Wellspring of Chaos

XXXIX

In the late afternoon, from the point of rock north of the slateyard, Kharl watched as the Seastag maneuvered toward the outermost pier. More than an eightday had passed since he had managed to rescue Jeka from the wizard, and, every day, he had checked the harbor, but few vessels had entered, although he had seen Lord West’s gunboats more than a few times.

He took a last look at the Austran vessel, sails furled and using her steam engine and paddle wheels to move toward the pier, before he began to walk southward toward the piers, his eyes open for the Watch. It would probably take him several glasses to circle the harbor to the piers from where he was, but Hagen spent at least three days in Brysta.

By the time Kharl had made his way past the warehouses, avoiding two harbor posts of the Watch, and reached the pier holding the Austran ship, several wagons had already appeared and were being readied to take cargo about to be off-loaded.

Kharl eased out along the pier, moving from unused bollard to bollard until he was almost at the stern of the Seastag. Then he watched for a time as palleted bundles were winched up from the center hold. Hagen stood on the poop deck watching.

After several loads filled the first wagon, the winching stopped.

Kharl slipped forward until he was on the pier, just below the captain.

“Hagen!” Kharl hissed.

The master of the Seastag glanced down, frowning as he took in Kharl.

“It’s Kharl, the cooper.”

For a moment, Hagen studied Kharl. “What happened to you?”

“Could I work a passage to Austra?”

“Work a passage? What happened to you?” repeated Hagen, as his eyes continued to study the ragged figure.

“Lord’s son doesn’t exactly like me. Doubled my tariffs twice over. No way I could pay that. Lost the cooperage. Lost most everything.” All of what Kharl said was true, but he dared not be more truthful.

“You look that way.”

“I can still work. Carpenter’s assistant until you make landfall in Austra?”

“I just came from there. I won’t be making landfall there for half a season.

“Could you use a carpenter’s assistant for half a season?”

Hagen glanced down the pier, then back toward Kharl. “What about your boys?”

“One left to be an apprentice ship’s carpenter on the Fleuryl. The other’s with Charee’s sister. She said I had no business raising Warrl. He agreed. He’d even written her…”

Hagen fingered his chin. “I don’t know…”

“I know how to work. You know that.”

“You look…”

“Disguise,” Kharl admitted. “I don’t want anyone to see me. You can understand that. I’ll come aboard in a good tunic and trousers.”

“I don’t know. Been a hard trip already.”

“You can’t get a good worker for less.”

“Passage is about all I can afford, Kharl.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Hagen frowned. “Suppose…I suppose.”

“I’ll be back later tonight with my gear. Would that be all right?”

“How much gear?”

“Very little. Some clothes, a pack. No tools.”

Hagen shook his head. “Hate to see a man so down on his luck.”

“I’ll be fine once I’m away from Brysta.”

“We’ll be here in port almost an eightday.”

“I’ll stay on board. Give you an extra body to help load and unload.”

The captain laughed. “For that, I could even pay you bottom level.”

“I won’t object.” Kharl smiled. “Later tonight?”

“I’ll tell the deck watch to get me.”

“Thank you.” Kharl nodded, then hurried down the pier. He had more than a few loose ends he wanted to tie up, and he wanted to get back before Hagen had a chance to change his mind, although he didn’t think Hagen was that kind of man. Still, he had a lot to do, including trying to do something for Jeka. What he had in mind might not work…but it was all he had been able to come up with, and he had to try.

On his way back to the walled hideout, Kharl stopped by the fountain and, when no one was too close, washed up as he could, removing the worst of the dirt and grime.

Still, for all his concerns about Jeka, she was not between the walls when Kharl returned. He hoped she would not be too long in returning. In the meantime, he rummaged through his pack until he found the old scissors. By feel, he slowly trimmed his beard and mustache, making sure that it was shorter and more rounded than it had been before.

Then he dressed in his spare tunic and trousers. He hoped that he could get the dirt and soil out of the clothes he had been wearing, which he folded and put into his pack.

“Well…you’re looking good.” Jeka stood at the foot of the wall. “Are you going somewhere?”

“The ship I was waiting for is here.”

“Goin’ to miss you,” Jeka said warily, her eyes avoiding Kharl’s.

Despite the stench of the hidey-hole, and the dirt, Kharl realized he was going to miss Jeka as well. “I’ll miss you, but…” He shook his head. “Can’t stay here. You know that. Sooner…later, Egen’d find me.”

“You can go, be a cooper anywhere. Me…?” She spread her hands.

“You were a weaver once, you said?” Kharl asked.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Were you good at it?”

“Light-fired good, Ma said. So did Hunat, but he had three sons and a daughter there.”

Kharl nodded to himself, then eased his fingers into the pouch he’d replaced around his neck and slipped out a silver. He handed it to her. “This might help.”

