“Where’s Arthal?” Kharl asked his consort.
“He said you were finished with him, and he had to meet some friends.”
Kharl pursed his lips tightly for a long moment. “I said he was free if he’d done everything. He did today. But he didn’t yesterday, and he didn’t tell me. I’m out of sealant, and he was supposed to get two buckets from Hyesal. He said he’d taken care of it, and he didn’t, and that means…oh…never mind…” The cooper started to close the door, then turned back to Charee. “If anyone should come by, I’ll be back shortly. I’m going over to Hyesal’s to get the sealant Arthal didn’t. I’ll leave the door open so you can hear if anyone comes in. Or if Warrl gets back from his lessons.”
“Don’t be angry, Kharl. Arthal’s still young.”
“He’s near-on double-eight, and I don’t like being misled.” Kharl snorted, then headed down the steps. “I should have asked him direct…have to ask ’em every little thing…thinks he’s so bright…” he muttered to himself as he crossed the shop.
Kharl left by the front door. Outside, on Crafters’ Lane, he heard a low rumble and glanced up. Clouds were massing over the Eastern Ocean to the west of the harbor, and the wind had finally shifted from out of the east to the west, bringing with it an actual hint of rain, not just soggy air, and the chance that the long-overdue and welcome late-summer rains would finally arrive.
He glanced at Tyrbel’s small display window, which held several books, including a red leather-bound Book of Godly Prayer-a work that Tyrbel had done on his own as an offering to his faith. Kharl shook his head, thinking about the one-god believers. How could anyone believe that everything from the Great Western Ocean and beyond the Heavens to the Rational Stars could have been created by one god? Or that the same god knew everything everywhere, down to the smallest beetle? Or more important, from Kharl’s viewpoint, that such a god cared equally for all men, women, and children? Given what he saw on the streets of Brysta, Kharl didn’t put much faith in such a god.
He laughed to himself at the last thought. He didn’t put any faith at all in such a god. Tyrbel did. With a rueful smile, he kept walking.
Two blocks down toward the harbor, he came to the upper market square, although most of the peddlers and vendors had already packed up their wares and left. A one-handed beggar was seated on the low stone wall that surrounded the near-empty square. Topped with redstone with rounded edges, the wall was a good place for sitting and resting.
“A copper, ser, just a copper for a poor fellow.” The bearded beggar, in a tattered gray tunic and trousers, held his cap upside down, lifting it toward Kharl.
The cooper ignored him and kept walking.
“Just a copper, ser. Just a copper…”
Another thirty cubits down Crafters’ Lane, also seated on the wall, was a young woman, with short-cropped dark hair and wearing a tan tunic and trousers. Her skin was pale, but unblemished. Her boots were sturdy and brown, and beside her was a canvas pack, against which rested a shimmering black staff. She was small enough that her boots did not touch the cobblestones beneath the wall.
As Kharl neared her, he took in the blackstaffer, then nodded politely.
She looked up. “Good day to you, ser.” Her brown eyes smiled with her mouth.
“And you as well,” Kharl replied, almost in spite of himself. But her expression had been warm and friendly on a cloudy afternoon, and not asking for anything. He found himself smiling as he left the square behind and made his way the last hundred cubits to Hyesal’s apothecary shop, clearly marked with the crossed pestles above the door.
Kharl entered and stepped up to the long counter, time-aged golden oak, on which were arrayed various health tinctures. He looked around the small front room, but didn’t see the apothecary. “Hyesal?”
There was no answer.
“Hyesal!”
“Just a moment!” came the querulous reply. “If you’re someone I know, just wait. If you’re someone I don’t, you can take that chance, too.”
Kharl grinned and stood there, waiting, his eyes going over the bottles lined up at the back of the counter, taking in the labels-Morning Tonic, Digestive Tincture, Rheumatism Salve…
The small but angular apothecary appeared behind the counter, as if by magery. “Well, Kharl…what is it that won’t wait but a moment?”
“Sealant, the one you make for the good barrels. Arthal was supposed to come by-”
“Never did. I would have had it waiting here for you.”
“Do you have any ready?”
“I can’t say as I do, Kharl, and it’s not something I can slop together while you stand there. ’Sides, it’s got to stand overnight.”
Kharl could feel his anger rising, but Hyesal hadn’t created the problem. Arthal had. So he held his tongue.
“Tell you what. After I finish this tincture, I’ll get to work on it, and you can pick it up first thing in the morning.”
“I’d appreciate that. I would. I’ve been working on these fancy fifth-barrels for Yualt…Arthal…he told me he’d come by…”
“And you never forgot anything when you were young and starstruck over some lass?”
“He doesn’t have enough brains to be starstruck at the moment.” Kharl snorted.
Hyesal laughed. “Be ready in the morning.” The apothecary turned and left Kharl standing at the counter.
With a shrug, the cooper stepped back and left the shop. In most cities, he would have gotten sealant from an alchemist, but not in Brysta, not that it mattered to Kharl so long as the sealant worked. What worked, that was what mattered, not which craft produced it.
Outside, he could smell the dampness of the rain that had already begun to fall on the ocean beyond the breakwaters, and he lengthened his stride as he hurried back up the gentle incline of Crafters’ Lane toward the square and his own shop.
The blackstaffer and the beggar had left the square, but a small figure in gray accosted Kharl as he passed the empty stone sitting wall. “Master Kharl! How be the best cooper in Brysta?”
“Jekat…how’s the most flattering urchin in Brysta?”
“Not bad, Master Kharl. ’Course a copper or two’d help.” A grin crossed the towhead’s grimy face.
“Coppers always help.” The cooper grinned. “You know anyone who needs barrels?”
“I heard the renderer-Werwal-he’s going to be needing some barrels ’fore long. I told Sikal-that’s his man-he ought to see you. Werwal won’t talk to me, but Sikal will.”
Kharl slipped a copper from his purse. “Take this, you worthless urchin.” He couldn’t help smiling.
“Thank you, ser, and I’ll not be telling no one ’bout your kindness.” Jekat skipped away across the square.
Kharl was less than half a block from the shop when the rain began to fall-fat drops that splattered against everything. He began to hurry, but the shoulders of his gray tunic were black with water by the time he dashed into the shop.
“Is that you, Kharl?” called Charee from up the stairs.
“Sure as life.” Kharl raised his voice to make sure Charee could hear him above the heavy rain pelting down on the roof. “Almost made it back before it started raining. Arthal never ordered the sealant. Won’t be ready before tomorrow. Where’s Warrl?”
“I sent him to Fyona’s with the embroidery. He came in right after you left.”
Kharl stopped by the workbench, then turned as Arthal ran inside, his tunic and trousers darkened with rain.
Arthal stopped as he saw his father.
“I’m not too happy with you, young fellow.”
“You’re never happy with me, Da.” Arthal did not meet Kharl’s eyes.
“You told me, yesterday, that you’d taken care of all the chores. I just got back from Hyesal’s, and you never ordered the sealant. You told me you’d done that.”
“I said I’d do it. I was going down there-” Arthal stepped back.
“When? Next end-day? Whenever it met your fancy?”
“It’s not like that.”