After a moment, the teamster vaulted into his seat and released the wagon brake. “We’ll be going.” He flicked the leads to his team. The wagon rolled forward, slowly.
After Morat had the wagon and team clear of the alley behind the cooperage and onto Fifth Cross, he kept the team on the crossing street until they reached Cargo Road. There he turned westward toward the harbor. “First ocean pier, you said.”
“The Seastag-Austran deepwater.”
Once the wagon passed the square at Third Cross, Kharl could see the piers, because Cargo Road sloped downward just enough so that the harbor of Brysta could be seen spread out to the west. All the piers were to the north of the River Westlich, except for the stubby ferry pier. The ferry served those who wanted to cross to the peninsula road that ran south-southeast along the western side of the river. There, the marshes farther north and west, bordered by rock escarpments, had prevented much settlement on the southern part of the harbor. To the north of the piers was the flatland for the lower market and the slateyard.
Kharl checked the fair weather banner on the pole on the outer breakwater-a green oval against a white background. There were no clouds in the western sky, but Lord West’s wizards used their glasses to scree well beyond mere sight to determine which banner flew.
There were only eight vessels spread across the three oceangoing piers and the two coastal wharfs, illustrating that late summer was the slowest time in the fair weather months. Closer to harvest and all through the fall, almost every berth on every pier would be taken, and in good times, merchanters would even anchor out beyond the breakwaters.
Lord West had but a handful of warships, iron-hulled steamers with but two single-gun turrets. Brysta’s real defenses were the two forts facing each other at the entrance to the harbor-the south fort at the end of one breakwater, and the north fort at the end of the other. Twin chains lay on the stones of the channel between them. Each chain was attached to a modified capstan so that the chains could be raised to deny access to the harbor.
Once every four eightdays, the chains were raised briefly and inspected, and one of Lord West’s wizards renewed the order-spell on them. Kharl knew that well. For a year he had served as an assistant to the cooper at the south fort, and had been pressed into the work gang that turned the capstan.
The first ocean pier was empty-except for the Seastag, two-masted, like a brig, but with side paddle wheels. The Austran ensign drooped from the jackstaff in the heavy still air that blanketed the harbor. Several wagons were lined up and unloading barrels and crates, and the work gang was using a crane to swing lengths of timbers from a stack on the pier to the midships hold.
The teamster eased the wagon past the timber pallets and brought it to a stop a rod or so past the gangway. “This is the best I can do.”
“That’s fine.” Kharl handed three coppers to the teamster. “It will only be a moment.”
Hagen was halfway down the gangway before Kharl finished unlashing the hogshead. The Austran captain had three sailors with him. “Cooper, your timing could not have been better.”
“I said today,” Kharl replied.
“So you did.” The master of the Seastag hopped up into the wagon bed and began to inspect the hogshead.
Kharl waited.
Finally, Hagen jumped down and gestured to the three sailors-two men and a hard-faced woman as well muscled as the men. “Take the cask up and set it just aft of the mainmast for now.”
“Yes, ser.”
Kharl watched as the three eased the cask out of the wagon and carried it across the pier, past the timber being loaded, and up the gangway. Hagen watched as well, until the cask was on board the Seastag, before turning to the cooper. “You charge a bit more than the Austrans, but no one makes a better hogshead.” Hagen laughed and handed Kharl the three silvers, then added a pair of coppers.
“Thank you, ser.” Kharl inclined his head.
Behind them the teamster finished turning the wagon on the wide pier and headed back toward the city proper. He gave the slightest of waves to Kharl.
In return, Kharl nodded to the teamster.
“I’ll be thanking you, cooper,” said Hagen. “That I will. Next trip, it might be sand barrels.”
“Sand barrels?”
“Been reports of raiders out of Lydiar, and the Black Brethren have those rockets. A chaos-wizard’s teamed up with pirates out of a place called Renklaar. Water doesn’t always stop those chaos-flames. We’re fortunate only one pirate’s got a wizard.”
“How long before you come back this way?” asked Kharl.
“I’m only making a short voyage this time. Maybe half the ports in Candar before we return to Valmurl. Then, after an eightday there, we’ll be headed here on the long trip of the winter.” He laughed. “We’ll end up in Hamor, where it’s warm.”
The cooper nodded. “You thinking of oak for the sand barrels?”
“The only thing for a vessel. The only thing.” The graying Hagen tipped his battered cap to Kharl. “Be seeing you next trip, cooper.”
“I look forward to it, ser.”
Hagen nodded and turned.
Kharl walked past the timber, careful to avoid the empty sling coming down. Halfway back along the pier from the Seastag, he stopped as he noted-and recognized-the low vessel moored at the outboard end of the second pier, a ship entirely of shimmering black, without masts and with but one gun in a single forward turret. Two guards in the black of Recluce marines stood at the foot of the gangway.
The cooper studied the warship for a moment, then shook his head as he continued back along the pier for the kay-long walk back to the cooperage. He just hoped that no one had come by in his absence, but he wouldn’t have dared to send Arthal with the hogshead.
“Youth…” he muttered under his breath. “Not what they used to be. Paid attention to my da. They’d just as soon spit.”
He squared his shoulders and stretched out his stride. He could have paid the teamster for a return ride, but he had better uses for his coppers.
IV
From the angle of the light slanting through the front windows of the cooperage, Kharl could tell it was getting on to late afternoon. He checked the brass spigot he’d set into the first barrel. He’d augured the hole almost perfectly, so that he only needed the slightest bit of cordage between the wood and the brass flange and pipe. The second one was almost as good. He could start sealing the inside of the barrels in the morning. He didn’t like doing barrels that required sealing, but Yualt had insisted on only the lightest of toasting and sealant afterward, saying that even the tightest grained oak would absorb some aspect of the contents and thus change them. Since Kharl was neither alchemist nor apothecary, and since the alchemist had refused to tell Kharl what he was putting in the fancy barrel, there wasn’t much the cooper could say-especially since Yualt was paying a premium that Kharl needed.
He checked the first barrel before him a last time, running his fingers slowly over the inside of the finely finished staves, nodding in satisfaction, before carrying it over to the finishing bench against the south rear wall. Then he returned to the turning bench and did the same with the second. The heads for both barrels were also laid out-single round sections, rather than sections of quartersawn wood doweled in place.
With a smile, he eased over to the quarter barrel that held sealant.
The smile vanished, and he looked up. “Arthal!”
There was no answer, not that he expected one. After a moment, he walked to the steps and climbed up, and peered into the main room, where Charee was seated at her sewing table, working on the embroidery that she did for Fyona, the seamstress fancied by most of the consorts of the wealthier merchants.