Kharl took the invitation and stepped inside, finding himself in an upper foyer, separated from the lower one by three black stone steps that ran the width of the foyer.
“There are benches below…if you would like to rest…?”
Kharl stepped down to the lower level and the benches set almost against each wall. His eyes were caught by a painting hanging over one of the benches. The woman portrayed wore black, and her hair was brown. Her eyes were black, and somehow very alive. She didn’t look like anyone Kharl knew, yet she reminded him of Jenevra, the blackstaffer.
He studied the walls, black oak panels set between heavy black oak timbers, and the floor, also of the black slate. Only the ceiling was light, a white plaster tinged bluish gray. There were three doors that led into other parts of the building. Two were closed, and the third was just ajar.
Kharl could hear voices.
“…doesn’t look like a dangergelder…accent…but the staff…it’s not corrupted…more ordered than it should be…”
“…just have to see…”
Kharl turned and watched as the woman and a man dressed in dark, dark gray appeared. His hair was silvered, but his face was that of a younger man. Kharl had the feeling that he was older than he looked. He wore black boots, well polished. Like the woman, he wore a silver collar pin, but his looked like a sprig of a plant crossed with a staff. The cooper also realized something else. Just as the wizard in Brysta had been surrounded by a whitish fog that Kharl had sensed more than felt, this man was surrounded by a blackness, a darkness, but the darkness didn’t feel cold or evil. Instead, it felt almost warm…solid, like well-made tight cooperage.
“I’m Magister Trelyn.” The magister smiled. “How could I help you?”
“The staff,” Kharl said. “It’s not mine. It belonged to a blackstaffer named Jenevra. I thought I should return it.”
Trelyn frowned. “Could you tell me what happened to this blackstaffer, and where it happened?”
“Her name was Jenevra, and she was from Recluce. She came to Brysta, she said, because she had to take a trip to learn something. She was attacked and beaten badly, and I took her into my shop.” Kharl shrugged helplessly. “She was getting better, and was almost well. Then someone set a fire next door, and while I was helping fight it…she was killed. The justicers said my consort did it, and they hung her, but she was innocent.”
“You left Brysta just to return this?”
Kharl laughed, almost harshly. “No. I left Brysta because, after they flogged me, and increased my tariffs so much that I could not pay them, someone murdered my neighbor, who was the only one who stood up for me against Lord West and his son. I went into hiding until I could get on a ship away from Nordla. The ship ported here, and I thought I should return the staff.”
“Has it been the cause of your ill fortune?”
“No. I can’t say it has. It wasn’t mine. I had barely touched it when everything began to go wrong. I had to use it to save myself and someone else.”
The magister nodded more. “Might I see it?”
Kharl might have balked at others touching it, although he could not have said why, but he readily handed it to the older magister. “Here.”
Trelyn ran his fingers over the wood and the black iron, his eyes almost closed. After several moments, his eyes opened wide, and he studied Kharl intently. Then he handed the staff back to Kharl.
“It’s not mine,” Kharl said.
“It may have belonged to Jenevra, and we are sad to hear what happened to her, but it is now yours. It would be useless to anyone else, and it would have to be destroyed. That would not be good for you, either.”
“Not good for me?” Kharl didn’t want it destroyed, but it had not been his. “But…I’m just a cooper…”
Trelyn smiled, an expression almost sad. “One of the hardest tasks in life is to discover that we are more than we think we are. Whether you can discover truly what you are…that I cannot say, but you are more than a cooper.”
Kharl smiled ruefully. “Always be a cooper, I think. Headed to Austra…in time.”
“I did not say you were not a cooper,” Trelyn said quietly, “but that you are, or could be…should be…more than that. If you have the courage to look into yourself. You have a great affinity for order, and for instilling order.”
The words made Kharl uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t stay too long. My ship will be sailing.”
“Not that soon,” Trelyn observed.
“No,” Kharl admitted.
“Were you younger and raised on Recluce, you might have been an engineer or an order-master. Even so…are people pleased with your barrels?”
“Always have been, those that buy ’em. Some don’t, though.”
“Those that did not and will not are likely not to be trusted. They avoid your work because it embodies order.”
Kharl frowned, considering what the magister had said. It was true that those who bought his work and kept buying it over the years were those he knew were honest and trustworthy. He’d never looked at it that way, though. Was that why he had been having more and more trouble selling his barrels? Because there were fewer and fewer trustworthy souls in Brysta?
“It’s a most disconcerting thought, is it not?” asked the magister. “That those who cannot be trusted do not trust those who produce truly ordered work.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”
“If you wish to survive and prosper, you will need to think more along those lines,” suggested Trelyn. “You will become more aligned with order, and unless your thoughts become equally attuned, your troubles will continue.”
“My thoughts…”
“Thoughts always precede action, yours or the thoughts of another. If you attune yourself to order, you will find that life will be more rewarding.”
“Not easier, though?”
“No,” admitted the magister. “Life is seldom easy for those who embody order, although it would seem it should be. But then, what seems is not always what is.”
“Why me?”
The magister smiled, warmly, then shrugged. “That I do not know. I do know that those who work with wood often understand order better, as do smiths. You do some of each, and that may be part of the answer. It may be that you are a cooper because that feels right to you.”
Kharl’s lips quirked. “What do you suggest?”
“Look beyond what you think you see. Learn new things. Reconsider old knowledge. Trust what you feel.” Trelyn paused, then drew a book from his tunic. “This might also help.”
Kharl took the book, opened the cover, then smiled and handed it back. “I did keep her book. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I thought you might have, but I wanted to make sure you had a copy. You may have to read it several times-or more. It sometimes helps to skip through it and read those passages that make the most sense at the moment. Dorrin wrote it most logically, but most of us are not that logical.”
Somehow, those words relaxed Kharl. “Thank you.” He glanced toward the door.
“Also,” added Trelyn, “you can find those who understand order everywhere, not just on Recluce. In time, you might be one that others turn to.”
“I’ve been having trouble just surviving.” Kharl paused, and added, “Until an eightday ago, anyway.”
“That was when you left your old life, I would guess, although sometimes the effects last for a long time. We often create part of our trouble by not wanting to accept who and what we are. You should try to understand yourself, as well as the world.” Trelyn smiled again. “Those are really all I can offer in terms of words of wisdom, and I’m not certain that they work for everyone. I do hope they help you.” Trelyn moved toward the door.
“Thank you.” Kharl followed the magister.
“When you discover yourself, truly, you can return here, if you so wish,” Trelyn added, as Kharl stepped through the door and out into the fall sunlight.