Wellspring of Chaos (32 page)

When the Seastag had cast off from the pier at Swartheld, starting the voyage back to her home port of Valmurl, one of the crew, as Ghart had predicted, had failed to return—the fresh-faced young Wylat. Thinking of Wylat toiling on the Great Highway or the fiery furnaces of Luba, Kharl had shaken his head. He could but hope the Fleuryl never ported in Swartheld, because he had his doubts about Arthal’s wisdom. But there was nothing he could do about either young man’s fate.

The ship had traveled no more than a handful of kays northeast beyond sight of land when the seas began to turn rough, and bitter chill permeated the winds that had raised the waves and buffeted the Seastag. The remainder of the eightday journey was rough, although the seas had subsided somewhat as the Seastag neared Austra, and Kharl had found himself more and more fretful once the coastline appeared.

The winter sun hung low in the west, offering little warmth, as the Seastag steamed through the gray harbor waters toward the outermost pier of Valmurl harbor. Kharl was glad for his heavy jacket as he stood by the railing and looked at Valmurl. Unlike Brysta, which faced west on the Eastern Ocean, Valmurl faced east—and the Great Western Ocean. Valmurl was also an older port city, but set on a flat plain on the delta of the River Val. The bay on which the city was located was more open, and had no fortifications like the twin harbor forts of Brysta. While there were hills to the north, they looked to be low and some distance way— and were covered entirely with a whiteness that could only be snow.

Farther back from the waterfront, Kharl could see taller structures, even stone towers. Thin lines of smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys into the cold air, and a smoky haze hung over the city. The smoke and near-twilight shadows mixed together and imparted a gray cast to Valmurl, despite the late-afternoon sunlight that glinted on the gray waters between the ship and the city.

Furwyl eased up beside Kharl. “You still intending to leave us here?”

“I’d planned to,” Kharl replied. “Hoped to find a place as a cooper somewhere in Austra.”

“You’re a fine carpenter, and a good man to have around in a tight place. Hate to see you spend the rest of your life making barrels for someone else. Hard thing to make your way in a land not your own,” the first mate pointed out. “You’re already a subofficer on your first voyage. Not many do that.”

Kharl knew Furwyl was right, yet he hesitated. “Making my way here couldn’t be that much harder than where I came from.” Even as Kharl spoke, he wondered. He’d still have been a cooper, with a consort and sons, if he’d not been so unlucky to have heard Egen in the back alley. Or would he? The druids had suggested that his situation would have worsened anyway. Did that mean matters could be worse in Val murl? Or Vizyn, if he got there? “Leastwise, I hope not.”

Furwyl chuckled. “We’re goin‘ in to refit. Be in the yards two, may three eightdays. You don’t find what you want, get back here afore we leave—bet the captain’d take you back as carpenter second. Not the billet he’ll fill except with someone he knows, and he knows all the ship’s carpenters in Austra. Leastwise, he’d put you on one of his other ships.”

“How many does he have?”

“Ten. At least, that was the last number I heard. All something with ‘sea’ in ‘em… Seahound, Seafox …”

“And he still sails?” Rhylla had mentioned once that Hagen had other ships, but Kharl had not realized just how many.

“He’s a man who likes what he does,” Furwyl said. “And he likes to keep good people. Especially carpenters.”

“Are good ones that hard to come by?”

“Harder than you’d think. You get youngsters barely more than apprentices… know a few things and think they know more, and mostly you get older men who love their ale so much that the only time they’re sober is at sea.”

“Where are the good ones?” asked Kharl.

“That’d be a secret.” Furwyl grinned, then added, “With the shipwrights, but they don’t take many, and you got to be family… or close to it, or be owed more than most would owe.“

That made sense. Still…

“Thank you,” Kharl finally said. “And thank the captain. But I think I need to look and see if anyone needs a good cooper.”

“You can tell him yourself in the morning when he pays off the crew. Just thought I’d put in a word with you.” Furwyl nodded and turned.

Was Kharl making a mistake? Another mistake?

Kharl didn’t think so, but then, he hadn’t thought so before.

