Wellspring of Chaos

LXIX

In his winter jacket, hands thrust inside it to keep them warm, Kharl stood midships, just forward of the paddle wheel frame, where he was partly sheltered from the wind blowing from the stern, as the Southshield eased its way up to the single squat pier at Vizyn. His pack and staff were at his feet. The small harbor opened to the northeast, looking out on gray waters that might have been liquid ice from the chill carried by the wind. The hempen fenders that cushioned the hull from the pier crackled as the Southshield came to rest against the dock, and icy fragments sprayed forth in the morning air.

Everywhere that Kharl looked, there was white, from the steep hills that encircled the port town to the snow-covered evergreens on those hills. The roofs of the dwellings and buildings in Vizyn were covered with snow, and the streets that Kharl could make out were snow-packed. Had there been any sun, the glare would have been unbearable, but thick and low gray clouds covered the sky, and in places obscured the tops of the taller hills to the west. Smoke from chimneys drifted upward in grayish lines, eventually merging with the low clouds.

“Double up, now!” came the command from aft.

Kharl waited until the ship was secured, and the gangway down to the pier before shouldering his pack and picking up his staff. He moved back around the midships paddle wheel and toward the quarterdeck area where Herana stood.

The second mate looked at Kharl. “We’ll be casting off early morning tomorrow. There’ll be space back to Valmurl if you need it. Don’t carry many passengers in the winter, just timber and some hard coal.”

“Thank you.” Kharl glanced beyond the pier. “You were right. There is snow everywhere.”

She laughed.

Kharl smiled in return and made his way down the gangway. The pier itself was generally clear of snow, but he saw patches of dark ice here and there. He decided to follow the wider street that was mostly clear of snow and lined with shops. The shop nearest the harbor, unsurprisingly, was a chandlery and looked to be open. Kharl stamped his boots on the planks of the porch, swept clear of snow, unlike parts of the street, before stepping inside and carefully closing the door behind him.

The man who was sweeping the floor stopped and looked up, his eyes taking in the long black staff. He appeared to be Kharl’s age, although his beard was streaked with white and bushy. “Could I help you?”

“I’m looking for a scrivener named Taleas…”

The chandler tilted his head slightly, frowning, before he smiled and answered. “His place is about seven, eight blocks toward the center of town. Go up the street till you get to the White Deer. Turn right at the corner. Should be two-three hundred cubits farther, on the left.”

“Thank you.”

“Interest you in some winterbread? Fine travel food.”

Kharl smiled. “After I find Taleas…then we’ll see.” He nodded and turned. Again he was careful to close the door behind him when he left and stepped back outside. His breath was a white plume in the cold air permeated by the mixed odors of both burning wood and coal.

Kharl’s ears tingled after several hundred cubits, and he could understand why the few people he saw on the streets wore caps or hats, generally with earflaps. He kept walking up the street, alternating putting one hand and then the other inside his winter jacket, a jacket that was clearly too light for the cold of Vizyn.

Healthy plumes of whitish smoke poured from the chimneys of the White Deer, and Kharl was almost tempted to step inside the inn, if only to warm himself. He could feel the chill creeping into his toes, and his ears and fingers were beginning to get numb. But the chandler had said that Taleas was but a few hundred cubits from the inn. So Kharl turned right and kept walking. He walked a good three or four hundred cubits down the rapidly narrowing street. He saw a cobbler’s shop, a tiny coppersmith’s, and dwellings cramped together with only small side yards heaped high with snow, but saw no sign of a scrivener’s shop.

He turned around and retraced his steps, this time going in the other direction from the White Deer. The street did not narrow, but widened slightly, and the dwellings seemed larger and better kept. The fifth dwelling-more like a small cottage surrounded by snow-draped conifers-had a carving of a pen and an inkpot on the flat surface below the eaves that sheltered the small front porch. The short stone walk had been cleared and swept, and Kharl walked up it and onto the porch. He rapped gently on the door, then waited.

In time, a rotund figure in gray-gray trousers, gray shirt, with a heavy gray sweater over the shirt-cracked the door and peered out without speaking.

“I’m looking for a scrivener called Taleas.”

“Let’s say you’ve found him.” The rotund man looked over Kharl. “You a blackstaffer?”

“No.”

“Too bad. Could use one around here. Seafarer?”

“I have been-second carpenter. I used to be a cooper. A scrivener named Tyrbel said that I should see you if I ever got to Vizyn.”

The rotund man nodded. “How are his sons?”

Kharl frowned. “He has none. He never did. Unless there’s another scrivener somewhere named Tyrbel. I meant the one in Brysta.”

Taleas nodded again. “What do you know of Tyrbel lately?”

Kharl shook his head. “He was killed by an assassin before I left Brysta. That was one reason why I left. We’d been friends and neighbors, and I feared that I would be next.”

“What happened to the assassin?”

Kharl glanced around, then, seeing no one close to the scrivener’s door, replied, “I killed him with a cudgel.”

