L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

Across the harbor road he caught sight of a pair of Hamorian patrollers in their khaki uniforms. He watched the pair as they walked along the street. The two never relaxed, but kept moving, and each held a truncheon at the ready.

Abruptly, after passing the patrollers, who had scarcely given Kharl a glance, the carpenter turned left, away from the harbor, and began to walk up the gently sloping street toward the better sections of Swartheld. Farther south, he discovered, he had to walk a greater distance east before he reached the more prosperous area-almost eight blocks. But he did find another boulevard with shops and flowers and cafés with awnings and wide verandas-and he felt almost as out of place as he had the first time.

Yet, why should he have felt out of place? He wondered. He was nicely dressed, if not so extravagantly as those on the boulevard. He was not poor, or without coins. He had a respectable trade, and even a position, low as a subofficer on a merchanter might be.

He kept walking as he saw another set of Hamorian patrollers. This pair walked with empty hands, their truncheons in their belts, and they smiled, although their eyes still never stopped surveying the street and the shops. A woman, her head covered by the filmy scarf that was almost transparent, nodded to the patrollers. Both returned the smile, an expression of friendliness, but continued on their way.

From a distance, he saw another of the mages in black and orange, again an older man, accompanying a single patroller in khaki. The two turned eastward, moving even farther from the harbor. Kharl thought about following the pair, but almost immediately dismissed the idea. Instead, he turned back toward the harbor, hoping to find somewhere to eat, less fancy than where he was, but quieter and better than along the harbor way.

Finding such a place was harder than Kharl had thought it would be, and he ended up walking along side streets for what seemed almost a glass before he found himself before a low, dark redbrick building with tan window trim. The still air held unfamiliar scents of food, but without the rancidness of grease, and there was little hint of chaos about the premises-except for the thin residual whiteness that seemed everywhere in Swartheld. Kharl stepped inside.

Immediately, a servingwoman in tan shorts and shirt, with a dark brown apron and sandals, greeted him. “Yes?”

“A good meal and ale or lager?”

She looked puzzled.

“Food.”

She beckoned, and Kharl followed her into a long narrow room with a high ceiling. The off-white plaster gave an impression of coolness. Kharl settled into the small table against the wall.

“Drink…what kind?” the server asked.

“Light ale? Lager?”

She said something to another server, and got an answer back, then nodded at Kharl before slipping away. Within moments, a squarish older woman set a dark brown mug before Kharl. “Be two coppers.”

Kharl extended three coins.

She studied them and nodded. “Fare’s simple tonight. We’ve got burhka, cutlets, sea trout, and fowl in lemonweed with Luban noodles.”

“How much?”

“All the same. Four coppers.”

“I’ll try the last.”

“It’s the best. Be a bit.” She slipped away.

Kharl settled back into the chair and took another sip of the ale, enjoying it as it washed away the last of the dust in his throat.

Two younger men, but well dressed in white shirts and multicolored silk vests, sat at the corner table. Although their voices were not that loud, they seemed to carry to Kharl, perhaps along the smooth white plaster of the wall.

“…don’t understand the edict…just applies to outlanders trading here…”

“…not just to outlanders like us…another one…harsher…for Hamorians…”

“…no brimstone to Valmurl…but to Bruel? Why one Austran port and not the other? Not as though Lord Estloch has a huge fleet…”

“…no saltpeter or cammabark, either…”

“…doesn’t make sense…Valmurlans don’t use firearms…don’t use powder except for cannon, and they’ve got few enough of those…we’re supposed to give up good trade and coins…”

“…careful…”

“…mages don’t come down here…”

“…don’t know where they’ll turn up…walls sometimes report to the patrollers, too…”

“…still makes no sense…can ship dried fruits, but not grain?”

“…rich the only ones who can buy dried fruits…everyone needs bread…”

Their voices died away as a server brought two platters and a basket of bread to their table.

Kharl sipped his ale and considered their words. He didn’t care for the implications, not at all, and he knew he’d need to mention the matter to Hagen, although he would not have been surprised if the captain already knew.

Hagen had not been aboard the Seastag when Kharl had returned the night before, but immediately after eating the next morning, the carpenter made his way to the master’s cabin, where he knocked gingerly on the door. “Ser…it’s Kharl. I’d just heard something…thought you ought to know…”

“Come on in, carpenter.” Hagen’s voice was polite.

Kharl eased through the hatch door into the captain’s cabin. The space was large, but somehow not so large as Kharl would have guessed, with a double bunk built into the rear bulkhead, and a small closet, half-open, set into the left bulkhead. In the middle of the cabin was a circular white oak table, anchored to the deck, and behind that sat the captain. A stack of papers and parchment was at his left, and he still held a pen.

“What is it?”

“Captain…last night, I was eating at a place well away from the harbor, and there were two traders, outlanders…” Kharl went on to recount what the two had said, word for word.

When Kharl finished, Hagen nodded. He did not seem surprised. “I’d heard about the brimstone and saltpeter…but I didn’t know they could sell in Bruel.” A darkness dropped across his countenance, before he forced a smile. “I hadn’t heard about the grain because we don’t usually carry it, but it’s not surprising. Hamor’s been looking at invading Austra for years, and every so often they embargo goods, usually military equipment. They’ve had an embargo on gunpowder and cammabark for two years, but they decided on expanding that about a season ago to include brimstone and saltpeter and a few other goods.”

Kharl tried to keep his own surprise to himself. The two traders he had overheard had clearly been talking about an edict recently issued, and Hagen had known about it for nearly a season. “Is that why we’re carrying brimstone back, ser?”

Hagen grinned. “You noted that, did you?”

“I noted that it wasn’t all off-loaded at Dellash,” Kharl replied. “Why is Hamor going after Austra? Aren’t some of the lands in Candar better targets?”

“Some are weaker, but Candar lies close to Recluce. Also, it’s a long voyage from Swartheld, and under steam power, a costly one, with nowhere to stop for coal. Austra is much closer, and considerably smaller.”

“And Lord Estloch does not have many warships?”

“He does not.”

Kharl frowned. “But Austra is united under a single ruler, while Nordla has the four Lords of the Quadrant, and they agree on little, and have even fewer warships.”

“Nordla is far less prosperous, is it not?” Hagen laughed ironically. “What would be the point of spending thousands of golds, hundreds of thousands of golds perhaps, if one could not plunder the land to recover it, then tariff it heavily? Why does one seek to conquer anything?” After the briefest of pauses, Hagen went on. “Some think rulers seek fame and glory in war, but both are fleeting. No…most wars are fought for gain, either to keep another land from gaining an advantage in power and wealth or to extend one’s own power and wealth.”