Wellspring of Chaos

XL

Kharl spent the first five days, when not sleeping or eating, either with the winch crew or in the carpenter shop. Adjusting to the in-port morning muster was easy enough; he’d always gotten up early anyway. Having regular meals turned out harder on his guts and system, much as he knew he needed them.

After testing Kharl on a few minor projects, such as replacing a smashed panel on an inside door-hatch and rebuilding a storm-damaged section of the poop deck rail, Tarkyn just asked if Kharl could do something. Most things he was asked to do, he could, and some, like turning a spar, were easy enough to pick up.

He had no idea about others, as when the carpenter had asked him how he’d reset the rudder posts.

“I suppose I could take it apart and learn,” the cooper had offered, “but I don’t know as you and the captain would wish that.”

Tarkyn had laughed. “Wise man who knows what he can do. Wiser man who knows what he can’t.”

Kharl wasn’t certain about that. He’d done a few things in the past eightdays he’d never believed he could have done, and, before that, he certainly would have told anyone that he couldn’t have done them.

He’d not seen either Watch or harbor inspectors, but the Watch usually didn’t patrol the piers, and the harbor inspectors were only interested in tariffs and quiet on the vessels tied to the piers-and the Seastag was a very quiet ship.

By late afternoon on threeday, all the outbound cargo had been loaded, and the hatches secured, with everything battened down. Then the steam engine had been fired up, and with a slapping thwup, thwup, the midships paddle wheels had begun to turn.

Kharl stood at the railing as the Seastag eased away from the pier, out into the harbor, then westward past the outer breakwater. He looked back at Brysta, the afternoon light illuminating the city in a golden glow, giving it a beauty he had not seen-or experienced-in recent seasons.

“You! Second carpenter!” called a voice.

Kharl turned at the voice, recognizing the third, a hard-faced wiry woman with short-cropped hair and broad shoulders. “Ser?”

“We’ll be setting canvas once we clear. You’re lead on the mainmast winch.”

“Yes, ser.” Kharl moved toward the winch. There he stood, waiting for orders, and looking back, wondering if he would ever see Nordla again, if he would ever want to, yet knowing that he would.