Wellspring of Chaos

XLII

For the next two days, Kharl labored as a deckhand, shifting cargo, moving pallets. Not until midafternoon of the third day was he granted shore leave, along with Tarkyn and half the rigging crew. He had managed, with some difficulty, to wash his once-better outfit clean, but a close look would have revealed muted stains in the tunic. He also had the staff, which he felt he needed to return, although he wasn’t quite sure where to take it, only that it had come from Recluce, and he thought Jenevra had mentioned Nylan.

He stood on the section of the deck behind the gangway, in that ill-defined area that was called the quarterdeck, along with the others going on shore leave, sunlight and shadows from the masts and rigging falling across them.

“Don’t be too long, or too late,” Bemyr told those going on shore leave. “You don’t need a friend with you, not here, but be careful. Captain says we sail just after dawn. That’s when the winds turn and blow out of the northeast.”

Kharl stepped back and let the younger men surge down the gangway.

As the cooper waited, the captain appeared, looking at the staff. “I’d forgotten that. Where did you get it?”

“It belongs here. I need to return it.”

“That’s probably a very good idea. Enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, ser,” Kharl said politely, but Hagen had already stepped away.

Kharl looked around as he walked down the gangway onto the pier. All the piers were of dressed stone, and the stonework was simple but flawless, the joins between stones as tight as those of his best barrels, and with only the thinnest lines of mortar.

The pier itself was almost clear of wagons, except for one last one holding barrels, probably of provisions. Kharl walked past it, then stopped at the end of the pier and looked up the long, inclined hillside that held most of the city. Even though it was well past harvest, everything seemed either black or green. The streets and even the one alley he could see to his left were all paved in a dark gray stone that was almost black. The late-afternoon light glinting off it made it look gray, but as he looked closer, he could see that it was indeed black. In fact, he hadn’t realized just how black, and how pervasive the black stone truly was. All of the buildings, all of the dwellings, were of the same black stone, and the roofs of the buildings and dwellings were of a stone that looked like split black slate.

There were trees, tall and green, and open areas of grass, also green at a time of year when most grass in Nordla was brown. The buildings and dwellings were set in their own greenery, and placed much farther apart than in Brysta, spreading the city out and giving a feeling of spaciousness.

Kharl looked at the open area, a rectangular paved square, separating the piers from the warehouses and buildings, then picked the widest-looking boulevard and walked toward it, his staff in hand. He stopped at the corner where it intersected the square and walked toward a man in a black-and-tan uniform, a patroller, from what Bemyr had said. “Could you help me? I’m looking for the Brethren.”

“All of Nylan’s got Brethren. Any ones special?” The man’s accent was so clipped it took Kharl several moments to piece together what the fellow had actually said.

“The ones…the place that sends people to other lands…”

“Where they train the dangergelders, you mean? Up the hill, almost three kays, and there’s a building on the left, with a green triangle on a stone marker outside. That’s the place. Only one with the green triangle.”

“Thank you.”

The patroller nodded in response.

As he continued uphill, Kharl noted something else. Almost all the buildings were but one story, and most of those near the harbor looked newish, certainly not more than a generation old, and some more recently constructed than that. Yet the port had a feeling of being much older.

He had walked no more than a block when he realized that several passersby and others in the street had taken a quick glance at him and the staff, and looked away. No one said anything, but they definitely looked at him strangely. Because of his clothing, not that of a typical sailor? Or the staff? Or both?

He was breathing harder by the time he reached his destination, nearly a glass later. The structure was more than just a building. From what he could tell, looking over the low stone wall at the green grass and neatly trimmed hedges and well-kept flowers, he was looking at an estate.

Finally, he stepped through the two black stone pillars that served as gateposts, although there was no actual gate, and made his way to the covered porch and the doorway beyond. After a momentary hesitation, he rapped on the door.

Shortly, the door opened, and a young woman stood there. She wore gray all over, except for a shimmering black scarf and a silver pin on the collar of her tunic. The pin was a lightning bolt crossed with a staff. “Might I help you?” Again, the accent was strange, but understandable.

“I hope so,” Kharl said. “This staff…it’s not mine…I didn’t know what to do with it.”

For the first time, the woman, who had been studying the cooper intently enough to make Kharl uneasy, actually looked at the staff. She frowned, briefly. “If you would come in, I think you should see Magister Trelyn.” She held the black oak door open wider.

Kharl took the invitation and stepped inside, finding himself in an upper foyer, separated from the lower one by three black stone steps that ran the width of the foyer.

“There are benches below…if you would like to rest…?”

Kharl stepped down to the lower level and the benches set almost against each wall. His eyes were caught by a painting hanging over one of the benches. The woman portrayed wore black, and her hair was brown. Her eyes were black, and somehow very alive. She didn’t look like anyone Kharl knew, yet she reminded him of Jenevra, the blackstaffer.

