Wellspring of Chaos

Carpenter
XLI

Thirteen days had passed since the Seastag had steamed out of Brysta and hoisted sail. Once well clear of Nordla, Hagen had shut down the steam engine to conserve coal. All thirteen days had seen very rough seas, except for the last few glasses, when the seas had begun to calm. Kharl hadn’t realized how much continual work was required of a ship’s carpenter, much of it while standing on a moving deck. Most of it was simple, in terms of craft, but necessary. He’d replaced railing spokes. He’d turned pulley brackets. He’d fashioned a replacement bar for the capstan, when the iron one had broken loose and rolled over the side during one of the heavier blows. He could have reinforced it with iron bands, but there was no forge available on the ship.

The cooper grinned at his recollection of Hagen’s anger over that. The fourth mate-the bosun-had practically backed himself over the railing stepping away from the captain as Hagen berated the man for not making sure that the capstan locker had been secured for heavy weather.

It was near midday, and Kharl stood near the bow, just forward of the foremast, since the Seastag was only twin-masted, but full-rigged, a brig’s rigging on a full ship’s hull, spread to allow engine and paddle wheels midships. He was taking a break from the pedal-powered lathe in the carpenter’s shop and enjoying the fresh air. Unlike some of the newer sailors, the weather hadn’t bothered Kharl, and he found that merely working, eating, and sleeping on a regular schedule had improved both his attitude and his health. The thin mattress felt almost luxurious after nearly a season on rags and hard ground, and even the ship’s food wasn’t that bad, although the fruit was dried and limited, and the biscuits that went with every meal tended to get rock-hard the moment they cooled.

“Land ahead!” came down the call from the lookout.

“Land where?” called back Furwyl, who had the con, on the platform before the steersman.

“Ten off the starboard bow!”

Within moments, Kharl could feel the Seastag turning to starboard. He couldn’t see what the lookout had, not yet, and he headed back down to the carpenter shop.

Tarkyn stepped back from the lathe. “You’re younger. You can finish.”

Kharl took the turning chisel from the older man. “The lookout sighted land.”

“Thought as much,” replied Tarkyn. “Shifted course.”

“We came starboard. It looked like we were headed too far south.”

“Not too far if the captain could see land. Means he was right within fifty kays after fifteen hundred on the open sea. Not many captains that good.”

“Do you mind if I watch as we come into port?” Kharl adjusted the foot pedal and began pumping, so that the spruce in the lathe began to spin.

“No. Not after you finish that gaff. Bemyr’ll want you up on the winch crew anyway.”

Kharl didn’t rush the turning. There was no point in spoiling the wood, and it would be a good glass, if not two or three, before the Seastag came anywhere near the shore. When he did finish, he handed the smoothed gaff to Tarkyn.

“Not bad.”

Kharl took out one of the rags and cleaned off the lathe, then got out the small broom and the handled flat scoop. He swept up the shavings and put them in the burn box, where the cook would collect them later. By the time he had finished, Tarkyn was back working on his scrimshaw, what would be a full-rigged ship carved into a red deer antler.

“How long have you been working on that?” the cooper asked.

“This voyage and the last.” Tarkyn looked toward the open hatch.

Kharl took the hint and slipped out of the carpenter shop and up to the bow. At times, the carpenter didn’t want to talk at all-not to Kharl.

The ship was headed due north, and Kharl could smell the smoke from the engine being fired up. The third mate was barking commands at the riggers, terms Kharl didn’t understand, except in general terms, naming sails to be furled, and those to be left in place. He had picked up some of the names, but he had no idea which sail the mizzen skysail was, nor the fore topgallant. So he just stayed out of the way near the bow and watched as the Seastag drew nearer to the coast. Before long, he could make out a long black line above the water-a breakwater. Hagen, on the poop, brought the ship more to the west.

