Ordermaster

LXVI

Kharl had been right. On threeday night, he had not slept that well, worrying about what Luryessa had said, about what all the cotton for uniforms meant, about why he had reacted so strongly to Erdyl’s almost casual observations about Jeka. He also found his thoughts swirling over the question of whether he was hopeless as an envoy.

All the matters that Luryessa had brought up did not surprise him.Hagen had prepared him for the worst concerning Hamor’s intentions. Nor had Luryessa’s wealth of knowledge surprised him. She had asked nothing, but had learned more than Kharl would have liked to reveal. Yet he knew he could not be a hermit. He also knew that within another eightday or so, Lord West and the other envoys would learn more about him once they received word from the envoys and spies in Valmurl and elsewhere in Nordla. That was, if they had not already learned it. He doubted that he had more than another eightday at most before word would be everywhere in Brysta that he was a mage-or might be one.

When Kharl woke on fourday, he was still worrying, but he had some ideas. He washed and shaved, and dressed quickly, before making his way down to the smaller breakfast room, where a mass of egg toast and ham and breads awaited him, with both cider and ale-more of everything than either he or Erdyl or Demyst would ever be able to finish.

Erdyl was already eating, heartily, with all the zest of a growing young man. He looked up with a contented smile. “Good morning, Lord Kharl.”

“Good morning.” Kharl seated himself. After he had several bites, and some cider, he looked across the breakfast table at Erdyl. “We will need to offer entertainment to the other envoys.”

“It is summer, Lord Kharl.” The secretary looked puzzled. “One does not entertain before late harvest.”

“Harvest will be here before that long, and it will take time to plan out such an event. I would like you to contact other secretaries once more and work with Fundal and Khelaya. We need to host a party or reception, or whatever they are called, as soon as it is acceptable to do so.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You will contact the other secretaries. Explain that you have never done this, and that is why you are talking to them so soon again. Pretend to be what they think you are, a younger son of a lord who knows little.”

“You want me to find out everything I can?”

“Yes. But make sure that you keep talking about our reception.”

Erdyl nodded brightly. “I can only be stupid for a while before I should have learned something.”

“That is true. Also, if you seem not to know much …″

“They won′t expect as much of me.”

“Or of me.” Kharl hoped that was so. “I’m going to watch Lord Justicer Reynol this morning, and then, this afternoon after we eat, the undercaptainand I are going to take a walk. That will leave the carriage for you to use this afternoon, if you need it.”

“Yes, ser.”

“A walk?” asked Demyst. “Not even a ride, ser?”

“We won’t be learning much about Brysta if we don’t look at it. We’ll walk down Crafters’ Lane. We can go into shops and talk to people. A ride may come later.”

“Ser,” began Erdyl, “envoys don’t usually-”

Kharl just looked at Erdyl. Doing what other envoys did would only make matters worse. They had spies and retainers and knew how to use them. Kharl didn’t.

“Yes, ser.”

“You put it that way, ser, sounds like a good idea,” added Demyst.

Kharl thought so, but that depended on what they learned.

“I was looking through the armory, and I found something that might be useful, ser.”

“You know I’m useless with a blade, and carrying a staff would mark me.” He snorted. “Envoys don’t carry cudgels, either.”

“Ah … ser … I found a long truncheon. Must be years old, but it’s sound, and it’s got a scabbard. Looks like a shortsword, but it’s heavy. Lorken or black oak, I’d say.”

That brought Kharl up short, but only for a moment. If it looked like a blade, at least from a distance, the truncheon might serve several purposes. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “That’s a good thought. I’ll wear it this afternoon.”

“Not this morning?”

“I’m going into the Hall of Justice itself. They won′t allow weapons inside. They don’t care if I am a lord and envoy. You can leave your blade behind, or you can wait outside for me.”

“Outside, ser.”

Kharl finished eating quickly, then went upstairs to finish getting dressed while Demyst and Mantar readied the horses and carriage.

In his large bedchamber, Kharl pulled on the black jacket, then fingered his chin as he looked into the floor-length mirror. He still had trouble recognizing himself without the beard. He hoped others in Brysta did as well. Then he descended to the library, where he picked up the leather case he had been using for his studies.

