L. Modesitt - The White Order

“A blanket, young ser? A fine white blanket?”

Cerryl shook his head and, rolled map in hand, continued across the square. He almost stopped at the cart where a thin man roasted fowl, but thought about the few coppers left in his purse and kept walking. Too bad he had left his silvers behind at Tellis’s. Once in a while he missed them and wondered if he would ever see that much coin again, but he felt the absence of the amulet more.

He supposed Kesrik would call him stupid for not caring more about the silvers, but there was little he could do. The Guild had told Tellis that all Cerryl left belonged to the scrivener, and Cerryl couldn’t very well show up in Tellis’s showroom and ask for his silvers back.

After reaching the other side of the square and crossing the eastern section of the avenue, he headed north again and into the jewelers’ row. Because of the wind, all the doors were closed, but the shutters were open-enough to show that the metalsmiths were present for any customers.

He paused before a goldsmith’s shop with gold-trimmed green shutters and checked the sewer map again, standing close to the white-painted bricks of the wall to keep the wind from grabbing the map. From what he could tell, the main sewers had been built farther from the avenue north of the market square.

Another gust of wind-colder-whipped around him. When it subsided, he studied the map again, then walked north to the first side street, where he turned eastward, in the general direction of Nivor’s-the apothecary’s-looking for the heavy bronze grill that marked an access grate to the main sewer tunnel.

The grate was almost flush with the wall of a fuller’s shop. Cerryl’s eyes-and senses-noted the chaos bound into the large white-bronze lock that secured the grate, a square about two cubits on each side.

With his own senses, he could make out a set of narrow brick steps disappearing into the darkness below. He could also sense that-again-someone was following him with a glass.

The wind rose, more steadily, and a few drops of something damp wet the back of his neck. He turned and looked up. The clouds were thicker, and intermittent white flakes flew by his face. He could sense the beginning of the headache that always seemed to come with rain or snow.

Cerryl fastened his jacket and started back toward the tower, half-wondering who was following him with a glass-and why.

CERRYL STEPPED INTO Myral’s quarters, dim in the morning despite two lit wall lamps. Sleet clicked against the closed shutters, and the shutters rattled. He could feel a draft around his legs until he closed the door from the tower landing. His head throbbed slightly, but it always did during storms.

“Ah. . a warm winter day in Fairhaven.” Myral wrapped the white wool blanket around his shoulders but remained seated on one side of the table. He gestured to the seat directly across from him.

Cerryl sat.

“How did you find the books?”

“I read them, but I’m certain I didn’t understand everything.” Cerryl paused. “I’m sure I didn’t.”

“I’m not sure I understand everything there, and I wrote one of them.” Myral lifted a mug from which steam drifted upward into the chill air of the room and took a sip. “You’re being put on sewer duty earlier than most students. Do you know why?”

“No, ser. . unless it’s because I was a scrivener’s apprentice.” The remaining draft seeping through the shutters chilled the back of Cerryl’s legs, even through the thick white trousers. He shifted his weight in the hard wooden chair, smelling the warm cider in the older mage’s mug.

“That is one reason. We’ll get to the other in a bit.” Myral took another sip of the cider. “The important thing to remember is that Fairhaven is what it is because it is an ordered city.” Myral smiled blandly at Cerryl. “I use the word ‘ordered’ advisedly, but it’s not something that should be discussed outside the Guild.” He paused. “Or even within the Guild, except with me, or if Sterol or Jeslek should bring it up. Never with anyone else.”

“Yes, ser.”

Myral raised his eyebrows. “There is a difference between thoughts and words. Don’t forget that.”

“No, ser.”

“Just like a healthy person, a healthy city must have nourishment, a functioning structure or body, fresh clean water, and a way to get rid of wastes. The aqueducts supply the water, and the sewers take away the wastes, and the Guild is there to ensure that the rest of the city’s structure works. Are you surprised that the Guild is the White Order?”

“Ah. .” Cerryl wasn’t surprised, and he wasn’t unsurprised.

“You’ve had to worry about more pressing needs. I imagine you worried more about food than the place of the Guild. That’s one reason why Sterol bent the guidelines to admit you.” Myral smiled. “As for order. . most of the Guild doesn’t like to admit it, and they’re not exactly pleased to accord some recognition to the blacks. They’ll do what they can. . but you can’t separate order and chaos and survive.”

Cerryl nodded, not knowing what Myral expected.

“That is enough philosophizing for now. Starting tomorrow, or the day after, if the storm doesn’t clear, you are going to be cleaning sewers and finding places in them that need to be repaired. There are several things you need to keep in mind in the sewers.” Myral’s tone was dry. “First, look both up and down. People don’t look when they open their sewer catches. And the brick, even on the walkways, can crumble or get slimy.”

Cerryl sat silently. Cleaning sewers? That was sewer duty?

“Also. . you’ll be accompanied by lancers-it’s disciplinary duty for them. . so what kind of guard you get. .” The older mage shrugged.

Guards in the sewers? Cerryl moistened his lips.

“We do our best to keep the sewers for offal and sewage. . that’s one reason why the sewer catches are so small. We don’t want people shoving larger wastes, like branches or bodies, into the sewers.” Myral grimaced. “We still find bodies-usually children-and then we have to try to find who killed them. I’ll get into that later. If you find a body right now, leave it and send a messenger for me.”

Guards and bodies? What lurked in the sewers? The door to the tower stairs rattled, and Cerryl’s eyes followed the sound before he turned back to concentrate on Myral.

“Branches and any sort of rubbish that doesn’t reflect a crime-it’s up to you to dispose of it as you clean the tunnel and the walkway.”

Cerryl frowned. “With chaos-force, ser?”

“How else?” Myral offered a broad smile. “How else indeed? You can certainly call it forth.” A brief shadow crossed Myral’s face, so brief Cerryl wasn’t sure he had seen it. “It crackles around you. You see, Cerryl, those with the talent to handle chaos are blessed and cursed. Someone who might be a black mage would not suffer should he choose not to use his talent. That is not true of someone with the talent to handle the white force of chaos. Chaos is so powerful that it must be guided and disciplined. If it is not, it will destroy anyone with the talent to channel it. It cannot be ignored. In time, it will destroy even those of us with discipline.”

Myral’s face turned from an ironic smile to a somber mien. “One either masters chaos, or it masters one. We cannot afford to have even one undisciplined chaos focus in Candar.”

Cerryl did not know what to say. He waited.

“You wonder-all young mages wonder-why the Guild suffers no one to survive who is not bound by its disciplines. Are we that power-mad? Are we so insecure that anyone who defies us must be destroyed?” A sadness crossed the round face, and Myral brushed back a lock of wispy black hair, carefully, to cover part of his balding pate. “I fear for the time when there is no Guild, no discipline.”