The gray-bearded Glyan looked up from the barrel he had been examining, his deep brown eyes fixing on Kharl. “Ser ... we’d make more golds by selling your barrels and buying from Dezant, even counting the shipping costs.”
Kharl shook his head. “We wouldn’t. People won’t pay for the best barrels. They say they will, but they don’t. They buy barrels that are just good enough.”
“I forget. You’ve been the cooper.” Glyan scratched his head. “I’ve been thinking, ser. I’d like to try a few barrels that are toasted different-like, a touch darker for the Rhynn, and lighter for the red.”
“You think it will make a difference?”
The vintner nodded. “Don’t know as what the difference will be. Know that the vintners in the Cetarn Hills like their barrels that way. Might not work here. Grapes, soil, sun, they’re all different, even on different sides of the same hill. That’s why I want to see.”
“We can do that. I can toast some scrap oak first, and you can tell me what darkness you want.” Kharl paused. “Maybe I should make them half barrels or kegs, if you’re going to try something new.”
Glyan furrowed his brow. “Half barrels’d be better. Keg might be too small.” Kharl could see that. “How many?”
“Just four, I think.” Glyan offered a slow smile. “Doesn’t beat all. Finally get a real say on the barrels, and that’s cause the lord’s making ‘em.” He laughed. So did Kharl.
Once Glyan had left, humming under his breath, Kharl began laying out the billets for some smaller kegs. He’d planned to do one for Speltar anyway, who asked if it were possible because his consort had a weak arm and had trouble with a full-sized flour barrel. Then Dorwan had mentioned that three of the smaller kegs would be useful. That was as close as the forester would ever come to asking. So Kharl would be making kegs for the next day or so, not that he minded.
He’d already discovered that he couldn’t spend all his time in the cooperage-not if he wanted to learn about Cantyl. He’d spent two full days walking the southern boundaries of the estate with Dorwan and half a day for an eightday trailing Glyan, watching and listening as the vintner explained everything from the stone troughs that fed just the right amount of water to the grapes in times of no rainfall to the need for Rona to inspect the leaves of every plant and use a fine brush to sweep away the webs of the brown spider-just the brown spider.
Kharl doubted that he would ever learn all that was necessary, but the more he learned the better.
After checking the oak billets, both with his eyes and order-senses, he moved to the planer and began to rough shape the staves.
XLII
Almost another eightday had passed, and, in addition to his travels around his lands with Glyan, Dorwan, and Chyhat, Kharl had finished another score of various types of barrels, as well as the six half barrels for the vintner, two each with different amounts of toasting. Of course, the mage and cooper reflected, it would be more than a year before Glyan would have any idea as to whether the toasting mattered, and how much. Then, too, because the grapes changed some every year, depending on the weather, it might well be years before they really knew. He was just beginning to understand why Glyan was so cautious. Kharl had blotted his forehead with the sleeve of his working gray shirt and turned to reach for another stave when he noticed that Heldya stood just inside the doorway of the cooperage, her figure outlined by the late-morning sunlight. He stopped and stepped away from the bench. “Yes, Heldya? What is it? Does your mother need something?”
“No, Lord Kharl. Ser Arynal’s daughter is here. She’s waiting for you up at the main
house.”
“Which daughter? Did she say?”
“Mother said it was the younger one, the nicer one.” Meyena? Kharl took a deep breath. At least it wasn’t Norelle. “If you
would run back and tell her that I’ll be there shortly.” ｻ
“Yes, ser.” Heldya scurried off. Kharl glanced at the staves for the unfinished hogshead, then shook his head. He reracked his tools and left the cooperage, making his way up the last part of the hill to the main house, where he entered through the rear service door. “She is in the sitting room,” Adelya said quietly from the kitchen. “I will have a midday meal for you and your company.”
“Thank you. I didn’t expect her,” replied Kharl.
“You are a widower, Lord Kharl,” Adelya pointed out. “You are also thought to be a powerful man, and you’re handsome.”
Handsome? Kharl certainly didn’t consider himself good-looking. He wasn’t ugly, but handsome?