The morning after the Seastag ported in Valmurl, and after muster, Kharl placed his few belongings into his pack, now mostly full, and, staff in hand, headed up to the main deck to see Hagen. There he waited in the chill air until after the regular deckhands and riggers had been paid. Then he stepped forward to the small table behind which the captain sat.

“You still intent on leaving us, carpenter?” Hagen’s voice was cheerful, but Kharl could catch a sense of worry behind it.

“I don’t know about intent, ser. It’s just that… well… I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t try to be what I’ve spent my life learning and doing.”

Hagen nodded. “When you put it that way, it’s hard not to see it so.” The captain paused and looked down at the ledger before him, turning the pages until he was close to the end. “Your crew share, right now, is fifteen silvers, and I owe you five silvers and three for your wages.”

Two golds? Kharl certainly hadn’t expected that. He’d come aboard hoping to get off with what he’d had in his leather pouch. “Yes, ser. That’s more than fair.”

Hagen shook his head. “It’s fair. No more, no less.”

Kharl sensed the other’s honest feelings and nodded.

“You don’t have to go,” Hagen said. “I’d have you as carpenter second, and carpenter first when Tarkyn decides he’s had enough of the sea.”

“I only asked for passage to Austra, ser.”

“I know, but I’d still have you.” Hagen paused. “Where are you headed?”

“I’d thought Vizyn, but anywhere that I could be a cooper.”

“Coopers… there are more than enough here in Valmurl. You ought to stay on as a ship’s carpenter.” Hagen laughed. “Then, I’d be the last one to tell any man what he should be doing. That I would be.” He fingered his chin. “Three good coopers here in Valmurl. None as good as you, in truth. Oldest one is Dezant. He’s off the Traders’ Square. Then there’s Kundark, and he does mostly slack cooperage, and his place is on the south side of the city, by the Guard Barracks there. You might try Chalart. He’s on the north side, back of the refit yards. He supplies barrels for merchanters, mostly. You can tell any of them that I sent you. It might help, won’t hurt.

“You don’t like Valmurl… go and see Vizyn, but you’d better take a coaster. It’s a good nine hundred kays. Of the ones in port now, take the Norther or the Southshield… tell ‘em I sent you. You don’t like it, then turn around and come back. Offer’s open until we leave Valmurl.”

“Thank you. How long will you be here? For refitting?” Kharl added quickly.

“Half a season, I’d guess. Takes longer to refit in winter, but there’s little enough trading to be done, and I’d like to have the engineers go over the engine after that problem off Worrak.”

“Is there anything special I should know about Valmurl?” Kharl asked. “Things that’d be obvious to you, but not to me? If you don’t mind, ser.”

“Valmurl is much like Brysta, save that it is the capital of all Austra, and there is but one lord. Lord Estloch has a good heart, and, unlike many rulers, he would be as fair as possible and still hold order within the streets. Still… dark streets are dangerous… especially harborside, and there are few patrollers past midnight. The wealthy are as they are in any city.”

If those words were not a warning, Kharl wasn’t a cooper. “Thank you.”

“You change your mind, and there’ll be a place for you, if not here, then on one of the other ships.”

“I appreciate that, ser, and I’ll just have to see.”

“That you will. Good fortune.”

After hoisting his pack onto his shoulders and securing his silvers and coppers in his concealed leather pouch, Kharl walked down the gangway of the Seastag, perhaps for the last time, and past the wagons already lined up to receive the cargo being off-loaded. While the pier was not so crowded as those at Swartheld, more than a score of loaders and others swirled around the area opposite the Seastag. Among them, he saw no patrollers, although more than a few men carried blades of various styles and lengths.

As Kharl reached the foot of the pier, he saw a wagon, with a platform. On the platform stood a blond girl, one certainly younger than Sanyle or Jeka. Despite the chill of the morning, the girl wore but the filmiest shift, and in the morning light, it was most clear that she wore absolutely nothing beneath, except for the bronze cuff on her left ankle, a cuff attached to a bronze chain. The chain was bolted to a bronze circlet affixed to the side of the wagon. The girl’s face was pale, and her green eyes carried sadness.

Four huge men with cudgels stood there—one at each corner of the wagon.