Mantar had the carriage drawn up beside the residence by the timeKharl stepped outside, into what promised to be another hazy, sultry day. He’d forgotten how steamy Brysta could be before the late-summer rains finally arrived.

“Let’s go.” Kharl climbed up into the carriage.

Demyst followed.

The streets of Brysta looked no different on fourday than they had on any other day. There were still fewer people than Kharl remembered, and neither beggars nor unaccompanied young women. He could still recall Charee running through the streets before they had been consorted, and Tyrbel’s daughters coming and going-until the time Egen had attacked Sanyle. Had things changed that much in little more than a year?

Just before Mantar brought the carriage to a stop outside the Hall of Justice, Kharl realized something else. Not only were there Watch patrollers on almost every block, but he had not seen a single regular armsman or lancer since he had returned to Brysta. There had never been many, but there had been some.

“Have you seen any armsmen or lancers?” Kharl turned to Demyst.

The undercaptain frowned, tilting his head slightly. “Just the Watch patrollers.”

“I haven’t either.”

“You wouldn’t see many in Valmurl.”

“But you’d see some.”

Once he left the carriage, Kharl walked swiftly to the outer double doors of the Hall of Justice, then through them and into the foyer. He could sense the eyes of the two guards turning toward them.

“I’ll wait here, ser,” said Demyst, halting just inside the foyer and stepping back against the stone wall, taking a position from which he could watch both the doors out of the building, the staircase, and the doors to the main hall.

“I’ll likely be a while.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kharl made his way toward the double doors at the end of the foyer, doors he had only been through once before-as a prisoner accused of a murder he had not committed. He swallowed, then smiled as he neared the two patrollers.

“Please be quiet, ser … The hearing has already started,” said the patroller on the left.

“What is the case?”

“Some fellow disturbing the peace now. Murder after that.”

Kharl slipped inside the doors and took a seat on one of the benches in the fourth row back. He repressed a smile. Had he been dressed as a cooper, he doubted that entry would have been so easy.

The hall chamber was larger than the one in Valmurl, with a width of thirty cubits, a length of fifty, and a ceiling height of ten. At the end of the chamber away from Kharl were two daises, one behind the other, each holding a podium desk of age-darkened deep brownish gold oak. At the seat behind the lower dais sat a round-faced, blocky, and gray-haired man-Reynol. The square-bearded justicer wore a blue velvet gown, trimmed in black.

The single seat on the upper dais, its high carved back gilded and upholstered in blue velvet, was vacant. In the single seat before the benches on the right side of the chamber sat a dark-haired figure. Once more, on each side was a Watch patroller, and not the regular armsmen Kharl recalled from his own trial.

At the long narrow table on the left side between the benches and the dais sat Fasyn, along with a younger man. Both Lord Justicer Reynol and Fasyn glanced at Kharl, but their eyes returned quickly to the patroller who stood before the dais, speaking slowly.

“ … picked up a stool and tried to break it over Hunsal’s head … had too much ale, I wager,’cause it just banged his arm, not all that hard-”

“He attacked one of the Watch, then?” asked Reynol.

“I wouldn’t say that, your lordship. He’d drunk so much that he didn’t much know who was even around. He just went down without any of us touching him. Had to put him on a cart to get him to the gaol.”

“If he had not attacked anyone, why did you put him in gaol?”

The patroller looked down.

“Answer the question, patroller.”

“ …’cause, your lordship, Serjeant Quant said we had to … said it was an order from Captain Egen, and we didn’t want to go against that …”

“Enough.”

Reynol gestured to the man sitting in the armless chair. “Senekyt, stand and step forward.”

The man stood. Even from behind, Kharl could tell that he was young, probably not more than eighteen. The man trembled as he straightened and waited.

“You stand accused of disturbing the peace and of attacking the Watch.You have heard the accounts and the charges against you. Do you have anything to say?”

“Ser … your lordship … sure as I’m standing here, I drunk too much ale. I know that, ser, but also sure as I’m standing here, I didn’t attack no Watch. I’d never do that, ser. I know what comes of that. That’s work in the quarries. I didn’t attack no Watch, ser. I didn’t.”

Kharl could sense both truth and desperation in the words.

“Senekyt. You are a foolish young man, but there is some question about all that happened. You are hereby found guilty of disturbing the peace. Your sentence for attacking the Watch is suspended.”

