“Watch out for Vosyn. He’s worse,” replied Carlyse dryly.
Rahl couldn’t help smiling at the banter.
He finished his breakfast—overdone egg toast and dry mutton, with a chunk of day-old bread and a healthy mug of ale—and then made his way to the duty desk. He hadn’t been seated there long enough to more than check the duty log when Vosyn elbowed him.
“Undercaptain’s coming,” murmured the older mage-guard.
Rahl looked up, then stood as the undercaptain moved toward him. “Ser.”
Craelyt was a slender man, and a good half head shorter than Rahl, but he carried himself with assurance, and muted chaos flowed around his shields. His brown eyes were alert and his face inquisitive as he studied Rahl, who could sense the chaos-probes against the light shields he’d come to maintain all the time. “You’re Rahl?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Order type, but highly skilled with weapons, is that right?”
“Jyrolt made the evaluation, ser. I just did my best.”
“If he said so, none of us would dispute it. Just truncheon?”
“Truncheon and staff, ser.” Rahl decided against mentioning his modest skills with a blade.
“Good.” Craelyt smiled, an expression both warm and professional. “We’re glad to get another good mage-guard.” He glanced to Vosyn. “It’s quiet today, and it will be till later. Tell him anything you think will help.”
“Yes, ser.”
With a nod to both mage-guards, the. undercaptain moved away, almost silently, Rahl noted.
Craelyt had been quick and professional, and he’d offered a smile almost as warm as Gheryk’s, but all his personal feelings were locked behind personal shields, and his were among the strongest Rahl had sensed in a long time.
“Good man, the undercaptain,” offered Vosyn.
“How long has he been undercaptain here?”
“Six-seven years, I’d say. Gheryk was the undercaptain on the city side, and Craelyt was undercaptain here before the Triad made Gheryk the captain, and that was five years ago, just after I got here.”
Rahl nodded.
“If you haven’t already, write down in the duty log that I’ve taken the duty, and add that you’re assisting under training.”
Rahl had already written that Vosyn had taken the duty, but he added that he was assisting under training.
After that, for the entire day, there was only one report Rahl had to write up, and that was about a peddler unlicensed to solicit on the piers. He’d drawn a miniature crossbow—and been flamed down. The mage-guards had discovered he’d actually been a Jeranyi crew member. That explained how he’d even gotten past the outer pier guards.
Dinner on eightday was even quieter, and afterward, Rahl decided to take a walk on the piers to stretch his legs. He wasn’t ready to wander around Swartheld—not yet.
When he left the quarters, it wasn’t dark enough even to be considered twilight, despite the thickening clouds and the warm damp air rolling in from the northwest, both suggesting that more rain was on the way.
Pier one had only three vessels tied up, one without an ensign, but with the name seadog on a weathered plaque under and just aft of the bowsprit, and the others bearing the limp flags of Austra and Nordla. The Seadog was an ancient sea schooner without engines or paddles, and the other two were newer side-wheel steamers, with oak hulls, and both bore the signs of great care, with varnished railings and gleaming brasswork.
Rahl smiled as he made his way to the foot of the pier and past the port-master’s guard, who nodded and said, “Good evening, ser.”
For a moment, Rahl was taken aback, almost looking around for a senior mage-guard before he realized that the pier guard was speaking to him. “Good evening.”
Behind the guard was a raised stone stand with a vacant chair—the same one occupied by the first mage-guard Rahl had met in Swartheld, the one who had told him to register.
On the northern side of pier two, near the end, he could make out the bulk of a large iron-hulled vessel, probably the Jeranyi ship. He continued to walk toward it, although he did see another mage-guard ahead, walking in the same direction.
She paused short of the Jeranyi vessel, studying it, but turned as Rahl neared, waiting for him.
Rahl stopped short and nodded. “Good evening.”
“You’re not on duty.” Her voice was firm, and almost as weathered as her face.
“No. I’m new.” Rahl looked at her, sensing the chaos-energies behind her shields, realizing that she was only moderately strong in chaos-forces, certainly not able to overcome his shields, even though he was not sure they were yet what they had once been. “I just got here late on sixday.”
“Oh… you’re the one on desk duty. I’m Dalya.” She smiled, then frowned. “I don’t think we’ve met, but… you look familiar. Were you at Dibolti station?”
Rahl smiled in return, realizing where they had met. “No. I was an outlander. You were the one who told me to register when I first came to Swartheld. One thing led to another, and I ended up a mage-clerk at Luba station, and I was sent here.”
“Did you register?” There was a hint of laughter behind the hard voice.
“You scared me so much I went and registered right after I did what I was supposed to do.”
A laugh followed his words. “Would that I had that effect on more.”
Rahl glanced past Dalya at the Jeranyi ship. Even the steel plates of the Wavecrest felt as though they carried a low-level form of chaos.
She turned and followed his gaze. “You’re an order type. What do you think?”
“Even the plates reek of chaos. I’m new, but I’d not want to encounter them at sea.”
“There’s not much we can do so long as they behave.”
“One of the Hydlenese didn’t yesterday.”
“Saelyt told me that, but I didn’t have any trouble with them or the Jeranyi.”
“What do they carry on a vessel that large?”
“Whatever they want… Yesterday, they were unloading when I came on duty. They had a couple score barrels of pickles. At least, you could smell the vinegar, and they had writing on the barrels that I thought said ‘Feyn pickles.’”
Rahl hid a frown. Pickles so early in fall? Unless they were last year’s pickles, but why would a Jeranyi ship be carrying Reduce pickles to Swartheld? Pickles weren’t something that he’d seen on a manifest… but there was something about pickles that he should remember…
“What are you thinking?” asked Dalya.