A man in a rich deep blue jacket stood on the stones of the street, his voice pitched to carry. “Beauties for indenture… young, beautiful girls…” His eyes took in Kharl’s staff, and there was the slightest hesitation before he continued. “Girls for every taste and pleasure…”

Kharl glanced down the pier toward the Hamorian merchanter tied up beyond the Seastag. A blonde beauty—and the girl was attractive— would be welcome in Swartheld. The girl’s eyes did not meet Kharl’s or any other’s.

“Blonde… redhead… any kind of beauty you’d like…”

Kharl turned abruptly, his lips tight together as he walked away from the slaver. Indenture or not, the process was slavery. He’d hoped for better in Valmurl. His eyes moved from side to side, taking in the handful of people out so early. Most seemed well-dressed, and he saw no one in rags or begging.

He thought over Hagen’s words. “Lord Estloch has a good heart… would be as fair as possible.” He understood the message beneath. Lord Estloch was either weak or having troubles in holding on to his land. Or perhaps those beneath him had too much power. Whatever Hagen had meant exactly, it was clear enough that matters were not as Hagen would have had them, and that troubled Kharl, for he knew Hagen to be a fair and more than decent captain and man.

Should he seek passage to Vizyn, and seek out Taleas, the scrivener whom Tyrbel had written? Or first check with the coopers that Hagen had mentioned? After a moment, he decided to visit the coopers in Val-murl. Why travel to a destination where the prospects were unknown until he exhausted the possibilities nearer at hand?

As he walked along the cobblestoned streets, avoiding the too-frequent potholes holding ice and mud, and the gutters that needed cleaning, he studied the shops and the narrow-faced brick dwellings squeezed tightly together. For the number of dwellings, he saw few enough men and women on the streets, although he still saw no beggars or peddlers or tinkers.

Trader’s Square was six long blocks west of the harbor, but it was still early when Kharl reached the square. Despite the winter chill, the air was still, and he had unfastened his jacket to keep from getting too warm. He stood at the edge of the square for several moments. The square was a good twenty rods in length and ten in width, with the center simply an open, paved space. A handful of carts had been pulled into place in the center of the square, but some of the shops and factor’s buildings were yet shuttered. The cooperage was on the far south side of the square, not exactly on it, but on the corner street leading into the square. The building was perhaps another ten cubits wider than Kharl’s had been, and featured double doors in front, with a front loading dock to one side. That suggested that there was not a usable alley behind the cooperage.

Kharl shrugged and stepped through the open doors and into a workroom nearly as deep as his own had been. He noted more shavings and sawdust than he would have preferred, but the cooperage was still relatively neat and clean, and the brick walls had been swept and cleaned recently. As he glanced around the shop, Kharl could see four figures working. One was slighter and smaller, probably an apprentice.

A young man, perhaps four or five years older than Arthal, stepped from the workbench at one side to meet Kharl. “Ser?” His eyes flicked across the staff and came back to Kharl.

“I’m looking for Dezant,” Kharl said.

“Yes, ser. He’s at the miller’s right now. Is there anything that I could help you with? Are you interested in tight or slack cooperage?”

“Are you his son? You seem to understand…”

The young man smiled. “I’m Elont. There are three of us working with Father.”

[“He’s fortunate, indeed. There mi,  all so busy.”]

[“Valmurl does require many barrels]

[, lV>]

[tiously.]

“But not quite so many as you."

[“It’s always better to sell more would interest you, ser?”]

[“I’m afraid my interest is a shared C] ter, and my father was a cooper. I war^j t0 was true, if not telling the entire story.]

[Elont smiled politely, disappointed. “It5 J]

“So I had heard, and I’m glad to see it."

[“You’d be better off, ser, to remain as i ‘tJ than to open a cooperage here.”]

“I had no thought of opening a cooperage, certainly not now, but one must think of the future."

[“You’re certain we couldn’t sell your ves^]

[“The captain is well aware of your work, I order it,” Kharl replied politely. “I appreJ inclined his head.]

“Thank you, ser.”

[Kharl eased out the door, grateful at least j in the shop. Outside, he looked around, According to Hagen, Kundark was on the Guard Barracks. Kharl readjusted his pack breath still steaming in the chill air.]

