L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“You’ll learn, or you’ll end up like poor Tyrbel.” Taleas tilted his head. “The only cooper who might even think about needing help is Almard, and that would only be for a few years, until his eldest is of apprentice age. He would not pay well.”

“For now, I need little except for food, some clothes, and a roof over my head.”

“That is all you’d get from Almard. The others can offer nothing.” Taleas smiled sadly.

“Is it just the winter?” asked Kharl.

“Life has always been harder here than in Valmurl. The winter is longer, the summer shorter, but the fishers brought in good catches, and they salted them and sold them. With the winter ice, they could keep the fish almost fresh. Vizyn’s fish was prized everywhere, and that was why we once had so many coopers. Then the fish disappeared from the Winter Banks. The only sources of coins left are the timber, and some of the hard coal, but there’s getting to be less and less of that.” Taleas shrugged. “Were I younger…but I have some coins laid by, and Elmaria gets some rents from the land she got from her father. Vizyn has been our families’ home for so long we cannot count the years. Where else would we go?” He offered another sad smile. “Besides, in these days, one place is much like another.”

Much like another? In what way? Kharl drained the last of the warm and welcome spiced cider. “Are you saying there is little difference between Candar or Recluce or Hamor or Austra?”

“Those that have the wealth and power decide. Here, we have a little wealth. Elsewhere, it would be less than nothing. Have you not seen that?”

Kharl thought for a moment before responding. “I think that wealth and power have always decided matters.” He paused before adding, “I would worry more about how they decide. Not whether they decide.”

Taleas laughed abruptly. “Well said! Well said! Perhaps you should have been a scrivener, or even a justicer.”

“I’m a carpenter who’s been a cooper, and hopes to be one again. Nothing more.”

“I fear, friend Kharl, that is your problem. Tyrbel wrote as much, and in but a few words, I can attest to what he wrote. For a cooper or a carpenter, you think too much. And you think too deeply, and you are inclined to act on what you believe. If you do not act, those actions you do not take will eat you from within. If you do act, those in power will eat you from without.”

“You make my plight seem hopeless,” Kharl observed.

“Difficult, certainly,” Taleas agreed.

“Just how would you suggest that I escape this…situation?” asked Kharl, in spite of the fact that he was certain he would not like the reply.

“You must obtain wealth or power, or obtain the protection of one who has them.”

“Ah…just obtain wealth and power, or a friend who has both…” Kharl shook his head. “I fear I will have trouble even finding a cooper to take me on.”

“You may indeed,” Taleas said agreeably. “Perhaps I have said too much. That is a failing of those of us who have grown old.”

“You are doubtless right about the cure to my situation, but the cure seems as hopeless as the situation,” Kharl replied. “I thank you for your hospitality, but I should be finding Almard.”

Taleas rose from his chair. “That should not be difficult. He is well outside the town. Just follow this road until you come to the mill. His house and shop are on the other side of the road from the mill. I would judge it is two kays.”

Kharl stood and reclaimed his pack and staff. “I wish I had brought better news.”

“You brought news in good faith, and you stood by Tyrbel as best you could. That is rare in any times, but rarer still in these.” Taleas paused. “Just a moment.” He scurried from the room, moving more quickly than Kharl had thought he might for a man of his age and bulk, returning almost immediately, extending a pair of worn but still well-stitched and fleece-lined leather gloves. “These were once a friend’s, and they were left to me.” He held up a small and wiry hand. “As you can see, they are far too large for me, but they will do you good, and do me none.”

“I could not take your-”

Taleas pointed to his belt and the heavy gloves stuffed there. “I have good gloves.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” Kharl decided that to refuse the gloves would be but a gesture, and a foolish one. “I do. I would that I could repay you in some fashion.”

“Oh…you will. You already have in a way. Now…pull up the collar of your jacket to shield your ears,” Taleas added as he escorted Kharl back to the front door.

Kharl did so.

“Give Almard my best, not that he’ll care, but it won’t hurt.” Taleas opened the door.

“Thank you.” Kharl stepped outside and bowed to the scrivener.

“Do what you can, young fellow. All I ask.” Taleas smiled and closed the door.

As Kharl headed out the road that led from Vizyn, he pondered the scrivener’s words about one place being much like another. Was that because people were alike? Somehow, those words went with what the druids had said to him, although he would have to think over why that might be so. He also had not considered himself a young fellow, but compared to Taleas, he was.

By the time he had covered the two kays on the snow-packed and chill road and reached the mill, clearly shut down for the winter, he was especially grateful to Taleas for the gloves. Without them, his hands would have been blocks of ice.

Almard had a cottage much like that of Taleas, with a barnlike shop attached to the left side of the cottage by an enclosed walkway. The walkway was half-buried in snow piled there-presumably from clearing the space in front of the shop’s loading dock, although Kharl only saw a single set of wagon tracks in the packed snow.

He walked to the workroom door and rapped, once. After a moment, he rapped again.

“Come on in, and close the door, if you would.”

Kharl stamped his boots clear of snow and stepped inside. Once there, he surveyed the work space, which looked as though it had indeed once been a barn. While Kharl’s breath did not steam, the cooperage was still chill, and only a handful of barrels were stacked inside, just behind the loading doors. The forge that had been added later, to the right side of the barn, was cold, and had been for a time. A single cylindrical iron stove sat in the middle of the work space. Kharl could feel the heat, but he was distracted slightly to realize that the stove was not a true cylinder, but had six vertical sides. He’d never seen a stove shaped like that.

Almard stepped toward the door. The cooper was a heavy man, just a shade shorter than Kharl, but carrying a good two stone more than the carpenter. “What can I do for you?” Although the words were hearty enough, Kharl could sense a falseness behind them.

“Taleas sends his best,” Kharl began. “He said I might stop and see you.”

“You be needing some cooperage?” Interest sparked in the eyes of the heavier man.

“I was wondering if you could use an assistant cooper. He said that you might.”

“Not hardly. Not any more ’n he’d need another scrivener. Not with the heart of winter comin’ on.”

“I heard there was good fishing here, even in winter,” Kharl suggested.

“Used to be. No more. Why’d you think there’d be any place here? Not enough work for those of us still left.”

“I’d heard about Vizyn a while back,” Kharl replied. “It took some time to get here.”

“Waste a’ that time, you ask me.” Almard gestured toward the barrels by the loading dock. “That’s what I got for the last two eightdays, and they’re still waitin’.”

“I’m sorry.” Kharl nodded. “The best of fortune to you.” He stepped back and opened the door.