L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

Jeka nodded. “Saw you save the scrivener’s girl. Heard about the blackstaffer. Some men’d save one. I don’t know any who’d risk for two. Leastwise, I never saw any.” A brief smile crossed her face. “Three, I guess, now.” The smile vanished. “Nothin’ changes.”

“Nothing,” Kharl promised.

“We still got to get rid of him and the other,” Jeka pointed out.

“After dark,” Kharl suggested. “Lift this one over the wall for now. When it’s dark, I’ll drag them out and over a street or two. Leave ’em in the shadows. Try that now, and someone would see. Watch won’t come here, will they?”

“Haven’t ever.”

“Do you think they told anyone else?”

“No. That kind’d want to keep the loot to themselves.”

As he lifted the dead man’s body and pushed it up over the wall, Kharl hoped so.

He turned to Jeka. “Might as well go.”

She nodded. “Leave the staff…and bend over. Shuffle. Uncomb your beard.”

Kharl couldn’t exactly uncomb his beard, but he tried to make it look less groomed. In a few days, the way it grew, it would look disreputable enough. He didn’t like leaving the staff, but she was right. It was too good for a beggar, far too good. He eased it back over the wall, then shuffled after Jeka out onto Copper Road.

“Should I beg?” muttered Kharl.

“You don’t, and some’ll be looking at you funny, ’less you want to twitch and mumble, something like that.”

“A copper, just a copper…copper, please…” Kharl mumbled.

“Whine more,” suggested Jeka under her breath.

“A copper…just one…hungry…please…”

“Better,” she said. “Now…you got a few more coppers?”

Kharl handed over three, trying to keep stooped over and shuffling. He was finding that holding that position was hard work.

The lower market was in the open space on the north side of the harbor, below First Cross, a flat area that had once held warehouses before they’d been swept away by the great flood and storm in Kharl’s grandsire’s time. The odors of ripe-and rotten-fruit mixed with the smell of fish and freshly lighted charcoal on small braziers, and with other less obvious odors.

As they drew nearer, Jeka motioned. “You squat over there…by that post. Beggars not supposed to be in the market.”

The post was half of a rotting bollard that lay on its side twenty cubits from the first cart, and Kharl sat down cross-legged, the rags covering his trousers and boots.

Jeka slipped away.

The cooper began to beg. “…copper…just a copper…” He tensed as he saw two men in Watch uniforms strolling down Copper Road toward the market, but for him to move would call more attention than remaining huddled by the decayed bollard. Instead, he dropped his voice into a mumble, careful to keep his face down and partly shielded by the ragged hood.

Surprisingly, the two Watchmen ignored him, as if he did not exist, and stood less than fifteen cubits away, their eyes on the mélange of carts, goods spread on ground cloths, and even on the counters of portable stalls.

“…what about that business with the silversmith…”

“…sort of thing that reeks of Egen and his lavender…”

“…who could say…no traces…”

“…never any traces…deadly little sneak…”

The taller man laughed. “…fine…when he’s with you…needs you…but better wear plate on your back…dealing with him…rather be down here…”

“…safer than in the Justicers’ Halls. That’s certain…”

After a silence, one of two Watchmen asked, “…you seen the new one at Bardo’s?”

“From Hamor, they say…”

“Frigging amazing…”

“Uh-oh…”

The two hurried toward a stall where the counter had been knocked down and a wizened woman held a thin youth in blue.

“Tried to steal my silks, he did!”

The youth saw the two in Watch blue, and tried to bolt. He almost broke free before one of the Watch coshed him with his truncheon.

“Hsst…”

Kharl turned his head.

Jeka beckoned. “Need to get you clear ’fore those two head this way.”

Kharl didn’t argue, but mock-struggled to his feet and hobble-shuffled after Jeka.

“I got some bread and dried figs, and a wedge of hard cheese. Watch’ll come up Cargo Road. Be a good thing to be gone. We can fill the flask at the fountain on Second Cross.”

Kharl hadn’t seen the flask, but Jeka could have concealed that and more in the shapeless garments. She had, in fact.

They kept to the side of the road, making their way back along the alleyway off Copper Road up to Second Cross. The fountain there was for horses, but there was only one spavined cart mare drinking from the stone trough under the fountain. Without direction from Jeka, Kharl eased into the morning shadows and settled down into a heap against the brick wall across the street.

A tradesman walking swiftly by glanced toward Kharl.

“A copper…just a copper…”

“Go work for it, fellow. No time for lazy beggars.”

“…worked hard, ser…can’t now…”

“…all say that…” With a snort, the tradesman walked on by.

From somewhere else a copper clattered on the stones. Kharl swept it in, almost feeling guilty.

Jeka waited until the ashman led the limping mare away, then rinsed the flask and filled it.

Kharl made his hobbling and stooped way northward along Second Cross, then downhill, following the alley to First Cross, keeping Jeka at a distance until they passed the last wall of the slateyard, where she made her way to a pile of stones above the ancient breakwater and settled onto a wide and flat stone.

Kharl took the stone across from her. His eyes surveyed the harbor and the piers to the south. There were but five oceangoing vessels tied up, and none bore the twin square-rigged masts of the Seastag, not that he’d expected the vessel to return to Brysta so soon.

“Looking for that ship?” asked Jeka, extending a chunk of bread and a section of the hard cheese.

“It’s not there. Won’t be for two or three eightdays, at least. Maybe longer. Good view of the harbor from here.”

“We can see anyone coming from here. Can’t really see us, not with the slateyard wall.”

“Why did you come here from Sagana?” he asked after a mouthful of bread and cheese.

“What else could I do? My da died when his mule bolted and the harness broke, metal buckle slashed his neck. Ma found him in the field. Strong woman, she was. She farmed the plot and sheared the flock from the time I could recall. Me and Sis, we spun and wove. Got to be pretty good. Fever got Ma and Sis, three years back. Tariff farmer, he claimed the place owed tariffs, loom and all. He said he was goin’ to indenture me to Gelhal-ran the same sort of place as Bardo’s, ’cept worse. I took the coins and ran. I’m small…been passing for a beggar boy. Figured I’d have to leave soon. People notice when you don’t grow.” Jeka stopped to eat, then passed the water flask to Kharl.

“Thank you.”

“What happened to your boys?” Jeka asked. “Saw ’em, and then they were gone.”

“Arthal…he signed on a ship as a carpenter’s apprentice, and Charee’s sister took Warrl. Couldn’t fight that. Knew, I guess, I was going to lose the cooperage.”

“’Fore that business with Vexon?”

“Vexon?”

“Fellow you killed with the cudgel. He’s an assassin. He was till you killed him, anyway. Lotsa folk be pleased you did him in. They say he worked for Egen.”

“Thought so,” Kharl mumbled.

“Why’d you say you’d lose the place?”

“Tariff farmer-Fyngel. Twice-doubled my tariff. Said he’d been ordered to by Lord West. Egen, I figure. No way I’d be able to raise twelve golds by the turn of winter.”