[Ahead, he glimpsed two children in rags so shabbily dressed. One—a girl—went to solid gray cloak of warmth and style. ]

[The man glanced around, twice, stiffly walking away.]

[A shrill whistle sounded. The boy va viceway, and the girl scrambled to her feet/ avoid the patroller who grasped her roug. Kharl moved closer, he strained to hear the patroller but her pleading position was all too clear. ]

“… begging, you were…”

“… wasn’t beggin‘… wasn’t…”

“… off to the indenturer’s… Begging’s against the Lord’s Law. You know that.”

“… no… not that…”

“… pretty little thing like you… fetch a good price in Hamor won’t be cold there, either…”

Kharl winced at the thought of the beggar girl ending up like the girl on the dock, but he did not try to interfere, much as he would have liked to, and he only watched as the patroller dragged the child down a side street. His guts churned, much as he imagined Charee both telling him he’d done what was wise and asking him why he hadn’t done so earlier.

He kept walking, but it was a while before he felt any calmer. A good half glass later, he stood across the street from the stone walls surrounding the Guard Barracks. He had completed a circuit of the streets facing onto the Barracks, but had not seen anything resembling a cooperage to the Barracks. Two uniformed figures stood as sentries outside the gate. One was scarcely more than a boy, and the other looked to be at least as old as Kharl.

The younger sentry looked at Kharl.

Kharl looked back and, after a moment, the youthful guard dropped his eyes. Kharl turned and started down the narrow lanelike street that angled northwest from the corner of the barracks. Fifty cubits or so down the lane, in front of a seamstress’s shop, a white-haired woman in a patched coat swept dust and old snow away from the doorway of the shop.

“I’m looking for—” Kharl began.

“Speak up. You looking for something, fellow?”

“A cooper named Kundark. I’d heard his cooperage was here.”

“It was. Over there.” The woman pointed to the burned-out shell of a building a hundred cubits farther along the narrow lane.

From what Kharl could see, the cooperage had been about half the size of Dezant’s shop, and the blaze had not been all that recent. “What happened?”

The woman shrugged. “No one knows. No one’s seen Kundark. Consort and son died in the fire. Terrible blaze it was.”

“How did it start?”

“No one knows.” The woman looked away from Kharl and resumed sweeping, muttering to herself, “Stupid question… outland black-staffer.”

After a long look at her, and a longer one at the burned ruins, Kharl turned and retraced his steps back northward in the general direction of where he had understood the refit yard to be.

Valmurl stretched much farther to the north than Kharl had thought, and it was close to noon before Kharl reached the workshops on the ancient street opposite the refit yard and the three dry docks—all empty. The three largest structures facing the harbor and yards were shuttered and locked, large barnlike buildings whose exterior planks and timbers had weathered into faded gray. Grimy powdered snow lay drifted into the corners where the plank walls met the frozen ground or the worn and cracked cobblestones of the street.

Kharl’s face and hands were numb from the chill, even though he had periodically thrust his hands up under his jacket.

Between the two shuttered and larger structures on the northern end of the block was a smaller building, one with unshuttered windows and a half barrel displayed on a bracket to the right of the front loading doors. Kharl made his way to the cooperage and, with a shrug, opened the door and stepped inside.

A single gray-haired man straightened from where he stood over a machine that looked to Kharl as though it were a combination planer and router of some sort.

Kharl stepped forward. “You’re Chalart?”

“That’s me.” The cooper’s eyes raked across Kharl. “You another cooper looking for a place?” Before Kharl could reply, the wiry man went on. “Not enough orders for me and my boy, and certainly not enough for another mouth.”

“How did you know?” asked Kharl.

Chalart snorted. “You got that look and a pack on your back. Buyers don’t wear packs. Seen more…” He shook his head. “Wager you’re a good cooper, too.”

“One of the best,” Kharl said.

“Then… why are you here?”

“I’m from Nordla. The lord’s son didn’t care that I stopped his pleasures with my neighbor’s daughter.”

“Think things be different here?”

“I’d hope no one would want to kill me,” Kharl replied ruefully.

“You might get that.” Chalart studied Kharl. “What have you been doing?”

“Ship’s carpenter.”

“Keep doing it. I know a half score of coopers that’d jump for your position.”