“Ser … your lordship? Suspended? What does that mean?”

“If you are brought into the Hall of Justice at any time in the next year, you will be found guilty of attacking the Watch, and you will be sentenced to a term in the quarries.”

“If I do anything at all?”

“That is correct.” Reynol cleared his throat. “You are sentenced to five lashes for disturbing the peace, and one silver for costs.” He turned to the patrollers. “Have him lashed and released.”

“All stand!” ordered the bailiff from behind Kharl.

Kharl stood with the others and watched. Young Senekyt lowered his head as he was led out of the Hall.

The bailiff’s staff rapped on the stone floor three times. “Is there one who would take the Justicer’s Challenge?” The bailiff did not even pause before continuing. “There being none, the felter Myondak is here, accused of murder, to be brought before justice!”

“Bailiff, bring forward Myondak the felter.”

The same pair of burly patrollers marched a graying man past Kharl and up to the dais. The man limped, and Kharl could sense the chaos of injuries that had not healed.

“You, the felter Myondak, have been charged with the murder of your consort Salynia. What you say or believe is not a question. We are here to do justice, and that justice is to determine whether you killed your consort.” The justicer seated himself.

From behind Kharl came a rap of the staff. “All may sit.”

The hearing was brief, and unlike the first, there was no question of the felter’s guilt, not even to Kharl, but he forced himself to watch the entire proceeding, until after the felter had been marched away and after Reynol had left the chamber.

Then he made his way out and rejoined Undercaptain Demyst in the foyer.

“Mantar has the coach outside, ser. Been waiting near-on a glass.”

“It’s still well before noon.”

“He said he’d rather wait here than fret.”

Kharl shook his head as he made his way to the carriage. The sky was brighter, but still hazy, and Kharl was dripping sweat from his forehead by the time he was seated in the coach. Even with the windows open, he was even hotter by the time they returned to the residence.

Erdyl was waiting inside. “I have a listing of the envoys and their secretaries and assistants, and the possible dates in harvest that we could host a function, ser.”

“Have you talked to anyone yet?”

“No, ser. I had to go over the calendar. One cannot have a function on eightday or oneday, or on any of the Lord’s holidays, and I checked with Khelaya to see what produce and fruits might be coming ripe when …″

“After we eat, and after I’ve had a lager.” Kharl blotted his forehead with the back of his hand, before belatedly recalling that he had a handkerchief tucked inside his jacket. He almost hated to use the fine linen, but he pulled it out and blotted both hand and forehead.

“Dinner is ready, ser,” announced Fundal, from the back of the foyer. “The lager and white wine are chilled.”

Kharl led the two others into the dining chamber, where Khelaya had set out three bowls of cold gourd soup. On one platter were cold fowl breasts, with a pearapple glaze. Three different wedges of cheese sat on cutting boards, with baskets of both rye and dark bread. A bunch of red grapes was also on each man’s platter, beside the cold soup. The pitcher holding the cool lager already had droplets of water on it, a good measure of the dampness of the air.

After seating himself, Kharl filled the crystal beaker with the lager, then handed the pitcher to Demyst. Erdyl was having white wine.

“What is the Hall of Justice like, ser?” asked Erdyl. “You’ve spent much time there.”

“In some ways, I imagine they’re all alike. Everyone wants something, and they all can′t have it.”

“Ser?”

“The accused doesn’t want to be there, and he wants to be acquitted. The accuser wants the accused convicted. The clerks would rather be readingthan watching and giving advice. If the lord justicer is fair, he wants to hand down something as close to justice as possible, and if he’s not, he wants to do whatever benefits him.” Kharl shrugged, then took a spoonful of the soup, slightly peppery and tart, but not too heavy.

“You don’t sound like someone who wanted to study the law, ser.” Erdyl’s tone was almost accusatory.

“I needed to learn about the law, Erdyl. That’s not the same as liking it.”

“Aye,” added Demyst. “A good lancer knows his blade well, but he’d rather not use it. If he uses it well, he lives, and the other fellow dies. If he uses it poorly, he dies. I’d wager that an advocate is like a blade.”

Kharl found himself surprised by Demyst’s observation. Then, Hagen hadn’t actually said that the undercaptain had been stupid, just that he’d never make a good captain. There were many reasons for that besides lack of brains.