“You had silvers?” Jeka looked at the coin. “Had this, and you stayed here?”

“Know anyplace I’d have been any safer?” he asked. “With Egen wanting my head?”

The trace of a smile crossed her lips. “You got more alley-smarts than you let on.”

“Come on…” He pulled his pack into place and arranged the ragged cloak over both tunic and pack. Then he picked up the staff.

“Where we goin’?”

“To see a man. He’s a good man. The only one who helped me and stood by me.” Who was still alive-but Kharl wasn’t about to say that.

“Why…?”

Kharl took her arm. “We don’t have that much time.”

Jeka followed Kharl over the wall and out into the serviceway, clearly reluctant, and then along the alleys and cross streets until they were in the alley paralleling Crafters’ Lane-the alley on the south side, not the one on the north that ran behind the cooperage. In time, they came to the rear door of Gharan’s shop.

Kharl glanced around, then drew back the ragged hooded cloak enough to reveal his face and the better tunic underneath. He rapped on the door.

Amyla opened it. Her eyes widened.

“Get Gharan. I won’t be a moment.”

After a long look at the cooper, Amyla stepped back, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Gharan appeared instantly. “Kharl…” He looked down the alley, then back at the cooper.

“There’s no one out here. Not now. You’ve stood up for me, and you’ve been honest,” Kharl said. “I’m leaving Brysta, but I have a favor to ask-not for me.”

Gharan looked from Kharl to Jeka, quizzically.

“Jekat isn’t Jekat, exactly. She’s Jeka, and an orphan. She’s also a good weaver.” Kharl fumbled at the pouch around his neck and under his undertunic, then handed three silvers to Gharan. “I’ll pay you to try her as a helper or an apprentice for two eightdays. You like what she does, then you keep her on. You don’t, at least try to find her a place.”

Gharan looked to Jeka again. “Where are you from?”

“Sagana.”

“Why didn’t you stay there?”

“I couldn’t. Hunat had three sons and a daughter, and the tariff farmer took everything when Ma died, wanted to indenture me to a pleasure house.”

Gharan winced, then looked at Kharl. “Two eightdays’ trial. There is a chance.”

“Say she’s a distant cousin.” Kharl turned to Jeka. “You stay here now. You don’t need anything back there.” He handed her two silvers. “These are for decent clothes for you.” He straightened. “I’d better go.”

He stepped back, leaving Jeka standing there with Gharan, then ducked back along the alley, almost at a run, before anyone could say anything. He did not slow down until he was several blocks away. He forced himself not to look back.

He reached the pier where the Seastag was docked just after sunset. He stopped to study the area around the ship, but saw no Watchmen. He slipped off the ragged cloak and rolled it up, slipping it next to an unused bollard, then straightened up and walked toward the Austran vessel.

The crewman at the top of the gangway watched as Kharl approached.

The cooper stopped at the foot of gangway. “I’m Kharl. Captain Hagen is expecting me…” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“He told me. You’re to come aboard and wait here on the quarterdeck.”

Kharl walked up the gangway and stepped down onto the deck planks, although he saw nothing that resembled a quarterdeck.

The sailor on watch looked strangely at the ironbound staff.

Kharl did not offer to explain.

The sailor took a tin whistle and piped something. Shortly, Hagen appeared with a muscular and blocky man who looked to be about Kharl’s age.

Hagen smiled as he saw Kharl. “You look somewhat better than this afternoon.” He turned to the other man. “Furwyl…we’re payin’ a debt and getting some help. Kharl here’s a cooper. Lost his consort and his family, then his cooperage to the tariff farmer. Done a lot of good work for us in the past. Working his way to Austra, as assistant to the carpenter. Doesn’t do rigging, but anything else you need him for.”

Furwyl smiled. “He’s a mite big to put up there.”

“Furwyl is first mate, number two,” Hagen said to Kharl. “You answer him and any of the other mates, like they were me. Mates are the ones with the vests, or the jackets with the stripes on the sleeves.”

“Yes, ser.”

“I’ll need a moment more with Kharl, Furwyl. Then you can get him squared away in the fo’c’s’le and take him down to the carpenter. I already told Tarkyn.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Oh, Furwyl…I think we’d better change the shore leave while we’re here. It’s too late for tonight, but from now on, I want the crew to go in pairs. Anyone who leaves alone, or returns alone, loses a silver. There’s something going on. There’s a renegade wizard loose-killed a white mage, one serving Lord West’s youngest son. We don’t want anyone tied up with that.”

“The crew won’t like that.”

“Better that than no leave. We don’t want to lose crew, and they don’t want to end up dead or left here, either.”

“Yes, ser.” Furwyl stepped away, moving toward the bow along the pierside railing.

Hagen turned his attention on Kharl. “I made a quick trip to your cooperage. Someone else is there. He said he bought it at a tariff auction because you abandoned it. Why?”

