How long he concentrated on that Kharl was not sure, except that a good quarter glass had passed, and the nail was darker-not quite with the smooth orderedness of the staff’s black iron, but far more ordered and…solid.
As he looked at the nail, he felt light-headed and had to reach out and steady himself with a hand on the bench. He looked down at the iron nail once more, which was no longer gray iron, but a form of black iron.
“I did it…” he murmured.
But he felt so weak-and all for a little nail.
He sat down on Tarkyn’s stool and took out the book. Doggedly, he began to skim through pages.
Black iron should only be created while being forged…attempting to change less-ordered cold iron into black iron is possible only with great effort, enough to exhaust even the strongest of mages…
Kharl didn’t know whether to shake his head or laugh. Once more, he had almost gotten himself into danger because he hadn’t been patient enough. He took a deep breath, then reached out and slipped the black iron nail into his wallet. Sometime, he might find a use for it, but if not, it might be a good reminder that he needed to try to learn more before he acted.
Then, that had always been his problem-except where he had not acted at all.
LIX
Once through the Straits of Esalia and past Summerdock, where the Seastag did not port, Hagen brought the ship onto a course to the northwest for most of the day. In late afternoon, as Kharl took a break from working on a replacement for a top gaff that had splintered, and stood near the bow, he checked the position of the sun. Then he glanced to starboard, where he could just make out the thin line of darkness that was land. From what he could tell, the ship was headed back eastward. A glass or so earlier, Kharl had felt that the ship had begun to pitch more than earlier in the day, and ahead, the swells were deeper.
He glanced up. Rhylla was standing just forward of the paddle wheels. Kharl walked toward the third mate.
“Ser?”
“Carpenter. How are you coming with that gaff?”
“Be done later this afternoon.” Kharl gestured toward the distant shore. “Thought we were headed to Hamor.”
“We are. The captain heard that the Suntasan went aground night before last, broke her back on the reefs of Cape Feer. So we’re headed to Biehl first. He didn’t tell anyone, not even the officers, until we were clear of Dellash.”
Kharl cocked his head. “Are we trying to get to pick up a cargo that the Suntasan would have taken?”
“It’s cargo-fine china. Captain thinks we can take their cartage. No one else knows yet.” Rhylla paused. “Some skippers know that the Suntasan went aground, and there might be some that know Captain Ceagir was the regular shipper for the china folk, but the ones who know that don’t seem to be in this part of the Eastern Ocean. Captain thought it was worth a try.”
“China’s worth that much?”
“This is very special china, for the emperor’s household. There are almost always special shipments in late fall, and they have to get to Swartheld before the turn of the year. That’s what the captain said. We might even get a bonus if it works out.”
“There any pirates around here?” Kharl’s tone was dry, not quite ironic. “I’d heard of Delapran pirates.”
“Most of them were killed or hanged.” Rhylla laughed. “The rest…not in these waters, this time of year. Pirates would be east of Biehl, looking for better pickings. Besides, there wouldn’t be many buyers for stolen china marked for the Emperor of Hamor. Pirates like goods that can’t be traced. Most thieves do.”
Kharl nodded. That was true of other malefactors, even lordly ones. Egen certainly tried to keep his deeds hidden. “Better get below and back to work.”
LX
In the late afternoon of threeday, Kharl stood just aft of the bowsprit, looking out at the town of Biehl, wondering if he should go ashore and try to find a decent place to eat. After a time, anything tasted better than ship fare, although not too many eightdays earlier, he would not have felt that way. He smiled at that thought.
Age hung over Biehl, so much so that the carpenter wondered if it had ever been new. The stone edges of the single pier were rounded, as if every sharp corner had been worn away by time and water. Seaward from the pier was another set of gray columns and dark stones barely covered by harbor waters, the remnants of another pier. The one pier that held the Seastag jutted out into the River Behla, a narrow river that, from the marshy grass that choked both shores farther inland, had once been far larger.
Across the stone causeway that doubled as harbor wall and access road to the pier was a short row of structures-their lower levels plastered and painted a pale blue. Both plaster and paint were worn away in places, exposing the old yellow brick beneath. The upper levels of those buildings were of weathered planks buried beneath layers of paint.
A much-painted but faded sign bearing the crossed candles of a chandlery was set above the sagging porch of the building just across from the foot of the pier where the Seastag was tied. To the left of the chandlery was a cooperage, its frontage less than half that of what Kharl’s had been in Brysta. A third building bore no sign at all.
Kharl turned, trying to make out the ruins that Furwyl claimed lay on the eastern side of the river, but he could see little above the marsh grass except irregular patches of trees. The mixed odors of dead fish, mud, and salt water swirled around Kharl in the late-afternoon breeze that gusted off the blue-black water north beyond the harbor. Whitecaps topped the choppy harbor waves.
To the northwest of the pier, well beyond the harbor and the dwellings, was a small bluff less than twenty cubits higher than the water of the harbor. At the top of the bluff was a long pile of stones, from which grew bushes and occasional trees. Kharl thought that the stones might have once been a fort guarding the harbor, but it was clear that it had been generations since the fort had been used-if indeed it had been a fort at all.
“Feels like it’s dying, doesn’t it?” asked Ghart, from behind Kharl.
“The town? It does,” Kharl replied. “Did we get that china?”
“Captain says we got the china consignment, and that we’ve even got space for some clay.”
“Clay?”
“Biehl clay is the best in Candar, maybe anywhere in the world. Has been so long as anyone can remember. We can stow it just above the bilges, replace some of the ballast, and sell it in Hamor. Be loading tomorrow, setting out early the next morning.”
“Somehow…hadn’t thought you could make coins on clay.” Kharl laughed.
“You can make coins on just about anything, if you buy it cheap enough,” Ghart pointed out. “Captain’s always telling us that it matters more what price you buy at than what price you sell. You buy low enough, and you can sell anywhere at a profit. Even in Swartheld, with all the world trying to undercut you.”
“That’s if the quality’s good,” Kharl said.
Ghart grinned. “He says that, too.”
Someone cleared his throat, and Kharl turned.
“I’m headed ashore,” Tarkyn said to Kharl. “Need some ale, and anything besides ship fare. Want to join me?”
“I’d like that.” Kharl had no in-port deck watch until midday the next day, and he liked the thought of eating with Tarkyn, rather than alone. “They take our coins here?”
“Folks here will take any land’s coins, with pleasure.” Tarkyn gestured. “Coming?”
“If my coin’s good, I’m with you.”
“Have a good time, carpenters,” Ghart called, as the two headed down the gangway.
Tarkyn snorted. “Never have a good time, not one that doesn’t cost more than you’d want to pay, or more than that, but there’s always a chance for good fare.”