L. Modesitt: Colors of Chaos

Layel served himself the beef and noodles. After he had finished, Leyladin nodded at Cerryl. “Please.”

“Can’t say that, outside of the white, I’d be taking you for a mage.” Layel took the big glass bottle and poured the clear wine into the three crystal goblets one after another.

Wine from glass bottles-another luxury Cerryl had heard about but never seen. “I know. I look more like a scrivener. I was once, an apprentice scrivener.”

“Now that’s something I don’t know much about.” Layel laughed. “Books, you can’t buy ’em cheap. So I don’t. Means I don’t sell them, either. Don’t have time to read them.” He lifted his goblet. “To friends, daughters, and companions.”

Cerryl followed their example but took only the smallest sip of the wine. Even with that sip, with the hint of bubbliness and the lemon-nut freshness, he could feel that it was far stronger than anything he’d ever tasted and far, far better.

“Ah…better than I remembered,” said Layel.

“It is good.” Leyladin lifted the porcelain platter that held the still-steaming dark bread and offered it to her father. Layel broke off a chunk, and the blonde offered the platter to Cerryl.

Cerryl took a chunk of the warm bread and glanced toward the older factor.

Layel smiled, as if waiting for Cerryl to speak.

“All of this…it’s different from the Halls,” Cerryl said slowly. “We don’t see that much outside…I haven’t anyway, even before I came to Fairhaven.” He paused. “There’s so much I’ve read about, but…Leyladin has told me you’re a trader, and I don’t know much about trading. What do you trade in?”

“Anything that sells, young mage. Anything that sells. You trade in grain, and if the harvest is bad, you lose everything. You trade in copper, and when someone opens or closes a mine, you lose. I trade in what I can buy cheap and sell dear.” Layel refilled the crystal goblet before him and then Leyladin’s. He glanced at Cerryl’s goblet, still three-quarters full. “You haven’t drunk much.”

“With me, a little wine goes a long way, but it’s very good. Very good.”

“Father is not telling you everything. He hoards goods,” Leyladin interjected with a smile, passing the pitcher with the orange glaze in it. “He buys them cheaply this season and sells them dearly the next. He has two large warehouses here and one in Lydiar.”

“You’ll be giving away all my secrets, Daughter.”

“Just the two of you here?” Cerryl asked.

“Now. My brother Wertel has a house in Lydiar. He runs the business for Father there, and my sisters live with their consorts here in Fairhaven. I’m the youngest.” Leyladin grinned. “And the most trouble.”

“How could you say that, Daughter?” Layel shook his head in mock discouragement. “Trouble? You never brought in every stray dog in Fairhaven to heal it? You never had your head nearly split open because you would heal the fractious carriage horse? You never-”

“Father…”

“No…you couldn’t find a nice fellow and give me grandchildren.” The factor turned to Cerryl. “She had to become a healer. She was trying to heal everything-the dogs, the warehouse cat that got kicked by the mule, the watchman’s daughter…”

Leyladin’s face clouded ever so slightly at the last, but the expression passed so quickly Cerryl wasn’t sure he’d seen it.

“Healers are far more scarce than White mages,” Cerryl said brightly, taking a small mouthful of the beans and nuts with the fork that felt unfamiliar, copying Leyladin’s usage. They were so tender he barely had to chew them, and they hadn’t been cooked into mush in a stew pot.

“Would that it were like trade, where what is scarce is dear,” mumbled Layel.

“Father…finish eating…” Leyladin grinned.

“Always on me, you and your mother. Best to enjoy good food.”

“Talking with his mouth full is about his only bad habit,” Leyladin said.

“And you’ve never let me forget it.” Layel turned to Cerryl. “She’ll find any of your ill ways and try to heal you of them. Fair warning I’m providing.”

“Father…” Leyladin blushed.

“Turning the glass is fair for both.”

Cerryl took another sip of the wine, amazed at how good it tasted, uncertain of what he should say.

Layel glanced at Cerryl. “I’ve embarrassed my daughter enough. She may know how you became a mage, but I do not. Perhaps you could shed a word or two about how you came to Fairhaven.”

“I’m afraid that my life is quite common, compared to yours,” Cerryl protested.

“Best we should judge that. A man’s no judge of himself.”

“Well…as Leyladin might have told you, I’m an orphan. Both my parents died when I was so young I remember neither. I was raised by my aunt and uncle…” Cerryl went on to detail his years at the mines, his apprenticeship at Dylert’s mill, and then his work as an apprentice scrivener for Tellis. “…and then, one day, one of the overmages arrived at the shop and summoned me to meet with the High Wizard. He examined me and decided I was suitable to be a student mage. That took two years, and last harvest the Council made me a full mage…a very junior mage. Now I’m one of those who guard the gates to Fairhaven.”

“Good thing, too.” Layel shook his head. “I don’t mind as paying the tariffs and taxes for the roads, but I’d mind more than a hogshead full of manure if the smugglers got off with using the roads and then coming into the city and selling for less than I could.”

“Father…no one sells for less.”

“They could. Aye, they could. Take stuff in Spidlaria and sneak through Axalt or take the old back roads from Tyrhavven, and afore you know it they’d be in the Market Square.”

“Doesn’t everyone pay the taxes?” Cerryl asked.

“No. Even all the mages in the Halls couldn’t find every ferret who turns a good. That’s not the task of the city patrol, either. They keep the peace, not the trade laws. Thank the light, don’t need armsmen to make trade and tariffs work, not in the city, anyway. See…there’s coins in Fairhaven, and the best roads are the White highways, the ones that can take the big wagons.” Layel shrugged. “So traders and exchanges are here. Smaller traders can take carts over the back roads, but most times they can’t carry that much, and the Traders’ Guild makes sure the road gauges are kept.”

“The road gauges?” asked Leyladin.

Cerryl had the feeling she had asked the question for him, but he was grateful. He’d never heard of the road gauges.

“You should remember, Daughter. If a road is more than four cubits wide, it’s a highway, and the ruler must collect tariffs, and only those with the medallions may use it. See, that way, the pony traders have to go on the slow and muddy tracks that wind out of the way. And most times, a trader with fast teams and wagons is a prosperous trader, and the great highways are fast.”

Cerryl nodded. Another fact he’d not known.

“Meridis! What have we for sweets?”

The serving woman reappeared. “Be you ready for sweets, ser?”

“Why’d you think I called?” Layel’s stern expression dissolved into a chuckle.

“Father…you don’t have to put on the stern front for company.”

“Can’t even be master in my own dwelling, not even over sweets.” The trader glanced at Cerryl. “You’ll see…leastwise, much as a mage can that way.”

“Father…”

“Fellow ought to know.” Layel turned to Meridis. “Sweets?”

“I baked a fresh nut and custard pie.”

“Wonderful! It takes company for me to get my favorite.”

“It does not,” suggested Leyladin. “You always tell poor Meridis not to bother because you’d look like a shoat if she fixed it just for you.”