Ordermaster

Scholar of Justice
XXXVIII

Summer had finally come, and even right after an early breakfast, the day was warm as Kharl stood just inside the east end of the cooperage. For a time, he surveyed the work benches, the fire pots, and the tool racks. After more than an eightday’s worth of hard work on the interior, everything-including the white and red oak he had ordered a season earlier-was finally ready for him to work on his barrels. He’d even replaced the doors. At least the heavy flagstone flooring had been laid and waiting for him when he had returned from Valmurl. Dorwan and Bannat had done a good workmanlike job, and Kharl had paid them a handsome bonus immediately after his return to Cantyl.

“Ser … we were just doing …” Dorwan had protested.

“You did it well, and I appreciate good work. I especially appreciate it when I’m not here.”

“Be thanking you, ser. Kariana will be most pleased. She’s been thinking about a chest and a bed for Bannat. He’ll be consorted to Fiana come fall.”

“Fiana? I don’t recall …” Kharl was well aware that he knew less than he should about his tenants and retainers. Then, he hadn’t exactly been at Cantyl that much.

“Ah … you wouldn’t, ser. She’s Chyhat’s daughter.”

“The forester on the new forest?” asked Kharl. Those were the words Dorwan had taken to using when referring to the forestland that Kharl had received from Lord Ghrant. Kharl had only met with Chyhat twice, an older man, slim and wiry, unlike the burly Dorwan, who stood even a span taller than Kharl, and few men reached the mage’s height and breadth.

“Yes, ser.”

“How are you two getting on?” Kharl had insisted that each forester retain control over the forests that they had always supervised, but that they meet and work out how much timber should be harvested as a total each year.

“Same as we always did.” Dorwan laughed. “We think the same about which trees should be cut, and where lands ought to be thinned, and we don’t talk about much else except our bairns. Better that way.”

Kharl smiled at the recollection of Dorwan’s words. He’d been fortunate. Speltar was a good steward, and he’d kept the good people. Probably the wisest thing Lord Estloch had done had been to leave Cantyl alone under Speltar’s care.

The last of the basic tools Kharl had ordered from Valmurl had arrived at Cantyl long before he had been able to return to there. While the forge was adequate, he’d need to do more over the next season or so. Still, he’d been able to forge some of his cooper’s tools, and he had two adzes, a chiv, three hollowing knives, and his planer. The shaver had been the hardest because of the thinness required, and he would have to forge his own hoops from scratch, rather than just trimming and riveting the iron strips he’d bought at his cooperage in Brysta. Still, he’d made three red oak barrels for slack uses, as much to renew his skills as for use at Cantyl. But he hadn’t wanted to start with tight cooperage, not given the time since he had last worked on barrels.

Given what it had cost to equip his new cooperage, he doubted that it would pay for itself for several years, but he had wanted to do something productive and not just live off the fruits of the land. According to Chyhat, there was indeed a small stand of white oak on the western edge of the new forest, with enough trees to supply billets for cooperage and cabinetry, but not enough for consistent timber sales. That was fine with Kharl.

“Ser?” Speltar stood at the door to the cooperage.

“Yes, Speltar?”

“I should have the figures for the improvements this afternoon, ser.”

“Improving the sawmill here, and adding the cots? And the roads? Chyhat agreed with you and Dorwan?”

“Yes, ser. He’d asked Lord Ilteron for golds to improve the old mill there for years. Said it was too dangerous.”

“What about closing it?”

“He said that was fine, just so the millmen kept their places.” Speltar grinned. “When I told him about the new cots, he asked if we’d consider tossing in a few golds so he could add a room and fix his roof. I said I would ask you.”

“He seems honest. I’d think so, unless you have a reason not to grant his request.”

“I’d grant his request, ser, and add a gold for furnishings.”

“Then do so.” Kharl paused. “What about you? Have you ever received a bonus for all your work?”

“I have the house, ser, and it’s far grander than what most stewards ever see.”

“That may be, but when I compare what the new forest shows and what Cantyl shows …”

“I have been fortunate, ser.”

Kharl snorted. “Do you find a ten-gold bonus fair?”

Speltar swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin throat.

“Let’s make it fifteen.”

Speltar bowed. “Thank you. I have never … you are most generous.”

Kharl could sense the truth of his words. “I cannot be so generous with all, but as part of your duties, I would request that you recommend a small bonus for those on the lands who deserve it. We would pay it after harvest.”

“Lord Koroh did so, but that was before my time.”

“Do you think it is a bad idea?”

“No, ser. The lands were most productive under Lord Koroh.”

“Or his steward,” Kharl suggested dryly. “Was the steward from your family?”

“No, ser. Lord Estloch brought me here fifteen years ago. I was the assistant to the steward at Dykaru.”

“How did Lord Estloch end up with the lands? I’d heard that Lord Julon …” Kharl left the sentence unfinished.

“Lord Julon spent far too many golds on his horses, and upon pleasures in Valmurl. He owed over a thousand golds, it was said, and none of the lenders in Valmurl would advance him more golds. Then, when he was murdered, his lands reverted to Lord Estloch because his consort and heirs could not pay off the debts. Lord Estloch settled the debts and set me here.” Speltar shrugged, as if his words explained everything.

“What happened to his consort?”

“She was most beautiful, and she became the second consort of Lord Malcor.” Speltar smiled sadly. “She died ten years later, of a mysterious illness, and he consorted a third time. She had but two daughters by Lord Julon, and no children by Lord Malcor.”

Was everyone in Austra tied to everything, or was that just the way of the noble families everywhere? Kharl suspected the latter.

Speltar cleared his throat. “If you don’t need anything else, ser …”

“Go do what you need to, Speltar.” Kharl grinned. “You know where to find me.”

The steward bowed slightly. “Yes, ser.”

After Speltar had left, Kharl went to the racks on the left at the rear of his new cooperage, somewhat smaller than the space he had had in Brysta but more than adequate for his present needs.

After several moments, he pulled down enough white oak billets for several standard barrels. He’d try tight cooperage, this time. He was smiling as he set the billets on the bench next to the planer.