L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“They’ve raised prices at The Golden Ram again,” Cerryl said. “That’s twice this year.”

“Aye, and it may happen yet again.” The factor shook his head. “But enough of such. Leyladin tells me that you are a bright flame in the Patrol. How came that?”

Cerryl spread his hands. “Scarcely a bright flame, just a very junior Patrol mage who has much to learn.” He paused as Meridis set what seemed to be a quarter of a golden brown pie before him and then before Layel. A smaller section went before Leyladin.

“There you be, and I be not expecting more than crumbs returning to the kitchen.” The door closed behind Meridis.

Leyladin laughed. “She means that.”

Cerryl looked at the huge chunk of pastry and filling. So much for trying to spare his gut. He looked helplessly at Leyladin, then said, “You have to eat all of yours, too.”

The healer glanced down and swallowed. “Me?”

“She looked at you, too,” Cerryl pressed, with a grin.

“If I must…” Leyladin offered a groan.

“Such sounds from the woman who as a child ate an entire half-pie,” Layel offered.

“That was then,” the healer said. “Much has changed.”

Indeed it has , reflected Cerryl as he began to eat the sweet. Indeed it has . He was not looking forward to returning to the Halls, not by himself.

CERRYL GLANCED FROM his notes to his half-written daily report to Isork, then at the doorway as Isork himself stepped into the small duty room.

“Ser.” Cerryl stood immediately. “I didn’t know you were coming.” He gestured at the desk. “I was just finishing my report. Gyskas should be here before long.”

“I didn’t come to see Gyskas.” Isork slipped into the chair across the desk. “Sit down.”

Cerryl sat.

“I understand you occasionally still walk with one of the patrols?”

“Yes, ser. Not too often…but every so often. I don’t tell them before that day when, or why…I just do it.”

“Why?”

“Ser…I couldn’t say exactly,” Cerryl fudged, “but…it feels better when I do. People know I’m young, and I felt that they had to know I intended to learn the city and keep the peace.”

“You also walk the section by yourself when you aren’t on duty.”

“Yes, ser. I don’t know that I’m helping much…Nothing seems to happen when I go with any patroller…”

“You’re keeping the peace if nothing happens.” Isork laughed. “When you’re on duty, even when you don’t patrol, almost nothing happens.”

“Ser…you said that people respected the Patrol here. I just wanted to make sure that they still did.”

“Oh, they respect you. So do the patrollers. They see you walking the streets by yourself, checking out things-”

“I’m still trying to learn where everything is,” Cerryl explained. “I don’t want to have my lead patrollers trying to explain where something happened.”

“We need more mages who’ve been through whatever you’ve been through.” Isork shook his head. “Your patrollers call you their tough little sawmill bastard. First new Patrol mage in three years that I can keep. First one who’s either patrolling or where he’s supposed to be, too.” The pudgy-looking but muscular Patrol chief glanced around the room, then frowned. “Don’t let that go to your head. You’ve still got a lot to learn, but you’re on the right road.”

“Thank you, ser.” Cerryl waited, suspecting from the Patrol chief’s body position that Isork had more to say.

After a moment, Isork looked at Cerryl. “I heard you were asking about silksheen.”

Cerryl didn’t bother to ask how the senior Patrol mage knew. “Someone killed a trader and stole some silksheen. It’s costly, and there couldn’t be many places where it could be sold. No one reported anyone missing or any cart being stolen. So I thought people who handled silksheen might know.”

Isork nodded slowly. “Asking general questions discreetly is fine. I’d appreciate it if you would tell me if you find out anything. Silksheen, as I am most assured you have discovered, is only traded by two or three merchants in all of Fairhaven. They are quite close to many of the senior mages.”

Cerryl returned the nod. “I did discover that, and I have no reason to make further inquiries.” Not now, and certainly not in any direct way, not after what I found out so far .

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” Isork rose. “I enjoy reading your reports.” After another smile, he nodded a last time, turned, and left the duty room.

Cerryl swallowed. Not a very good head, not at all .

CERRYL STRODE THROUGH the open double doors of the section building’s assembly room and crossed the floor to the speaking stones, ignoring the murmurs from the four patrollers to the right of the entryway. He stepped up on the stones and looked out at the small group. His eyes fixed on lead patroller Sheffl. “What happens to be the problem?”

The muscular patroller cleared his throat “Ser mage, these two men cannot agree. They stopped us on patrol.” He raised his eyebrows and half-smiled, gesturing to the two shorter figures who stood on either side of him.

A squat, fair-skinned, and red-haired man dressed in brown glared at the other man. The second had short gray hair, was tanned as if he worked in the open often, and wore faded blue trousers and a sleeveless blue vest. The tanned man in the vest ignored the glares from the squat man, and his eyes rested on Cerryl.

“They were arguing?” Cerryl asked the patroller. “Close to breaking the peace?”

“You might say that, ser.” Sheffl’s limp black hair flopped across his forehead with the nod he gave. “Karfl-he’s the mason there, in the blue vest-he was waving a stone hammer a lot. Queas was reaching for a staff. He was really yelling, could hear him from the back alley. Thought maybe…” The lead patroller shrugged.

Beside the double doors, just inside the room, the other four patrollers waited, watching, their faces indicating various degrees of boredom and interest.

Cerryl looked at the tanned mason. “Why were you arguing?”

“Demon-damned artisans…be all the same. Queas…he said he be a-tradin’ a set of china pieces, ten platters and ten mugs and two pitchers, if I would repair and rebuild the stone wall at the back of his courtyard.” Karfl shrugged. “Should have known better. Got the wall done, and a bit of work it was, too. Some fool had backed a wagon through it, mud-brick and not fired brick or stone. Then Queas offers me ten platters and two pitchers and says I should be lucky. Only did it because I wanted the set as a consort gift for my daughter Viaya. Can’t have a consort gift without mugs.” Another shrug followed.

“I see.” Cerryl could sense the man’s belief that the situation was as he had told the Patrol mage. After a moment, Cerryl glanced at Queas. “What do you have to say?”

“I offered him ten platters, yes, and two pitchers, but not the mugs,” Queas replied. “I am a poor potter, and I had the platters already. So the pitchers I had to throw and fire and glaze. Pitchers, they are not easy, not if you want their handles to be strong. But the pitchers, they are good, good enough to sell anywhere. So are the platters.”

Cerryl held up a hand. “Did you offer him the platters and the pitchers when you first talked about how you would repay him for repairing the wall?”

“That is what I said, ser mage.”

Cerryl frowned, catching something about the words. “Did you tell him that you were offering ten platters and two pitchers, or did you say you were offering him a set of ten and two pitchers?”