“I’ll tell them you’ll be with them shortly.”
“Thank you,” he said again, before turning to take the rear stairs to the upper level.
Kharl undressed and washed quickly, using the basin and pitcher Adelya or Heldya had set out for him-he didn’t have time for a real bath. Then he dried and donned a clean set of blacks, before heading down the front staircase.
Meyena was still waiting on the love seat in the sitting room. Beside her was an older woman who looked like Lady Jacelyna, but with a more pinched face, and totally white hair. Both women rose the moment they saw Kharl. The older woman wore a long gray traveling dress with a muted purple jacket.
Ser Arynal’s younger daughter wore flowing black trousers, a cream shirt, and a dark maroon vest. “Lord Kharl.”
“Lady Meyena.”
“You’re kind. I’m not the heiress. Only Mama is properly a lady.” Her smile was tentative. “This is my aunt Aylena.”
Kharl inclined his head to the older woman. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“And I you, Lord Kharl. One seldom encounters a mage who is also a lord.”
Kharl wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but after a moment that felt all too long and awkward, he managed to reply. “That was Lord Ghrant’s choice, and who am I to second-guess his decisions?” After another silence, he added, “I must apologize. I didn’t expect company, and I’ve been working in the cooperage.”
“It was quite rude of us to come unannounced,” the young woman replied. “I know, but I brought you three bushels of redberries. We had so many of them, and I just thought it would be a shame if you didn’t have some. You can make juice if you can’t eat them all, and it will keep in a cellar for eightdays.” Meyena offered another tentative smile.
“Redberries-that was very thoughtful of you, and to come all that way.”
“No one was using the coach, and Aunt Aylena was kind enough to accompany me. Besides, it is a lovely day, and there are so few neighbors who are close.”
What she meant, Kharl realized, was that there were few neighbors who were well-off or lords. “There are few close to Cantyl, and not many, I would wager, close to your father’s lands.”
“Yes, Feldingdon is most isolated, especially in the winter. That is why I like to visit when we can.”
“I can imagine.” Kharl turned to the older woman, who was probably closer to his age than was Meyena. “Do you live at Feldingdon, or are you visiting?”
“Me? Ser Arynal was kind enough to let me have a cottage there after Durulat passed on. It is different. We had lived in Valmurl ever since we were consorted-in Hilldale, you understand.”
Kharl assumed that Hilldale was one of the better areas. “I would judge that Feldingdon is very different.”
“That it is, but Arynal has been most kind, as have the girls.” Aylena smiled at Meyena. “I was delighted to accompany her here. You know that it’s been years since a lord was in residence here?”
“So I have been told. Would you like a short tour of the grounds near the house?” Kharl smiled politely.
“That would be-“ Aylena turned to her niece. “This was your idea, dear, and I should not be deciding for you.”
“Oh, no,” protested the younger woman, “I would very much like to see what you have done here, Lord Kharl.”
“I’ve only done a few things, but I’d be happy to show you around; then perhaps you two w
ould join me for a midday dinner.”
“You’re most gracious, Lord Kharl,” offered Meyena.
Kharl could sense that the young woman meant what she said, and that she was a sweet and sincere young lady. The only problem was that he did not have the faintest interest in her, and that would make it hard on her, since her parents were clearly hoping that he would. He smiled. “Then we should start by walking down to the pier. You get a better view of the harbor from there ...”
Without a doubt, Kharl reflected, as he opened the door to the front porch-or portico, as Norelle had called it-the day would be moderately pleasant... and very long.
XLIII
A single bronze lamp illuminated the study, spilling amber-gold light over the ledger in front of Kharl. In the quiet of the night, his fingers brushed his short and square-cut brown beard as he perused the entries and figures set out in black ink on the pages before him. Speltar’s figures went back more than a decade. They were neat, and the entries clear-just another of the steward’s many virtues. When his eyes reached the bottom of the last column, he nodded and closed the ledger. For a time, he sat behind the antique desk. Then he stood and took a last look at the closed account book he had been studying for the last glass.
