“Yes, ser.” Rahl inclined his head politely, then stepped back, turned, and left the building. With the undercaptain’s shields firmly in place, Rahl hadn’t been able to sense anything except what Craelyt wanted to reveal-and that had been mild concern. Rahl was more than mildly concerned, even if he couldn’t have explained why, but he hoped that he’d been able to hold most of those feelings behind his own shields. He also couldn’t see why Craelyt was just mildly concerned when the Jeranyi might be taking advantage of a revolt-especially one started by the Emperor’s brother. That whole situation seemed strange to him. Wasn’t the older brother the one who inherited power? Why was it different in Hamor?
The late-morning sun beat down through a cloudless green-blue sky, and the fall day was beginning to feel more like summer by the time Rahl reached the station where the pier guard and Hegyr were monitoring the traffic entering and leaving the piers. Rahl blotted his forehead and adjusted his visor cap.
“What’s happening?” asked Hegyr from the high and shaded seat, even as he kept his eyes and senses on the wagons and pedestrians moving toward the piers.
“There’s another Jeranyi ship on pier two. Just reported it to the undercaptain. That makes three.”
“It’s not as though we need more trouble. Poor Niasl.”
“He’s on the night watch?” asked Rahl.
“He is.” Hegyr broke off. “You there! Stop that wagon! Now!”
Rahl moved forward, his hand on his truncheon.
“Your rear axle’s cracking,” added Hegyr, “and we’re not about to have broken-down wagons on the piers. Go up to the turnabout and get back here. You try to make the pier, and you won’t have a wagon.”
The teamster nodded. “Yes, ser.”
Beneath the man’s impassive exterior, Rahl could sense anger, probably because the fault wasn’t his but belonged to the trader who owned the wagon.
At that moment, Myala arrived. “Did you find them?”
“I reported to the undercaptain and told the duty mage-guard. The undercaptain said to keep a close watch on them.”
“We’ll take a look at pier three first, this time.”
Behind Myala’s back, Hegyr gave the smallest of headshakes and then a sympathetic broad grin. The wide piers were crowded; but as always, everyone stepped back when either of the two mage-guards moved toward them.
At the foot of pier three, Myala turned to Rahl. “You go up the south side, and I’ll take the north. When you get to the end, we’ll meet, and you tell me what you’ve observed.” Then she left Rahl standing there.
He wanted to shake his head at her abruptness. Instead, he took his time, moving along the edge of the pier, trying to sense chaos or trouble. He was halfway out on the wide pier when he saw ahead of him a wagon bearing the familiar emblem of the Nylan Merchant Association, drawn up short and waiting for another wagon to move into position alongside a Spidlarian clipper. Rahl walked over to the teamster seated on the wagon. “I haven’t seen Guylmor recently.”
“He hasn’t been around for almost a year.”
“Why not?”
The teamster shrugged. “He was killed in a loading accident at the warehouse. That’s what they told me.”
Rahl could sense both the truth of the man’s statements-and his unease. “Sorry to hear that. Where are you picking up cargo?”
“The Dawnbreaker…way at the end…if that boar’s ass up there will ever get out of the way, beggin’ your pardon, ser.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Never really know, not until it’s off-loaded. They give me the declaration, and I give it to Chenaryl. That’s his problem. Usually, from the Jeranyi, it’s something in barrels.” The teamster shrugged.
“Good fortune!” Rahl nodded and moved on.
As he walked away from the teamster and past the clipper toward the Jeranyi vessel, Rahl had a definite feeling that he was being watched, perhaps even by a mage. Guylmor’s “accident” also disturbed him more than a little, though, because it had occurred not that long after he’d been drugged with nemysa, and there were too many coincidences for his liking. There was also almost no hard proof of anything, and both the captain and undercaptain weren’t that different from the magisters in being unwilling to take Rahl’s unsupported word about matters.
XCVII
On fourday, Rahl woke with a feeling of apprehension, yet outside his window, the sky was clear, the air refreshingly dry and cool. At breakfast, Carlyse was even more ebullient than ever.
“Rahl…when are they going to give you your own duties?” She laughed, loudly. “It’s got to be soon, because Myala just glared when I asked how you were doing, and if she couldn’t find anything to complain about, then there wasn’t much.”
“She was just in a hurry to leave,” Rahl countered. “She’s in a hurry all the time.”
“Can’t be all the time,” interjected Hewart. “She’s got two daughters.”
Both Dalya and Carlyse shook their heads.
Caersyn howled with laughter. “If anyone could hurry that, she could.”
Zachyl, alone at the juniors’ table, looked up wide-eyed.
Rahl still had the feeling it would be some time before the captain or the undercaptain would let him do much in the way of true mage-guard duties without supervision, and he still rushed through his breakfast.
Once he was on the piers with Myala that morning, her matter-of-fact attitude and marginal instruction and information seemed to confirm that feeling. Her only truly informative comment did not come until close to midday on pier one, when she gestured toward a heavyset man wearing a loose and cheap cloak of thin material.
“Cutpurse or thief, if he gets the chance. Thin fellow under the cloak. He may drop the cloak on someone, and like as not, he’ll jump into the water and dodge out to one of the fishing boats. Not a real fishing boat, but it’s hard to tell.”
“Then he’s going after a lot of coin.”
“Exactly. Not worth the trouble otherwise.”
“Do we…”
Myala laughed, softly but harshly, because the man turned and walked back off the pier. “He won’t be back today. He knows we’d recognize him. He might come here for days before he acts. Good thieves aren’t hasty.”
Rahl hadn’t thought of using the harbor water as a way to escape chaos-bolts, but it certainly made sense.
After that, the rest of the morning was quiet, although Rahl could still detect the miasma of white chaos every time he and Myala passed any one of the three Jeranyi ships. All three maintained their armed guards at the top of the gangways, and there was no sign of any cargo loading or unloading.
Slightly after midday, for the first time since he’d been a mage-guard in Hamor, he saw a wagon platform with slaves being sold-two lithe women and three youths, and all were dark-haired. According to the Codex, slavery was not allowed, but permanent indenture was. Rahl didn’t see any difference in that, except that children of those permanently indentured could not be indentured for the debts of their parents-or by their parents.
He glanced to Myala. The older mage-guard said nothing, although Rahl could detect greater tenseness in her as they passed the wagon.
“…look at those bodies…strong and agile…look close now!”
Rahl couldn’t help the flashback to Fahla and her brother, nor the rush of anger at Puvort and the magisters. To enslave or indenture children because they had not turned in their father? That still struck him as wrong, no matter what the magisters said.
“Some of them have no memories,” Myala said quietly.
“Why?” asked Rahl in a low voice.
“The harlots who drug men and steal from them are heavily dosed with nemysa and indentured. They say that’s because they wouldn’t last in the quarries.”