined, not only by Turmin, but by several other mages in the Brotherhood.”

“Perhaps we should take that up at our next meeting,” suggested Jenna. “It might help if you had some better reasons, also, Ryltar.”

“The next meeting is more than two eight-days from now.”

“As you have pointed out often, Ryltar,” added Claris, “we do not have to act precipitously when we are not even sure something is yet a problem.”

“Fine. Next meeting.” Ryltar stood and lifted the thin leather case and walked out stiffly. The heavy door closed behind him with a thud.

“He’s angry. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him that angry,” observed Claris.

“He’s not telling us something, and I don’t know why. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of this Justen.” Jenna brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and back over her ear. “And he never answered my question about the Hamor trade. None of it makes sense.”

“If Ryltar’s afraid, it might be well for us to fear it also, Jenna.” Claris stood and glanced toward the closed door. “Ryltar is so cautious that he never wants to act. Now he does. What does that tell us?” She nodded politely. “Good day.”

Jenna suppressed a frown as she stood also and answered. “Good day.”

“Damned strange basket, if you ask me,” confessed Seldit, glancing at the oblong, waist-high woven basket standing in the middle of the cooper’s workroom.

“Exactly what I need.” Justen smiled briefly, running his fingers across the triple-woven top ridge. “You did this well.”

“Don’t get much call for baskets this big, young fellow.”

“That’s probably true. I owe you three for this?”

“We’d agreed on three…”

Justen caught the suggestion in the cooper’s voice. “But it took more time and effort than you thought it would?”

“Not a lot, but…Mallin had to help me some nights to get it ready.”

The engineer lifted his purse, opened it and set four golds on the bench. “Here’s four.”

“That’s generous, ser.”

“Not at all. You had it ready when I needed it, and that’s important. I’ve got the wagon outside.”

“You’ll take it now?”

Justen caught the undercurrent of—was it fear?—in the cooper’s voice and answered as heartily as he could. “Best strike while the iron’s hot. Old smith saying, you know.” He replaced his purse and lifted the basket, light enough for him to heft alone, a good sign. “If you would open the door?”

“Certainly, Master Justen.”

Justen carried the wicker basket through the open double doors and out into the street, where he eased it into the wagon bed, then lifted and latched the tailgate shut.

“Excellent work, Seldit!” the engineer exclaimed, loudly enough that Basta, standing in the doorway of his leather-and-dry-goods shop, turned to look toward the rotund cooper, whose shoulders slumped under the weight of the unasked praise. “First rate!” Justen added, trying to conceal a malicious grin as he untied the horses and climbed onto the wagon. While his ribs
seemed
healed, he did not want to attempt a vault.

“Thank you,” answered Seldit weakly. “We try to please, ser.”

Justen released the wagon brake and flicked the reins. The horses carried the near-empty wagon out of Wandernaught with easy steps. Thinking again about Seldit’s reactions, the engineer frowned.

Shrezsan was working in the garden, her toddler nearby, and she waved briefly.

Justen returned the wave, still thinking about Seldit, and Ryltar. How much longer before Ryltar would push the Council into acting? He coughed to clear his throat, relieved that the cough didn’t create even the slightest twinge in his ribs.

But why was Ryltar so concerned? The counselor didn’t seem to be the type who really cared much about order, or even about tradition. The fact that he was involved with smugglers showed that his concern was with coin, not with
higher considerations. Justen continued to mull the question as the team carried him back to the house.

He pulled on the reins slightly to slow the horses before they turned onto the lane and plodded up to the stable.

Elisabet waved from the orchard, then came running. Gunnar was waiting by the stable and slipped the wagon blocks in place as Justen set the brake and climbed down.

“Does anyone need the wagon?” asked Justen.

“Not that I know of.”

“No,” added Elisabet. “Even the early apples aren’t ready to go anywhere yet.”

“Then I’ll put it away after I get this inside.” Justen lifted the basket over the tailgate. “The balloon and the lens framework are finished. All I need to do is attach the brackets to this basket. After that, let’s load the land engine and leave tonight.”

“I’d thought—Why?” asked Gunnar.

“Tonight? So soon?” asked Elisabet.

“Because someone is watching and thinks it will be later. Seldit really didn’t want me to take the basket yet. He was obviously uneasy about it, even after I gave him an extra gold.”

“Free with your coin, aren’t you?”

“I thought it was well invested to get the basket and get out.”

“Your coal bins aren’t full. Dad and I can fill them while you and Mother do the brackets.” Gunnar paused. “Is it a good idea to travel the High Road at night?”