By any rendering he could imagine, he was well-off. Not wealthy, for the coins necessary to operate Cantyl were not insignificant, but over the past ten years, the lands, the vineyard, and the sawmill had produced an annual income above expenses of almost two hundred golds. He didn’t have many of those golds. They’d gone to Lord Estloch, but the strongbox in the cellar counting room now held almost seven hundred golds-one hundred remaining from the previous wine sales and the timber loaded on the Seastag from the time when Kharl had first come to Cantyl, the hundred remaining from the hundred and fifty Kharl had received initially from Lord Ghrant, and the most recent five hundred.
Even with the year’s timbering and planting costs ahead, and the wages for the retainers and the sawmill, there would have been some golds remaining out of the original hundred, and that was without sales of the aged red wine scheduled for the fall, and the payment for the timber consignment being readied for midsummer.
The new forest produced far less in golds, showing a profit of twenty to thirty golds a year after costs. That suggested another reason why Ghrant had been happy to settle the forestlands on Kharl. Chyhat, while a good forester, had not been the best of stewards and had been happy to relinquish those duties to Speltar, especially after Kharl had explained that his stipend would not be reduced. Speltar had recommended building several roads, closing the ancient sawmill in the new forest, improving the Cantyl sawmill, and adding another drying barn. Those changes were likely to run close to a hundred golds, including the costs of building several cots for the sawmill workers to be moved from the old sawmill to the one at Cantyl. Despite Glyan’s fears, they would actually save some golds through Kharl’s barrels. Kharl also hoped that, with the better barrels and changes in the toasting, Glyan could improve the red wine enough that they could get a better price in Valmurl, one equal to what the Rhynn received already.
He moved around the desk and stood at the window, looking out into the darkness, out at the hillside leading down to the thin black line that was the narrow pier where, little more than a season before, he had stepped off the Seastag to become ser Kharl. His eyes, with a night sight sharpened by order-magery, took in the small, nearly enclosed bay, its entrance less than a kay in width. The water was black and calm on the early-summer night, with a silverlike sheen he suspected only he-or another mage-could have seen.
For reasons he could not fully explain, Meyena’s visit had nagged at him. Yet she and her aunt had been pleasant, certainly not pushy, and the amount of redberry that they had brought had been closer to five bushels. With that, Adelya had been pleased.
“You should eat some in the morning. Plenty for juice, too. It keeps off the summer fevers,” she had told him more than once.
He had tried the juice, but it was almost too sweet for him. The apple-and-redberry pie had been more to his liking.
Meyena was less than ten years older than Arthal, he had discovered.
His lips tightened. How could he ever have foreseen that his actions in saving Lord Ghrant would have led to Arthal’s death? Was that the cruelty of the Balance-or just his own terrible misfortune? If Arthal had stuck with Kharl, it wouldn’t have happened. Jeka would have said that. Kharl knew that from the way Jeka had talked about her own mother. He’d seen the love, the pain, and the devotion in that gamine face. Yet Jeka was also practical-and honest-even after the years on the streets of Brysta.
Had his efforts to place her as a weaver with Gharan worked out? That had been the best he had been able to manage, and he wished he could have done more. Without her guidance, when he’d had to flee from Egen, he doubted that he would have survived long enough to have caught the Seastag. In a way, he owed everything he had to three people-Jenevra, the dead blackstaffer, Jeka, and Hagen.
He’d done his best to repay Hagen, although he doubted he had done near enough, but there would never be a way to repay Jenevra, and he doubted that he would be headed back to Brysta anytime soon. Not with Lord Ghrant needing him, and not with Lord West and Egen still in power in Brysta.
So why did Kharl feel so restless? Because he’d righted wrongs-or tried to-for everyone but himself and those he had loved? But how much had he loved them? Or was it as the druids of Naclos had told him-that he could not decide his future without facing his past and the land where it had occurred?
He turned back to the desk, gently blowing out the lamp, before walking up to his bedchamber in the dark.
Tomorrow, he would begin work on a simple chest for young Heldya. Adelya had hinted that every young woman needed a dower chest, and while it would be more than several years before the young woman was consorted, it was something he could do.
