Kharl decided against mentioning ale, not when they were short themselves. “I’m not going anywhere.”
As Charee headed up the steps once more, Arthal cleared his throat. “Ah…Da?”
“Oh…Arthal. You can get out some more shooks-the red oak ones-and you’ll have to use the ladder because they’re in the upper front section of the racks. I’ll need you to sharpen the knives, the shave, and the blade in the planer. After I put one coat on the fine fifth-barrels, then we’ll work on those shooks while the barrels are drying.”
Charee reappeared with a chipped mug. She went to the prostrate woman and held the water to her lips. “Just a few sips at first. That’s it…”
Kharl took out the finish brush and dipped it into the sealant, deftly but slowly coating the interior of the barrel, something he would not have done for a vintner’s barrel, but how and whether a barrel needed sealing depended on what the final use was, and when an alchemist like Yualt wanted a sealed black oak barrel with spigots, Kharl provided the best he could, even if he had no exact idea what Yualt intended to store in it.
He’d almost finished the first barrel when Charee stepped up to his shoulder, and whispered, “She’s asleep. Got a knot on the back of her head. She’s still seeing two instead of one. Say you should keep ’em awake, but I couldn’t.”
“We can only do what we can,” Kharl pointed out.
“Beasts…” muttered Charee. “She shouldn’t be going around like that, but…no excuse to knock around anyone that way.”
“After I finish the barrels, I’ll send Arthal off to tell the Watch.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Kharl. The Watch can do nothing. There was a scrap of velvet in her hand. Who wears velvet? You think they’ll find anyone? And then all of Brysta will know you’ve been harboring a blackstaffer. You think that will help business?”
Kharl knew she was right. “What color velvet?”
“Doesn’t matter.” After a moment, Charee added, “Dark blue, almost black.”
“I won’t tell the Watch.”
“See that you don’t, and I’ll be telling Arthal and Warrl to say nothing. The sooner she’s well and out of here, the happier I’ll be.”
Kharl already knew that. The fact that Charee didn’t want to say anything was another indication of how worried his consort was.
After Charee went back upstairs to work on the piecework for Fyona, Kharl motioned to Arthal.
“Yes, Da?” Arthal stepped away from the stacked shooks. “I got down enough for two barrels, and finished sharpening the planer blade and clamped it back in place.”
Kharl didn’t point out that Arthal had been done for some time. “You need to run some errands. Smythal, first. We need the iron blanks for four flour barrels.”
“He’ll want something.”
Kharl took five coppers from his purse and handed them to Arthal. “Then go out to the mill and see what the timber looks like. Don’t talk to Vetrad, just see if his racks, especially the oak racks, are full or empty. And make sure that the billets in our section have been turned. If he asks what you want, say that you were checking the billets, then beg some scrap oak and tell him you need it for detailing practice.”
Arthal nodded.
“Before you go, your mother wants a word with you.”
The youth frowned.
“She told me she wanted to talk to you. Now, go, and don’t dawdle, but your mother first.”
“Yes, ser.”
After Arthal went upstairs, then came down and left, Kharl finished sealing the first barrel, then the second. As he wiped the brush as clean as he could, then dipped it into the small container of solvent, he became conscious that the blackstaffer had awakened and was looking at him.
He left the brush in the open solvent jar and turned.
“What are you doing?” The words were fluent, but strangely accented.
Kharl glanced over to the pallet where the young woman lay, her head propped up slightly on an old blanket that Charee must have provided. “I’m finishing a fancy fifth-barrel.” He paused. “How are you feeling?”
“My head is splitting. It looks like there are two of you sometimes. Most of my body hurts. They weren’t gentle.”
Kharl looked around the shop, but, for the moment, no one else was there. “Do you know who they were?”
“I don’t know anyone here. I just arrived two days ago. I’d left the tavern, and there were two men. I’d never seen them. They wore…their clothes were fancier…”
“Dark velvet…mayhap?”
“Their tunics were well cut, and they both had blades. But…I was ready for them. I didn’t see the third one, and he hit me in the head with something…from behind…” She swallowed. “Thirsty…” She reached for the old chipped mug Charee had left. Her hands trembled as she lifted it and drank.
Kharl could see thin lines of wetness along her cheeks, but he said nothing.
After several small swallows, she set down the mug, using both hands, and lay back. Her eyes closed.
Kharl watched for a moment, then finished cleaning the brush. He moved to the workbench where he checked the settings on the planer. He watched the blackstaffer as he began to pump the foot pedal, but she did not stir, despite the whirring of the planer when he guided the first red oak shook into position to rough-shape it into a stave. He was halfway through the staves for the third flour barrel when he could see the young woman began to wake again, but she said nothing, and he continued to work.
He had almost finished another set of staves when Charee came down the steps with a chamber pot, looking long at Kharl. The cooper finished shaping the stave he was working on and stopped pumping the foot pedal. He stepped back and walked to the front of the shop, then outside.
Standing before the window, taking in the breeze from the harbor, he still couldn’t understand why the young swells had beaten the young woman so badly. Was it just because she had resisted their advances, or because she was a blackstaffer? He wondered if it had been the same pair that had tried to force themselves on young Sanyle. If it had been, they were truly a bad lot, and if it hadn’t been, there were all too many rotten young swells around. Kharl didn’t like either possibility, not that there was much he could do.
VI
When Kharl came down to the shop early the next morning, he found that Charee had been there earlier, and that the blackstaffer was propped into a sitting position, sipping hot cider, the coverlet across her legs and midsection. The bruise on her cheek, one he hadn’t noticed before, had begun to show a yellowish shade along with the purple.
“How are you doing, young woman?”
“My name is Jenevra. You are…Kharl?”
“That’s right. Kharl.”
“I am better, but I am still seeing two of you at times. My head still aches.”
“You’ll need to rest for a time, I think.”
“I did not need this,” Jenevra said. “I should have been more careful.”
With that, Kharl silently agreed, as he readjusted the blade on the planer. Then he tested the foot pedal, and moved the carry-cart with the red oak shooks next to the planer where he could easily reach the shooks. He glanced toward the stairs, but neither Warrl nor Arthal had yet appeared. He snorted quietly to himself.
Jenevra watched, without saying a word, just occasionally sipping the cooling cider.
“Why do you blackstaffers come to Brysta?” Kharl asked, moving back to the planer.
“Many go to Candar and some to Hamor. A few go to Austra,” she replied. “We must go somewhere.”
Kharl didn’t understand that at all, and his face must have shown it, even to Jenevra’s blurred vision.
“If we do not accept the tenets of order, as set forth in the book of order, and judged by the Council, and by the Institute, then we must undertake a dangergeld-that’s a trip away from Recluce to learn who we are and where we should fit in the world.”
“Fancy way of throwing you out if you don’t agree, sounds like to me,” Kharl replied. “Don’t go along, and out you go.”