L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Yes.” Rahl handed it to the older clerk, thinking over what Daelyt had said…and what he had not, and how uneasy the other had been. “What else do you need?”

“You can make the copy of this when I’m finished. While you’re doing that, I need to find out something from the director.”

“I’ll work on copying the new schedule until you’re done,” Rahl said, “now that we have dates for the Guards and Black Holding. ”

“That’s a good idea.”

Rahl actually finished a complete copy of the Association ship arrivals scheduled for the next three eightdays before Daelyt wiped his pen and set it aside.

“Here you are.” Daelyt did not look at Rahl as he handed him the cargo consignment form.

“I’ll get to work on it.”

“Good.” Daelyt’s voice was a trace flat as he eased off his stool.

Rahl only waited until Daelyt was beyond the archway before following the older clerk. He just sensed that he needed to know what he had said that had upset Daelyt. He stopped just before the arch and tried to use his order-skills to pick up what Daelyt was saying.

“Ser…worry about Rahl…sounds dumb with that Atlan accent. He’s not…lot of attention to the spoilage…” Daelyt’s voice was low, and hard for Rahl to pick up.

“Is that so? Just watch him.”

“…see if he says more?”

“We have time, and he does good work, doesn’t he?”

“…much better…Wynreed…”

“No reason not to use him while we can. If it looks bad, well…he can disappear.”

“…not like…Wynreed…”

“It doesn’t matter. Who would he tell? We’re within the laws here, and no one in Nylan will really care. No one wants to come here so long as we return profits on the golds they’ve invested.”

Rahl turned and slipped back to his stool so that he was writing out the copy of the consignment form when Daelyt returned. He did not look up, but kept working, trying to keep himself composed, and concentrating on not putting too much pressure on the pen. He had a tendency to do that when he was upset.

Somehow, Rahl managed to get through the end of the day. He was glad that he and Daelyt had to eat their evening meal at differing times. It would have been hard not to reveal his worry-and his anger.

Once Shyret and Daelyt had left the Association, Rahl stepped out and locked the front door behind him. He made his way eastward, trying to ignore the faintly acrid odors of too many people in too small an area cooking too much unfamiliar food. He kept walking along the avenue with the tree-lined median until he found an empty bench under the trees. There he sat in the hot evening, occasionally wiping his forehead, watching a few riders and carriages go past, trying to think, to sort things out.

While he couldn’t prove it, he was certain that most of the “spoiled” goods were not. He knew scarletine was even more expensive than indigo, and it had been valued on the manifest at something like fifty golds a keg. If Chenaryl reported a sale at ten golds, but really had sold it at fifty, and the wool at a similar difference, Shyret was making as much as forty to eighty golds off so-called spoilage on every ship. Chenaryl was making more than a few golds on the reported salvage sales. But what about Daelyt?

Yasnela had to be the key. Daelyt had as much as said that she could not walk-or not far-and that the two had rooms above the warehouse. Was the lodging and some healer support what Daelyt got? With what clerks made, Daelyt would be hard-pressed to support and quarter a consort without some accommodation by Shyret. Was that because Daelyt helped Shyret in his manipulations? It had to be, or he wouldn’t have talked to Shyret that way.

Rahl looked blankly at the tree across the stone sidewalk from him. What could he do? He couldn’t prove the goods hadn’t been spoiled. Everything that had been declared spoiled had already been sold except for the items on the Founders. Shyret was the only representative of Nylan in Swartheld, and he was the one stealing from the Association, and Rahl had sensed clearly the truth of the statement about what was being done was within the laws of Hamor.

In a way, he supposed it was. The growers got paid. The ships or their captains and crews got paid. But the Association was getting cheated. The question was…who was the Association? What was it? How did it work? Did it matter? It had to matter to someone.

Rahl found his fists clenching and his jaw tightening. He was in Hamor, working for a thieving director, yet where could he go and what could he do? If he left the Association, unless he immediately turned himself over to the mage-guards for testing, he’d be breaking the law, and after his experiences with mages, he wasn’t ready to go running to them, especially since, under Hamorian law, apparently, what Shyret was doing wasn’t illegal. And Rahl would either need a gold he didn’t have or have to be indentured…or something…if…when he left the Association.

What about seeing the factors at…what had it been…Doramyl and Sons?

He shook his head. He’d still have to register with the mage-guards.

Everything was so wrong, and so unfair! All because that arrogant sow’s ass Puvort hadn’t wanted to be honest or fair, and the magisters in Nylan were so worried that he might damage something. None of them gave a demon’s fart about Rahl or what might happen to him.

He stood up and began to walk. He had to do something.

On sevenday morning, before anyone else showed up, Rahl polished the brasswork on all the lamps-except those in Shyret’s locked study-as well as on the doors and cabinet pulls. Then he swept the tile floor and mopped the entry area. He had just finished getting cleaned up and settling into place at the wide desk when Daelyt walked through the front door.

“So…feel guilty about getting paid, and you decided to do more of the brasswork?” Daelyt laughed.

Rahl had gotten a silver the evening before, but that was only for one eightday’s pay, rather than two. While it was more than twice what he’d received at the training center, everything he had to spend coins on was far more costly in Swartheld than it had been in Nylan. “I appreciate the pay. Having coins is much better than not, but”-Rahl offered a grin before going on-“I only feel a little guilty.” He really wanted to tell the older clerk that he didn’t feel guilty at all, but that wouldn’t have been wise.

“A little guilt is good.” Daelyt set out his pen and inkwell, then lifted a folder. “The director asked for a copy of this, and we’ve been so busy, I never got to it. With the Montgren more than an eightday out, now’s a good time for you to work on it.”

“Ah…what is it?”

“Oh…it’s the final inventory of what was in the warehouses on the last day of spring. The director has to send the Association’s chief managing director an inventory at the end of each season. It includes both what was left at the end of the season, with an estimated value, as well as what was sold during the season and for what, as well as losses through spoilage and pilfering. There’s also an addendum that lists what we hold in storage for others and what we receive for the storage fees. I’ve let it drag, but it will have to be done and sent to Nylan on the Legacy of Montgren. The chief managing director gets upset if the reports get more than a season behind.” Daelyt extended the folder. “Director Shyret will need two copies, but just do one first, and I’ll check it as you do.”

Rahl took the heavy folder. “There are a lot of pages here.”

Daelyt grinned. “There are. It will give you a better idea of all that we handle here.”