“About pickles.” He shook his head, hoping he could remember what he’d been thinking about. A raindrop struck the back of his neck, and he glanced up. The clouds overhead were definitely darker. “It won’t be long before the rain gets heavier.”
“I need to check pier three. Might as well get started before I get soaked.”
Rahl nodded and walked back along the pier with her, passing a Sligan brig, then a battered Lydian side-wheeler with a bastard rigging he’d never seen before.
“Do you know who you’ll be patrolling with yet?”
“Myala.”
“Good woman, but don’t ever try to mislead her about anything. She won’t forget it.”
“Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t have said much, but you did listen to me once.”
Rahl laughed softly, the sound barely louder than the faint pattering of raindrops on the stone of the pier.
At the end of the pier, Rahl nodded slightly. “Good evening.” He didn’t really want to get drenched in the rain that was increasing in intensity with every moment.
“Good evening, Rahl.”
As he hurried back toward his quarters, he just wished he could remember what it was about pickles. But he also had to take some time to relax and open himself up to sensing what lay around him.
On threeday evening, after supper, Rahl left the mage-guards’ mess and walked toward the pier-guard station. After five days of mostly sitting and writing, he was more than ready to leave the port area around the mage-guard station.
He’d already learned from the station manual that, during the working day, two mage-guards were stationed on the piers, one as a roving patrol, and the other with the two main pier guards at the entrance to the pier area. There were also guards armed with falchionas at the foot of each individual pier. After sunset, when the piers were cleared of vendors and wagons, only one mage-guard remained on a roving duty, and the two armed guards remained at the main guard post. There were-no individual pier guards after sunset unless ordered for special reasons. The pier-duty mage-guard was supposed to remain close to the main guard post at night, except when conducting periodic inspections of the piers.
As he neared the main guard post, he could hear Dalya talking to the pier guards. “… still worry about the Jeranyi… good thing the Hydlenese left, but watch the crew on Byneget Bay if they come by…” As she caught sight of Rahl, she stopped. “You headed out?”
“Just for a walk. I need to refresh my memory about where things are.”
Dalya nodded. “Understand there’s a crowd at the Red Pier. If you go by there, I’d have the truncheon out.”
“I appreciate that.” Rahl smiled pleasantly.
Dalya turned back to the pier guards. “… probably not see much for a while yet… don’t take your eyes off the Jeranyi…”
Rahl continued south until he reached the avenue that ran from the northeast to the southwest and several blocks farther to the southwest joined the boulevard that fronted on the Nylan Merchant Association building. He realized he was coming close to disobeying Captain Gheryk, but so long as he merely walked by the Merchant Association, he wasn’t probing or seeking anything… and besides, it was on one of the main streets.
The fall evening was early enough that couples walked down the stone way in-the center of the divided avenue under the false giant acacia trees, and carriages and a few riders traveled on both sides, although the traffic was far more sparse than in midday. Most glanced at Rahl— or his uniform—and nodded politely, but did not let their gaze linger on him long at all.
He did let his order-senses take in anything around him.
As he neared a bench on which a couple were entwined more closely than might have been decorous, he sensed someone behind the tree to their right, and he could sense a certain amount of greed—possibly a petty cutpurse. Rahl stepped past the couple, who barely seemed to note him and toward the tree, drawing his truncheon and wishing he had enough order control to become less visible.
A youth darted from the tree, then froze, looking at Rahl.
“Ah… ser… good evening, ser,” the young man finally stammered.
“What you had in mind could get you in most serious trouble,” Rahl said quietly. “Since you didn’t do it… I won’t take you in, but if I see you up to it again, it will go twice as hard.” Even projecting his displeasure, he doubted his words would have that much effect. An offense hadn’t actually been committed, and that meant he couldn’t do that much except warn the boy.
Surprisingly, the youth paled, actually quivering, and stepped back. “Yes, ser. I won’t even think of it. Please, ser.”
“On your way.”
“Yes, ser.”
The young man practically ran from Rahl.
By now the couple had disentangled, and Rahl turned. “I wouldn’t get so lost in each other in a place where cutpurses ‘could make off ”with something.“ Then he nodded and continued on.
Behind him, he could sense relief.
“… if he told… your consort…”
“… not as though it’s an offense…”
Rahl shook his head slightly.
Before long, he crossed to the boulevard, but to the paved sidewalk on the north side. Ahead to his right, he could see Eneld’s, where the lamps were still lit, but the lacemaker’s windows were shuttered and dark. Across the boulevard to his left, he could see the Nylan Merchant Association. As he neared it, he slowed his steps, realizing that he still had his truncheon out.
A clerk Rahl did not recognize walked swiftly toward him and passed him, giving Rahl a quick and perfunctory nod. Rahl didn’t sense any chaos or anything but faint worry and returned the nod.
Across the boulevard, the door to the Association building was locked, and the interior dark. The gates to the warehouse yard were also locked, but he could see at an angle a light in the upper-level window where Daelyt and his consort lived—or had lived, since Rahl had no idea even whether Daelyt was still working for Shyret.
Rahl shook his head.
Given the whiteness he’d sensed around the head clerk the year before, and Daelyt’s consort’s inability to walk far, he doubted that Daelyt had left the Association. Then, what would happen when Shyret was rotated to another port? Did the clerk remain? Follow the managing director? Find another position?
Rahl didn’t know and wished that he did.
He turned his attention to the cantina immediately on his right, glancing in through the one window. Seorya was serving a couple—obviously consorted or related, or they wouldn’t have been at the same table. She looked up as he passed, but he sensed no real interest or recognition, and that was for the best.
Rahl walked another two blocks, then crossed the boulevard and walked back on the south side. He did not change his pace as he passed the warehouse yard gates once more, although he did try to sense anything out of the ordinary. All he could feel was a sense of whiteness, not overpowering, but stronger than when he had been a clerk.