“Do you think magery-” Erdyl broke off his words with a wince.

“That’s a question we don’t discuss.” As he spoke, Kharl repressed a smile. He’d heard Demyst’s boot strike the secretary’s shin. “Not now.”

“Ah … yes, sir.”

Little was said for the rest of the meal, with Erdyl’s eyes jumping back and forth between Demyst and Kharl.

Finally, Kharl took a last swallow of ale and rose. “I’ll be in the library. Demyst, if you would tell Mantar to ready the carriage?”

“Yes, ser.” The undercaptain inclined his head slightly and departed.

Erdyl followed Kharl into the library, closing the door behind them.

He squared his shoulders and looked at Kharl. “Ser … I’m sorry.”

Kharl looked squarely at the red-haired young man. “Erdyl. There are times when an apology means nothing. It might make you feel better, but the damage has already been done. This was not one of those, but it could have been, had anyone else been present. Even so, one never knows who might be listening.”

“Are you going to dismiss me?”

“Demons, no. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don’t do it again.” He wanted to add something about not making the same mistake over and over, the way Arthal had, denying it every time. There was no point to that. Kharl had learned that people either learned from their mistakes or didn’t, no matter what was said. Erdyl’s actions would tell which kind he was.

“About the function, ser … We need to decide on a date …″ ventured Erdyl.

Kharl laughed. “Pick the earliest date that you think is possible. Make it a date that will get others to wonder, but still attend.”

Erdyl nodded. “Do you want just the envoys or the envoys and their principal secretaries?”

“See what you think after you talk to the other secretaries.”

“What do I say if they ask about the magery in the rebellion?”

“Just tell the simple truth. That Lord Ghrant has two mages, and that you really don’t know that much about either one, and that your envoy has suggested most strongly that you not discuss what you don’t know.”

A faint, if worried smile, appeared on Erdyl’s face.

“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. I’ll send Mantar back with the carriage after he drops us off. I suppose you could ride one of the mounts, but the carriage might be easier.”

Erdyl nodded dubiously.

There was a rap on the library door.

“The carriage is ready,″ called Demyst.

“I’ll see you later,” Kharl told Erdyl, “and we’ll talk over what you’ve discovered.” He nodded and opened the door.

Undercaptain Demyst followed Kharl to the carriage.

Neither spoke until they had left the drive of the envoy’s residence.

“I’m sorry, ser. The young lord wasn’t thinking.”

“You were right. He wasn’t thinking. I had a word with him.”

“I thought so, the way he looked when you left the library.”

Had Kharl been that hard on Erdyl? Or was the young man too sensitive?

“Never make a lancer officer,” Demyst went on. “Frets too much about what others think. That stuff about what other envoys do. Had Lord Ghrant wanted someone who did what other envoys did, it’d not be you, begging your pardon, ser.”

Kharl burst into laughter. “You’re so right.” He was also beginning to see more clearly why Hagen thought Demyst would be helpful to Kharl and not necessarily that good a senior lancer officer. A properly deferential officer would never have put a boot on Erdyl’s shins.

“He’ll learn,” the undercaptain went on. “Not like he’s stupid or anything. Just hasn’t seen enough.”

Kharl wondered if he himself had.

Before that long, Mantar stopped the coach at the head of Crafters’ Lane. “You sure you don′t want me to meet you somewhere, ser?”

“No. I need the walk, even in this heat.” He also needed a better feel for what was happening in Brysta. It almost didn’t feel like the same city he had left. That could reflect the changes in him, but he didn′t think so, not with what Erdyl and others had said.

Kharl stepped out, at the intersection of Fifth Cross and Crafters’ Lane. He stood almost directly in front of the shop of Zabyl, the tinsmith, and he turned to take in the small leaded-glass windows, but, clean as the glass was, the display space was empty, as it had always been. Zabyl had never displayed any of his work.

“Tinsmith doesn’t show anything,” said Demyst. “Must be good, or real cautious.”

“Probably both.” Kharl could smell the odor of hot metal, despite the closed front door. He also had the feeling he was being watched. Slowly, he turned as if surveying the shops. A young Watch patroller in his crisp maroon-and-blue uniform on the opposite corner made no secret of his observations.

