He’d laid out the shooks, set up the planer, and shaped four of the shooks into rough staves when the door to the cooperage opened, and Tyrbel walked in.
Kharl eased the shook he was working away from the planer and took his foot off the drive pedal. He set the shook on the bench and walked forward to meet the scrivener.
“Kharl…I am so sorry…” began Tyrbel.
The cooper shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Should have come over to thank you-for my life twice over. Without you and Sanyle, I’d not be here. I’m still not thinking as a man should…”
“You’ve lost your consort, and you’ve taken a flogging that would have killed a lesser man, my friend.” Tyrbel smiled warmly. “Perhaps because I work with words, I know their limits. I’ve seen your acts, and they are far more eloquent than any words. I did what I could.” The scrivener looked down. “I didn’t have any idea that…Justicer Reynol…I didn’t know he could do something that base…”
“Until I was in the gaol, neither did I.” Kharl cleared his throat. “The man with me…Kaj…he said that I’d hang. He said that Lord West needed to hang someone to keep Recluce from shelling Brysta.”
“Recluce is not that vindictive,” replied Tyrbel. “That was an excuse because you stood up to Egen.”
“Kaj said he was a pissprick.”
“I know. They hung Kaj yesterday. I had to be at the Hall for something else when it happened.”
“They hung him? For calling Captain Egen a name? For being drunk?”
“The charge was that he was a thief, that he’d stolen some of the coin he’d used at the Tankard, and that the other was counterfeit, and that he’d been found guilty four times before.”
“I don’t know,” Kharl said heavily. “He didn’t seem that type.”
“I doubt he was,” Tyrbel said. “Light! I wish that we had someone of character these days, someone who would take the Justicer’s Challenge and remove Reynol. He’s but a tool of young Egen.” Tyrbel laughed ruefully. “Of course, Lurtedd is a tool of Osten.”
“Justicer’s Challenge?” He’d heard of it, but would anyone dare? How did it work?
“Oh…it’s a way that a man learned in law and justice can challenge a justicer. But it’s seldom done, because, if he fails, he suffers the punishment of those five people whose cases he takes.”
“Oh.” After a moment of silence, Kharl added, “Arthal left this morning. He’s going to be a carpenter’s apprentice on some ship.”
“I’m sure that hurts. But, given the way he feels, it would be worse for him to stay here. Worse for him and much worse for you.”
“Did Sanyle tell you?”
“That the boys think it’s your fault? Yes…we won’t tell anyone else, but she needed to talk to someone.” Tyrbel paused. “It wasn’t your fault. A man has to be a man, or he’s nothing.”
Kharl nodded. “You spoke for me. Will that hurt you?”
“I would hope not.” The angular scrivener shrugged, then brushed back a lock of brown-and-silver hair. “But you risked your life for Sanyle. How could I not say the truth?”
“I am grateful. You were the only one.”
“Gharan would have. I asked him not to, unless something happened to me. He has small children. I also let it be known that there were many who saw that you could not have murdered the girl.”
“That way…?”
Tyrbel nodded. “But…that may not have been wise. I did not think that they would turn on Charee when they heard in open justice that you were innocent. They did not let anyone speak for her.”
“I tried.”
“They added extra lashes for that.” Tyrbel paused. “Egen was one of those who tried to force Sanyle, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. I didn’t know that until the Watch came. Kaj told me who he was. He told me-Captain Egen did-before they whipped me, that I should never question my betters. He said that he’d hang me if I ever did again.”
“He’s petty, and meaner than a mountain cat in heat, but he’s cunning. Never says anything where anyone can hear, and always has some reason in the law for what he does. You know that they gave Mallamet just ten lashes for false witness. The lashes barely broke the skin.”
“So they can say they treated everything fair.” Kharl snorted.
Tyrbel cleared his throat. “I know some scriveners in Hemmen and Vizyn. I wrote them to see if there might be a need for coopers there.”
“You think I should leave Brysta?”
Tyrbel shrugged. “I don’t know. But best you keep both eyes open. You end up in gaol again, for whatever reason, and you won’t walk out, except to the gallows.”
Kharl nodded slowly.
“You’ve got some time. Egen’s cunning. Anything happens to you soon, and people will talk, especially the crafters, and that would upset Lord West.” Tyrbel looked to the door. “I have to go.”
“Thank you. You have been a friend. A true friend.”
“You told me that was what neighbors were for.” The scrivener smiled. “Take your time in healing. You’ll need your strength.”
“I can pay Sanyle some,” Kharl said.
“She would like that, but you don’t have to.”
Kharl felt he did, but he only smiled. “You’ve both been good to us.”
After Tyrbel left, as Kharl walked back to the planer, he saw the leather-bound book on the edge of the finishing bench. Perhaps he should look at it in the evening. He couldn’t afford enough ale to take his mind off Charee, and he still needed to write Merayni…if he could only find the words.
Maybe puzzling through the book would help, one way or another. He needed something.
XV
Because he knew how Warrl felt, Kharl did not press the boy to speak, except for his work, or request that his son stay too close to the cooperage for the next several days. He did insist on Warrl doing his chores, and his lessons, and on eating with Kharl and Sanyle.
On fiveday evening, as they were finishing supper, Kharl looked at Warrl. “How are your lessons going?”
“I’m going every day. You know that. Master Fonwyl says I’ll never pass the craftmaster examination.”
“He said that?”
“Yes, ser,” Warrl averred.
“Did he say why?”
Warrl did not meet Kharl’s eyes. Kharl waited.
“He said…all order would turn to chaos before a son of yours was allowed to be a craftmaster in Brysta.” Warrl looked up at Kharl. “Why do they all hate you? What did you do to make them hate me?”
“They don’t all hate me. Tyrbel doesn’t. Gharan doesn’t. Hyesal doesn’t.”
“They don’t matter. Lord West and the justicers matter. The craftmasters matter. And they all hate you.”
“Everyone matters,” Kharl offered, not sure what he could say.
“It’s not right. They shouldn’t hate me. Not because of what you did. Not because I’m your son.”
“They shouldn’t. People don’t always do what’s right. You know that…don’t you?”
“Why…” Warrl looked up. “I’m sorry, Da…”
“Your father did the best he could,” Sanyle said. “There are evil people in Brysta. Some of them are powerful. Do you think he should not do good because of them?”
“What good does it do?” Warrl asked. “The blackstaffer died, and Ma died, and Da, he almost died.”
Kharl looked at Sanyle and gave the slightest of headshakes. He did not want her to mention what he had done for her. That would just give Warrl a chance to direct his anger at her. The young woman waited for a moment before she answered Warrl. “My father always has said that if you do good because you expect to be rewarded, it is not good at all, but greed.”
“Then I’ll be greedy when I get older,” Warrl said. “What good is it if you can’t live to enjoy it?”
Kharl cleared his throat. “Did Master Fonwyl say if you had learned enough to pass the mastercrafter examination if you weren’t my son?”
Warrl looked up, surprised. After a moment, he replied. “He said I know enough.”
“Are you telling me what he said or what you think?”
“No, Da. He said I knew as much as most craftmasters.”