L. Modesitt - The White Order

From what Cerryl could see, though, more wagons, empty wagons, were departing, heading for the gates through which he and Rinfur had just passed, their wheels rumbling on the whitened granite paving stones.

Scattered individuals walked briskly along the stone-paved walks flanking the avenue, their steps firm and quick. Only one looked toward the lumber wagon, and that was a young mother in a pale blue tunic and trousers, burping a child on her shoulder.

Cerryl smiled but received no response as she turned and resumed walking in the same direction as the wagon. He watched for several moments, but the wagon slowly extended the distance between the woman and Cerryl, and he looked ahead again. To each side of the avenue were houses, large but low houses of a single story, each surrounded by a low wall with a wooden gate. Trees with dark green leaves rose from the courtyards created by the walls, the dark leaves contrasting with the white roofs and walls.

“It’s quiet,” said Cerryl.

“A lot quieter than Lydiar, I dare say. More peaceable, too.”

“Coins. . too,” ventured Cerryl.

“Coins, aye. Always be coins where you find power. Still, can’t say as I exactly like Fairhaven,” Rinfur said with a lowered voice. “Sort of gets on your nerves after a time.” The teamster shrugged, not taking his eyes off the avenue, although he had kept the wagon to a slow walk. “Safe place. Safest city in all Candar. Say you could leave your purse on a wall and come back a day later and find it. Me. . I wouldn’t be trying that, but it be what they say.”

Cerryl’s eyes, slowly adjusting to the glare, looked westward toward the single white tower that rose out of a square that had to have been more than a kay away down the avenue. He could see-or feel-waves of the unseen red-tinged whiteness emanating from the tower, almost like flames and heat from a fire, except that whatever the tower radiated wasn’t hot, not like a fire, anyway. “What’s that?”

“That’s the wizards’ square-their tower. You not be wanting to go there.” Rinfur shivered. “No, ser.”

Cerryl nodded.

The two halves of the avenue split apart into half-circles around a space of green grass, white stone paths, and low spread-leafed trees. A low fountain gurgled in the center of the circle. The outside of the avenue was dotted with shops-a cooper’s, then a coppersmith’s, several shops whose symbols were unfamiliar to Cerryl, then an inn, and a stable.

“This be the artisans’ square, here. You can go round the circle and drive back the way we came. Down that side way we go.” Rinfur eased the team down a street to the right, a side way almost as wide as the main and only street of Hrisbarg. “Fasse’s be the second shop there. Can’t put a wagon before a shop. Have to use the rear courts.”

Cerryl nodded. After what he’d seen at the gates, he had no doubts that the laws of Fairhaven were followed. He glanced back at the grass of the square, vacant except for two toddlers tended by a girl barely older than Cerryl and a white-haired man sitting on a stone bench. Cerryl felt something was missing, yet he hadn’t any idea what that might have been.

As the wagon turned down an alleyway and then rolled into the back courtyard of a shop, a thin man hurried out. Everything about him was thin, Cerryl decided-the twiglike and wispy mustache above narrow lips, the angular face, the skinny shoulders, and the pointed brown boots.

“Greetings, master Fasse.”

“Greetings, ah. . teamster.” Fasse’s eyes flicked from Rinfur to the wagon and then to Cerryl. “Who’s the young fellow? I don’t need another apprentice, you know? Haven’t needed an apprentice for years, thank you.”

“Cerryl knows the woods right well,” drawled Rinfur, a glint in his eye. As Fasse opened his mouth, the driver added, “He be headed to master Tellis in the mom.”

Fasse closed his mouth and nodded abruptly.

“I shouldn’t be telling master Dylert you be needing an apprentice, should I?” asked Rinfur almost belatedly.

“No apprentices,” confirmed Fasse. “Not now. Not ever.”

Rinfur ensured the wagon brake was locked, then inclined his head to Cerryl, who began to loosen the ties on the canvas covering the wood.

“Careful there, young fellow. Don’t let the canvas cut the oak. Even oak can be scarred.” Fasse hurried to the tailboard and unfastened one side as Rinfur loosened the other.

Cerryl folded the canvas and laid it across the wagon seat, then slipped down to the ground and joined the other two at the rear of the wagon.

“Which first, master Fasse?” asked Rinfur.

“The heavy ones, of course, for the big racks on the wall. Would I put light planks there? The very thought of it!”

“Just two planks,” Rinfur said to Cerryl, “there not being much room to work with.”

Cerryl nodded and walked his way back along the planks as Rinfur slid them gently out of the wagon. The two carried the set inside through a narrow door that opened out. The cabinetry shop was small, no more than a dozen and a half cubits square, and half of that was taken with racks for wood. The youth’s nose itched with the faintest trace of sawdust, and he wished he could scratch it, but carrying the wood took both hands. He sniffed instead, and his nose itched even more.

“Gentle, gentle with that oak. Not a scar, not a scratch. The whites, they can sense if but a bruise there be.” Fasse scurried around Rinfur and Cerryl as they carried in the wider planks. “On the first rack there, the one padded with the rags. Do be gentle.”

The two eased the planks onto the padded rack, then walked back to the wagon for another load. Cerryl rubbed his nose. What was it about sawdust?

The sun was touching the tops of the shops to the west by the time, following Fasse’s directions, they had unloaded and stored all the white oak.

Rinfur stretched. “We need to stable the horses. We can leave the wagon in the courtyard,” Rinfur explained.

“The stable by the inn?” Cerryl glanced around the courtyard that barely held the wagon.

“Aye. If you sweep out the wagon and cover it. .”

“I can do that.”

“Master Fasse?” called Rinfur.

“Yes, teamster?”

“A broom, perhaps, so that Cerryl can clean up the wagon and the courtyard while I stable the horses?”

“There be an old one here somewhere.”

By the time Fasse had reappeared with a ragged-edged straw broom bound in cloth strips, Rinfur had long since departed with the team.

“The dust and scraps. . in the pail in the corner. Piddling chunks, too. Don’t be leaving any signs of sawdust or dirt. The patrol won’t be having that.”

“Yes, ser.” The patrol? Cerryl merely nodded as he wondered. Patrols inside the city? For what? Then he wanted to shake his head. If the courtyard had to be spotless, why was Fasse so reluctant to come up with a broom?

By the time Rinfur returned, Cerryl had finished sweeping the courtyard and was pushing the wagon, a span at a time, into the corner where it blocked neither the shop door nor access to the alley itself. The teamster added his shoulder to Cerryl’s efforts, and they eased the wagon into place. Cerryl covered the wagon with the canvas and reclaimed his pack.

By then, Fasse had reappeared and stood in the doorway. “Not much to offer you this eve,” he suggested, not looking toward either of the two from Hrisbarg.

“Whatever you have, master crafter, that will serve fine,” answered Rinfur with a smile. “We’re just poor mill workers.”

“Ah. . yes. . let me check with the consort.” Fasse turned and went through the door and vanished down a narrow hall.

“Always does that,” said Rinfur. “He has to feed us, but he never wants to admit it. Folks from Kyphros, they say, be like that.”