L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

Rahl had to take three hurried steps to catch up with Myala, who, he was discovering, moved everywhere as if she were constantly in a rush.

Pier one was somewhat more than half-filled, with three ships-two schooners and a small coastal side-wheeler-on the north side, and an ancient Suthyan brig at the last set of bollards on the south. A vendor with a grill was already soliciting the crew.

“The best fowl in Swartheld…hot and juicy…”

Rahl had to admit that the grilled fowl did smell good, but Myala barely looked at the vendor or at the small boy who sat on a box beside the grill.

As Rahl accompanied Myala toward the base of pier two, she asked, “What do you know about the Jeranyi ship?”

“It’s big and iron-hulled, and it’s been here for an eightday now, and they haven’t loaded or unloaded cargo in the last few days. There’s an aura of chaos around it.” Rahl paused, realizing something else. “Also, all the mage-guards have been talking about what a problem the Jeranyi crews are, but we haven’t had any problems reported.”

“Hmmmm…” That was all Myala said.

Before they reached the Jeranyi vessel, they passed a Brystan long-hauler, with side-wheels and the modified rigging that seemed to be common among Nordlan ships. The brightwork shone, and the crew was holystoning the deck.

Beyond the Brystan ship was an empty berth, and then the Jeranyi vessel. As he and Myala neared it, Rahl could see a pair of guards, attired more like ruffians than seamen, standing guard on the quarterdeck just beyond the top of the gangway leading up from the pier.

“Look at the guards,” Myala said. “What do you see?”

Rahl looked again, with both sight and senses. The guards were armed with sabres that seemed similar, if not identical. Both were clean-shaven…“Oh…”

“What? Don’t just say, ‘Oh,’” said Myala tartly.

“They’re dressed like ruffians, but everything else says they’re more like guards or marines or soldiers.”

“At least you can think, even if it takes some prompting.”

Rahl could feel that hidden anger rising, and he wanted to use his truncheon on the waspish and condescending mage-guard, but he pushed the feeling away, finally managing to say, “I’ve only been a full mage-guard for two eightdays, Myala, and I’m certain I have much to learn.”

Rahl could sense that she was taken aback at his words although she said nothing for several steps. Then she paused and continued to look at the ship.

So did Rahl, although he tried to use his order-senses as much as his eyes. The diffuse whiteness of chaos did not seem either stronger or weaker than when he had observed the ship before, and that suggested that it was either a part of the ship-or of cargo that had not been off-loaded.

“You’re using order-sensing. What does it tell you?”

“There’s something chaotic there, but I can’t tell if it’s the ship or cargo. It’s not the crew, though.”

“Could be explosives or powder. Sometimes they sense like chaos. That’s what Hewart says.”

“If they’re really pirates, they’d have cannon…” Rahl studied the hull more closely. “It looks like the shinier sections below the railing-they’re smaller.”

“Those are concealed cannon ports. You’re probably sensing the powder in the magazines.”

That was likely, but Rahl had his doubts that was all he sensed.

“I don’t like it that they’ve been here an eightday. Ships don’t make coins tied up for long periods in port, even pirate vessels. They could be waiting for a ship to leave, one with a profitable cargo, maybe the Brystan.”

Rahl could tell that she wasn’t convinced by her own words.

Abruptly, she turned. “Nothing will happen this early. We might as well finish the first tour, and then we’ll leave a watch report with the duty desk.”

Again, Rahl had to hurry for several steps to catch up with her. After even such a short time, Myala was wearing on him. He wondered how her consort stood it, but maybe he needed the time when she was on duty to recover from her presence.

Oneday was far different from eightday. Even by midmorning, the piers were crowded with wagons and vendors, unlike the comparative handful of sellers on eightday. There was actually a cool breeze, and the sky was bright and clear. While Rahl was grateful for the cooler and drier weather, he worried about the Jeranyi vessel still hulking at the end of pier two, with yet another set of clean-shaven guards. The diffuse white chaos that enfolded the ship seemed unchanged.

“Still the same,” noted Myala. “They’re waiting for something. That something won’t be good.”

Rahl didn’t think so, either, but what could he say, especially as a very junior mage-guard who’d been warned away from looking into his own past too closely?

As they moved away from the far end and toward the base of pier two, Rahl caught sight of the captain walking toward them, on the far side of the small tent of a vendor who was grilling kebobs of ground and spiced meat. Gheryk continued to stroll casually toward the two mage-guards before stopping and smiling broadly.

“Myala…keep on your patrol. I need a word with Rahl, and then I’ll send him back to you.”

“Yes, ser.”

Rahl could sense her puzzlement, but he was more worried about the deeper feeling of irritation and concern that Gheryk was trying to conceal behind his shields.

“The tariff enumerator wanted to know if something was happening.” Gheryk looked at Rahl with a faint smile. “I thought I told you just to watch things for a while, until you knew more.”

“Yes, ser. I haven’t pried around the Nylan Merchant Association, ser. But…the other day, when I was on the piers-Carlyse sent me out, ser-there was a teamster cleaning up some broken amphorae, and they had vinegar in them. The smell reminded me of something I’d forgotten.”

“Go ahead.” The captain’s voice was neutral.

“Just before everything happened last year, I’d noticed that the Merchant Association had received some barrels of Feyn River pickles. I remembered that because of the smell of vinegar that was spilled on the pier on sixday. I couldn’t help thinking about it, because the Association never shipped pickles, and I’d asked Daelyt-he was the head clerk. He said they’d come off a Jeranyi ship. I never had a chance to do anything, but I wanted to find out if he was telling the truth.”

“Was he?”

“Yes, ser,” Rahl admitted. “Three Jeranyi ships sent the warehouse pickles. That was what I found out from the enumerators’ manifests. Ten barrels each.”

“What does that mean to you?”

“I don’t know, ser. Except with the valuations, no one could make coins on pickles.”

“So the head of the Association was part of a Jeranyi smuggling operation. Not all that smart of him. He’s taking all the risks, and that leaves them in the clear. No wonder you ended up in Luba.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl wanted to say that he knew there was more, but he couldn’t even guess what that might be.

“We’ll watch for that, and I’ll ask the enumerators to let me know if any Jeranyi ships off-load pickles or anything in small quantities.” Gheryk smiled almost paternally. “You’ve got a good head for this sort of thing, but you need more experience. You’ve told me, and that’s fine…but don’t do any more snooping. Just watch the ships and the piers and tell me. You understand?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. Now…get back on your patrol with Myala, and if she asks, and she will, tell her I was giving you another standard talk about not seeing smugglers tied to every bollard.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl nodded politely. He could sense that the captain, while mollified to some extent, was still worried and irritated.