L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Do you want it or not?”

“I’ll take it, you scoundrel. Sometimes, you give Jeranyi pirates a good name.”

“As soon as we have your draft, Guylmor will deliver the kegs.”

“My son will be by with the draft before midday.” Ebsolam turned and left.

Rahl could sense the anger held within the dyemaster.

Only once the door had closed did Shyret turn, shaking his head. “They charge all the market will bear, and when we have to raise prices to cover our costs, you would think that the very ocean was at his door.” He looked directly at Rahl. “I was about to come out anyway. I need you to take something to the enumerators’ office. It’s next to the harbormaster’s.”

“I’d be happy to, ser,” Rahl said, “but I’ll need directions.”

“Guylmor will drive. It’s not a good idea to walk that far. Not with a draft on the Exchange, and that’s what you’ll be taking. Just run out and tell Guylmor that he’s to drive you there. Then you can come back here while he’s harnessing and wait until he pulls up out in front.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl slipped off the stool and headed for the rear storeroom door. Once outside, he had to go to the south end of the courtyard to find Guylmor, who was grooming one of the dray horses outside the stables there. He was sweating by the time he reached the teamster. The day was looking to be even hotter than end-day had been.

“Guylmor, the director wants you to drive me to the enumerators’ place next to the harbormaster’s.”

The teamster looked up. “You got too much sun. Look like a steamed langostino.”

“I’m not used to it.”

“Be a few moments, and I’ll bring it out front.”

“Thank you.”

“What we’re here for.” The teamster resumed grooming the big chestnut.

Rahl turned and walked back up the long courtyard. Shyret had gone back to his study by the time Rahl returned to the Association office and climbed back onto his stool. What was he supposed to do now?

Daelyt was painstakingly cleaning his pen and then the rim of his inkwell. After that, he looked up. “The director will be back in a few moments, he said.”

“You were telling me about people being punished for doing things they weren’t supposed to do. Does that mean we get in trouble if we mortar a loose brick or repair a shutter, things like that?”

Daelyt laughed. “You’re taking me too seriously. It’s stuff for other people. We can do anything the director tells us here at the Association, because the Association owns everything, and we work for it, and the director’s in charge. He couldn’t have us fix Eneld’s shutters, because we’re not carpenters and we’re not working for Eneld or related to him. Eneld can try to fix his own shutters. He shouldn’t because he makes a mess of anything but cooking and serving, but he could…”

“Rahl…”

Rahl turned to see Shyret walking toward him, carrying a large brown envelope.

“This is what you’re to take to the enumerators. You say that you’re new and you’re delivering this to the tariff clerk from Director Shyret at the Nylan Merchant Association.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You have Guylmor drive you there. Have him wait, and then have him drive you back here. Make sure that you get a receipt with the enumerators’ pressed seal.”

“Yes, ser.”

Shyret finally handed the envelope to Rahl, then turned and headed back to his study.

Rahl watched through the narrow front windows until Guylmor drove up. He wasn’t holding the leads to a wagon, but to a light trap, pulled by a single horse.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Rahl said, standing and picking the envelope off the desktop.

“Don’t dawdle, but don’t rush.”

“I won’t.” Rahl made his way out to the trap and climbed up onto the seat beside the teamster.

“Rahl…you said we were going to the enumerators’. That right?”

“That’s what the director told me. I have to deliver this envelope.”

“Oh…Daelyt used to do that. Guess you get to be messenger now.” Guylmor flicked the leads lightly, and the horse pulled the trap away from the Association building and out into the welter of carts, carriages, and wagons, heading eastward, then north on the harbor boulevard. The going was barely faster than a walk, and if Rahl’s feet had not been sore, he could have walked the distance faster than he was riding.

“There’s the harbormaster’s up on the right, past the mage-guard post.”

Rahl stiffened inside. He really didn’t want to get that close to one of the mage-guards.

Ahead of them, the mage-guard sat in a chair on a raised pedestal a good four cubits high, shaded by a crimson umbrella. A pair of patrollers, also in crimson and khaki, stood in front of the pedestal, occasionally stepping forward and stopping a wagon or carriage headed toward the piers. Those stops were what slowed their progress, Rahl could see.

The patroller waved through a wagon loaded with coal, and the carriage following it, but as Guylmor eased the trap forward, the patroller gestured for Guylmor to stop.

The teamster did.

“You…” The mage-guard pointed to Rahl. “Over here.”

Rahl climbed down and moved from the trap, still holding the envelope, to the south side of the pedestal from which the mage-guard looked down. He was far enough away that Guylmor could not hear, not easily. The mage-guard was a woman, Rahl realized, her face weathered and hard, but the white flames of chaos flickered around her as she studied him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Rahl, ser. I’m a clerk at the Nylan Merchant Association,” Rahl replied in Hamorian.

“What happened to the other clerk?”

“Daelyt? He’s still there.”

She nodded knowingly, but her shields blocked whatever she was feeling.

“Why are you here?”

“The director told me to bring this envelope to the tariffing clerk at the enumerators’.”

“What’s in it?”

“Some papers and a draft on the Exchange for them. That’s what he said. It’s sealed, and I haven’t opened it.”

“Are you registered in Atla? Or here?”

“Ah, ser…I’m from Nylan. I don’t understand.”

“You have order-energies. That makes you a possible mage. Mages must be registered.”

Rahl didn’t know quite what to say that would not make matters worse.

“Where do you live? Or sleep?”

“At the Merchant Association, ser. That’s where I work.”

“You were born and grew up in Recluce, then?”

“Yes, ser.”

“How did you get an Atlan accent?”

“The man who taught me Hamorian had it. He said I’d picked it up, and that people would notice it.”

“That they would,” she said dryly. “Were you aware you are a mage?”

“Ser…I’m not really a mage, not in Nylan,” Rahl said. “I have a few skills. I don’t want to get in trouble with you and the other mage-guards, but I don’t want to claim I’m something I’m not, either.”

The mage-guard shook her head. “Here in Hamor, if you have any order-or chaos-skills, you’re considered a mage. Since you work for an outland merchanting association, and were born elsewhere, and live on their premises, you are not technically in violation of the Codex.” The mage-guard paused. “I would still suggest that you register as an outland mage. If you do, so long as you do not do active magery, and you wear your bracelet, we will not trouble you.”

“Yes, ser. I’m new here. Where do I register?”

She smiled faintly. “I wish others were as cooperative.” She half turned and pointed. “The first building to the right is the harbormaster’s. Behind that is the enumerators’ building. That’s where you find the tariffing clerk. If you follow the lane, there’s a building with crimson tiles set around the windows and the doors. If you get to the end and the bluff, that’s too far. Go in the main door, and tell whoever is at the counter what happened. They’ll take it from there.”