Wellspring of Chaos (37 page)

On oneday morning, Kharl and Tarkyn were attaching the last set of hinges on the door to the second weapons locker. The sky overhead was almost clear, with a faint haze to the west, but a chill and light wind blew out of the north with a dampness that cut through Kharl’s winter jacket. Tarkyn stepped back and nodded. “An eightday or so, and no one’d know that it hadn’t been there from the time the ship went down the ways.“

“Better that way.” Kharl checked the racks inside and closed the door. The hasp fit over the lock staple perfectly. He slipped the fitted dowel in place to keep the door shut. Once they were back afloat, Ghart would replace the dowel with an actual lock, but at the moment, no lock was needed, since there were no weapons inside the locker.

“Captain ever say why he wanted another locker?” Kharl had asked before, but Tarkyn had always deflected the question. “Don’t give up, do you?”

“You think I ought to?” countered Kharl. “Would you?” Tarkyn chuckled, then glanced around the deck, empty except for the two carpenters at that moment. “Didn’t say. Not exactly. Said something about ports not being as safe as they used to be, even Austran ports.”

“He thinks someone might try to take over the ship?”

“With what he said, the thought had crossed my mind.” Tarkyn frowned. “Then, could be he didn’t want to give the real reason. Could be he didn’t have one, except a feeling.”

“Could be,” Kharl agreed. “You going back to see Lyras any time soon?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” Kharl offered a laugh. “I haven’t figured out half of what he told me last time.” Nor had he had a chance to try several of the ideas Lyras had suggested. He hadn’t found the passage in The Basis of Order about staffs, and he hadn’t been successful, so far, in trying to become invisible. But that could have been because he was still tired. Or maybe he was missing something.

“Mages are like that.” Tarkyn paused. “You’re getting like that.”

“Must be getting older, like you,” Kharl countered. “Reisl said he saw you looking at a leaf in the mess the other day. Just looked at it, and it got real stiff. Then, after a bit, just fell apart into white powder. Scared him stiff. He likes you, but still scared him.” Tarkyn waited. Kharl almost swallowed. He hadn’t realized that Reisl had been watching that closely. After a long moment, he finally said, “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. It was something Lyras suggested. Told me to study little things. I did it wrong. The leaf was almost dead anyway, but… I didn’t help it. It’s hard work. I had to go to bed early that night. I was that tired.”

“For doing that to a leaf?”

“Well… I was outside studying the rain/‘ Kharl added. ”That was hard, too. No one ever told me that even learning little things about magery took so much strength.“ He was pleased that he’d managed to tell almost all the truth without revealing too much, and not much more than Tarkyn already knew.

The older carpenter nodded. “Heard that from others. Said that one of the mages that destroyed Fairven—or might have—had been a big brawny smith… came back a skinny old man. Others never came back at all.”

“I could see that. Just the little things, just studying things, and I felt so tired, like I’d worked a forge all day. I guess that’s why I keep telling people I can do a few things, but that I’m not a mage and might not ever be one.”

Tarkyn laughed. “I’d believe that, except for one thing.”

Kharl raised his eyebrows in question.

“You’re the kind that never gives up… leastwise about that sort.”

Kharl wondered. Hadn’t he given up in a way about Charee, and about Warrl?

“Trouble coming,” said Tarkyn, looking over Kharl’s shoulder.

Kharl turned and watched as Furwyl crossed the gangway between the ship and the edge of the dry dock and made his way across the main deck.

“You about finished?” asked the first mate.

“Just did,” Tarkyn said.

“Good. Put all your tools back in the carpenter shop below, and the ones you carried over to that shed. Then get your personal gear back aboard. We’re refloating the ship. Captain wants us out of here and ready to sail morning after tomorrow. We’re moving to the Lord’s Pier soon as we get clear.”

“Mind telling us why, ser?” asked Tarkyn.

“Captain didn’t say much, except that we needed to be ready to shove off.”

Kharl wondered how much of Hagen’s urgency had been created by the reports of conflict between Lord Ghrant and his elder brother.

By threeday evening, after two frantic and hectic days, the Seastag was back in Valmurl harbor proper, tied to the innermost pier for oceangoing vessels, the so-called Lord’s Pier. The last of the wagons that had been lined up on the pier had been unloaded in late afternoon, and the cargo stowed below. Now, the pier was empty, except for an occasional sailor. But a handful of vessels remained in the harbor, and no others at the Lord’s Pier.