Taleas laughed ruefully, once. “What’s your name?”

“Kharl.”

“You look like the fellow he wrote about.” The door opened wider. “Come on in. I don’t know as I can help you much, but I can at least offer you some hot cider, a bite to eat, and let you thaw out before a hot stove.”

“Thank you.” Kharl followed the scrivener into the cottage, and then into a room off the front sitting room, where a wide and plain desk was set against a stone interior wall that suggested the room had been added later. On the other outside wall was a square iron stove from which radiated heat. On the top of the stove was a kettle. Kharl leaned the staff into the nearest corner.

“Sit down. Sit down,” Taleas said.

Kharl gratefully shed his pack, placing it on the frayed hooked rug covering the worn plank floor, then took the plain wooden chair, leaving the one with the cushion for the scrivener.

Taleas took a woolen pad and used it to lift the kettle, then poured the steaming cider into a mug set on the corner of the desk before easing the kettle back onto the side of the stove. “Go ahead. I’ve already had two mugs this morning.” He reseated himself in his own chair.

“Thank you,” Kharl said again, leaning forward and stretching to take the mug from the desk. He took a small sip of the hot liquid, grateful for the warmth, both from the drink and from the heat of the mug on his chilled hands.

“What was this business with Tyrbel? He wrote that you might be coming this way, and that you might need a position as a cooper. He said you’d done him a favor he couldn’t repay.”

Kharl almost winced. He doubted he’d done Tyrbel any favors at all, although he’d meant well. “Ah…he’d sent his youngest, Sanyle, to deliver something, and she was on her way back, just after twilight. Two men decided that they wanted her favors…she called for help, but I was the only one who heard.” Kharl shrugged. “I stopped them, and she got home safely.”

Taleas raised his bushy eyebrows. “You a swordsman, too?”

“No. They had blades. I had my cudgel. That was the problem.” Kharl decided that the scrivener would get the entire story one way or the other and went on with a rush of words. “I didn’t know one of them was Lord West’s youngest son, not until later. Then he attacked and beat up a blackstaffer…” Kharl made the story as quick as he could, including the assassin, and a shortened version of his own hiding out until he had gotten aboard the Seastag. “So that’s how it all happened and how I got here.”

Taleas rocked forward and back in his chair. “Tyrbel said you were the sort who’d do what he thought was right, without much regard for the results.”

“It’s been my undoing at times.”

“Doing right thoughtlessly can also be the wellspring of chaos,” Taleas said ironically. “You got that staff from the blackstaffer?”

“I tried to return it in Nylan, but the Brethren said it was mine. It’s helped at times, but…” Kharl smiled ruefully. “I can’t say I know much about it.”

Taleas chuckled. “You’ll learn.”

Kharl realized he wasn’t totally sure he wanted to learn how to use it.

“You’ll learn, or you’ll end up like poor Tyrbel.” Taleas tilted his head. “The only cooper who might even think about needing help is Almard, and that would only be for a few years, until his eldest is of apprentice age. He would not pay well.”

“For now, I need little except for food, some clothes, and a roof over my head.”

“That is all you’d get from Almard. The others can offer nothing.” Taleas smiled sadly.

“Is it just the winter?” asked Kharl.

“Life has always been harder here than in Valmurl. The winter is longer, the summer shorter, but the fishers brought in good catches, and they salted them and sold them. With the winter ice, they could keep the fish almost fresh. Vizyn’s fish was prized everywhere, and that was why we once had so many coopers. Then the fish disappeared from the Winter Banks. The only sources of coins left are the timber, and some of the hard coal, but there’s getting to be less and less of that.” Taleas shrugged. “Were I younger…but I have some coins laid by, and Elmaria gets some rents from the land she got from her father. Vizyn has been our families’ home for so long we cannot count the years. Where else would we go?” He offered another sad smile. “Besides, in these days, one place is much like another.”

Much like another? In what way? Kharl drained the last of the warm and welcome spiced cider. “Are you saying there is little difference between Candar or Recluce or Hamor or Austra?”

“Those that have the wealth and power decide. Here, we have a little wealth. Elsewhere, it would be less than nothing. Have you not seen that?”

Kharl thought for a moment before responding. “I think that wealth and power have always decided matters.” He paused before adding, “I would worry more about how they decide. Not whether they decide.”

Taleas laughed abruptly. “Well said! Well said! Perhaps you should have been a scrivener, or even a justicer.”

“I’m a carpenter who’s been a cooper, and hopes to be one again. Nothing more.”

“I fear, friend Kharl, that is your problem. Tyrbel wrote as much, and in but a few words, I can attest to what he wrote. For a cooper or a carpenter, you think too much. And you think too deeply, and you are inclined to act on what you believe. If you do not act, those actions you do not take will eat you from within. If you do act, those in power will eat you from without.”

“You make my plight seem hopeless,” Kharl observed.