He studied the walls, black oak panels set between heavy black oak timbers, and the floor, also of the black slate. Only the ceiling was light, a white plaster tinged bluish gray. There were three doors that led into other parts of the building. Two were closed, and the third was just ajar.

Kharl could hear voices.

“…doesn’t look like a dangergelder…accent…but the staff…it’s not corrupted…more ordered than it should be…”

“…just have to see…”

Kharl turned and watched as the woman and a man dressed in dark, dark gray appeared. His hair was silvered, but his face was that of a younger man. Kharl had the feeling that he was older than he looked. He wore black boots, well polished. Like the woman, he wore a silver collar pin, but his looked like a sprig of a plant crossed with a staff. The cooper also realized something else. Just as the wizard in Brysta had been surrounded by a whitish fog that Kharl had sensed more than felt, this man was surrounded by a blackness, a darkness, but the darkness didn’t feel cold or evil. Instead, it felt almost warm…solid, like well-made tight cooperage.

“I’m Magister Trelyn.” The magister smiled. “How could I help you?”

“The staff,” Kharl said. “It’s not mine. It belonged to a blackstaffer named Jenevra. I thought I should return it.”

Trelyn frowned. “Could you tell me what happened to this blackstaffer, and where it happened?”

“Her name was Jenevra, and she was from Recluce. She came to Brysta, she said, because she had to take a trip to learn something. She was attacked and beaten badly, and I took her into my shop.” Kharl shrugged helplessly. “She was getting better, and was almost well. Then someone set a fire next door, and while I was helping fight it…she was killed. The justicers said my consort did it, and they hung her, but she was innocent.”

“You left Brysta just to return this?”

Kharl laughed, almost harshly. “No. I left Brysta because, after they flogged me, and increased my tariffs so much that I could not pay them, someone murdered my neighbor, who was the only one who stood up for me against Lord West and his son. I went into hiding until I could get on a ship away from Nordla. The ship ported here, and I thought I should return the staff.”

“Has it been the cause of your ill fortune?”

“No. I can’t say it has. It wasn’t mine. I had barely touched it when everything began to go wrong. I had to use it to save myself and someone else.”

The magister nodded more. “Might I see it?”

Kharl might have balked at others touching it, although he could not have said why, but he readily handed it to the older magister. “Here.”

Trelyn ran his fingers over the wood and the black iron, his eyes almost closed. After several moments, his eyes opened wide, and he studied Kharl intently. Then he handed the staff back to Kharl.

“It’s not mine,” Kharl said.

“It may have belonged to Jenevra, and we are sad to hear what happened to her, but it is now yours. It would be useless to anyone else, and it would have to be destroyed. That would not be good for you, either.”

“Not good for me?” Kharl didn’t want it destroyed, but it had not been his. “But…I’m just a cooper…”

Trelyn smiled, an expression almost sad. “One of the hardest tasks in life is to discover that we are more than we think we are. Whether you can discover truly what you are…that I cannot say, but you are more than a cooper.”

Kharl smiled ruefully. “Always be a cooper, I think. Headed to Austra…in time.”

“I did not say you were not a cooper,” Trelyn said quietly, “but that you are, or could be…should be…more than that. If you have the courage to look into yourself. You have a great affinity for order, and for instilling order.”

The words made Kharl uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t stay too long. My ship will be sailing.”

“Not that soon,” Trelyn observed.

“No,” Kharl admitted.

“Were you younger and raised on Recluce, you might have been an engineer or an order-master. Even so…are people pleased with your barrels?”

“Always have been, those that buy ’em. Some don’t, though.”

“Those that did not and will not are likely not to be trusted. They avoid your work because it embodies order.”

Kharl frowned, considering what the magister had said. It was true that those who bought his work and kept buying it over the years were those he knew were honest and trustworthy. He’d never looked at it that way, though. Was that why he had been having more and more trouble selling his barrels? Because there were fewer and fewer trustworthy souls in Brysta?

“It’s a most disconcerting thought, is it not?” asked the magister. “That those who cannot be trusted do not trust those who produce truly ordered work.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”

“If you wish to survive and prosper, you will need to think more along those lines,” suggested Trelyn. “You will become more aligned with order, and unless your thoughts become equally attuned, your troubles will continue.”

“My thoughts…”

“Thoughts always precede action, yours or the thoughts of another. If you attune yourself to order, you will find that life will be more rewarding.”

“Not easier, though?”

“No,” admitted the magister. “Life is seldom easy for those who embody order, although it would seem it should be. But then, what seems is not always what is.”

“Why me?”

The magister smiled, warmly, then shrugged. “That I do not know. I do know that those who work with wood often understand order better, as do smiths. You do some of each, and that may be part of the answer. It may be that you are a cooper because that feels right to you.”