Because the day had been warmer, and because the light was brighter, Kharl had come topside to read and found a quiet place forward of the paddle wheels. Hunched in his winter jacket, wearing a glove on the hand that held the book, but not on the one that turned the pages, in the dusk he looked down at the open page of The Basis of Order. He had read the words before, but he read them again.

Order cannot be concentrated in and of itself, not even within the staff of order, and no man can truly master the staff of order until he casts it aside.

How could anyone master something that he cast aside? And why should anyone cast aside something as useful as a staff? The next words had not been much more help.

For order cannot be divided in two without its power being diminished by four, and if it be divided into four parts, then its power is less by another fourth, so that the total of all portions is but one sixteenth of what it would have been undivided. Likewise, so it is with a staff imbued with order for whoever wields it…

Kharl closed the book. He would have to think even more about what those words meant. He almost wished he’d gone to see Lyras again, but he’d had so little time when he hadn’t been busy or so tired from work and from what efforts he had made to try to do more with his order-abilities.

“You’re not tired now,” he murmured to himself. Not so tired as he had been, anyway.

He tried to recall what the mage had said about making himself invisible to others, something about letting light flow around him, that light flowed like water. But from where did it flow? Kharl glanced at the western sky above the roofs and towers of Valmurl. Some light flowed from the sun. Did it flow from lanterns or fires or torches? He had not found anything in the book about invisibility, or how to do it. He’d found very few references to light, and most of those referred to the chaotic nature of light, how it was not ordered.

He paused. He’d tried to let light flow around him before—a number of times—and nothing had happened. Lyras had said that becoming invisible was a trick, but one he’d never mastered. And he thought Kharl could? The carpenter laughed to himself.

Still… what was the harm in trying?

Could he try to order the light, use his senses to smooth it around him? As if he were really not standing there on the deck? He just leaned back against the chill wood of the paddle wheel frame and closed his eyes, trying to feel or sense the light.

Nothing—he sensed nothing. Except… something like a whispering white breeze. Was that light? He tried to ease it around him, as if he were not there. Nothing seemed to change, and he opened his eyes— only to find that he couldn’t see. He was surrounded by blackness.

He swallowed and pushed at the light, and his sight returned.

For a time, he just sat there in the chilly dusk, breathing heavily and holding on to The Basis of Order.

What had he done? Did being invisible mean that he wouldn’t be able to see? He tried to recall what Lyras had said. Something about needing his order-senses? Then Kharl remembered. “You’ll be blind.” He shivered.

He considered. He’d been blind, and now he wasn’t. So… what was it? If the light flowed around him, and he needed light, even a little bit, to see… He shook his head. It was so obvious. He really hadn’t been blind. He just hadn’t been able to see because he’d had no light to see. But did that mean that others couldn’t see him?

Slowly, he stood. Did he want to try again? If he didn’t, how would he learn? But he also recalled that moment when he couldn’t see. He took a slow deep breath and tried once more.

The second time the blackness was just that—blackness, no light. He tried to place where he was with his order-senses, and began to feel what was around him. Then, carefully, he eased his way aft, toward the quarterdeck where Rhylla had the deck duty.

He could sense her as he neared the railing, but he tried to make no sound. She turned, then leaned forward as if peering in his direction. Then she turned toward the gangway and pier.

Kharl slipped back forward and around the paddle wheel frame before he released his smoothing of the light. He sighed—deeply.

Again, he was tired. Not so drained as when he had hardened the water, but tired.

He paused. Could he harden something like the air he breathed? Into an invisible shield before him?

Kharl stood on the deck, letting his senses try to feel the air before him. For a moment, he just stood there, almost entranced, as he could see the tiniest fragments of order and chaos hanging in the air. Slowly, he concentrated on a square section of air a cubit before his eyes, twisting the hooks of order and chaos together.

Then he reached out with his hand, gingerly. The air was hard… hard as if it were an invisible metal plate. He tried to push it, but it did not move or give way. He yawned, and his eyes blurred.

He could feel his knees turn to water, and he sat down on the deck, harder than he wanted to. Then, blackness washed over him.