In the dimness of the staircase, he laughed. That was a problem he could address.
XLIV
Kharl stood on the narrow harbor pier in the midday sun, watching as a vessel he had not seen before-the Seahound-eased to the pier at Cantyl. With that name, and the side paddle wheels, even if he had not seen Hagen near the bow, he could have guessed that the ship belonged to the lord-chancellor’s merchant fleet. His stomach tightened as he wondered what problems Hagen’s presence signified because the lord-chancellor would not have left Valmurl for anything insignificant. “We were expecting the Seafox and not for another eightday.” Standing at Kharl’s shoulder, Speltar brushed back his wispy reddish hair, although it did little to cover his bald pate. “The lord-chancellor’s there. I’d wager that they didn’t come for the timber.” The steward paused. “You think they’ll take the timber, and that they’ll stay long enough for us to get the timbers from the mill? The timber is ready to load.” “All we can do is ask,” said Kharl. “How long will it take to get the timber up here?”
“Less than a glass, and a glass to load.” The two watched as Bannat caught the first line and snugged it to the inshore bollard, then ran out to the end of the pier, where he caught the second. Before long, the fenders were in place against the hull, and the Sea-hound was tight to the pier. Hagen was the first down the gangway.
Kharl stepped forward. “Welcome to Cantyl.”
“Thank you.”
“What brings you here again?” asked Kharl, smiling.
“You, of course,” returned Hagen. “It was a short trip, but thirsty.”
“You’d like some of my red wine? Is that it?”
“I’d not turn it down.”
“Before you tell me why you’re here?”
“Kharl...” Hagen counterfeited mock surprise. “Do you think so uncharitably of me?”
“As a friend, as a captain, and as a factor ... no. As lord- chancellor, I have some doubts.”
The lord-chancellor laughed. “You understand the difference too well, lord mage.”
Kharl gestured to S
peltar. “We have some timbers. They were supposed to go on the
Seafox on her next pass.”
Hagen tilted his head. “Let’s see. That’d be outbound from Valmurl.” He nodded. “We
can take them. The Fox would port in Valmurl first anyway. We’ll save Nysat a port call.
Tell Captain Haroun that I said you could load them.”
Kharl looked at Speltar. “There’s your answer.” “Thank you, ser.” Speltar inclined his head to the lord-chancellor. “If you lords will excuse me ...”
“Go.” Kharl and Hagen spoke almost simultaneously. “We might as well walk back to the house and get that wine,” Kharl suggested. “So you can soothe your throat before you tell me what I don’t want to hear.”
Hagen grinned. “It’s the best wine anywhere I port.”
“I am glad that you think so.” “How are you liking Cantyl?” asked Hagen, as they turned up the lane from the pier to the house. “I’m finding a lot to do. I’ve got the cooperage working, and I’ve made some different barrels for Glyan. He wants to see if the amount of toasting changes the wine.”
“Don’t change what’s already good,” warned Hagen.
“Oh ... he’s only going to try it on a few half barrels.” “Doesn’t work, and you can turn it to vinegar, I suppose. Be a waste of what could have been good wine.” “If he doesn’t try, how will we know if it could be better? And if it doesn’t work, then we’ll know what not to try. And ...” Kharl drew out the word, “if it’s better, we can raise the price.” Hagen chuckled. “You learned something besides ship’s carpentry on the Seastag.”
“Some,” Kharl admitted. After the two men reached Kharl’s study, and Adelya had brought up a pitcher of the red wine, drawn from the barrel in the cellar, Kharl closed the study door. He half filled two goblets and let Hagen take his choice. The lord-chancellor took a sip, then a healthy swallow. “Almost worth the trip for the wine.” “Almost? Has someone else revolted? Or misled Lord Ghrant?” Kharl looked directly at Hagen. “You wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t a matter of import.” “Nothing like that,” Hagen protested. “Not exactly, anyway.” He held up a missive. The seal had already been broken. “I received this yesterday. From Furwyl through Jeksumhe’s the master of the Seasprite. It’s about your boy.”
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