Kharl’s lips quirked. “What do you suggest?”

“Look beyond what you think you see. Learn new things. Reconsider old knowledge. Trust what you feel.” Trelyn paused, then drew a book from his tunic. “This might also help.”

Kharl took the book, opened the cover, then smiled and handed it back. “I did keep her book. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I thought you might have, but I wanted to make sure you had a copy. You may have to read it several times-or more. It sometimes helps to skip through it and read those passages that make the most sense at the moment. Dorrin wrote it most logically, but most of us are not that logical.”

Somehow, those words relaxed Kharl. “Thank you.” He glanced toward the door.

“Also,” added Trelyn, “you can find those who understand order everywhere, not just on Recluce. In time, you might be one that others turn to.”

“I’ve been having trouble just surviving.” Kharl paused, and added, “Until an eightday ago, anyway.”

“That was when you left your old life, I would guess, although sometimes the effects last for a long time. We often create part of our trouble by not wanting to accept who and what we are. You should try to understand yourself, as well as the world.” Trelyn smiled again. “Those are really all I can offer in terms of words of wisdom, and I’m not certain that they work for everyone. I do hope they help you.” Trelyn moved toward the door.

“Thank you.” Kharl followed the magister.

“When you discover yourself, truly, you can return here, if you so wish,” Trelyn added, as Kharl stepped through the door and out into the fall sunlight.

“Don’t know as I’d want to, then,” Kharl replied.

“That is often the way. For it, the world is a better place. Our hopes go with you.”

As Kharl walked back down the wide and straight stone street, through a city far cleaner and better-smelling than Brysta, he pondered the magister’s words, especially those about people not wanting to accept who they were. Hadn’t he always accepted he would be a cooper? The magister had told him bluntly that he was more than that-but had not said what he was, only that Kharl had to discover it, and that it would be hard. Hard? Kharl laughed to himself. He’d already discovered that.

Kharl looked up, sensing something. On the other side of the street were two figures in black, one man and one woman. Both wore silver insignia on their collars, one that looked like a cog crossed with a staff. Like the magister, they held the unseen blackness, if not so deeply or warmly.

The man glanced sharply at Kharl, but the woman leaned toward him and whispered something. Then she looked to Kharl and smiled, saying, “Order always be with you.”

What could he say back? After a moment, he replied with the only thing that came to mind, “And with you.”

The two both nodded and continued onward, past Kharl and up the hill.

Kharl wondered why the woman had gone out of her way to offer the strange greeting, and what she had said to her companion.

Rather than going straight back to the Seastag, Kharl looked for somewhere to eat. He still had silvers left, and a handful of coppers, and after the ship’s food, he wanted a good meal, perhaps the first one in a season.

The first inn-the Copper Kettle-he approached, while looking neat enough, and smelling clean enough, did not appeal to him, for reasons he could not have explained. He walked westward along a slightly narrower street, although one still broad by the standards of Brysta, and stopped abruptly at a smaller place, more like a tavern really. He went inside. The public room was not large, holding fewer than ten tables, with only two occupied, but that wasn’t exactly unexpected in late afternoon.

A tall woman, broad, but not fat, wearing a dark green shirt and trousers with a spotless white apron, smiled at him. “Any table that’s free.”

Kharl moved toward a table in a corner, one that was bright from the late-afternoon light slanting through the unshuttered windows, but not painfully so. He leaned the staff into the corner, trying to keep it out of the way, and settled into the armless chair that allowed him to survey the room. In one way, there was nothing at all remarkable-nine round tables and chairs, wooden floors, white-plastered walls, bronze lamps in brackets on the walls. In another, it was all astounding. The tables were well crafted of red oak, covered in a hard finish, and they were clean. The same was true of the chairs. The floors were of wide golden oak planks, also finished with a smooth sort of varnish, Kharl judged, and without a speck of dirt or dust on them. The windows had glass, and the glass had been kept spotless. He’d never seen what might have been called a common eatery so clean.

“Do you know what you want?” asked the white-haired woman who had greeted him. Her eyes flickered to the staff, then back to Kharl.

“I don’t even know what you have,” he admitted.

“Not everything we usually do. Let’s see. White fish or red fish, battered and fried. Always have a fish chowder. Also, we’ve got a quarter fowl, and chops. Chops might be a bit tough. All comes with mashed potatoes and fried pearapples, except the chowder, of course. Just bread. Fish is two coppers, fowl and chops three. Ale or wine is two, redberry one.”

“What’s the best?”

“Today…the white fish.”

“I’ll try it, with an ale.” Kharl fumbled in his belt wallet.

“Pay when I bring the ale.” She smiled and slipped away.

Kharl just watched her go, admiring her grace, even though he knew she was years older than he was.

She returned with the ale almost immediately, and Kharl placed the silver on the table. “Need some change.”