Kharl smiled politely before turning and walking past Zabyl’s to the adjoining shop. There, Kharl stopped to study the bolts of woolen cloth shown in the square window. One was a muted plaid of blues and greens. Kharl frowned. The cloth looked more like something that Gharan might have woven. Was the weaver doing so well that he could sell in his own shop, and place cloth in Derdan’s small factorage as well? Even with the cotton from Hamor? Beside it was a bolt of black wool, clearly from Recluce, along with another of white. Had the white come from Austra? From his neighbor, Arynal, who had boasted of his fabled white wool? Kharl shook his head. That, he doubted.

He studied the window again, then leaned forward and looked down, then up. Derdan had added brackets to hold bars behind the heavy shutters.

“Not bad wool,” offered the undercaptain. “Black has to be from Recluce. Wouldn’t be surprised if it cost a good silver a half yard.”

“It costs a half gold a yard.” At least it used to. Kharl regretted saying that much, but the words had popped out because he had once asked, when he had been thinking that it would have made a warm and stylish coat for Charee.

“That’s right. You’d know. You were on a merchanter. Everything from Reduce costs a lot.”

“It does.” Even the knowledge, Kharl reflected. He turned away from the woolen factor’s and looked across the lane, taking in the two shops, side by side there, that of Hamyl the potter on the left, and Gharan’s weaving shop on the right. Gharan had never used a window to display his work, just a sample board at eye height beside the doorway.

Kharl wanted to see Gharan-and Jeka, he had to admit. But with the patroller watching so closely, and after Erdyl had visited just the day before, he wasn’t sure that was wise. Still …

He stood there for a long moment, before finally deciding against it, then wondering if he were being too foolishly cautious.

Absently, as he used his handkerchief to blot his forehead, before turning to head toward the cooperage, he noted the barrel of sand to the left of Derdan’s window. It was the same barrel of sand he’d used to put out the fire in Tyrbel’s scriptorium on the day that his whole life had finally changed.

The cooperage was no longer boarded up, as it had been the last time he had seen it, and the paint on the sign that proclaimed MALLAMET, COOPER looked faded, although it could not have been much older than a year. A year? Just a year? So much had happened, since Charee … since Arthal had left … and Warrl had gone off with his aunt. For a long moment, Kharl just looked.

Then he straightened and studied the cooperage. The windows were dusty on the outside, and Kharl could see that sawdust clung to panes on the inside. Sawdust? A good cooper didn’t create that much sawdust. Either Mallamet wasn’t that good, or he hadn’t cleaned in a long time. From what Kharl knew of Mallamet, both were doubtless true. The door was open, inviting a breeze that had not appeared.

Kharl kept walking, slowly, until he came to the scriptorium. Heavy iron shutters were drawn back from the inside of the small display window, shutters that had not been there before. The display area held several books on pale blue wool, but not, of course, Tyrbel’s masterpiece, the red leather-bound Book of Godly Prayer-a work that Tyrbel had done as an offering to his faith. That had been destroyed in the oil fire Kharl had fought that fateful morning.

The sign on the scriptorium had changed as well. While it had once borne Tyrbel’s name, now it now announced one Dasult as a scrivener. Kharl had never heard of Dasult. He wondered what had happened to Sanyle. Did he dare risk asking? If he had not heard of Dasult, scrivener, it was unlikely that the scrivener would recognize him.

“Just wait here at the door,” Kharl told Demyst.

“Ser … that’d be dangerous.”

“There’s no one inside but the scrivener, and you’ll be out here in case anyone else comes along. Keep your eye on that patroller. He’s been following us.”

“Thought so,” murmured the undercaptain. “You sure about inside?”

Kharl nodded, then opened the door and stepped into the scriptorium, ready to use his sight shield to vanish, if need be.

A young man, more like Erdyl’s age, stepped forward. Kharl thought he had seen him, recently, but he could not say where.

“Ser … could I be of service to you?”

“It is possible,” Kharl replied. “It would not be quite …” He paused. “You’re Dasult?”

“Yes, ser.”

“I have not been in Brysta in some time, and I recalled that there was a scrivener here, but he was much older. Your father, perhaps?”