“To stay alive,” Kharl replied. “I stopped Lord West’s son from forcing himself on my neighbor’s daughter, and he had my Charee killed. He had the tariff farmer raise my levy to twelve golds, and had an assassin kill my neighbor because he testified for me before the justicers…”

Hagen winced. “I thought it might be something like that. You stay on board and out of sight when the port inspectors are around.”

“I can do that.”

“And you do whatever you’re told by the mates, by Tarkyn-he’s the carpenter-or by me.”

“Yes, ser.”

Hagen beckoned. “Furwyl…you can take him now.”

As Kharl followed the first mate, Furwyl looked at the cooper. “You’ve made some of our hogsheads and barrels?”

“Yes, ser. Some of them.”

“Wouldn’t hurt Tarkyn to have some help. It’s been a rough fall. In here.” Furwyl gestured to the open hatchway on the starboard side, leading into the forecastle.

Kharl had to duck as he entered the passageway, dimly lit by a single lamp in a bulkhead bracket. A closed hatch was on the right, an open hatch straight ahead.

Furwyl gestured to the closed hatch. “Women’s crew quarters. Off-limits at all times. You’ll be in the main section forward. Even have an extra bunk or so.”

Most of the bunk spaces were empty, except for three. In two, the sailors were sleeping. The third sailor looked at the mate and Kharl.

“Kharl’s the assistant to the carpenter,” Furwyl explained.

The sailor nodded and rolled over.

The bunk spaces were about four cubits long, two high, and two deep, set against the hull. Each was painted white, and there was a thin mattress with a single blanket on each. Between each set of bunks were two open spaces with nets.

The mate pointed to the last bunk on the port side. “That one’ll be yours. Your gear goes in the bin at the foot of your bunk. Have to lash that staff away down in the carpenter shop.”

The bin was certainly large enough to hold Kharl’s pack, but as he looked around the triangular space, he could see why the staff would not fit anywhere. He stepped forward and put his pack in the bin, then tied the net in place.

Furwyl turned, expecting Kharl to follow. The cooper did, back outside, then into the passageway on the starboard side, and down a ladder one level, and forward into a narrow space where a sailor in gray sat on a stool carving something out of what looked to be a white bone. He looked up, but did not rise.

“Tarkyn,” the first mate said, “this is Kharl. The captain said he’d told you.”

“Didn’t ask me, ser. Told me.” The carpenter was a good decade older than Kharl, grizzled, and white-haired, and he wore a gray shirt, not either tunic or undertunic, and matching gray trousers. He surveyed Kharl. “Least he’s no youngster.”

Furwyl nodded to Kharl. “I’ll leave you two.” He looked to Tarkyn. “Captain said you could store his staff here. It won’t fit in the fo’c’s’le. Hope he doesn’t need it, but we will be sailing offshore of Renklaar.”

“We’ll find a place.”

Furwyl left.

Tarkyn looked at the staff. “You from Recluce?”

“No. The staff came from a blackstaffer. It’s useful in strange places.”

“You can rack it there.” Tarkyn pointed at the overhead wood bin that stretched aft.

Kharl eased the staff into the long wood bin on one side, carefully rearranging two timbers so that it fit snugly.

Tarkyn looked hard at Kharl. “You after my spot?”

Kharl laughed. “No. I offered my services to help pay my passage. I’m a cooper-”

“Captain told me that. You a good cooper?”

“One of the better ones.”

“Why you here?”

“The Lord’s tariff farmer took a dislike to me. I couldn’t come up with twelve golds in four eightdays. Not when the tariff had only been three golds the year before.”

“One thing about being a ship’s carpenter…don’t have to worry about such. Worry about pirates, storms, spoiled food, broken spars-but not tariff farmers.” Tarkyn laughed. “Be here after morning muster, and I’ll show you around. See what you can do.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Tarkyn looked down at the carving he held, barely illuminated by the bronze lamp, and lifted the knife. “See you first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll be here,” Kharl promised, stepping back out of the carpenter shop. For all of Tarkyn’s taciturn welcome, Kharl had sensed the basic soundness of the man, and the organization of the shop, from the wood set just so in the bins and bays to the tool chests that were carefully stowed and restrained.

He climbed up the ladder, then back onto the main deck. After a moment, he climbed the forward ladder and walked to the base of the bowsprit. There he stood, at the railing on the seaward side, looking into the darkness…wondering how he had ended up on the Seastag…and where it would all lead.

After a time, he turned to view the lights of Brysta. He’d never thought of leaving the city where he’d been born. But then, he’d never thought that the city-or its rulers-would have cost him his consort, his family, his livelihood, then driven him out.

Looking at the scattered lights spread across the harbor front, and the low hills overlooking the harbor, he swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat, and his eyes began to burn.