“Where are you headed?” she asked as she deftly swept up the silver, then looked strangely at the Brystan coin, then at Kharl, before shrugging. “Silver’s silver.”

“It is,” Kharl agreed. “Some things don’t change. Lydiar, I think.”

“Better there than Hamor.” She smiled politely. “Do you know when you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“You’ll have good weather.” With another smile she was gone.

Kharl sipped the ale, far better than any he could recall. Then, that might have been because it had been so long since he’d had good ale. As he took a second swallow, he thought over the servingwoman’s questions. There was some sort of honest misunderstanding, he knew, and it centered on the staff. Did she think he was a blackstaffer, being sent out?

Jenevra had been young, but the woman hadn’t seemed surprised at all. Did that mean that the Brethren or whoever ruled Recluce could send people out as blackstaffers at any age? He frowned. He should have asked more questions of Trelyn, but he just hadn’t thought of them. He’d always been like that, not fully understanding things until much later, if then. That didn’t seem to have changed. He took another sip of the ale, enjoying it.

When the server returned with his meal, set on a new-looking crockery platter, accompanied by a small basket of bread as well, she slipped six coppers onto the table.

“Thank you.” Kharl left two coppers on the table. He hadn’t even thought about coinage. He’d just discovered that silvers converted one for one, but coppers? Who knew? He supposed Tarkyn or the captain did, but he thought he ought to find out, before he ordered anything in Lydiar or anyplace else. He wasn’t so sure the Lydians would be as accommodating as people in Recluce.

As the woman had promised, the fish was good-light and flaky under the crisp golden batter, and the potatoes were rich and filling, the pearapples a pleasing combination of tart and sweet. He left nothing-except the coppers.

When he stood to leave, the server smiled from across the room. “Best of fortune.”

“Thank you.”

Kharl didn’t want to return to the ship, not immediately. So he kept walking. In time, he came to a square, except it wasn’t a square, but a park, with trimmed hedges, and yellow and orange flowers, and stone walks amid the green grass, grass that was trimmed short. The trees were all evergreens, some of types Kharl had never seen. He stood on the street side of the black stone wall and watched as two boys and a girl played some sort of tag, with two adults looking on from a nearby stone bench.

After a time, he walked farther downhill toward the piers on the western side of the harbor. He was curious, because even with the sun about to set, and the light falling across the westernmost set of piers, a sort of shadow lay across them. Kharl could not make out any of the vessels, although he could see the ships at the other piers clearly, and there were no clouds in the sky.

When he neared the piers, he discovered several things. First, the street ended at a black stone wall, with a guard post in front of the open iron gate manned by two soldiers or marines in black uniforms. Second, the guards had weapons in racks that had to be rifles. He looked again. No, they weren’t rifles, exactly, and their barrels were far too large. Third, he could see through the gate the late-day sunlight falling on the piers, yet there was a darkness that blocked any view of the ships.

Kharl knew that there was at least one vessel there; he could almost sense its solidity, but no masts extended above the ten-cubit-high wall. He immediately turned east, because the cross street in front of the piers also ended just to the west, with another black stone wall. He could sense the guards watching him, and he did not look back until the black wall ended-or rather made a right-angle turn harborward. He walked on another fifty cubits before turning.

The way the walls were set, there was no way to see what might be tied at the pier behind the walls, but whatever was tied there did not have masts that extended very high.

The guards and the walls suggested that this section of the harbor held the dreaded warships of Recluce, but if such warships were so fearsome, why were they being hidden? Was there something about them that the rulers of Recluce did not wish known? After a moment, he shrugged and continued walking along the edge of the harbor.

When he finally returned to the ship, after looking at shops, vessels from Hamor and Candar, as well as from Nordla and Austra, it was well into evening.

He took the staff back down to the carpenter shop. For the first time in days, Tarkyn wasn’t there. Kharl replaced the staff in the bin and headed back toward the forecastle. He slowed as he passed the women’s crew quarters, hearing voices ahead, then stopped just outside the hatch.

“…tell you…something strange about him…”

“…imagining things…”

“…wasn’t imagining…he’s walking down the street, and two of those creepy types in black…they greet him…like he’s one of ’em…”

“So? He works hard…doesn’t slack, and keeps his mouth shut…”

“…tell you…strange…”

“…worry too much, Asolf…you drank too much, too. Get some shut-eye…

“…tell you…”

“Sleep it off.”

Kharl waited quietly for a time before entering the forecastle. When he did step in and begin to ready himself for sleep, both Asolf and whomever he had been talking to were asleep, as were about half the crew-those that were aboard.

Kharl lay back on the thin mattress, thinking. How could he discover how he might be more than just a cooper? By further reading of The Basis of Order? By looking more deeply into things?

After a time, he drifted into sleep.