“…was such a proud man…almost feel sorry for him…Almost…”
“…not right, what happened…”
“…doesn’t matter…should have known better. Charee warned him…she did…”
They were right, Kharl reflected. Charee had warned him. She’d warned him that helping people could hurt her and the children, and Kharl had tried to help Sanyle and Jenevra…and one was an orphan and the other was dead-and Kharl had lost his consort and cooperage, and at least one son. For all that Merayni said, a sadness fell across the cooper as he considered that trying to do good had created such awful results. He forced a smile onto his face as he followed and listened to his son.
“This one…I had to do twice. There was a graft…you see, here…”
Kharl just watched Warrl, listening.
XXX
On threeday morning, Kharl was up at dawn and used the well behind the cottage to wash up, chill as the air was, cold as the water was.
Warrl joined him just as the sun flooded a clear fall sky. “You have to go today, Da?”
“I do.”
“Uncle Dowsyl said you could stay. I heard him.”
Kharl decided against pointing out Merayni’s views on that. “Your uncle is a good and kindly man, Warrl. But…I’m not a grower. I’m a cooper. I might be able to be a carpenter somewhere, or do other things, but a grower I’m not.”
“Aunt Merayni doesn’t think you’ll ever be a cooper again. She said so. Is it true?”
“I can’t be a cooper in Brysta. I’d have to go somewhere else, maybe even another land.”
“You could come here.”
Kharl shook his head. “Peachill is too small for a cooper. People only need a few barrels a year here.”
“You don’t want to come?”
“I can’t, son.”
“You don’t want to…”
“It’s not that…” Kharl tried to think of an answer that would express what he felt. “It’s…I’d rather be with you…but if I came here…it wouldn’t be fair to Merayni or Dowsyl…or to you. It’s too close to Brysta. It’s still part of Lord West’s lands.”
“How could that be? You work hard. You’d do that, here. I know you would. You always work hard.”
“Warrl…do you remember what happened in Brysta? Every time I cross the street there, now, I have to look to make sure there aren’t any of Lord Egen’s bravos around. I’m staying with people, poor people, but I have to sneak in and out. If I came here, and Lord Egen found out…” Kharl shook his head slowly.
“No! It can’t be…” Warrl’s headshake was violent. “You’re just saying that…” He turned and found himself held by Dowsyl. He looked up. “Uncle Dowsyl…that…it can’t be…”
“Lad…I fear so,” said Dowsyl slowly. “Your da’s got the right of it, sad as it is.”
“I had to make sure you were all right,” Kharl said, his eyes fixed on Warrl’s narrow face, in some ways so much like his mother’s. “But I dare not come back too soon. And if I go to sea, I’ll not be able to. Not for a time.”
“But…why? What did you do?”
“Your da did what was right,” answered Dowsyl. “Times…when a man does, and a lord’s done wrong, all those around the man suffer. It’s not fair, lad, but that’s the way of the world. But don’t be blaming your da for doing right. There’s too few that will in these days.”
Warrl slowly turned. “Da…”
Kharl stepped forward and put his arms around his son. He also mouthed the words, “Thank you,” to Dowsyl.
The grower nodded, with a sad smile, before saying, “Merayni’s got breakfast for us. Come on in when you’re ready.” After a moment, he added, “Your da will need a good fill, Warrl. Long walk back to Brysta.” He turned and left them.
“I’m sorry, Da,” offered Warrl, stepping back from Kharl’s embrace.
“So am I. Never thought…” Kharl shook his head again.
Warrl looked down.
After another silence, the cooper said, “We’d better go eat.”
Breakfast was hearty, with fried apples and pearapples, ham slices, and hot bread from the oven. There was little conversation, because he and Warrl had said what they could, as had Dowsyl, and because Merayni had long since voiced her views. Young Dowlan was interested in having more pearapples, and his sisters chattered about the new goat kid.
Before all that long, the food was gone, and Kharl had given Warrl a last hug, thanked Merayni and Dowsyl. In turn, Merayni had given Kharl some travel bread, cheese, and some dried pearapples. Then Kharl was walking down the long lane toward the main road. The light wind rustled the dry winter-gray leaves still clinging to the grove trees.
The cooper reflected as he walked eastward on the lane toward the road back to Brysta. Dowsyl had seemed concerned, and Kharl had sensed sadness in Warrl. Merayni had been polite. She’d not even said anything nasty and had been hospitable to him, if cool, although he could tell that she had been more than glad to see Kharl leave-without Warrl.
When Kharl reached the main road to Brysta, where he turned north, he could feel eyes on his back-probably those of the woman with the less-than-orderly gardens, watching to see where the stranger might be headed. He kept walking.
By midmorning, he was hungry, and he stopped beside a stream and sampled some of the bread and dried pearapples. He saved the rest of what Merayni had given him for later. He knew he’d be even hungrier then, and who knew when or what he’d eat once he reached Brysta.
He’d walked another glass or so, when, at the sound of hoofs on the road, Kharl glanced behind him. He saw no riders coming from the south, and that suggested that they were on the far side of the curve in the road ahead. He looked around, then spied an opening in the hedgerow behind the stone wall bordering the road. He scrambled into the hedgerow just as the first rider of a column of lancers cantered around the curve and into sight.
While the lancers in blue tunics trimmed in burgundy rode past, Kharl counted more than twoscore riders. None said a word, and none had weapons at the ready, though all bore scabbards holding sabres.
Where were the lancers headed in such a rush-and why?
Kharl wondered if he’d ever know.
Once they had passed, and the sound of hoofs had died away, he eased himself out of his hiding place in the hedgerow and continued walking northward, doubting that he would reach the tannery walls until well after dark. Longer, if he encountered more lancers.
He hoped nothing had happened to Jeka in his absence.
XXXI
Early on fourday morning, Kharl woke to find a cloudy sky, with cold mist half-drifting, half-drizzling through the open ends of the makeshift roof between the walls, a harbinger of late fall and of the winter to come. Intermittently, water dripped down off each end of the roof, and, every so often, from somewhere in the middle.
Kharl drew the winter sheepskin jacket around him, taking comfort in its warmth, but knowing it was too fine to wear on the streets, at least not in his guise as a beggar. He reached out and ran his fingers over the black staff. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it didn’t feel cold, and somehow, touching it had a calming effect on Kharl. He almost felt as though life had somehow become more clear. He knew that was not true, not at all, but it felt that way.
Jeka had come back late the night before-long after he had trudged through the alleys and serviceways-and she had scuttled into her hidey-hole without speaking.
Kharl pressed his lips together tightly, swallowing. Charee was dead. Her sister despised him. Arthal had stormed out. The cooperage would be sold, and Kharl was hiding like a rat between walls. He’d lost everything and everyone he had loved. While he’d learned long before that fairness was absent in much of life, he hadn’t expected such unfairness to descend on him.
His lips quirked into a sardonic smile. He doubted that his life would ever be clear again. If he didn’t get out of Brysta before too long, the length of that life was likely to be short indeed. Yet, he couldn’t walk far enough because all Nordla was under the laws of the Quadrant. That meant that, if he were discovered elsewhere in Nordla, Lord West-or Egen-could request his return from any other lord. At best, that meant living like Jeka, or living a lie, waiting to be discovered. Neither alternative appealed to Kharl.