The cooper nodded. Those words made sense. Even with his limited work in forging the hoops from iron blanks, he could see where what the book said would make sense-except for one thing. How could a mage actually infuse iron with order? What he had read so far gave no hint of how such might be done. Yet he had seen the bands on Jenevra’s staff and the warship from Recluce in the harbor. Even from a pier away, there was no doubt that it had been constructed of black iron, and that it was a deadly vessel.
Yet he had never seen more than one warship of Recluce at a time, and those most seldom. Why did Lord West fear the demon isle? Or did he? Had he used the isle as an excuse? Kharl frowned. Lord West had used the law-or his youngest son had-to increase his power over Kharl and those in Brysta and the western quadrant of Nordla. He had no need to mention Recluce.
Kharl’s eyes dropped to the book once more. What was it about Recluce? Would the book tell him more? He flipped back several pages, more toward the beginning of the first part, and reread a section that had bothered him.
The purpose of order is to support that life which can order chaos; and without chaos to be ordered, there can be no purpose to life.
The function of chaos is to destroy order. Without order, no structure can exist-no man nor woman, no plant, not even an earth upon which to walk…
He frowned. Was Egen the kind of man who was like chaos, destroying order even as he talked of maintaining it? What did maintain order in Brysta? Justicers? The armsmen under Lord West?
Those questions and thoughts were more than Kharl wanted to contemplate, and he closed the book, setting it aside as he prepared for bed. He still had more barrels to finish in the days ahead, and he needed the sleep. He just hoped he could.
XIX
On fourday, dark gray clouds, wind, and heavy showers buffeted Brysta, and no one came to the cooperage. Fiveday dawned cloudy, but without rain. No one came into the shop through the morning. Finally, in midafternoon, with the sun promising to burn away the clouds, Wassyt lumbered into the cooperage. The miller was a good half head taller than Kharl, one of few men in Brysta who clearly overtopped the cooper. Wassyt was also considerably broader, his girth cinched in by a tight leather vest. Although he was a good ten years older than Kharl, his hair remained the same light brown that it had been since when Kharl had met him as a youth, and it still fell across the left side of his forehead.
“Good afternoon,” Kharl offered.
“Same to you, Kharl.” Wassyt glanced toward Warrl, who was rough-hollowing some white oak staves.
“Warrl, you can take some time outside,” Kharl suggested.
Warrl nodded, set down the hollowing knife, and left, quietly.
Wassyt stopped short of the fire pot, where Kharl had been checking the coals before toasting one of the white oak barrels for Korlan, and began to speak. “You know I’d never put anyone else’s barrels against yours.”
“I’d like to believe that they’re that good.” Kharl managed to keep his expression pleasant, although he knew what would follow would not be something he wanted to hear.
“They’re the best,” the miller replied. “Not a cooper in Nordla’s any better. Maybe a few as good on the eastern shore, but not around here.”
Kharl waited for what had to come.
“Wanted you to know that.” The miller pushed back the lank brown hair, then blotted his forehead. “I told everyone I’d already ordered my harvest barrels from you, and paid for ’em, the half that goes first. Said I’d ordered thirty.”
“I’ll have them ready in two eightdays,” Kharl said.
“Three’s fine. Harvest’s a bit late.” Wassyt laid out a gold and five silvers, right on the bench. “You got this even before…the trouble.”
“That’s the way it is,” Kharl agreed.
“I heard Lord West is short of coin,” the miller said. “That’s what Sorkan was telling me.”
“Hard to believe that a lord would be short of coin.”
“You know, the tariff assessments be coming out, right after harvest,” Wassyt observed. “Maybe even quicker. Lord West’s middle son is reviewing the assessments. That’s what Fyngel told me. You know Fyngel-he’s the tariff farmer for our section?”
“He’s mine, too.”
“You’ll probably be seein’ him afore long, Kharl. Might not want to. I didn’t, light knows.”
“You think he’s close to Lord West’s son?”
“Don’t know as close. I’d say Fyngel’s very respectful, do whatever young Lord Egen suggests. Fyngel, he’s not quite a friend, but he’s not so bad as some tariff farmers. Well, he was telling me that Lord West’s worried about the Austrans. Seems like they’re thinking of getting friendly with the Emperor of Hamor, and using that to look across the gulf.”
“I’ve heard talk about that,” Kharl said cautiously.
“So the Lords of the Quadrant need to build more ships, and ships take coins.” Wassyt spread his beefy hands. “Coins come from us, specially millwrights, crafters, and artisans. Fyngel was given a list. A special-like list. Told that those crafters and artisans had paid too little in tariffs for too long.”
“I gather that a certain cooperage might be on that list?”
“Aye. It might.” Wassyt cleared his throat. “So might others, and this was what Fyngel told me as he was talking to me about my new tariffs. He was saying that folks who bought casks and barrels from some coopers, well, they just might have their tariffs doubled twice over.”
“That’s an interesting tale,” Kharl said, trying to keep his voice level.
“Then, right after Fyngel left the mill, couldn’t say that it was more than a glass, if that, Overcaptain Vielam-that’s Lord West’s middle son-he came a-riding up to my door…”
Kharl had feared that what Wassyt would say wouldn’t be good, but Wassyt’s words were far worse than he’d expected.
“…told me that I milled the best of anyone in the western quadrant, and that he’d be pleased to keep having the lord’s grains milled, but that his sire had decided that…well, that if I put it in certain barrels…”
“My barrels?”
“In certain barrels, they’d have to find another miller,” Wassyt concluded.
“That would make it hard on you and your family.”
“That’s when I told the overcaptain that I heard him, but asked him for some care, seeing as I’d already half paid for thirty barrels of that kind, and surely he could understand that, seeing how close it is to harvest. Well…he hemmed, and tilted his head, but he said that he could see that, and so long as I’d order no more, he’d overlook it this one time, and he’d make sure that my tariffs didn’t rise like those would who hadn’t supported his sire.” Wassyt shrugged his overlarge shoulders. “And there you have it.”
“I thank you for what you did and could do,” Kharl said. “There isn’t more that you could, and those thirty barrels will be the best you could wish for.”
“I’d be wishing I could do more, Master Kharl…”
“I’ve felt and seen what happens to those who cross Lord West and his sons. I’d not wish that on anyone.”
“Thought you might understand.”
“I do.”
“Well…best I be going for now. Just wanted to see things square.”
“Thank you.”
The miller took several steps toward the door, before stopping and looking back at Kharl. “Got a cousin in Jelenn. He’s a cooper. Better than Mallamet, not so good as you. He’s been thinkin’ of coming south. If you ever think of lettin’ the place go…I’d be staking him.”
“Until…the trouble…I wouldn’t have thought about it,” Kharl said. “It’s still hard.”
“Understand.” Wassyt shifted his weight. “All right if I send a teamster three eightdays from now?”
“That’d be fine.”