The sailor on watch looked strangely at the ironbound staff.
Kharl did not offer to explain.
The sailor took a tin whistle and piped something. Shortly, Hagen appeared with a muscular and blocky man who looked to be about Kharl’s age.
Hagen smiled as he saw Kharl. “You look somewhat better than this afternoon.” He turned to the other man. “Furwyl…we’re payin’ a debt and getting some help. Kharl here’s a cooper. Lost his consort and his family, then his cooperage to the tariff farmer. Done a lot of good work for us in the past. Working his way to Austra, as assistant to the carpenter. Doesn’t do rigging, but anything else you need him for.”
Furwyl smiled. “He’s a mite big to put up there.”
“Furwyl is first mate, number two,” Hagen said to Kharl. “You answer him and any of the other mates, like they were me. Mates are the ones with the vests, or the jackets with the stripes on the sleeves.”
“Yes, ser.”
“I’ll need a moment more with Kharl, Furwyl. Then you can get him squared away in the fo’c’s’le and take him down to the carpenter. I already told Tarkyn.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Oh, Furwyl…I think we’d better change the shore leave while we’re here. It’s too late for tonight, but from now on, I want the crew to go in pairs. Anyone who leaves alone, or returns alone, loses a silver. There’s something going on. There’s a renegade wizard loose-killed a white mage, one serving Lord West’s youngest son. We don’t want anyone tied up with that.”
“The crew won’t like that.”
“Better that than no leave. We don’t want to lose crew, and they don’t want to end up dead or left here, either.”
“Yes, ser.” Furwyl stepped away, moving toward the bow along the pierside railing.
Hagen turned his attention on Kharl. “I made a quick trip to your cooperage. Someone else is there. He said he bought it at a tariff auction because you abandoned it. Why?”
“To stay alive,” Kharl replied. “I stopped Lord West’s son from forcing himself on my neighbor’s daughter, and he had my Charee killed. He had the tariff farmer raise my levy to twelve golds, and had an assassin kill my neighbor because he testified for me before the justicers…”
Hagen winced. “I thought it might be something like that. You stay on board and out of sight when the port inspectors are around.”
“I can do that.”
“And you do whatever you’re told by the mates, by Tarkyn-he’s the carpenter-or by me.”
“Yes, ser.”
Hagen beckoned. “Furwyl…you can take him now.”
As Kharl followed the first mate, Furwyl looked at the cooper. “You’ve made some of our hogsheads and barrels?”
“Yes, ser. Some of them.”
“Wouldn’t hurt Tarkyn to have some help. It’s been a rough fall. In here.” Furwyl gestured to the open hatchway on the starboard side, leading into the forecastle.
Kharl had to duck as he entered the passageway, dimly lit by a single lamp in a bulkhead bracket. A closed hatch was on the right, an open hatch straight ahead.
Furwyl gestured to the closed hatch. “Women’s crew quarters. Off-limits at all times. You’ll be in the main section forward. Even have an extra bunk or so.”
Most of the bunk spaces were empty, except for three. In two, the sailors were sleeping. The third sailor looked at the mate and Kharl.
“Kharl’s the assistant to the carpenter,” Furwyl explained.
The sailor nodded and rolled over.
The bunk spaces were about four cubits long, two high, and two deep, set against the hull. Each was painted white, and there was a thin mattress with a single blanket on each. Between each set of bunks were two open spaces with nets.
The mate pointed to the last bunk on the port side. “That one’ll be yours. Your gear goes in the bin at the foot of your bunk. Have to lash that staff away down in the carpenter shop.”
The bin was certainly large enough to hold Kharl’s pack, but as he looked around the triangular space, he could see why the staff would not fit anywhere. He stepped forward and put his pack in the bin, then tied the net in place.
Furwyl turned, expecting Kharl to follow. The cooper did, back outside, then into the passageway on the starboard side, and down a ladder one level, and forward into a narrow space where a sailor in gray sat on a stool carving something out of what looked to be a white bone. He looked up, but did not rise.
“Tarkyn,” the first mate said, “this is Kharl. The captain said he’d told you.”
“Didn’t ask me, ser. Told me.” The carpenter was a good decade older than Kharl, grizzled, and white-haired, and he wore a gray shirt, not either tunic or undertunic, and matching gray trousers. He surveyed Kharl. “Least he’s no youngster.”
Furwyl nodded to Kharl. “I’ll leave you two.” He looked to Tarkyn. “Captain said you could store his staff here. It won’t fit in the fo’c’s’le. Hope he doesn’t need it, but we will be sailing offshore of Renklaar.”
“We’ll find a place.”
Furwyl left.
Tarkyn looked at the staff. “You from Recluce?”
“No. The staff came from a blackstaffer. It’s useful in strange places.”
“You can rack it there.” Tarkyn pointed at the overhead wood bin that stretched aft.
Kharl eased the staff into the long wood bin on one side, carefully rearranging two timbers so that it fit snugly.
Tarkyn looked hard at Kharl. “You after my spot?”
Kharl laughed. “No. I offered my services to help pay my passage. I’m a cooper-”
“Captain told me that. You a good cooper?”
“One of the better ones.”
“Why you here?”
“The Lord’s tariff farmer took a dislike to me. I couldn’t come up with twelve golds in four eightdays. Not when the tariff had only been three golds the year before.”
“One thing about being a ship’s carpenter…don’t have to worry about such. Worry about pirates, storms, spoiled food, broken spars-but not tariff farmers.” Tarkyn laughed. “Be here after morning muster, and I’ll show you around. See what you can do.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Tarkyn looked down at the carving he held, barely illuminated by the bronze lamp, and lifted the knife. “See you first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll be here,” Kharl promised, stepping back out of the carpenter shop. For all of Tarkyn’s taciturn welcome, Kharl had sensed the basic soundness of the man, and the organization of the shop, from the wood set just so in the bins and bays to the tool chests that were carefully stowed and restrained.
He climbed up the ladder, then back onto the main deck. After a moment, he climbed the forward ladder and walked to the base of the bowsprit. There he stood, at the railing on the seaward side, looking into the darkness…wondering how he had ended up on the Seastag…and where it would all lead.
After a time, he turned to view the lights of Brysta. He’d never thought of leaving the city where he’d been born. But then, he’d never thought that the city-or its rulers-would have cost him his consort, his family, his livelihood, then driven him out.
Looking at the scattered lights spread across the harbor front, and the low hills overlooking the harbor, he swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat, and his eyes began to burn.
XL
Kharl spent the first five days, when not sleeping or eating, either with the winch crew or in the carpenter shop. Adjusting to the in-port morning muster was easy enough; he’d always gotten up early anyway. Having regular meals turned out harder on his guts and system, much as he knew he needed them.
After testing Kharl on a few minor projects, such as replacing a smashed panel on an inside door-hatch and rebuilding a storm-damaged section of the poop deck rail, Tarkyn just asked if Kharl could do something. Most things he was asked to do, he could, and some, like turning a spar, were easy enough to pick up.
He had no idea about others, as when the carpenter had asked him how he’d reset the rudder posts.