L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

Tarkyn looked hard at Kharl. “You after my spot?”

Kharl laughed. “No. I offered my services to help pay my passage. I’m a cooper-”

“Captain told me that. You a good cooper?”

“One of the better ones.”

“Why you here?”

“The Lord’s tariff farmer took a dislike to me. I couldn’t come up with twelve golds in four eightdays. Not when the tariff had only been three golds the year before.”

“One thing about being a ship’s carpenter…don’t have to worry about such. Worry about pirates, storms, spoiled food, broken spars-but not tariff farmers.” Tarkyn laughed. “Be here after morning muster, and I’ll show you around. See what you can do.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Tarkyn looked down at the carving he held, barely illuminated by the bronze lamp, and lifted the knife. “See you first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll be here,” Kharl promised, stepping back out of the carpenter shop. For all of Tarkyn’s taciturn welcome, Kharl had sensed the basic soundness of the man, and the organization of the shop, from the wood set just so in the bins and bays to the tool chests that were carefully stowed and restrained.

He climbed up the ladder, then back onto the main deck. After a moment, he climbed the forward ladder and walked to the base of the bowsprit. There he stood, at the railing on the seaward side, looking into the darkness…wondering how he had ended up on the Seastag …and where it would all lead.

After a time, he turned to view the lights of Brysta. He’d never thought of leaving the city where he’d been born. But then, he’d never thought that the city-or its rulers-would have cost him his consort, his family, his livelihood, then driven him out.

Looking at the scattered lights spread across the harbor front, and the low hills overlooking the harbor, he swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat, and his eyes began to burn.

Kharl spent the first five days, when not sleeping or eating, either with the winch crew or in the carpenter shop. Adjusting to the in-port morning muster was easy enough; he’d always gotten up early anyway. Having regular meals turned out harder on his guts and system, much as he knew he needed them.

After testing Kharl on a few minor projects, such as replacing a smashed panel on an inside door-hatch and rebuilding a storm-damaged section of the poop deck rail, Tarkyn just asked if Kharl could do something. Most things he was asked to do, he could, and some, like turning a spar, were easy enough to pick up.

He had no idea about others, as when the carpenter had asked him how he’d reset the rudder posts.

“I suppose I could take it apart and learn,” the cooper had offered, “but I don’t know as you and the captain would wish that.”

Tarkyn had laughed. “Wise man who knows what he can do. Wiser man who knows what he can’t.”

Kharl wasn’t certain about that. He’d done a few things in the past eightdays he’d never believed he could have done, and, before that, he certainly would have told anyone that he couldn’t have done them.

He’d not seen either Watch or harbor inspectors, but the Watch usually didn’t patrol the piers, and the harbor inspectors were only interested in tariffs and quiet on the vessels tied to the piers-and the Seastag was a very quiet ship.

By late afternoon on threeday, all the outbound cargo had been loaded, and the hatches secured, with everything battened down. Then the steam engine had been fired up, and with a slapping thwup, thwup , the midships paddle wheels had begun to turn.

Kharl stood at the railing as the Seastag eased away from the pier, out into the harbor, then westward past the outer breakwater. He looked back at Brysta, the afternoon light illuminating the city in a golden glow, giving it a beauty he had not seen-or experienced-in recent seasons.

“You! Second carpenter!” called a voice.

Kharl turned at the voice, recognizing the third, a hard-faced wiry woman with short-cropped hair and broad shoulders. “Ser?”

“We’ll be setting canvas once we clear. You’re lead on the mainmast winch.”

“Yes, ser.” Kharl moved toward the winch. There he stood, waiting for orders, and looking back, wondering if he would ever see Nordla again, if he would ever want to, yet knowing that he would.

Thirteen days had passed since the Seastag had steamed out of Brysta and hoisted sail. Once well clear of Nordla, Hagen had shut down the steam engine to conserve coal. All thirteen days had seen very rough seas, except for the last few glasses, when the seas had begun to calm. Kharl hadn’t realized how much continual work was required of a ship’s carpenter, much of it while standing on a moving deck. Most of it was simple, in terms of craft, but necessary. He’d replaced railing spokes. He’d turned pulley brackets. He’d fashioned a replacement bar for the capstan, when the iron one had broken loose and rolled over the side during one of the heavier blows. He could have reinforced it with iron bands, but there was no forge available on the ship.

The cooper grinned at his recollection of Hagen’s anger over that. The fourth mate-the bosun-had practically backed himself over the railing stepping away from the captain as Hagen berated the man for not making sure that the capstan locker had been secured for heavy weather.

It was near midday, and Kharl stood near the bow, just forward of the foremast, since the Seastag was only twin-masted, but full-rigged, a brig’s rigging on a full ship’s hull, spread to allow engine and paddle wheels midships. He was taking a break from the pedal-powered lathe in the carpenter’s shop and enjoying the fresh air. Unlike some of the newer sailors, the weather hadn’t bothered Kharl, and he found that merely working, eating, and sleeping on a regular schedule had improved both his attitude and his health. The thin mattress felt almost luxurious after nearly a season on rags and hard ground, and even the ship’s food wasn’t that bad, although the fruit was dried and limited, and the biscuits that went with every meal tended to get rock-hard the moment they cooled.

“Land ahead!” came down the call from the lookout.

“Land where?” called back Furwyl, who had the con, on the platform before the steersman.

“Ten off the starboard bow!”

Within moments, Kharl could feel the Seastag turning to starboard. He couldn’t see what the lookout had, not yet, and he headed back down to the carpenter shop.

Tarkyn stepped back from the lathe. “You’re younger. You can finish.”

Kharl took the turning chisel from the older man. “The lookout sighted land.”

“Thought as much,” replied Tarkyn. “Shifted course.”

“We came starboard. It looked like we were headed too far south.”

“Not too far if the captain could see land. Means he was right within fifty kays after fifteen hundred on the open sea. Not many captains that good.”

“Do you mind if I watch as we come into port?” Kharl adjusted the foot pedal and began pumping, so that the spruce in the lathe began to spin.

“No. Not after you finish that gaff. Bemyr’ll want you up on the winch crew anyway.”

Kharl didn’t rush the turning. There was no point in spoiling the wood, and it would be a good glass, if not two or three, before the Seastag came anywhere near the shore. When he did finish, he handed the smoothed gaff to Tarkyn.

“Not bad.”

Kharl took out one of the rags and cleaned off the lathe, then got out the small broom and the handled flat scoop. He swept up the shavings and put them in the burn box, where the cook would collect them later. By the time he had finished, Tarkyn was back working on his scrimshaw, what would be a full-rigged ship carved into a red deer antler.