“See… not all Atlans are easy marks.”
“… he’s a big one, he is…”
“… just a clerk for someone…”
Feeling another chaos‘-mist, Rahl half turned and slashed with the truncheon. He was not gentle, and an older youth reeled back, grasping his wrist. Like the first cutpurse, he dashed away.
In turn, Rahl hurried across the street, angling between two wagons. Inside, he was more than a little angry. Where were the patrollers and the mage-guards who were supposed to deal with thieves? He could feel his fingers tightening around the truncheon, and once he stepped up to the door of the Merchant Association, he forced himself to relax. He didn’t replace the truncheon in its half sheath until he was inside.
Daelyt looked up from the consignment forms he was studying. “You don’t look happy.”
“Cutpurses. They didn’t get anything…” Rahl paused and checked his belt wallet, concealed as it had been. “No… not this time, anyway.”
“I try not to carry anything I don’t have to,” Daelyt said, shaking his head. “Little bastards will take the belt off your trousers. How did you even feel them?”
“I don’t know. I just did. I hit one of them on the wrist.”
“They’ll either be looking for you or leave you alone.” The other clerk paused. “Mean-looking truncheon you carry.”
“I was told I’d need it.”
“It’s not iron, is it? The mage-guards frown on that.”
“It’s wood.” Rahl decided against mentioning what kind of wood.
“That’s probably all right.”
“Where are the mage-guards? I’ve only seen them on the piers.”
“They’re everywhere. You don’t always see them, but they see you.”
“They didn’t see the cutpurses,” Rahl pointed out.
“With what you did, they probably didn’t need to show up.”
There wasn’t much point in saying more, except that Rahl could sense order and chaos, and he hadn’t sensed either. But he could see that there was a certain value in having people think the mage-guards could be everywhere.
“Could you make another copy of this consignment order?” asked Daelyt. “It’s from Rystinyr for three hundred stones on the Montgren.”
“I can do that.”
‘ “While you’re writing it up, I’ll hurry over to Eneld’s. The director just left, and he won’t be back for a bit. You know what to do on consignments, and you have the schedule for the ships. I won’t be long. Do you have any questions?” Daelyt slipped off his stool.
Thinking about the state of his wallet, Rahl glanced to Daelyt. “Ah… when do we get paid?”
“Good question. At the end of the day every other sixday. The last payday was last sixday. So we get paid an eightday from tomorrow.”
Rahl nodded. His coins might last that long, but he’d probably be reduced to the cheapest loaves that Gostof hawked.
Sixday came and went, and so did sevenday, although Rahl and Daelyt had to work till almost dinner on sevenday, because the
Legacy of Westwind
ported, and the ship’s master didn’t have any intention of waiting until oneday to off-load and receive his cargo declarations. From Rahl’s point of view, that had been a mixed blessing because it had meant that Shyret—or the Association—had paid for both his midday meal and the evening meal, which didn’t happen on sevendays. On the other hand, he didn’t get paid extra for the half day’s work.
When he woke on eightday morning, later than usual, he realized, again, that the day was his and that he could do as he wished. Except for one thing—he hadn’t been paid and wouldn’t be for another six days, and all he had left was a little more than one silver, and that would have to go for the bread that comprised his morning meals.
After eating half of the loaf he’d bought the day-before on the way back from his midday meal, when he’d realized that Gostof probably wouldn’t be hawking bread on end-day, he washed up and got dressed. At least, he could walk- around, and look and study Swartheld.-In fact, he told himself, the more he learned the better off he would be, because in less than a season, he’d be on his own. He hadn’t learned anything more about how to control his order-skills, but then, he’d had little enough time, and he hadn’t read much more in
The Basis of Order
either. He thought for a moment, then tucked the small black-covered book inside his summer tunic. He might find a quiet place to read.
He’d thought about writing his parents, but there was no point in it. It would be seasons before he had enough coins to pay for sending a letter to them, and anything he wrote now would have changed.
With a shrug, he slipped the truncheon into its belt straps, left his cubby, and walked to the front entrance, where he removed the bar, and unlocked the door. After stepping outside the Merchant Association building, he relocked the front door, then turned, glancing around. Heavy shutters covered the windows of the arms shop and Eneld’s cantina across the street. Farther westward, the coppersmith’s was closed, as was the lacemaker’s.
Where should he go?
In the end, he turned eastward. Daelyt had mentioned that it was cooler to the east, with nicer dwellings. Even as early as it was, the day was hot and muggy, and a faint silvery haze covered the green-blue sky, washing it out. Unlike the previous mornings, he passed but a few handfuls of people as he walked two long blocks eastward, and the streets were largely deserted, without a single hawker or peddler. He glanced to his left, in the direction of the harbor, where there were a few wagons, but not that many more people.
Abruptly, he laughed, if softly. Had he been in Nylan or Land’s End and seen the number of people he had passed, he would have thought it moderately busy. In Swartheld, he had already come to accept Daelyt’s definition of what was crowded.
He was sweating when he reached an avenue that angled off to the northeast, but it was broad enough that the riders, wagons, and carriages headed away from the harbor took the south side, and those headed in to the harbor, the north, while the two lanes were divided by a narrow parklike strip. On each side of the parklike divider was a line of trees that resembled giant acacias, except the leaves were broader, and in the middle was a stone-paved sidewalk, shaded by the overhanging trees.
Rahl gratefully crossed the street and took the shaded sidewalk.
Less than two hundred cubits farther along, he saw an empty stone bench to the right and he decided to sit down mere and cool off. After wiping his forehead, he watched the part of the avenue before him, the half for the wagons heading to the harbor. Only two empty wagons passed, and then the avenue was untraveled for a time before a covered carriage passed, holding two couples. They were having an animated conversation, but Rahl couldn’t make out the words as they rode by him.