“It might be better. I don’t know how horses would take to the land engine.”

“There is that.”

“I can pack up some food to go with all the dried provisions stored in the chest,” added Horas, who had just walked past the stable from the eastern grove.

“We might have to wait a few days in Nylan for the
Llyse
,” added Gunnar.

“That’s still better than being here. I could put the land engine in the engineering hall, I think, for the engineers to ‘study.’”

Gunnar nodded. “You’re worried. A lot.”

“I think Ryltar’s up to something, maybe a lot of somethings. And I don’t understand why.”

“That might be,” said Horas, “but you need to be thinking about loading and preparing to depart, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.”

“Trust Father to be the practical one,” laughed Gunnar. “Where do we start?”

“With the balloon. It goes in the inside compartments. I’ve packed some spare fabric, but I really don’t want it ripped. The frame for the lenses is already broken down and inside the padded crate on the floor of the shed…” Justen began to detail what went where in the limited cargo space of the land engine.

“I never realized that you could be so well-organized,” Gunnar told his brother.

“I’ve thought about it for a while, and—”

“Tell me what I can bring out,” interrupted Elisabet.

“You can bring out all the supplies. Father knows where they are.” The engineer looked at the nearly cloudless late-afternoon sky. “I need to get the land engine out. I don’t think we’ll need the canvases, though.”

“Canvases?” asked Cirlin as she walked down from the smithy.

“Those canvas covers you had Heldra make. They’re to keep the rain or too much sun off us, but I don’t think we’ll need them on the way to Nylan.”

“No. There won’t be any rain,” added Elisabet as she set off for the kitchen, scurrying after Horas.

Justen, Gunnar, and Cirlin wheeled the land engine out of the stable and into the yard.

“Take more than three people to move this once it’s loaded.” Gunnar leaned against the side armor of the craft and wiped his forehead.

“Not on the road, but on soft ground.” Justen set the brake.

Elisabet returned from the kitchen with several waxed packages. “Where do I put these?”

“Set them here.” Justen pointed to the seat beside the driver. “I’ll load them once they’re all here. I know in which order they go inside the locker.”

Gunnar raised his eyebrows.

“I measured. What good’s an engineer’s training if he doesn’t use it?”

“I think I’ll get the balloon,” Gunnar answered.

“I’ll help,” added Cirlin.

“Father wants to know if he can start dinner.” Elisabet looked at Justen.

“Yes. That would be just right.”

“Optimist,” muttered Gunnar.

Despite Gunnar’s pessimism, the loading was complete just before Horas called out, “Dinner.”

“I’ll be right there. I’m going to get the firebox ready to light.” Justen whittled some shavings from a branch he had taken from the woodpile. Although he had some shavings in a box in the coal bin, they were to be saved for possible emergencies.

After setting the shavings and some chips and twigs in the firebox, he walked to the outside pump where he washed the coal dust and grime off his hands and face, then shook the water off his hands.

The others were at the table when he entered.

“Spiced lamb!” announced Elisabet. “And berry bread, and pie.”

“That’s for later, young woman,” said Horas.

“Pass the lamb, please,” asked Gunnar.

Justen extended the bread to his mother, and then to Elisabet, who promptly slathered her slab with cherry conserve. Justen set a slice on the edge of his plate and waited for the lamb, still wondering about Seldit and Ryltar.

“This is good,” said Gunnar. “We’re going to miss this kind of cooking.”

Justen took a bite of the bread.

“Why do you have to leave now? Why so soon?” asked Elisabet.

“Counselor Ryltar wants to lock me up because I’m order-mad,” mumbled Justen through a mouthful of hot bread.

“Finish eating before you talk,” suggested Horas.

“You don’t know that for sure,” protested Gunnar.

“Sure enough.” Justen held up a hand and swallowed. “I still don’t understand why. All Ryltar seems interested in is trade and money.”

“If he’s a trader,” suggested Horas. “He wants to keep taxes low, because the levies fall on traders and businesses. If what you do starts a war between Fairhaven and Recluce, his taxes will go up and his profits will fall.”

“He wants to confine me because I
might
do something that leads to war?” Justen took a sip of ale from his mug and spooned more lamb onto his plate, reflecting that he wouldn’t get cooking as good as his father’s for a long time, if ever. He swallowed.

“Maybe he likes things the way they are,” suggested Cirlin. “Traders don’t like change.”

Justen frowned. “He does handle smuggling.” He ate some of the lamb, enjoying the meat and mixed spices.

