L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“I’m Rahl, and I think some factors may have been accepting mislabeled bulk goods.” Rahl smiled politely. “Is that enough?”

“Yes, ser. If you’d come this way?”

Rahl followed the enumerator clerk down the corridor to a dimly lit chamber at the back of the building. File chests were stacked neatly in five rows, each row five chests high, and more than twenty long.

“The nearest chests here are the most recent. The ones more than five years old are sent to Cigoerne. Let’s see…last fall should be about here.” The clerk paused. “Let me or whoever’s on the desk know when you leave.”

“I will, thank you.”

Even with his knowledge of manifests and declarations, it took Rahl most of the morning to find what he sought. Three Jeranyi ships had delivered Feyn River pickles to the Nylan Merchant Association in the fall of the previous year. One had been the Wavecrest, the other two had been the Stormrider and the Dawnbreaker. Each had delivered ten barrels. He wrote down the ships, quantities, dates, and consignees on a sheet of paper he’d taken earlier from the duty desk.

The number of barrels bothered Rahl. No one shipped that few barrels of something like pickles thousands of kays on an outland hull.

Then he returned to the desk. “Thank you.”

“Did you find what you were looking for, ser?”

“I found the information. It may not be as helpful as I’d hoped, but thank you.” Rahl made his way back to his quarters, where he tucked his notes into his copy of the Manual, before heading out for the afternoon.

High hazy clouds suggested that the afternoon would be hot and muggy, and he was sweating even by the time he nodded to the main pier mage, and well before he was walking down the shaded avenue toward the Nylan Merchant Association. The pickles had bothered him before, but he hadn’t known why. He still didn’t, although he felt he should.

There were far more people out on sevenday, and Rahl found it interesting to see and sense reactions. Most just ignored him or nodded politely. A handful, usually younger less-well-attired young men, tried to slip away before they thought he noticed them. Children often stared, and their mothers whispered to them.

It was almost midday when he reached Eneld’s cantina, and, without really knowing why, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Seorya glanced at him and saw only the uniform. She looked back to the two women she was serving. One man at a corner table froze, radiating fear.

Rahl had to wonder what the fellow had done, but he just surveyed those in the cantina and then stepped back outside, catching one murmured comment.

“…hate it when they do that…”

Rahl smiled wryly, then, as he had before, continued westward on the boulevard for several more blocks before crossing the street and heading back eastward on the southern side. He kept to a leisurely pace, but extended his order-senses as he neared the warehouse gates. This time they were open, but no wagons were in evidence, and Tyboran barely looked at Rahl. That was fine with Rahl. The two warehouses still radiated their diffuse white chaos, but Rahl couldn’t identify any specific source from where he was outside the open gates. But then, he hadn’t been able to do that when he’d been in the warehouses a year earlier.

Rahl glanced through the window of the Association building. Daelyt was sitting alone at the wide desk, talking to a trader or factor. Rahl nodded. He hadn’t expected any change, but he was glad to know his feelings had been right. He didn’t sense Shyret anywhere around, and he kept walking.

He was sweating even more heavily by the time he returned to the station, but he only paused to get some beer in the mess, before returning to the duty desk and a balding and black-eyed older mage-guard he did not know.

“I’m Rahl.”

“Ashant.”

“I’ve just been here an eightday, and I start on roving pier duty tomorrow. Is there a library here, or some books on cargoes and that sort of thing?”

“You mean what to look out for?” Ashant frowned, then nodded. “It’s not a library, but there are a couple of bound folders on some of the tricks smugglers and shippers use.”

Rahl wasn’t certain that would help, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. “Thank you. Ah…where are they?”

“Right in the small bookcase there.” Ashant pointed to the wall beside the duty desk.

Rahl wanted to hang his head. Right within cubits of where he’d been sitting for almost an eightday. He could have been reading them for days. What a waste of time!

“They’re pretty old, but they might be some help.”

“I hope so.” Rahl found a stool and began to read. The introduction was almost a primer on trade and declarations and manifests, things he’d learned in a few days in Nylan. The first section past that was more helpful, with a description of the tariff structure and rationale, the duties of the tariff enumerators and the support requirements laid upon mage-guards.

One sentence caught his attention. “The Emperor does not restrict or prohibit any goods or cargo, but the attempt to avoid tariffs by hiding or mislabeling is an offense against the Emperor…”

That meant that anyone could off-load anything, so long as they declared it accurately and paid the tariffs. Some tariffs were so high as to be almost prohibitive-luxury metals like gold and jewels in any quantities, or things like aqua regia, or aqua gloria, or cammabark, or explosives-but those made sense for various reasons. Tariffs almost everywhere were based on value in the case of precious metals and jewels, and explosives and corrosives could cause great damage if improperly handled or labeled. But vinegar wasn’t that corrosive.

Rahl kept reading.

On eightday morning, Rahl made sure that he was at the duty desk especially early. Even so, he’d only been standing there a few moments before Myala came in at a brisk walk.

“You’re here. Good. Have you looked at the duty logs?”

“Yes. The Jeranyi ship-it’s the Wavecrest -is still tied at pier two. The captain had said we should expect another one, but it hasn’t arrived yet. There wasn’t any trouble last night, and we have three offenders and one mage-clerk student waiting for upriver transport to Luba and Diancyr…”

“That’s enough.” Myala walked to the desk, ignoring Hewart, who was due to be relieved, and picked up the duty log. After scanning it a moment, she set it down. “Let’s go.”

Rahl followed her out of the building.

Without looking at him, Myala asked, “Do you know why they sent you here? Only a handful of the mage-guards here are order types. You’re usually sent to the city station or Cigoerne or small towns.”

“Taryl and Jyrolt were the ones who decided. They didn’t tell me.”

Myala’s steps slowed for just a moment. “Taryl recommended you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not good. When he recommends, he’s usually trying to head off trouble, and it’s never small trouble.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Especially since what Rahl had overheard confirmed what Myala was saying.

She headed for the main pier guard station where Hegyr had just finished relieving Niasl.

“It’s all quiet, Myala. Only five or six vendors out there. No wagons. Niasl had to run off a pair of trollops earlier.” Hegyr stood beside the pedestal that held the mage-guard chair. The umbrella was still folded.

Myala snorted. “You won’t find any teamsters out on eightday, but trollops will try for their coins wherever and whenever they can find a willing sailor. It should stay quiet for a while, but if I see anything urgent, I’ll send Rahl back. Otherwise, we’ll check in after we patrol all the piers.” With that, the compact mage-guard turned, taking quick and precise steps toward the base of pier one.