Ordermaster

LXV

Threeday night, after refreshments with Luryessa that had lasted until past sunset, Kharl had returned to his envoy’s residence-and to the library, where Erdyl was waiting.

“What did you find out from the weavers?” asked Kharl.

“The cloth didn’t come from Brysta. It was made on steam looms in Hamor. That was what Derdan told me. He said that none of the weavers here in Nordla can make cloth that cheaply. The Hamorian cloth isn’t as good-that′s what he says-and it’s all cotton that wears out sooner.”

“It’s probably more comfortable in summer,” mused Kharl, “but they’ll freeze in a hard winter. Egen wouldn’t care about that.”

“That’s what the factor said, not about Captain Egen, but about the cotton. He said that he’d tried to suggest summer and winter uniforms, but the patrollers said those would have to wait.”

“What about the other weavers?”

“That fellow Gharan-he’s got some quality cloth there. It’s a small place, just him and his consort and one other girl. She looks young, sort of sandy hair. First pretty young woman I’ve seen in Brysta. Good smile.”

Kharl stiffened inside, but managed to reply, keeping his tone wry, “I’m sure there are others.” Even as he spoke, he had to wonder at his reaction. Was it just that he didn’t want young Erdyl thinking of Jeka as just another pretty young thing? She’d saved his life, and she deserved more than being a fleeting pleasure to a young lordling.

“I haven′t seen any others, ser.”

“I’m sure you will,” Kharl replied. “What did Gharan say about the cloth?”

“He said it was decent cotton, but not much more, and that the patrollers would wish for warm wool come the turn of winter. He wanted to know if we were thinking of trying to ship cloth here. I told him that I didn’t know of anything like that. I also said that we didn’t grow cotton or much flax in Austra. Then he wanted to know if we’d like to buy anything. ″

“Did you see anything that caught your eye? Besides the girl?” Kharl wished he hadn’t said the last words, but they’d burst out by themselves.

“He has some wools, lambs′ wool, very soft, and some striking weaves, ser.”

“We should visit, then, if we have some time.” Kharl nodded. “What about Soret?”

Erdyl frowned. “There was something about him. I didn’t like him. He didn’t look at me, not straight. He kept asking why I wanted to know all this. I hope you didn’t mind, ser, but I told him that envoys tell their secretaries what to do, and we don’t ask too many questions, not if we want to keep being secretaries. I did tell him that you’d once been in trade and liked to know what was being traded where. That seemed to settle him some. He didn’t say much, except that the cloth was Hamorian cotton and not up to the standard of good Nordlan linen.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

Erdyl’s brows narrowed in concentration, and he cocked his head slightly, almost squinting, before he finally spoke. “There is one thing. Derdan … he said something about having trouble meeting prices when harbor tariffs had been lowered on cotton. It was almost under his breath, but when I asked him, he just shook his head.”

“Did it look like any of them had added or lost weavers?”

“I never saw Derdan’s back room, but I didn’t see new looms or empty looms with either Gharan or Soret …″

After another quarter glass, Kharl stood and led the way to the dining room.

There, he didn’t say much at supper, his thoughts partly on the cotton from Hamor. Given how many patrollers he’d seen already, there must have been hundreds, if not thousands of yards of the cloth, and all of a uniform dye. If none of the three weavers were complaining too much about lost business, then Kharl judged that not much cloth besides that had been shipped from Hamor … but that was a guess.

He was still concerned about Jeka, glad as he was that she was still with Gharan. He could still call up that gaminelike smile, infrequent as it had been in the cold days between the walls.

After supper, he retired to the library, where he tried to sort out all that he had learned since he’d arrived in Brysta. It didn’t seem to help. Finally, he turned out the lamps and headed up to the overlarge bedchamber. He doubted that he would sleep all that well, but pacing around the library wasn’t helping, either.