“Ser…I don’t…my father…”
“That kind of training is not like school where your father has to pay. The Council would pay for it.” Puvort paused. “Of course, you wouldn’t be earning anything, either, but you should still consider it.” His eyes dropped to Rahl’s truncheon, and he nodded slightly.
“Yes, ser.”
“Do think about it, Rahl.” With another enigmatic smile, the magister stepped away from Rahl and into the chandlery.
Rahl stepped off the porch and headed southward, the wind at his back, tearing at his tunic. He had the feeling that, despite the magister’s offer, Puvort hadn’t really wanted him to consider it. Or the magister thought he wouldn’t take it.
Should he tell his father about what Puvort had said?
That didn’t seem like a good idea at all, but he couldn’t have said why, and that bothered him as much as what the magister had told him.
The wind picked up, driving the rain, which had become sleet, into his back.
Rahl walked even faster, almost at a trot. He just wanted to get home and out of the cold. Then, he’d think things over.
VIII
Rahl was still working his way through the tedious mathematics text on fiveday afternoon when Kian came hurrying in with a small sheet of paper and a stack of larger and heavier paper posterboards.
“We’ve got a commission from the Council, but it has to be finished before sunset today. Put aside the textbook. You’ll have to help.”
“What is it?” Rahl asked, not that it mattered to him, except that anything would have been less tedious than the page before him. Despite what Fahla had wagered, he hadn’t really read much of the mathematics text, except for the obvious matters like how to calculate areas and volumes, and simple formulae.
More important from his point of view was that a good commission from the Council meant his father would be in a better mood when Rahl said he was going to Sevien’s house after supper.
“Here. You can read the words while I work the spacing and letter size for the posterboards.” Kian handed the thinner, smaller sheet to his son, adding, “They must have gone to every scrivener in Recluce to get these done.”
Whatever the paper said, then, it had to be important. Rahl read it, although he had to struggle in places because the writing was both hurried and cramped. When he finished, his eyes went back to the opening lines.
The Council of Recluce has determined that the frequency and severity of piracy has increased significantly and that such piracy has been largely undertaken by Jeranyi vessels. With the failure of the ruler of Jerans to abate such reprehensible acts…
…all in Recluce are hereby notified that any and all trade and commerce with any vessel bearing a Jeranyi flag or crewed by Jeranyi or owned by Jeranyi is hereby forbidden. Purchase of goods from Jerans is also prohibited, and any merchant or factor holding such goods must dispose of them within an eightday of the date of this notice-or turn them over to the Council for partial compensation. Any trader or merchant from Jerans is to leave Recluce within an eightday of the date of this notice. All who fail to do so may have all goods and coins confiscated, at the determination of a justicer appointed by the Council…
After a moment, he looked toward Kian. “What good will this do? Why don’t they just go out and destroy the pirates?”
“The oceans are vast, and Recluce has but few ships compared to the size of those oceans…” began Kian.
“-and the ships that can catch and destroy the pirates belong to the engineers in Nylan, and they don’t want to spend their time chasing pirates?”
Kian shook his head. “It’s not that simple. They’ve caught and sunk a score of pirate vessels, or so I’ve heard, but some of the pirates fly different flags in every port they enter and change the names on their ships. The important part is the expulsion of the traders. Factors, merchants, and traders account for far more coins than do the pirates, especially those who work with the pirates and sell their plunder.”
“The Council wants the traders to put pressure on the Duke of Jerans to stop the piracy,” Rahl suggested.
“He’s an autarch, I think. Or maybe a consul who theoretically pledges allegiance to Sarronnyn. But they have that in mind. What will happen is that our factors and traders will trade more with those they know and trust and less with those they don’t. They won’t like it, but the magisters will come back and ask them, and if they lie, they’ll be exiled as well.”
“What if they’re honestly mistaken?”
“Then they’ll be warned and watched more closely.”
Rahl wondered what that would do to Fahla and her family.
“Now…I’ll make the first one, and you can use that as a model,” Kian began.
Rahl watched and waited, then began on a third copy while Kian started a second one.
Neither spoke much as the afternoon waned.
When Rahl finished his last copy, the sun was low in the sky, low but still not close to twilight. Kian waited for the posterboards to dry because the heavier stock absorbed more ink.
“Ten fair copies in an afternoon, with the Council embellishments! A good day’s work. A good day’s work,” repeated Kian, before turning to Rahl. “You can start cleaning up. But check the new batch of ink first.”
“Yes, ser.” Rahl stretched and then headed for the door.
Kian’s request to check the ink was as close to a compliment as Rahl was likely to get, because it meant Kian had no complaints about Rahl’s latest work. But then, reflected Rahl, his hand was as good as his father’s. Also, because he could feel what was happening, his inks usually turned out better than his father’s, not that he was going to say that. He just wished at times his father would recognize it.
Outside in the mild air that had followed the storm earlier in the eightday, Rahl couldn’t help but think about what Magister Puvort had said. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a trap. Yet, at some point, Puvort might mention it to Rahl’s parents. He would need to tell them, but at the right time.
Rahl used his order-sense to help the melding and mixing of the oak galls, the bit of added iron-brimstone, and the tree gum. When he’d been younger, he’d wondered why his parents didn’t see when some things didn’t go together. They’d just looked at him blankly, and, after a very short time, he had stopped asking.
He closed the shed door carefully and went back to the pump and washstones to clean up. By the time he had finished and walked back into the house, his father and mother were seated at the table. Supper was simple-bread, cheese, and a leftover soup/stew that had been reheated more times than it should have been.
Still, it was after sunset before he left the house. In the dimness he passed the orchard. Someone was there, waiting. Jienela?
“Rahl…” The whisper came from the trees beyond the orchard wall.
He walked to the wall and leaned against it, as if waiting. Even if Quelerya saw him, what could she say to his mother? That he was leaning against the wall? “What is it?”
“I…I needed to talk to you, but you never came.”
“I didn’t know you were back.” He’d suspected that she might be…but he hadn’t actually known, and he really hadn’t wanted to go looking for Jienela, not with his parents’ disapproval and constant comments. Besides, Fahla made Jienela look…well, dull. Sweet and pretty, but dull. Even Shahyla had more spark than Jienela.
“I’ve been back since twoday.” There was a pause. “I’ve missed you.”
He could sense her sadness…and longing. “I’ve missed you.” What else could he say? “Jienela…my father’s gotten really strict.”
“He’s always been strict. That’s why you’ve had to sneak out to see me. That’s what you told me. Can’t you come back later, when it’s darker?”
“I can’t. He and Mother found out about us. Quelerya’s been watching, and she told Mother.”