Rahl was slightly annoyed, but he couldn’t blame the man. Besides, he was trying to think about where he’d smelled that before. Where had that been? He frowned.
Pickles! There had been barrels and barrels of Feyn River pickles in the warehouses at the Nylan Merchant Association, and they’d come off a Jeranyi vessel, and Daelyt had been evasive about why a Jeranyi vessel had been carrying so many barrels of something with as little value as pickles. That had bothered him then, and it bothered him even more with what Jyrolt and Gheryk had said—and what Dalya had said the other night. But how could he find out if that had been true?
He was still thinking about barrels of pickles when he finished his tour of the piers and returned to the duty desk. : “Anything of interest?” asked Carlyse.
“Nothing besides a few broken amphorae of special vinegar. The teamster had them mostly cleaned up when I got there. There’s still only the one Jeranyi ship at the piers.”
“That’s fine by me.”
Gheryk came by several times, but only nodded, and Rahl was more than happy to leave the duty desk when Carlyse was relieved. He was quick to make his way to the mess. His stomach was growling in protest.
Through the first part of the meal, he kept thinking about vinegar and pickles, and finally decided to ask what had been fretting at him.
“Caersyn,” Rahl began, “if we see something or remember it, or want to cross-check, is there any way to look at the manifests that are given to the tariff enumerators?”
For a moment, Caersyn’s face had no expression. “What do you mean?”
“Well… the enumerators don’t inspect every bale and barrel. What ”if we discover that a ship has been declaring, say, raw wool, but it’s only raw wool on the outside of the bale, and finished cloth on the inside. It might be a good idea to see how many times that ship has been declaring low-value things…“
“Oh… I see what you mean. I don’t know.” He turned. “Do you, Woralyt?”
The heavier graying mage-guard nodded. “We’ve had to do that occasionally. Not in a while, though. We can go over to the enumerators and ask to review manifests… but you have to do it on your own time, not duty time, and you can take notes, but you have to leave the manifest there.”
“I just wondered.”
“That’s how,” replied Woralyt.
Caersyn nodded in agreement and took a long swallow from his mug.
Rahl decided he had to look at some of the manifests of a year ago… as soon as he could. He also needed to keep practicing Taryl’s methods for expanding and improving his use of order-skills. He could sense that his shields were getting as close to what they had been, if not even stronger, and he was beginning to regain some of what he had lost, particularly in a deeper sensing of Order and chaos; but he still only had the most general sense of weather and no sense at all of what lay beneath the surface of the ground. And he certainly couldn’t bind anything together with order.
XCII
As with all mage-guards, Rahl had one day an eightday for his own use, and that was sevenday. After breakfast, he immediately headed to the building adjacent to the mage-guard station—the one that housed the tariff enumerators.
The staff enumerator behind the counter that he still remembered was pleasant enough.
“What can I do for you, ser?”
“I need to look at the cargo off-load declarations for all the Jeranyi vessels for last fall.”
“You’ll have to go through quite a few. We file them by day by ship name.”
Rahl nodded. “That will be fine.” ; “Ah… I have to put your name and a reason on the form.”
“I’m Rahl, and I think some factors may have been accepting mislabeled bulk goods.” Rahl smiled politely. “Is that enough?” ;
“Yes,-ser. If you’d come this way?”
Rahl followed the enumerator clerk down the corridor to a dimly lit chamber at the back of the building. File chests were stacked neatly in five rows, each row five chests high, and more than twenty long.
“The nearest chests here are the most recent. The ones more than five years old are sent to Cigoeme. Let’s see… last fall should be about here.” The clerk paused. “Let me or whoever’s on the desk know when you leave.”
“Twill, thank you.”
Even with his knowledge of manifests and declarations, it took Rahl most of the morning to find what he sought.“ Three Jeranyi ships had delivered Feyn River pickles to the Nylan Merchant Association in the fall of the previous year. One had been the Wavecrest, the other two had been the Stormruler and the Dawnbreaker. Each had delivered ten barrels. He wrote down the ships, quantities, dates, and consignees on a sheet of paper he’d taken earlier from the duty desk.