“Difficult, certainly,” Taleas agreed.

“Just how would you suggest that I escape this…situation?” asked Kharl, in spite of the fact that he was certain he would not like the reply.

“You must obtain wealth or power, or obtain the protection of one who has them.”

“Ah…just obtain wealth and power, or a friend who has both…” Kharl shook his head. “I fear I will have trouble even finding a cooper to take me on.”

“You may indeed,” Taleas said agreeably. “Perhaps I have said too much. That is a failing of those of us who have grown old.”

“You are doubtless right about the cure to my situation, but the cure seems as hopeless as the situation,” Kharl replied. “I thank you for your hospitality, but I should be finding Almard.”

Taleas rose from his chair. “That should not be difficult. He is well outside the town. Just follow this road until you come to the mill. His house and shop are on the other side of the road from the mill. I would judge it is two kays.”

Kharl stood and reclaimed his pack and staff. “I wish I had brought better news.”

“You brought news in good faith, and you stood by Tyrbel as best you could. That is rare in any times, but rarer still in these.” Taleas paused. “Just a moment.” He scurried from the room, moving more quickly than Kharl had thought he might for a man of his age and bulk, returning almost immediately, extending a pair of worn but still well-stitched and fleece-lined leather gloves. “These were once a friend’s, and they were left to me.” He held up a small and wiry hand. “As you can see, they are far too large for me, but they will do you good, and do me none.”

“I could not take your-”

Taleas pointed to his belt and the heavy gloves stuffed there. “I have good gloves.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” Kharl decided that to refuse the gloves would be but a gesture, and a foolish one. “I do. I would that I could repay you in some fashion.”

“Oh…you will. You already have in a way. Now…pull up the collar of your jacket to shield your ears,” Taleas added as he escorted Kharl back to the front door.

Kharl did so.

“Give Almard my best, not that he’ll care, but it won’t hurt.” Taleas opened the door.

“Thank you.” Kharl stepped outside and bowed to the scrivener.

“Do what you can, young fellow. All I ask.” Taleas smiled and closed the door.

As Kharl headed out the road that led from Vizyn, he pondered the scrivener’s words about one place being much like another. Was that because people were alike? Somehow, those words went with what the druids had said to him, although he would have to think over why that might be so. He also had not considered himself a young fellow, but compared to Taleas, he was.

By the time he had covered the two kays on the snow-packed and chill road and reached the mill, clearly shut down for the winter, he was especially grateful to Taleas for the gloves. Without them, his hands would have been blocks of ice.

Almard had a cottage much like that of Taleas, with a barnlike shop attached to the left side of the cottage by an enclosed walkway. The walkway was half-buried in snow piled there-presumably from clearing the space in front of the shop’s loading dock, although Kharl only saw a single set of wagon tracks in the packed snow.

He walked to the workroom door and rapped, once. After a moment, he rapped again.

“Come on in, and close the door, if you would.”

Kharl stamped his boots clear of snow and stepped inside. Once there, he surveyed the work space, which looked as though it had indeed once been a barn. While Kharl’s breath did not steam, the cooperage was still chill, and only a handful of barrels were stacked inside, just behind the loading doors. The forge that had been added later, to the right side of the barn, was cold, and had been for a time. A single cylindrical iron stove sat in the middle of the work space. Kharl could feel the heat, but he was distracted slightly to realize that the stove was not a true cylinder, but had six vertical sides. He’d never seen a stove shaped like that.

Almard stepped toward the door. The cooper was a heavy man, just a shade shorter than Kharl, but carrying a good two stone more than the carpenter. “What can I do for you?” Although the words were hearty enough, Kharl could sense a falseness behind them.

“Taleas sends his best,” Kharl began. “He said I might stop and see you.”

“You be needing some cooperage?” Interest sparked in the eyes of the heavier man.

“I was wondering if you could use an assistant cooper. He said that you might.”

“Not hardly. Not any more ’n he’d need another scrivener. Not with the heart of winter comin’ on.”

“I heard there was good fishing here, even in winter,” Kharl suggested.

“Used to be. No more. Why’d you think there’d be any place here? Not enough work for those of us still left.”

“I’d heard about Vizyn a while back,” Kharl replied. “It took some time to get here.”

“Waste a’ that time, you ask me.” Almard gestured toward the barrels by the loading dock. “That’s what I got for the last two eightdays, and they’re still waitin’.”

“I’m sorry.” Kharl nodded. “The best of fortune to you.” He stepped back and opened the door.

Almard did not say a word as Kharl stepped back into the afternoon chill, closing the door behind him.

After taking a deep, slow breath, Kharl headed back toward the harbor. While he had not checked with any other coopers, it was clear enough from what he had seen of Vizyn that it was not the place for him. So he might as well tell Herana or whoever was on watch on the Southshield that he’d need the return passage to Valmurl. It was also clear that he’d spent almost a gold on nothing.

He winced within the winter jacket at that thought.