XLIX
The single dry dock at Lydiar was old, and the steam engine that powered the pump groaned and wheezed as the water gushed in surges over the stone walls of the dock and out into the harbor until the Seastag rested on the wide keel blocks. The crew had already moved the cargo in the forward hold, and much of it was under tarpaulins on the aft section of the main deck.
Kharl-still sweating from that effort-stood on the stone rim of the only dry dock in Lydiar, with Tarkyn beside him, looking down at the exposed hull.
“Hamorian merchants soak their planks in copper solution,” Tarkyn said. “Then they sheathe the hull in thin copper plates. Costs more to begin with, but they claim that it’s cheaper over the life of the vessel. ’Course their warships are iron-hulled steamers. Don’t worry about worms with those, but cost of coal will kill a trader…”
“Lot of things are like that,” replied Kharl. “Most folks want things cheap as they can get them. Cooperage was like that. Good tight white oak cooperage costs two coppers more a barrel, four if it’s something as big as a hogshead, but a good barrel’ll outlast a poor one by half again as long.” He shrugged. “For some folks…makes no difference, but for most…after five years they’ll spend silvers, sometimes even golds, more for what they thought they’d saved…” He cleared his throat. “Is there any way the captain can get recompense from the Jeran?”
“Not so as I’d know.” Tarkyn laughed. “Revenge, though. That he can get. Just tell every master he meets. In a few years, none’d be dealing with the Jeran. Folks forget that there’s a balance to life. Things come back. Not so as the black ones in Recluce say, always prating on about the Balance, but in life. Do a man good, and most will return good. Do a man ill, and few will forget.”
“Too bad that doesn’t apply to rulers,” mused Kharl.
“It does, cooper. We just don’t see it. The white wizards of Fairven…they got too mighty and proud. Where are they now? Whole city’s a ruin. Nothing’ll ever live there again. The Prefect of Gallos-he’s got more problems than a lathe has shavings. Most ’cause he treats all but a few like serfs.” Tarkyn gestured back toward Lydiar. “Lydiar goes through rulers like…” Tarkyn stopped to grope for a comparison, then looked at Kharl.
“I suppose so. It just hasn’t happened where I’ve seen it.”
“It happens. Trust me.” Tarkyn cleared his throat again. “Friggin’ frog. Get older, and you spend more time clearing your throat than talkin’. Then, could be, gettin’ paid back for talkin’ too much when you’re young. Anyway…you see the captain? He does right well. Know why? ’Cause he treats his crews right. Makes sure his captains on the other ships do, too. Word gets around.”
Kharl recalled the third mate talking about staying as a third rather than becoming a second on another ship. “I had that feeling, even when I was a cooper.”
“’Course, sometimes a fellow’s got to help matters along. Got to stand up and do the right thing, not wait for others to do it. Captain’s like that. When he found out that fellow been lifting coppers, he booted him off just like that, and he took his crew share, divided it among the hands who lost coins.” Tarkyn laughed. “Some probably said they lost a copper or two more ’n they did, and some probably lost some they didn’t recall, but a lot of skippers, they’d just pocket that share. Not the captain.”
Kharl glanced down into the dry dock, where water still swirled around the lower sections of the keel, although the water level continued to drop, revealing greenish moss on the lower stones of the dry dock walls. “He always dealt with me fairly when he bought cooperage.”
“You gave him the best, I’d wager, because he did.”
Kharl had given everyone the best, but he merely answered, “I did.”
“Sooner or later, what you do comes back,” Tarkyn declared.
Kharl still had to wonder whether that was truly so. No one had avenged Charee’s death, nor had any good come from it that he could see. While he had managed to help Jeka a little, no one had done anything about Lord West’s corrupt tariff farmers in either Sagana or Brysta. Tyrbel’s death and that of Jenevra had both occurred, and nothing had happened to Egen. Then, Kharl reflected, he had killed Tyrbel’s assassin, who had probably been the one who had killed Jenevra. Still…nothing had happened to redress the balance with Lord West and his sons, and Kharl had seen nothing to make him believe that it would.
L
Even with the Lydian shipwright’s workforce, the crew of the Seastag, and the wood-handling skills of Kharl and Tarkyn, it took almost an eightday to replace the worm-damaged hull sections. The actual woodwork had only taken about a third of that time, but the caulking and the finish work, and then the trials in the Great North Bay, and the second round of caulking and ensuring that the hull was both sound and watertight, accounted for the majority of the repair time.
Hagen had not wasted that time, but had the crew work on other repairs that would not have been enough to warrant a dry docking. The rudder was cleaned and repaired, as were several paddle wheel spokes, and all the fittings and piping in the steam engine were checked and cleaned-as well as other small repairs that Kharl could not have explained. More coal was brought on board, and the bunkers refilled.
Kharl was kept busy with the hull work, and, at the end, with refitting the interior timbers and braces against the new hull. Hagen personally inspected every bit of work that affected the seaworthiness of the ship. The Seastag finally left Lydiar on a threeday.
Early afternoon on sixday found Kharl on the foredeck, just aft of the bowsprit, taking a break from the lathe. The wind was light, barely enough to puff out the sails, under a bright and cloudless sky that made the day seem warmer than it was. The swells were little more than a cubit and a half from trough to crest, and so long and flat that there was almost no foam at all, making the water look even darker.
Kharl stretched, then glanced to starboard, quickly taking in the headlands to the west and a pair of small islands, possibly as close as three kays away. He turned and looked off to port, out toward the seemingly endless Eastern Ocean. He frowned, seeing in the distance a speck of darkness. At first, he thought it might be the kind of darkness that he’d first seen in Nylan, but it resolved itself into a low black shape a good four kays east. The black ship cut through the choppy waters, moving swiftly northward, first passing abreast of the southward-bound Seastag, and then swiftly vanishing.
Kharl shook his head, still not certain he’d seen the ship.
“You saw it all right,” said Rhylla, from his right. “Move fast, don’t they?”
“That was one of the black warships?”
The third nodded. “Wish it had been headed south, instead of back to Nylan. Do us more good, specially with the wind so light.” She turned and crossed the main deck.
Musing on her words, Kharl started back down to the carpenter’s shop.
“Long for a short break,” Tarkyn said, stepping away from the lathe.
“I’m sorry. I saw one of the black ships. I couldn’t believe how fast it was.”
“You mark its heading?”
“It was headed north, maybe northeast. Third said it was going back to Nylan.” Kharl stepped up to the lathe and readjusted the foot pedal for his longer legs, then took the shaping chisel, studying the section of oak that would become a rough-shaped spare railing support.
“Captain better think about powering up the engine,” Tarkyn said.
Kharl looked up from the lathe, lifting the chisel.
“We’ve barely got headway. We’re heavy-laden, ’bout as heavy as we’ll be, ’cause we’ve got copper for the druids. That’s what the first said.”
Kharl didn’t understand.