Colors of Chaos

XXXVIII

CERRYL STRODE THROUGH the open double doors of the section building’s assembly room and crossed the floor to the speaking stones, ignoring the murmurs from the four patrollers to the right of the entryway. He stepped up on the stones and looked out at the small group. His eyes fixed on lead patroller Sheffl. “What happens to be the problem?”

The muscular patroller cleared his throat “Ser mage, these two men cannot agree. They stopped us on patrol.” He raised his eyebrows and half-smiled, gesturing to the two shorter figures who stood on either side of him.

A squat, fair-skinned, and red-haired man dressed in brown glared at the other man. The second had short gray hair, was tanned as if he worked in the open often, and wore faded blue trousers and a sleeveless blue vest. The tanned man in the vest ignored the glares from the squat man, and his eyes rested on Cerryl.

“They were arguing?” Cerryl asked the patroller. “Close to breaking the peace?”

“You might say that, ser.” Sheffl’s limp black hair flopped across his forehead with the nod he gave. “Karfl-he’s the mason there, in the blue vest-he was waving a stone hammer a lot. Queas was reaching for a staff. He was really yelling, could hear him from the back alley. Thought maybe…” The lead patroller shrugged.

Beside the double doors, just inside the room, the other four patrollers waited, watching, their faces indicating various degrees of boredom and interest.

Cerryl looked at the tanned mason. “Why were you arguing?”

“Demon-damned artisans…be all the same. Queas…he said he be a-tradin’ a set of china pieces, ten platters and ten mugs and two pitchers, if I would repair and rebuild the stone wall at the back of his courtyard.” Karfl shrugged. “Should have known better. Got the wall done, and a bit of work it was, too. Some fool had backed a wagon through it, mud-brick and not fired brick or stone. Then Queas offers me ten platters and two pitchers and says I should be lucky. Only did it because I wanted the set as a consort gift for my daughter Viaya. Can’t have a consort gift without mugs.” Another shrug followed.

“I see.” Cerryl could sense the man’s belief that the situation was as he had told the Patrol mage. After a moment, Cerryl glanced at Queas. “What do you have to say?”

“I offered him ten platters, yes, and two pitchers, but not the mugs,” Queas replied. “I am a poor potter, and I had the platters already. So the pitchers I had to throw and fire and glaze. Pitchers, they are not easy, not if you want their handles to be strong. But the pitchers, they are good, good enough to sell anywhere. So are the platters.”

Cerryl held up a hand. “Did you offer him the platters and the pitchers when you first talked about how you would repay him for repairing the wall?”

“That is what I said, ser mage.”

Cerryl frowned, catching something about the words. “Did you tell him that you were offering ten platters and two pitchers, or did you say you were offering him a set of ten and two pitchers?”

“A set of ten, it is ten platters.”

Cerryl turned to Karfl. “What did you think he said to you?”

“A set of ten, and that means platters and mugs. Some places, it be even ten small plates as well, but I weren’t expecting that.”

Cerryl pursed his lips. Demons! People arguing over the meaning of what a set was. He directed his next words to Queas: “If a merchant, like Likket or Nivor, or Tellis the scrivener, asked you for a full set of ten pieces of china…what would he expect to get?” Cerryl’s eyes focused on the potter, as did his senses.

Queas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Ah…but…ser mage…Karfl is not…ah…he is a mason.”

“You have a different meaning for masons?”

Queas bowed his head. “I will make ten mugs. It will take an eight-day, though. I cannot fire and glaze properly, not with the work I have accepted coins for…not sooner.”

Cerryl looked toward Karfl.

“An eight-day don’t matter, ser mage. Just so as I can get a proper consort gift for Viaya.” The mason squared his shoulders.

Cerryl addressed the two. “I trust this will not come before the Patrol again.”

“No, ser mage,” murmured Queas.

“Not ’less he don’t deliver the mugs,” stated Karfl.

Cerryl nodded to Sheffl. The lead patroller gestured to the door, and Karfl marched out, followed by a subdued Queas.

“…mages got some uses.”

Cerryl smiled faintly as he heard Karfl’s muttered comment. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Queas might be saying or thinking.

Back in the duty room, Cerryl sank into the high-backed chair. Sometimes, even when people heard the same words, they still didn’t agree. Sometimes people, like Queas, were too quick to interpret words in the way that they wished. He took a deep breath. At least, he hadn’t had to put them on road duty or refuse duty or flame them.

At the scritching sound, he looked up.

Wielt paused in the doorway. “Ser?”

“Yes, Wielt…come on in.” Cerryl gestured to the chair. “Sit down. Your feet have to be sore.”

The blonde messenger glanced around the duty room, then leaned forward and murmured, “Ser…you have to be careful.”

Cerryl frowned. “Careful? I always try to be careful.” His words were low, probably because the messenger’s had been also.

Wielt whispered, “It’s not in the southwest, ser.” He straightened and said loudly, “Will that be all, ser mage?”

Cerryl swallowed, then answered. “Ah…” He raised his voice: “That’s all for now, Wielt.”

“Thank you, ser.” Wielt left quickly.

“Be careful,” Cerryl murmured. And not in the southwest section…Why? His inquiries about silksheen? Why would that upset people? Yet Isork had suggested care. Where had Wielt heard what he’d heard? Cerryl smiled. Messengers often overheard things, he imagined.

He frowned.

As with so many other things in Fairhaven, much more was hidden than revealed. He needed to talk to Leyladin, if he could, since she was the only one beside Myral and Kinowin he trusted. But Myral was failing, and Kinowin was Isork’s superior. That left Leyladin, yet…he worried about bringing her too much into the intrigues.