L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“Good.” Kharl waited.

“The Delapran secretary, that was …” Erdyl frowned. “ … Gosperk. All he did was go on and on about how hot and damp Brysta was in the summer, and how cold and inhospitable Lord West and his sons were.”

“Did he say why?”

“His envoy had inquired about a Delapran vessel that had been sighted south of Brysta but had never ported. Osten met with this Gosperk and told him that, after all of the problems with Delapran pirates, the Delapran envoy certainly could understand that sometimes ships just didn’t make port. Gosperk said that Osten was practically smirking. He didn’t have much else to say …″

Kharl glanced to the undercaptain, who had remained silent.

“I wouldn’t know, ser,” said Demyst.

Kharl looked back to his secretary. “What about the Hamorians?”

“I was refused entrance. Both the secretary and the envoy were out. They were conducting business in the south.”

“They said that they were in the south?”

Erdyl nodded, then paused. “No … it wasn’t quite like that. The lancer who met me said that they were in the south, and I made some comment about envoys having to travel, but that it was likely to be hotter in the south. He said that they weren′t in the south, that he didn’t know exactly where they were, but that they wouldn’t be back for several days.”

“He wasn’t supposed to let anyone know they were in the south.” Kharl fingered his bare chin. He was still unused to not having a beard. “Lord South, problems with brigands to the south, piracy or missing vessels, Hamorians in the south … hmmm …″ He took another swallow of the lager. “Anyone else?”

“Far as I could tell, there’s no envoy here from Montgren or Southwind, and the Suthyan residence is closed until the first day of fall.”

“What about Reduce?”

“They don’t have envoys, ser. Not anywhere. They never have had.”

“Oh.” Kharl hadn’t known that, not that it surprised him. Reduce did things its own way, and didn’t seem to care what anyone else thought.

After a moment, and another bite of the lace potatoes, which were cold,and that was definitely his fault, he looked to the undercaptain. “You’ve been listening. What do you think?”

“Doesn’t sound like most envoys and their folks want to stay in Brysta in the summer. Also sounds like the white worms from Hamor are up to something-in the south.”

“I don’t think it’s just the Hamorians,” mused Kharl. “We’ll have to listen and watch closely.” He glanced at Erdyl. “Did you look through any of the books in the library?”

“Twoscore or so, ser.” The secretary grimaced. “Most of them are pretty bad.”

“I’d thought so. The good ones probably disappeared over the years.”

“There are two or three decent histories …″

Kharl nodded and helped himself to more of the fowl. He needed to find out more about what was happening in the West Quadrant, but he wasn’t sure just how else to go about it.

Twoday proved very quiet, and even hotter than oneday. Kharl spent only the morning at the Hall of Justice. Already, he was discovering the apparent truth of what both Jusof and Fasyn had said. In terms of the law itself, the proclamations, and the precedents, there was not that much difference between Austra and Nordla. Not to his partly trained eye, anyway, and that told him that the difference lay in its administration, something he’d already half concluded even before returning to Brysta.

After several glasses poring through cases and records, he had Mantar take him and Undercaptain Demyst on another brief tour of the harbor, which still held only the four Hamorian ships. By the time he returned to the residence exactly a glass after noon, to Khelaya’s satisfaction, he was soaked in sweat. After eating and taking a cool bath, he studied a history of Brysta that Erdyl had found. The words were less straightforward than many law briefs, and Kharl had to struggle, but he found much of what was in the history fascinating.

Although he had grown up in Brysta, he’d never heard or read aboutwhat had happened much before the time of his father. Then, he supposed, that was true of most crafters. He’d been among the few who could actually read and write, only because his sire had insisted-and that because he wanted Kharl to become a mastercrafter. That had not happened, because Kharl had never managed to save enough golds, but the reading ability had made all the difference, if not in the way his father could ever have imagined.

He’d worked in the harbor forts, but he’d never realized that they had been built after the burning of Brysta in the time of Elzart, the fourth Lord West, by a punitive expedition from Sarronnyn, because a Sarronnese trading ship had been sunk at the pier and the crew abused by Elzart and his men.

“Ser?” Erdyl stood in the library door.

“Yes?”

“You have a message from Lord West, ser.” Erdyl raised the envelope.

Even from halfway across the library, Kharl could see the blue ribbons and gold wax of the seal. “Let’s see when I meet with him-or if he’s putting me off.”

“I would judge that he will meet with you. It costs him nothing.” Erdyl crossed the library and tendered the missive.

Kharl took it. He wasn’t that inclined to be charitable to Lord West-or his sons-but Erdyl was probably right about that. The name on the outside was impressive: Lord Kharl of Cantyl, Envoy of Lord Ghrant, Ruler and Potentate of Nordla.

Kharl slit the envelope with his belt knife. Before opening the envelope, he paused, looking down at the knife. It felt strange, as though it were pushing away from his fingers. He looked at the blade with his order-senses. It was ordered enough, and yet … there was a sense of something, not quite like chaos. He sheathed the knife before extracting the short but heavy parchment, also sealed at the bottom.

Lord Kharl of Cantyl,

His mightiness, Ostcrag, Lord of the Western Quadrant, will receive you and your credentials at the third glass of the morning on twoday, an eightday from today, in the small receiving room of the Quadrant Keep.

Except for the signature and seal, that was all. Kharl studied the signature-Osten,for his sire, Lord Ostcrag. Kharl nodded. After Erdyl’s visit to the Quadrant Keep, he wasn’t surprised, and he wouldn′t be at all surprised if Osten were there. He’d have to consider what to do if Lord West-or, more properly, he guessed, Ostcrag, Lord West-were not there. He handed the missive back to Erdyl.

Erdyl swallowed. “The brevity, that’s almost a snub … an insult. So is the early-morning time, and the signature.”

“I’m not insulted. So long as I present my credentials to Ostcrag, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“I suppose not,” replied the secretary. “It’s not as though they’d tell anyone. It would make them look small. But they’re counting on your not saying anything.”

“Of course.” Kharl laughed. “If I say anything, then I’m the one who looks small.”

“That is true.”

“Make sure that the silver box is polished just before I leave on the morning of the audience. We should not forget the token of Lord Ghrant’s esteem.” Not when so much thought and care had gone into it.

“Yes, ser. It will be ready.”

Kharl set Lord West’s reply aside. “Do you know how close to today this history goes?”

“It was written close to thirty years ago, ser.”

“Too bad there isn’t a more current history, but I suppose writing about any ruler is dangerous while the ruler is still alive. At least one that is accurate.” Kharl’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“Any history written about the near past would have to curry favor.”