The number of barrels bothered Rahl. No one shipped that few barrels of something like pickles thousands of kays on an outland hull.
Then he returned to the desk. “Thank you.”
“Did you find what you were looking for, ser?”
“I found the information. It may-not be as helpful as I’d hoped, but thank you.” Rahl made his way back to his quarters, where he tucked his notes into his copy of the Manual, before heading out for the afternoon.
High hazy clouds suggested that the afternoon would be hot and muggy, and he was sweating even by the time he nodded to the main pier mage, and well before he was walking down the shaded avenue toward the Nylan Merchant Association. The pickles had bothered him before, but he hadn’t known why. He still didn’t, although he felt he should.
There were far more people out on sevenday, and Rahl found it interesting to see and sense reactions. Most just ignored him or nodded politely. A handful, usually younger less-well-attired young men, tried to slip away before they thought he noticed them. Children often stared, and their mothers whispered to them.
It was almost midday when he reached Eneld’s cantina, and, without really knowing why, he opened the door and stepped inside.
Seorya glanced at him and saw only the uniform. She looked back to the two women she was serving. One man at a corner table froze, radiating fear.
Rahl had to wonder what the fellow had done, but he just surveyed those in the cantina and then stepped back outside, catching one murmured comment
“… hate it when they do that…”
Rahl smiled wryly, then, as he had before, continued westward on the boulevard for several more blocks before crossing the street and heading back eastward on the southern side. He kept to a leisurely pace, but extended his order-senses as he neared the warehouse gates. This time they were open, but no wagons were in evidence, and Tyboran barely looked at Rahl. That was fine with Rahl. The two warehouses still radiated their diffuse white chaos, but Rahl couldn’t identify any specific source from where he was outside the open gates. But then, he hadn’t been able to do that when he’d been in the warehouses a year earlier.
Rahl glanced through the window of the Association building. Daelyt was sitting alone at the wide desk, talking to a trader or factor. Rahl nodded. He hadn’t expected any change, but he was glad to know his feelings had been right. He didn’t sense Shyret anywhere around, and he kept walking.
He was sweating even more heavily by the time he returned to the station, but he only paused to get some beer in the mess, before returning to the duty desk and a balding and black-eyed older mage-guard he did not know.
“I’m Rahl.”
“Ashant.”
“I’ve just been here an eightday, and I start on roving pier duty tomorrow. Is there a library here, or some books on cargoes and that sort of thing?”
“You mean what to look out for?” Ashant frowned, then nodded. “It’s not a library, but there are a couple of bound folders on some of the tricks smugglers and shippers use.”
Rahl wasn’t certain that would help, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. “Thank you. Ah… where are they?”
“Right in the small bookcase there.” Ashant pointed to the wall beside the duty desk.
&nbs
p; Rahl wanted to hang his head. Right within cubits of where he’d been sitting for almost an eightday. He could have been reading them for days. What a waste of time!
“They’re pretty old, but they might be some help.”
“I hope so.” Rahl found a stool and began to read. The introduction was almost a primer on trade and declarations and manifests, things he’d learned in a few days in Nylan. The first section past that was more helpful, with a description of the tariff structure and rationale, the duties of the tariff enumerators and the support requirements laid upon mage-guards.
One sentence caught his attention. “The Emperor does not restrict or prohibit any goods or cargo, but the attempt to avoid tariffs by hiding or mislabeling is an offense against the Emperor…”
That meant that anyone could off-load anything, so“ long as they declared it accurately and paid the tariffs. Some tariffs were so high as to be almost prohibitive— luxury metals like gold and jewels in any quantities, or things like aqua regia, or aqua gloria, or cammabark, or explosives—but those made sense for various reasons. Tariffs almost everywhere were based on value in the case of precious metals and jewels, and explosives and corrosives could cause great damage if improperly handled or labeled. But vinegar wasn’t that corrosive.