The third, her voice hard and sharp, issued another series of commands, and the rest of the sails were furled as the paddle wheels began to move. The Seastag moved slowly northward, then hove to off the southern breakwater, waiting, the paddle wheels turning just enough to keep the ship with bare steerageway.

In less than a fraction of a glass, a pilot boat steamed up. The boat kept perfect station on the Seastag while the ladder went over the side. Shortly, a man in blue trousers and jacket climbed aboard. Furwyl met him on the deck and escorted him back to the poop, where he stood beside the captain and began to give orders to the helm.

The Seastag crept forward, wallowing slightly before gaining true headway, then picked up speed to perhaps three kays, Kharl judged, moving toward a channel marked with red and black buoys. The channel ran almost due east between the two long breakwaters of black stone. The breakwaters rose a good ten cubits above the water and seemed to be at least three times that wide, with the flat surface of a lord’s causeway.

“Never seen breakwaters like that…” murmured Hodal, one of the few deckhands who was actually taller and broader than Kharl-and a good fifteen years younger.

“Lots of things you’ll see here you never saw before,” someone else replied. “Nothing like Nylan. Nothing nowhere.”

“Winch crew! Stand by!” ordered Bemyr, the bosun.

Kharl moved aft to join the others, but continued to watch as the Seastag entered the harbor, not all that much larger than the one at Brysta. The difference was that there were piers and more piers, all of them stone, with clean lines and no signs of missing mortar, seemingly in perfect repair, with timbered rails and hempen buffers.

“Is this part of Recluce called Nylan, or is it just the harbor?” Kharl asked Reisl, who was the closest of the winch crew to him.

“Who knows?” Reisl shrugged.

The bosun looked at Kharl. “The southern tip of Recluce is called Southpoint. The port here is Nylan, named after some old hero. He was a smith, I think. Anyway, we’ve been coming north past the point ’fore coming inshore. That’s ’cause the harbor’s on the west side, north of the southern tip. Pretty big port, more than a half score piers for deep-ocean traders, a few more for coasters from Candar and fishing vessels. Most of the time, it’s crowded.”

“They got girls there?” asked the fresh-faced Wylat.

“The tavern maids are prettier here than anyplace you’ll ever be. And all you can do is look.” Bemyr laughed.

“Don’t believe that,” came a voice from the other side of the winch crew.

“You better believe it. This is the place that flattened Fairven some fifty-sixty years back. They got more mages here in Nylan than in the whole rest of the world. You see all that black stone out there? They got ships that move faster than the fastest war-steamers out of Hamor, and half the time you can’t see ’em. They got patrollers on every street. You won’t lose any coin to brigands there, and you’ll get fair measure for your coin. But you can’t buy a woman for all the golds the captain’s got.”

“You can’t?”

As the Seastag eased past the inner end of the breakwaters, Kharl’s attention drifted from the comments about women to the harbor and the city to the north of it. Outside of a few blocks immediately north of the harbor, the city was built on a long sloping hill, an almost symmetrical ridge that was more than two kays from the harbor to the crest and nearly twice that wide. The dwellings and the buildings he could see were constructed of a blackish stone, with dark roofs, and the streets were wide and straight.

“Anywhere you can buy a good woman…a woman, anyway,” another crew member said.

“Except on board,” cracked the third mate from across the deck.

“Can’t buy women in Nylan,” stated Bemyr. “Better not try, either. Now…once in a while, one’ll take a liking to a sailor…and that’s something. Only knew of two fellows that happened to…” Bemyr broke off. “Enough of that. They’ve already got the wagons moving down the pier. They move cargo fast here.”

“Lines out!” ordered Furwyl. “Tighten up forward! Bring her in!”

The Seastag’s paddle wheel slowed to a stop.

“Double up!” ordered Furwyl. “Bosun!”

Bemyr put his whistle to his mouth and blew two shrill blasts. “Before long, cargo hatch’ll be off. Winch crew in place! Step lively, now!”

Kharl took his place and waited.