L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“You’ll take them. Then what will I do when Pullid comes back next year?”

“I won’t take them,” Cerryl assured him. “I’m looking for something very different. It appears…Let me just say that there are irregularities in the tariff records. It would help…and I’m sure you’d want to be helpful.” As he smiled more broadly, Cerryl felt as though he were acting just like Anya.

Freidr sighed.

Cerryl let his senses range ahead of the trader as the man turned and lifted out a ledger and an old wooden box, one that reeked of age.

“Here…” The factor offered another sigh as he pushed the ledger toward Cerryl. “You can see. I’ve paid them all-every last one.”

Cerryl scanned the receipts, mentally totaled the numbers…then frowned. One was signed with another name-Liedral.

“Liedral-that’s your…sister…” A cold feeling settled over Cerryl, and his eyes felt like ice as he looked at the factor.

Freidr cringed in the chair, as though he had been struck. “I did what you people wanted…what the other bearded…”

“Fydel, you mean?” Cerryl asked.

“That’s what he said his name was…”

Cerryl forced himself to be calm, although he wasn’t sure why he was getting agitated. He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even been able to see what had happened until it was over and done. You still feel guilty…because the Guild did it and you feel it was wrong? “The matter with your sister is something entirely different. This deals with golds. You have paid on the order of 15 percent of your receipts-at least is what you claim.”

“It’s 15 percent…and it’s of everything. Pullid, he went through everything…everything. That’s what you mages require.”

Cerryl nodded. “And he told you that he would send one of us after you if you didn’t show everything?”

“He didn’t have to…We know that.”

Cerryl forced a smile. “Would you mind telling me how you know that?”

“We just do…” Freidr’s eyes flicked from side to side, never meeting Cerryl’s.

“How long have you been paying 15 percent?”

“I don’t know…five years…The records are there.” Despair flooded the factor’s face.

Cerryl wanted to shake his head. “It doesn’t matter. There will be records.” He stood. “Thank you.”

Then he paused, before looking back at Freidr. “Can you think of any other traders who had their warehouses scrutinized in the way yours has been?”

“Ah…no…”

“You’re lying.” Cerryl hated to do it, but he gathered enough chaos to create a small fireball above his raised left index finger.

Freidr paled.

“Do you recall?” Cerryl gave another Anya-like smile, still disliking himself for it.

“I don’t…know…not for certain…but Pastid…and Triok…they were muttering something.”

“Pastid and Triok…where might I find them?”

“Pastid-he’s on the other side of the Market Square, where this street is, except it’s the Silver Way there, about three hundred cubits. His place is next to a coppersmith’s-Gued, I think. Triok-he’s on the Way of the Weavers, or the north part, north of the palace.”

Cerryl inclined his head. “I trust that is correct.”

“It is…I tell you it is.”

“Good.”

“Is that all, ser?”

“That’s all.” Cerryl smiled. For now . He unlatched the door, letting his chaos senses scan the narrow passage before he opened the door and stepped out. The small hall was empty.

Freidr followed him, at a slight distance, letting Cerryl open the front door.

“Thank you again,” Cerryl told the factor as he left.

The door shut quickly, and Cerryl could hear the chains rattled into place. It wasn’t absolute proof-but 15 percent? According to what Myral had told him, the highest Guild tax on merchants outside of Fairhaven, and only the large ones, was a third of that. Even the Guild tax on factors in Fairhaven was but a tenth part.

Cerryl untied the gelding and mounted quickly. The intermittent snow had given way to a light rain of fat raindrops, splatting on the road stones. He turned his mount back westward.

What he had discovered also raised a few questions. Did Shyren know? If not, why not? Or if he did, why hadn’t he told Jeslek? And if Shyren had told Jeslek, what sort of scheme was Jeslek attempting?

Though Cerryl rapped on Pastid’s door, there was no answer. Cerryl rode around and down the back alley, but the rear loading doors were also locked and bolted from the inside. Finally, with the sun dropping over the western walls of the city, he headed back toward the viscount’s palace.

The ostler took the gelding without comment. Cerryl crossed the courtyard again and walked up the steps.

Shyren stood at the top, a lazy smile on his face. “Out for a ride, I understand?” the older mage said mildly.

“There’s little enough for me to do in the barracks and palace,” Cerryl answered with a laugh. “So I rode around the city a bit, asked a few questions, and tried to get more familiar with it.”

“You young mages…I suppose that’s wise. You never know where you might be going. Still…a place like Jellico has its dangers for those who don’t know its ways.” Shyren’s eyes glittered ever so slightly. “They are not what one might suppose.”

“I’m sure that’s true. Is there any place you would suggest I take care?” Cerryl asked politely.

“Everywhere and nowhere.” Shyren laughed softly, a sound almost sibilant. “Where coins are involved, or folk think they are, any step could be dangerous. And other lands are not near so…well tended as Fairhaven. What you would call peace is never achieved here, nor will it ever be.” The heavyset mage shrugged. “We Guild representatives do what we can, but we are limited-most limited.”

“I can see that might be a problem.”

“It is.” Another smile, almost regretful, crossed Shyren’s face. “I had come to tell you and Fydel that I just received a message from the High Wizard. He plans to reach Jellico in five days.”

“Thank you.”

“I thought you might like to know.” Shyren started to turn, as if to head down the stone steps, then paused. “I would suggest great care on your rides, young Cerryl. Five days is scarce enough to learn Jellico, and White mages are not held in near so high esteem here as in Fairhaven. While all may be fair to your face, watch your back.”

“I appreciate your words, and your concern.” Cerryl inclined his head.

After the Guild representative had left, Cerryl rubbed his chin. Definitely a message. Do you have to worry about arrows and traps? Or worse?

He took a deep breath and headed toward his room, his chaos senses extended. His room was empty, but the residual sense of disorder gave him the definite impression that Shyren had spent some time there. He smiled to himself. The longer he was in the Guild, the more he understood that he and perhaps Kinowin were among the very few Whites who could sense residual chaos. Why? Because you’re among the few who keep yourselves separate from chaos? Leyladin could, and probably most Blacks. Another skill to keep hidden…and if you develop more, they might be enough. But enough for what?

He shook his head.

As the first bell rang, he decided he needed to hurry if he wanted to wash up before the evening meal.

CERRYL BLINKED AND let the image in the glass fade. Still nothing of substance had come from his efforts to follow Pullid and Dursus in the screeing glass. He picked up the glass, warm to the touch in the cold barracks room, and replaced it in the wardrobe. He glanced toward the barred and shuttered window. He might as well ride out-despite the wind and rain-to see if he could talk to either Triok or Pastid. Neither trader had been around for the past two days-Triok’s consort had insisted she expected him any day, while Pastid’s building remained locked.