Rahl kept reading.
XCIII
On eightday morning, Rahl made sure that he was at the duty desk especially early. Even so, he’d only been standing there a few moments before Myala came in at a brisk walk.
“You’re here. Good. Have you looked at the duty logs?”
“Yes. The Jeranyi ship—it’s the Wavecrest—is still tied at pier two. The captain had said we should expect another one, but it hasn’t arrived yet. There wasn’t any trouble last night, and we have three offenders and one mage-clerk student waiting for upriver transport to Luba and Diancyr…”
“That’s enough.” Myala walked to the desk, ignoring Hewart, who was due to be relieved, and picked up the duty log. After scanning it a moment, she set it down. “Let’s go.”
Rahl followed her out of the building.
Without looking at him, Myala asked, “Do you know why they sent you here? Only a handful of the mage-guards here are order types. You’re usually sent to the city station or Cigoerne or small towns.”
‘Taryl and Jyrolt were the ones who decided. They didn’t tell me.“
Myala’s steps slowed for just a moment. ‘Taryl recommended you?“
“Yes.”
“That’s not good. When he recommends, he’s usually trying to head off trouble, and it’s never small trouble.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” Especially since what Rahl had overheard confirmed what Myala was saying.
She headed for the main pier guard station where Hegyr had just finished relieving Niasl.
“It’s all quiet, Myala. Only five or six vendors out there. No wagons. Niasl had to run off a pair of trollops earlier.” Hegyr stood beside the pedestal that held the mage-guard chair. The umbrella was still folded.
Myala snorted. “You won’t find any teamsters out on eightday, but trollops will try for their coins wherever and whenever they can find a wilting sailor. It should stay quiet for a while, but if I see anything urgent, I’ll send Rahl back. Otherwise, we’ll check in after we patrol all the piers.” With that, the compact mage-guard turned, taking quick and precise steps toward the base of pier one.
Rahl had to take three hurried steps to catch up with Myala, who, he was discovering, moved everywhere as if she were constantly in a rush.
Pier one was somewhat more than half-filled, with three‘ ships—two schooners and a small coastal side-wheeler— on the north side, and an ancient Suthyan brig at the last set of bollards on the south. A vendor with a grill was already soliciting the crew.
“The best fowl in Swartheld… hot and juicy…”
Rahl had to admit that the grilled fowl did smell good, but Myala barely looked at the vendor or at the small boy who sat on a box beside the grill.
As Rahl accompanied Myala toward the base of pier two, she asked, “What do you know about the Jeranyi ship?”
“It’s big and iron-hulled, and it’s been here for an eightday now, and they haven’t loaded or unloaded cargo in the last few days. There’s an aura of chaos around it.” Rahl paused, realizing something else. “Also, all the mage-guards have been talking about what a problem the Jeranyi crews are, but we haven’t had any problems reported.”
“Hmmmm…” That was all Myala said.
Before they reached the Jeranyi vessel, they passed a Brystan long-hauler, with side-wheels and the modified rigging that seemed to be common among Nordlan ships. The brightwork shone, and the crew was holystoning the deck.
Beyond the Brystan ship was an empty berth, and then . the Jeranyi vessel. As he and Myala neared it, Rahl could see a pair of guards, attired more like ruffians than seamen, standing guard on the quarterdeck just beyond the top of the gangway leading up from the pier.
“Look at the guards,” Myala said. “What do you see?”
Rahl looked again, with both sight and senses. The guards were armed with sabres that seemed similar, if not identical. Both were clean-shaven… “Oh…”
“What? Don’t just say, ‘Oh,’” said Myala tartly.
“They’re dressed like ruffians, but everything else says they’re more like guards or marines or soldiers.”
“At least you can think, even if it takes some prompting.”