Finally, he stood and resumed his .walk, taking his time and appreciating the shade provided by the leafy canopy of the overhanging limbs.
He passed another bench where two older men sat, side by side, not talking. Neither looked up, nor did they move.
Coming down the sidewalk toward him was a large-framed young woman, pushing a small wheeled carriage with a seat. In the small seat was a child, bound loosely in place by a cloth band. Rahl had never seen such a child carriage, but then, why would he have? To make it would cost coins, perhaps a gold or more, and what purpose would it have in Recluce? Then again, perhaps the wealthier merchants and factors in Nylan or Land’s End had such for their children.
Rahl nodded politely to the woman, but she was lost in her own thoughts and did not even see his gesture.
The small shops that had lined the avenue near the harbor had given way to small dwellings. All were in relatively good repair, with flat yellow tiles and stucco walls washed with white. They were so crowded together that the dwellings all shared the walls that surrounded their small rear courtyards, and the houses seemed to have common sidewalk. A man could climb up a corner wall and look into the courtyards of three of his neighbors. Even the poorest areas of Land’s End were not so cramped.
Rahl kept walking.
After another half kay or so along the avenue and the walk, he came to a boulevard branching off to his left that looked as though it might lead seaward, but it was not divided or tree-lined. Rahl decided to keep following the tree-lined median parkway, although it was beginning to rise gently. Still, the avenue was certainly cooler, and besides, he wanted to see where it went. It wasn’t as though he had anything else better to do.
He walked another half kay or so, coming to the top of a low rise, where he could see that the avenue ended only a few hundred cubits ahead at a street perpendicular to the avenue. Where the avenue ended, of course, so did the shaded center parkway and sidewalk.
Rahl stopped just short of the end of the avenue and looked at the cross street. On the street ahead were larger dwellings, all of at least two stories, and all set behind stone walls and gates. The roofs were all of a pale yellow tile, curved and joined, unlike the roofing on the meaner dwellings closer to the harbor, and the walls were of plaster or stucco, painted pastel shades. From the trees he could see rising behind those walls, there were gardens and courtyards surrounding the dwellings-on all sides.
He studied the hillside behind the first line of dwellings, realizing that those farther east were higher—and far larger. Before him were more magnificent dwellings than existed in all of Reduce, he suspected.
Someone coughed, off to his right.
Rahl turned to see a patroller—a mage-guard, he mentally corrected himself—in khaki and black, with crimson insignia, sauntering in his direction. The mage-guard’s hand was hear the hilt of his falchiona, but he seemed relaxed as he stopped short of Rahl.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking a walk, ser. I’m new in Swartheld, and I had the day off.”
“Where do you work?”
“I’m a clerk at the Merchant Association.”
The patroller nodded. “Do you know where you are, young fellow?”
“The other clerks said it was cooler on the hills to the east.”
This time the patroller laughed. “You are from Ada, no doubt about that. This is where factors and merchants live. At least, you didn’t walk up here in rags.”
“I was just looking for a cool and shady place. I wanted to see more of Swartheld.” Rahl smiled pleasantly. All that he said was true enough.
“There’s a park where you could go. It’s a little west of here.” The patroller pointed back down the tree-lined avenue Rahl had walked up. “About five streets down, there’s a boulevard that heads north. To your right, toward the ocean. If you follow it, you’ll see the park. It’s a nice place. You’ll fit in there.”
“Thank you.” Rahl turned obediently and headed back down the avenue, .following the directions, back to the boulevard he had passed earlier. This time, he turned north, walking on the sidewalk that was separated from the fronts of the dwellings by a dirt strip no more than three cubits wide. There were some houses with grass on each side of the walk between the sidewalk and the front door, but even there the grass was as much browned-out tan as green. Most houses had no grass at all in front, just dusty, hard-packed dirt. For all that, Rahl saw no trash, and no sagging, shutters or run-down dwellings.
After several hundred cubits, he came to what he thought might be a temple or something of the sort. While the structure was only of one story, it was tall enough for two. What made it unusual, though, was the twin spires at the end away from the street. The southern spire was narrow and rose to a point that glittered in the sun, but the northern spire curled and then straightened before ending in a strange convolution of metal strips or bars that faintly resembled the female form.‘
As he passed, he heard singing within, but could not make out the words. It had to be a temple of some sort of worshippers. He shook his head and kept walking northward, wiping the sweat from his forehead, as the sun felt more intense with every step. Then, the dwellings on the left ended, and Rahl stood at the southeastern edge of an expanse of open ground bordered on the east, south, and north by lines of dusty-leaved acacias that offered minimal shade. To the west was a low bluff, perhaps twenty or thirty cubits above the roofs and walls of the warehouses and factorages that bordered the eastern side of the harbor. Beyond the trees to the north was a jumble of dark gray and black rock, with but, occasional weeds and scrawny trees poking up from the inhospitable land.
The park actually contained areas of worn grass, as well as three groves of loosely spaced acacias with a few tables set in the groves. The pillars supporting the battered plank tabletops were of the ubiquitous yellow brick. Away from the trees were several narrow stone walks or gameways, where teams of men, two at each end, tried to skid triangular stones closest to a small stone circle of a lighter color.
The men were wearing simple short-sleeved shirts with soft collars, or no collars at all, and a number wore a kind of trouser Rahl hadn’t seen at all, that ended midway between the knee and ankle. Above ankle-length flowing pants, all the women wore flowing blouses that ran from wrist to neck. Only their sandaled feet and hands were uncovered, although the light fabric of their head scarves concealed nothing. Rahl looked more closely at a woman walking by, holding the hand of her small daughter. The fabric of her garments was light, and not tightly woven. In fact, in the bright sunlight, at times, he could see the outline of her figure.