Dasult shook his head. “No, ser. That was Tyrbel. He was a most noted scrivener, but he was murdered, I’m told, on the street outside. I purchased the building from his daughter. She wished to leave Brysta.”

“Hmmm … sad when those sort of things happen. I suppose she went off elsewhere in Nordla or to somewhere in Candar.”

“Vizyn in Austra, I believe. She said she was going to help an older scrivener, a friend of her father’s.”

Kharl nodded. If Sanyle had reached Taleas, then she was in good hands. For the moment, he could only hope that she had. “I saw her once. She seemed a most sweet child.”

“My consort said she was, and that she had suffered much.”

“How do you find business?”

“It is improving. I have been accepted as a recorder at the Hall of Justice, and that has helped.”

That was where Kharl had seen him, that very morning, but he had not connected the man to the scriptorium. “How do you find working there?”

“It is most exacting, but it pays well. Are you certain I could not interest you in one of these? Here is an illustrated rendition of Tales of Cyad. And here, I have the verses of Lenchret, a near-perfect copy of the one in Lord West’s private library.”

“You must have been privileged indeed to copy that.”

“No, kind ser. Lord West wanted a copy, and allowed me to make a second in return for my charging but half what I told him.”

“He got a bargain.”

Dasult laughed. “In silvers, he did, but I always wanted that book, and I made a second copy for myself, as well as this fair copy. I hope not to lose too much.”

“He must have quite a library.”

“He does indeed, but I fear many of the volumes have not been read in years.”

“That is often the case. How did you find him?”

“He was charming, but … preoccupied. I could not help but notice that he and his eldest had many visitors, even at the beginning of summer, when I was finishing the copying.”

“Lords must deal with envoys and trade, and lancers, and all manner of people, I would wager. Even in summer. I’d wager, though, that you saw none from Recluce.”

“No, I did not. They were never announced, but many were clad as are Hamorians, and more than a few were in uniforms I had not seen before.”

“There are several Hamorian merchanters in the harbor, and there was a Nordlan trader an eightday or so ago.”

“The Hamorians laughed at my work.” Dasult stiffened. “They claimed to have built a machine that can make hundreds of copies of a book. Of what use is that? There are not that many people who would buy so many.” He forced a smile. “Did you see The Art of Healing?″

Kharl ignored the sales effort. “Perhaps the Hamorians did not understand the craft that goes into creating a book the way you do?”

“They do not. Books, especially those such as the verses of Lenchret, they should be read and treasured. What about The History of the Ancients? It is rare, but I can let you have it for a mere gold.″

Kharl smiled. “It is not a bad book, but what would I do with two?”

Dasult’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “I cannot sell you what you already have.”

“I am not buying today,″ Kharl said,”but I may be back.″

As he left, Kharl wondered if he could have discovered more. Possibly, but he was not a spy, and he didn’t think he could have learned more without making Dasult wary. He also doubted that what else he could have learned would have added much.

“Did you see any interesting books?” asked Demyst, as Kharl rejoined him.

“He had one that I’ve been reading. He wanted to sell it to me for a mere gold.”

“A gold?”

“Some books are costly.″

Kharl did not glance at the Tankard, the tavern whose doors had not yet opened, as he passed. He did study quietly the shops and narrow dwellings as he headed downhill, passing a white-haired laundress with her wash in a tall basket on her head, then a teamster with an empty wagon headed uphill. Behind them, the Watch patroller followed.

The two continued down Crafters’ Lane. Less than a block farther west, Kharl saw Dhulat’s cabinetry shop. He’d bought a modest chest from the crafter years before, but, like most folk, Dhulat had turned away from Kharl once Egen had put out the word that he was after the cooper.

Another two blocks toward the harbor, and they reached the upper market square. With the heat, few of the peddlers and vendors remained, and the low stone wall that surrounded the near-empty square was vacant. Topped with redstone with rounded edges, the wall was a good place for sitting and resting, and there had always been a beggar or two there. Today, there were none.

Past the square another hundred cubits or so was Hyesal’s apothecary shop, clearly marked with the crossed pestles above the door. But the door was boarded shut.

Kharl wondered if the apothecary had died, or had fallen victim to Egen and the Watch.

He kept walking, turning southward at the next corner, so as to head back in the direction of the envoy’s residence. For the moment, he had seen enough.