“Kharl? You all right, fellow?”

The words slowly penetrated, and Kharl looked up at the shadowy figure of Rhylla. “Tired… was reading. Guess I just fell asleep.” He pulled himself to his feet.

“You look tired. Tarkyn must be working you hard.”

“Sometimes. Times, I just work myself too hard.”

The third laughed. “From anyone else but you I’d call that a load of sowshit.”

“Could be from me,” Kharl admitted. “But I am tired.”

“Best not to sleep on the deck—not in port. Never know who might slip aboard.”

“You’re right. Thank you.”

Rhylla turned away.

Kharl reached up, trying to see what had happened to the air shield. It was gone. Did that mean that it took his own concentration to maintain it… or that it would melt away in time? He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the effort to find out. Certainly not at the moment.

He slowly headed for his bunk in the forecastle. If he were going to use the air as a shield, he needed to become better at it, or the effort would likely kill him faster than whatever he was trying to protect against. More practice might help… he hoped.

He yawned again as he stepped through the hatchway. He was tired.

Fourday had come, and gone, as had most of fiveday, and still the Seastag remained tied at the Lord’s Pier. Kharl and Tarkyn had spent the majority of fiveday cleaning out and reorganizing the carpenter’s shop, in an effort to undo the effects of the thrown-together stacks and lengths of wood and the hurriedly stowed tools required by the hasty reloading that had accompanied the rush of leaving the dry dock.

Kharl slipped the black staff into the longer overhead bin, still thinking about the passage in The Basis of Order. Why was it important to cast aside such a useful tool as the staff? He did not doubt the book, but he did question his own understanding of the words. “That should do it.”

“Leastwise, gave us time to do it right ‘fore we set to sea,” grumbled Tarkyn. “When we set to sea. If we set to sea.”

“You think we’re waiting for cargo?”

“At the Lord’s Pier? More likely waiting for…” Tarkyn broke off and turned in the stool.

Kawelt stood in the hatchway of the carpenter shop. “Kharl… got a visitor here.”

“Visitor?” Kharl couldn’t honestly think of anyone. Arthal? But his son wouldn’t have even known that his father served on a ship, let alone which one, and Kharl doubted that Arthal would have cared, not given the way he’d left the cooperage.

“Second from the Southshield …”

Herana?

“You’re not thinking of changing ships?” asked Tarkyn.

“No. I don’t know why she’d…”

At the word “she” Tarkyn laughed. Even Kawelt looked amused.

“Go on… We’re done for the day.”

Kharl slipped on his winter jacket and gloves and headed topside, where he made his way to the quarterdeck. Herana and Ghart stood by the railing, talking.

“… good man… carpenter and a fighter… a deck-stander… guess that’s all right…”

“… doesn’t talk much about himself…”

Both turned as Kharl neared.

“Carpenter,” said Herana, “we’re in port till tomorrow. Thought you might like to join me for an ale. Ghart says you’re not on the watch schedule until tomorrow morning.”

Kharl looked to Ghart.

“Still don’t have that cargo,” Ghart said. “Go have an ale. Just take a look at the pier now and then.”

“Yes, ser.” Kharl nodded.

“See you later, Ghart,” Herana said to the Seastag’s second mate.

Kharl followed Herana down the gangway, then drew abreast of her on the pier. He inclined his head to her. He wasn’t quite sure what to call her, since he was neither passenger nor a crewman under her.

“I was glad to see you came back,” she said. “Somehow, I didn’t see you as the type that would have liked Vizyn.”

“You were right, but I had to see.”

“You don’t like being a ship’s carpenter?”

“I like it. I’m not certain it’s what I should be doing.”

“If you like it, and you’re good… ?”

Kharl laughed. “Once I was a cooper, and I was good at it, and I liked it. But, for all that, things didn’t turn out so well.”

Herana turned toward the open doors of the Crimson Pitcher. Kharl followed her inside. The tavern was half-empty, and they found a table in the far corner of the main public room. As Kharl seated himself across from her, he couldn’t help but overhear words from a table nearby.

“… said the regulars being marched south… going to let Ilteron have Valmurl…”

“… Lord Ghrant never was a fighter…”

A server appeared.

“Dark ale,” Herana said.

“Lager. Pale ale if you don’t have it,” Kharl added.

“Three for each.”