“It’s not illegal here, just in places like Hamor and Candar,” added Gunnar.

“Maybe he doesn’t want Justen to succeed,” suggested Elisabet.

“He doesn’t even know what I’m doing.”
He can’t, since I myself am still not exactly sure of what’s going to happen
.

“Elisabet may be right,” said Gunnar. “Let’s say that you do something, anything, to unbalance things in Candar, anything that reduces the power of the Whites. The Whites control their trade absolutely, and they tax it heavily. They have to. That’s how they support all those armies and levies.”

“So?”

“The Whites have always tried to reduce free trading. What advantage does Ryltar have over the other traders? He deals with smugglers. Now, smugglers can exist only if they provide things people can’t get, or if they charge less for their services. If they don’t pay the Whites’ taxes.”

Horas nodded. “So more White control means more coins in Ryltar’s purse?”

“Is that enough to want to lock Justen up?”

“I don’t know.” Justen shrugged. “There has to be something else, but what it is…”

“Could anyone be that greedy?” mused Horas.

“I don’t think you can underestimate greed,” answered Cirlin.

“I still think I could go.” Elisabet looked at Justen.

“Only when you’re as good as Gunnar with the storms, or as good an engineer as Justen, dear,” responded Cirlin.

“That’s not fair.”

The other four laughed gently.

“All right. Fair doesn’t count, but I don’t have to like it.”

Justen reached over and patted Elisabet’s shoulder. “Someday…someday…you too can go off into the world and do utterly idiotic deeds that could kill you.”

“…and fall in love with strange people in strange places that your family has never seen,” added Horas, a twinkle in his eye.

“…and build wondrous devices that throw your family through stone walls,” added Cirlin dryly.

“Promise?” asked Elisabet.

The older four laughed again, with less restraint.

By the time dinner was over, the sun had dropped behind the hills.

Justen and Gunnar carried their packs out to the land engine. There Justen checked the coal bins again, easing another shovelful of coal into them. Then he opened the firebox and used the striker to light the shavings and wood, adding a few chunks of coal to begin building up the fire. Once the edges of the coal had caught, he closed the door and left the scuttle by the firebox. He didn’t want to use the coal from the bins until the land engine was actually on the road.

“Let’s put the packs here.” He reached out and set his by the third seat, and reached back to get Gunnar’s.

Then he used the small bellows to force the fire into a hotter flame, waiting to add more coal.

Sssssss…
Justen reached above the back of the third seat, trying not to snag his sleeve on the wicker balloon basket, containing assorted supplies, in order to close the steam valve. The balloon fabric was folded and stored in one of the storage spaces under the black iron armor. Then he eased
forward and climbed out of the land engine to stand beside the driver’s seat with Gunnar.

In the early twilight, Cirlin, Horas, and Elisabet stood a pace or so back from the land engine.

“I still wish you’d let me go,” said Elisabet. “One ride wasn’t really enough.”

“Watching that one was bad enough,” mumbled Horas.

Elisabet turned toward her father. “I wasn’t in an any danger. Justen wouldn’t even go fast.”

“Praise the darkness he didn’t.”

Justen hugged Elisabet, then Cirlin and Horas. Gunnar did the same, beginning with Horas.

“We’d better get moving,” suggested Gunnar as he stepped back from hugging his sister.

“Be careful with that…thing,” warned Horas.

“It’s no different from a Brotherhood ship, dear,” noted Cirlin.

“Ships are dangerous, too.”

Justen grinned as he caught the teasing tone in his father’s voice. “We’ll be careful. As careful as we can be.”

“That’s probably not careful enough.”

In the quiet, punctuated only by the gentle hiss of steam, Gunnar climbed into the seat beside the driver’s seat, and Justen slipped into the driver’s seat, wiggling the tiller. The third seat, raised and to the rear, was vacant.

Justen eased the throttle to begin the steam flow to the turbine.

Creakkkkk…
The land engine rolled down the lane and toward the road. Behind them, Cirlin, Horas, and Elizabet waved. The brothers waved back through the twilight.

Neither Gunnar nor Justen spoke until they were on the road to Wandernaught.

“You know…some of the people are going to think that we’re some sort of monster when we puff through town.” Gunnar pursed his lips.

Without taking his eyes from the road, Justen increased the steam flow to the pistons driving the shaft. “They might, but not many people will be out, and we don’t sound very
different from a heavy wagon. The engine’s not really noisy.”

“I don’t know. This is bigger than most wagons.”

“Not if you consider that we don’t have any horses up front. But we’ll have to see.”