Colors of Chaos

CL

WITH THE DIM light of late twilight fading, Cerryl looked at the image of a blonde healer in the glass for a long moment, savoring the smile offered by Leyladin, wishing, once again, that they were together before letting her visage fade.

The stacks of lists and papers remained on the study desk-a set of papers larger than those left by Eliasar. Cerryl had read them, all, and, for the most part, they were just that-lists. He picked up the shorter list, the one for the evening, the one that held Lyasa’s suspected nighttime traders.

He’d already ridden by the shops earlier in the day, beside Hiser at the head of a routine patrol, marking them in his mind, trying to assess which might be the most likely. He’d not told Hiser the purpose of the ride, nor Lyasa the reason for the list. The less anyone knew about what he planned, the safer he would be. Spidlaria was far more dangerous than Kalesin could know. Or than he cares.

With a deep breath, Cerryl stood, then stepped past the massive desk and out of the study into the hallway. “Good evening, Natrey.”

“Evening, ser,” answered the lancer guard, remaining alert, his eyes on the entry hall and the front door.

“How have you found Spidlaria?”

“It be an unfriendly place, ser. Folk’d spit at you, dared they to.”

“They’ve never been that friendly, I fear.” Cerryl nodded. They’ll be less friendly before they become more so.

“Yes, ser.”

“I’m going upstairs.” Cerryl turned and walked toward the staircase until he was out of the guard’s direct line of sight and only a dozen cubits from the barred side door.

Where to? The chandlery? The reluctant arms mage turned toward the side door out of the dwelling. He eased the light-blurring shield around him-the illusion protection that caused people’s eyes to slide past him, as if he were a wall or something so commonplace that he were not even to be noticed. Then he slid the bar enough so that he could open the door and step outside.

Using the blur shield would keep Kalesin, were the other mage even around, from sensing Cerryl’s presence.

Cerryl paused in the rear courtyard, drinking in the coolness of early evening for a moment. With sunset, the breeze had quieted, but it still blew off the cooler waters of the empty harbor.

He walked quietly to the rear gateway and stepped through the archway and down along the walled passage to the street below the house. He halted in the deeper shadows of the arch that opened onto the street, one of the four that led to the harbor square.

A lancer patrol rode by, the hoofs of the four mounts clicking on the stone pavement. Once the patrol passed, with the blur shield still around him, Cerryl slipped along the side street toward the chandlery Lyasa had placed on the list.

On one side was a cooper’s and on the other was a structure without markings. All three buildings were dark. The chandlery’s door was shut and presumably barred, the shutters fastened, but Cerryl could sense order and chaos within, the order and chaos of people.

As he watched from the nearby alleyway, a woman walked quickly toward the side of the building, where she rapped on a narrow door-a cellar door-before she darted inside the door quickly opened and quickly shut.

Cerryl edged toward the low steps that led down to the cellar, remaining shadowed and shielded. He waited, and shortly the door opened and closed quickly once more. The woman scurried past Cerryl, not even sensing him behind his shield, and down the street, staying in whatever deep shadows she could find.

How long he watched and waited Cerryl was not sure, except that the next prospective purchaser did not come soon. The big man almost waddled up to the cellar door and rapped heavily. Cerryl slid up behind him, then stayed behind the other’s bulk as he lumbered into the cellar.

Once inside, Cerryl stepped to the side in the momentary darkness.

“Who you…” The man who uncovered the lamp on the table blinked and frowned. “Thought you had someone with you.”

Cerryl could smell hot and damp wool, probably from the moist cloth used to mask the lamp. He eased into the corner of the room, trying to blend with the gloom away from the single lamp set on the narrow table.

“Just me, Tyldar. Got any cheese?”

“That I do, but don’t be showing or telling it around. Be a silver for a quarter wedge.”

“Steep, that be.”

“Know anyone else has cheese?”

“Where did you get it?”

“Would I be telling you that now?” Tyldar laughed softly. He removed an oblong rock from the wall and reached into the opening, apparently releasing a catch or lever, because a section of stones swung open.

“Clever there.”

“Old trick-put rocks from the tailings from the worked-out coal mines there and no mage, Black or White, can tell what’s there. Said they hid Black healers there in the Days of Fire.”

Cerryl frowned. Days of Fire? He’d never run across that before. It wasn’t in any of the histories.

“Here you be.” The chandler pushed the wall back into place with his hip, then set the quarter wedge on the narrow table.

“You think those Whites’ll ever leave?” The buyer extended a silver.

“Thank you. When they run out of mages, they might. Some folk are saying they haven’t got that many. The latest one-he’s pretty young.”

“He figured out Reylerk quick enough.”

“Luck…had to be.” The chandler glanced toward the door.

“Well, best be out of here.”

“Check the street.”

The lamp was covered, and the man who had bought the cheese cracked the shutters. “Clear-like.”

“Be off, then.”

Cerryl nearly tripped on the boots of the man he followed but stepped back into the shadows.

The buyer glanced around. “Darkness…swore…” He shook his head, then began to walk quickly away from the harbor.

Standing in the shadows, Cerryl frowned. He could have the lancers seize the merchandise, but what good would that do? He couldn’t track down everyone who sold goods secretly. Besides, what he needed was for them to be sold in public, so that there would be a clear trail of goods on which the tariffs could be levied and collected.

Finally, he nodded, then began to walk down the street toward his second observation-the basket maker’s two blocks north.