Kharl showed his coins, as did Herana.

“Be back in a moment.”

“Ghart said you’d had to leave Brysta. Was that what you meant by things not turning out?” Herana’s voice showed interest, but was not insistent as she looked at Kharl.

“Something like that.” Kharl paused, then waited as the server set down two mugs before handing over his coins. Once the woman left, he said, “Board outside said two.”

“Everything’s getting dearer. All the taverns are asking more.”

“Because of the fighting between Ghrant and Ilteron? What’s Captain Harluk going to do with the Southshield … if Ghrant and Ilteron start a battle here in Valmurl?”

“Steam off to where they’re not fighting,” suggested Herana. “Wait until everything clears, then go back to carrying people and cargo where they want to go. What else can he do?”

“Not much,” Kharl replied. He took a swallow of the pale ale. He would have preferred lager, but he wasn’t about to complain about what he couldn’t get.

After another silence, Herana asked, “You think things will work out better for you here?”

“I don’t know. Once I thought that anywhere would be better. Now… seems like people are mostly the same everywhere. There’s always someone…” Kharl shrugged and shook his head.

“You see that on ships, too. Thought I’d get away from that by going to sea,” she said. “Don’t have as many folk, but they’re the same.”

“Why did you go to sea?” Kharl asked. “Not that many women do.”

“What was I going to do? Can’t have children—consort near-on killed me when he found out.”

Kharl winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Was a long time ago. Made it easier. My brother knew Harluk. He carries a lot of passengers, especially in the summer. Helps to have some women in the crew. Turned out I was good at it.” She looked at Kharl. “You have a consort?”

“Not now. She was hung by Lord West for murder. She didn’t do it…” Kharl gave as brief a description as he could of what had happened. “… and that was how I got to be a carpenter on the Seastag.”

“Daresay you left out a lot.”

Kharl nodded.

“Your sons… not real grateful, were they?”

“Don’t think young people ever are. They know better. I did, too, back when I was their age.”

“Is that what happened with your consort?”

Kharl didn’t understand the question.

Herana laughed… softly. “My problem. Everyone got consorted. So did I. Then I discovered he didn’t love me, just wanted children… sons.”

“You couldn’t have any.” Kharl shook his head. “No… maybe I didn’t want the children enough. Was always trying to do more, bring in more coins, so that we’d have enough…”

“Were you in love with her?” asked Herana. “Your consort?”

The question was a shock. Kharl bit off a retort. Why was she asking? He looked at her, but he didn’t sense anything from Herana except concern, and certainly there was no trace of chaos around her. Finally, he said, “At times… I still miss her…”

“That’s not the same.”

It wasn’t. Kharl knew that. He also wondered if that was why he tried not to think about Charee much. “When we were younger… she was good-looking, not quite a beauty, but she turned heads. I thought I was in love…”

“Now you aren’t sure?”

“There’s more than a few things I’m not sure about these days,” Kharl admitted. He forced a grin. “Like why you’re so interested in a carpenter second.”

“Because you’re honest, and when you’re not, you’re trying to be… Not that many men who are. Because I’m either the one giving orders or taking them. Because it’s good to talk with someone not on the Southshield. Because… whatever happens… you’re not the kind to be nasty…” She looked directly at him. “Enough said?”

Kharl couldn’t help but smile. “Enough said.” He doubted that Herana would ever be more than a friend, but he had none, and certainly none who had sought him out.

“Ghart says you’re more than a carpenter…”

“Not yet. I’m not as good a ship’s carpenter as I should be.”

A roll of laughter from two tables away was so loud that neither could speak for a moment.

“… and if you think I’d believe that, Lord Ghrant is as well-endowed as a prize bull…”

“… and your mother has whiskers tougher than iron nails…”

Kharl could sense the chaos rising around the table. He touched Herana’s arm “… need to get out of here… along the wall there…”

The two were almost to the doorway when the table went over and men piled into each other. They kept moving until they were out in the cool twilight air.

Kharl took a deep breath.

“You knew that was coming,” Herana said.

“I heard the words.”

“You knew.”

“I had a feeling,” Kharl admitted. “Took me a while to learn that it’s best not to ignore those feelings.” He nodded toward the harbor. “I probably ought to get back.”

She nodded.

They turned toward the harbor.