L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

Liedra pointed to the netted area. “That’s where your gear should go. Just leave the pack on the upper bunk for now. Make sure it’s stowed before we leave port.”

Rahl eased past her and swung the pack onto the bunk, then followed the captain back down the passage and out into the bright summer sun that made the ship every bit as hot as the pier and far warmer than the training center had been up on the breeze-swept hillside.

A short and blocky man sat on a stool just aft of the open cargo hatch. “The last net! How many kegs of Feyn indigo?”

“Fifteen, ser.”

“…makes sixty altogether…

Liedra waited until the man had jotted something down on the paper fastened to an oblong of polished wood, a portable writing surface. “Purser?”

“Captain…we’re going to be short on the dyes from what they promised…”

“We can sell what we have.” She gestured. “Rahl, this is Galsyn. He’s the purser. Galsyn, this is Rahl. He’s being sent to Swartheld as a clerk there for the Merchant Association, but he’s your assistant for this leg.” Liedra smiled. “He can make clean copies of your forms and do whatever else you need along those lines. Teach him what you can. The more the clerks know, the easier it is for us.” She offered a brisk nod, turned, and headed back across the deck to the ladder.

“Rahl, is it?”

“Yes, ser.”

“If I call out things, can you write them down?”

“Yes, ser. There might be some special words I can’t spell right.”

“For on-loading that doesn’t matter so long as it’s close, and you’ll learn them when we do the final manifest.” Galsyn stood and pointed to the stool. “Sit.”

Rahl sat.

Galsyn handed him the writing board and the marker. “Just list what I call out underneath the last entry. When you run out of space, start a new sheet.” He turned and gestured. “Let’s get that net moving!”

Rahl watched as the crane swung another load from the wagon on the pier toward the open cargo hold. Galsyn stepped forward slightly, his eyes traveling from the net to the hold and back to the net. “Easy now…those are amphorae.”

Rahl waited to write down whatever the purser said. He just hoped he understood it all.

From the moment Rahl took over the marker and writing board on oneday, he jotted down, in the best hand he could, not only the cargo in the nets and pallets, as Galsyn called the items out, but what seemed to be even more in the way of notes. With a short break for the midday meal, they worked until sunset. Then, after supper, Galsyn went over what Rahl had written and spelled out the corrections and terms.

Twoday was more of the same, until midafternoon, when all the outbound cargo had been loaded, the last of the wagons had left the pier, and the crew was battening down the hatches.

Smoke began to rise from the twin stacks just aft of the pilothouse, and the acrid odor of burning coal drifted across the ship.

Rahl watched as Gresyrd’s deck crew took in the gangway and swung that section of the wooden railing back into place.

“Single up!” came the order from the bridge.

Before long, the midships paddle wheels began to turn, with a dull, slapping thwup, thwup.

Rahl stood at the railing, just aft of the bowsprit, as the Diev backed down and away from the pier, out into the harbor. Then the paddle wheels stopped for a moment, and a dull thump shivered through the ship before the paddle wheels resumed turning, this time in the opposite direction, now carrying the ship forward and westward toward the channel between the outer breakwaters.

Rahl turned, first to the westernmost piers, but they were empty, and there was no order-haze across them. Did the black ships spend most of their time at sea?

He looked back at the buildings of the harbor, and the black-stone dwellings with their dark slate roofs, rising gradually up the hill, interspersed with trees and greenery.

“Rahl!” called the purser.

Rahl turned slightly to see Galsyn gesturing.

“Now that everything’s on board and stowed, we need to get to work on the manifest for this leg. We can use the long table in the mess. That’s the one the passengers usually eat at.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl glanced back once more at the black-stone piers and the black-slate-roofed buildings on the hillside above the harbor structures. He thought he could see the training center, but he wasn’t certain. He wondered if he would ever see Nylan or Recluce again, or if Deybri had been right.

He also had to ask himself if he would ever see his parents.

“Rahl!”

“Yes, ser.” He walked toward Galsyn.

The paddle wheels were silent, and the boilers were cold as the Diev flew southwest under full sail. Even at noon in late summer, the spray off the bow was chill at those times when the ship nosed through the heavier swells.

Rahl stood by the railing just aft of the bowsprit, watching a seabird circle up, then dive for a meal. In a bit, once the steward cleaned the ship’s mess, he’d have to meet Galsyn there to continue working on the cargo declaration for what was to be off-loaded at Swartheld. He would have preferred to spar with Mienfryd, the ship’s champion, dour as the man usually was. Rahl found that he could hold his own with the truncheon and not get too badly bruised with the practice wands-so long as he concentrated on defense. But it would have been far more painful if the wands had not been wooden.

He half turned, glancing aft. Farther to the northwest was a low line of dark clouds. They looked to be larger and nearer than they had been at midmorning, but he’d already learned that estimating distances at sea wasn’t all that easy.

His eyes came to rest on the silent paddle-wheel assemblies. At that moment, he recalled Khalyt’s comments about engine design and about screws. If screw propulsion were faster, why didn’t the trading ships use it instead of paddle wheels? Although Khalyt had never said so directly, Rahl also had the feeling that the hulls of the Recluce warships were black iron. But Rahl had never seen any trading ships in Nylan that were metal-hulled.

Was building a ship of metal too expensive? Or was there another reason?

One of the passengers, a darker-skinned man who was a Hamorian factor of some sort, made his way along the railing toward Rahl.

“Good afternoon,” Rahl offered in Hamorian. “How are you faring?” He’d wanted to ask how he liked the voyage, but those words escaped him.

The merchant looked up. “You speak Hamorian?”

“I’m still learning. You are a trader?”

“Yes, a factor in cloth and in wool. The black wool of Recluce is much desired in Hamor. I came to pick out that which is most suitable.”

Rahl nodded. “Wool is warm, but is not Hamor too warm for wool garments?”

The factor laughed, a sound with vast amusement. “For tapestries and rugs. Because it does not have to be dyed, it lasts far longer. I also travel to the west of Austra, where there is an orange wool. It is even harder to find, and it is not as durable, but the weaving masters wish it and pay well.”

Rahl knew that the Diev carried raw wool that would be sold in Swartheld by the Nylan Merchant Association. So why would the Hamorian spend coins and time to buy wool himself when he could get it without traveling? Did the Association increase the price that much?

“You are Rahl. You are an assistant to the purser, I heard. I am Alamyrt.” The trader inclined his head politely and smiled, showing tannish teeth.

“For the voyage,” Rahl admitted. “I’m being sent as a clerk to the Nylan Merchant Association in Swartheld.”