Rahl could feel that hidden anger rising, and he wanted to use his truncheon on the waspish and condescending mage-guard, but he pushed the feeling away, finally managing to say, “I’ve only been a full mage-guard for two eightdays, Myala, and I’m certain I have much, to learn.”
Rahl could sense that she was taken aback at his words although she said nothing for several steps. Then she paused and continued to look at the ship.
So did Rahl, although he tried to use his order-senses as much as his eyes. The diffuse whiteness of chaos did not. seem either stronger or weaker than when he had observed the ship before, and that suggested that it was either a part of the ship—or of cargo that had not been off-loaded.
“You’re using order-sensing. What does it tell you?”
‘There’s something chaotic there, but I can’t tell if it’s the ship or cargo. It’s not the crew, though.“
“Could be explosives or powder. Sometimes they sense like chaos. That’s what Hewart says.”
“If they’re really pirates, they’d have cannon…” Rahl studied the hull more closely. “It looks like the shinier sections below the railing—they’re smaller.”
“Those are concealed cannon ports. You’re probably sensing the powder in the magazines.”
That was likely, but Rahl had his doubts that was all he sensed.
“I don’t like it that they’ve been here an eightday. Ships don’t make coins tied up for long periods in port, even pirate vessels. They could be waiting for a ship to leave, one with a profitable cargo, maybe the Brystan.”
Rahl could tell that she wasn’t convinced by her own“ words.
Abruptly, she turned. “Nothing will happen this early. We might as well finish the first tour, and then we’ll leave a watch report with the duty desk.”
Again, Rahl had to hurry for several steps to catch up with her. After even such a short time, Myala was wearing on him. He wondered how her consort stood it, but maybe he needed the time when she was on duty to recover from her presence.
XCIV
Oneday was far different from eightday. Even by midmorning, the piers were crowded with wagons and vendors, unlike the comparative handful of sellers on eightday. There was actually a cool breeze, and the sky was bright and clear. While Rahl was grateful for the cooler and drier weather, he worried about the Jeranyi vessel still hulking at the end of pier two, with yet another set of clean-shaven guards. The diffuse white chaos that enfolded the ship seemed unchanged.
“Still the same,” not
ed Myala. “They’re waiting for something. That something won’t be good.” Rahl didn’t think so, either, but what could he say, especially as a very junior mage-guard who’d been warned away from looking into his own past too closely?
As they moved away from the far end and toward the base of pier two, Rahl caught sight of the captain walking toward diem, on the far side of the small tent of a vendor who was grilling kebobs of ground and spiced meat. Gheryk continued to stroll casually toward the two mage-guards before stopping and smiling broadly.
“Myala… keep on your patrol. I need a word with Rahl, and then I’ll send him back to you.”
“Yes, ser.”
Rahl could sense her puzzlement, but he was more worried about the deeper feeling of irritation and concern that Gheryk was trying to conceal behind his shields.
“The tariff enumerator wanted to know if something was happening.” Gheryk looked at Rahl with a faint smile. “I thought I told you just to watch things for a while, until you knew more.”
“Yes, ser. I haven’t pried around the Nylan Merchant Association, ser. But… the other day, when I was on the piers—Carlyse sent me out, ser—there was a teamster cleaning up some broken amphorae, and they had vinegar in them. The smell reminded me of something I’d forgotten.”
“Go ahead.” The captain’s voice was neutral.
“Just before everything happened last year, I’d noticed that the Merchant Association had received some barrels of Feyn River pickles. I remembered that because of the smell of vinegar that was spilled on the pier on sixday. I couldn’t help thinking about it, because the Association never shipped pickles, and I’d asked Daelyt—he was the head clerk. He said they’d come off a Jeranyi ship. I never had a chance to do anything, but I wanted to find out if he was telling the truth.”
“Was he?”
“Yes; ser,” Rahl admitted. “Three Jeranyi ships sent the warehouse pickles. That was what I found out from the enumerators’ manifests. Ten barrels each.” , “What does that mean to you?”
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