With a brief smile and a nod, the magistra turned and walked from the hall.
Rahl just stood stock-still for a moment, then carried his platter and mug to the corner and dipped them in the rinsing buckets and racked them.
He turned and took several steps, then stopped, wondering exactly what he should do next.
A muscular young man, perhaps a year or two older than Rahl, walked over. “You’re new, aren’t you? I’m Khalyt.”
Rahl could sense the other’s charm, a charm fueled by order. He forced a smile. “I’m Rahl. Are you from Nylan?”
Khalyt shook his head. “I’m from Feyn. That’s where Brede came from.”
Rahl had no idea who Brede was.
“Brede was the one who saved Dorrin and made Nylan possible. Kadara’s named after his consort.” Khalyt shrugged. “Not many people know that.”
“What do you do here?”
“Work and study, the same as anyone else, the same as you’ll do. I’m studying to be an engine designer. They say that the engines on the black ships can’t be improved, but anything can be made better. Have they told you what you’ll be doing?”
“Studying languages.”
Khalyt shook his head. “Better you than me.” He turned as a petite young woman approached. “This is Meryssa. Meryssa, this is Rahl.”
Meryssa’s short black hair glistened almost with a light of its own. Her black eyes fixed on Rahl. She smiled politely. “Welcome to Nylan, home of the dedicated, dispossessed, and distressed.”
“Which are you?” replied Rahl.
“All three. Most of us are. Recluce doesn’t want us, and the rest of the world would only enslave us. So we become very dedicated to avoid further dispossession and distress. If we can. You’ll see.”
Rahl was afraid he might. “Work hard and well or see the world?”
“That’s the way it is. The magisters don’t put it quite that way,” replied Meryssa.
“You’re giving him a bad impression.” Khalyt looked to Rahl and offered a smile, one short of falsity and not quite ingratiating, but barely. “She’s so direct it can be unsettling.”
“That’s true.” Meryssa continued to study Rahl. “I work at it.”
He thought he sensed something-sadness, perhaps-behind her bright black eyes. “What are you studying?”
“Nothing. Not anymore. I’m going to be an assistant purser on one of the trading ships. I’ll find out which one in the next eightday or so.”
“Is that good?” Rahl honestly didn’t know.
“Good? No. It’s better than the alternatives.” She smiled to Rahl, then nodded to Khalyt and slipped away.
“I’d better be going,” Khalyt said. “I’ll see you here and around.”
As Khalyt left, Rahl realized that he stood alone in the hall. After a moment, he shrugged and began to retrace his way out of the hall and back to his quarters. On the way, he saw others, usually in pairs, seated on benches or on the low stone walls, but no one else made any move to approach him, and he certainly didn’t feel like approaching them.
He was tired, and he could use a good night’s sleep-if all the thoughts and feelings swirling through his mind would let him sleep.
XVI
Rahl had been tired enough, but sleep eluded him for a long time as he lay in the solid bed in his new quarters, looking up into the darkness. It wasn’t the bed; it was more comfortable than his own had been. The easy charm of Khalyt had disturbed him more than the hidden sadness of Meryssa, but both had bothered him. The chilling matter-of-fact statements by Magistra Kadara hadn’t helped much either, nor had her skeptical and almost dismissive manner. Nor had the number of people bustling through the eating hall. How many exiles were there, and where had they come from?
Eventually, he did sleep…and woke with the dawn bell.
He only washed up, rather than showering, since he had showered the night before, and he wasn’t ready for another cold shower. He did shave, not that his beard was that long, with the small razor that had been wrapped in cloth and under the towel on his bed, along with the square of soap.
He was more than a little surprised to find several women swathed only in towels making their way back from the washstones. While one was more than a little shapely, another looked to be more the age of his mother. None of them gave him even a single glance, and from that he decided that manners meant not looking.
Back in his room, he finished dressing, then made his way to the eating hall. As he stepped forward to serve himself, he realized that most of those in the hall were dressed in gray, and that his brown and tan garments made him stand out.
He filled his platter and found an empty corner of a table. Someone sat down. He looked up to see a girl seated across from him. Then he realized she was older than that. She just looked girlish because she was thin and had a narrow face and long brown hair braided and coiled into a bun at the back of her head.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Rahl replied cautiously.
“I’m Anitra. I just got here last eightday. I’m from Huldryn. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a hamlet west of Enstronn.”
“I haven’t heard of Enstronn,” Rahl admitted. “I’m Rahl.”
“You must be from the north.”
“Land’s End.” He took a sip of ale.
“Is the Black Holding really on a hill that overlooks the harbor? Have you ever been there? Is there anything about it that makes you think of Megaera?”
“I’ve been there. Once. That was when the Council decided to send me here. I never saw anything that might have been made by the founders…except the stonework. It was good.”
“I’m sorry. I just wondered. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She put her hands on the edges of her platter, as if to slide it away or move down the bench away from him.
“Don’t go. I’m sorry. You just surprised me.” Rahl tried to study her, to feel what she was like. He could sense nothing.
She laughed, ruefully. “You look like all the mages when they meet me. They can’t sense anything about me. That’s why I’m here. It makes them uncomfortable. Are you a beginning mage?”
“I was a scrivener. I don’t know what I’ll be. They said I might learn languages.”
“Oh…that would be so good. I’d love to learn how people in Hamor and Nordla and Austra speak.”
“The Nordlans and the Austrans speak pretty much the same as we do. At least, the letters in their books look the same.” Rahl took a large mouthful of the heavy bread, slathered with thin mixed fruit conserve, and then a bite of the breakfast sausage. He followed it with a swallow of ale, thinking, as he did, that it was far inferior to what Shahyla had given him. He almost wished that he’d just courted her and left Jienela alone-except he still recalled the gelding knife and how that had bothered him…both the knife and the casual way in which Shahyla had handled it.
“I’m studying to be a machinist.”
“A machinist?” Rahl had no idea what that even was.
“Machinists work with the engineers to cut and grind metal for machines, especially for the black ships. I’ve got good hands for that, Ludwyn says.”
“How do you cut metal? With a chisel?”
“I suppose you could, but we use wheels with sharp edges…and grindstones to smooth the edges. Special grindstones. The engines power ’em all.” Anitra stood up.
Rahl realized that she’d been eating as fast as she’d talked.
“I’ll see you later, Rahl.”
“Oh…yes.”
“Better finish that up quick. Won’t be long afore you got to be somewhere.” With a wave she was gone.
Rahl didn’t exactly gulp down the remainder of his food, but he did hurry.
Even so, there was a magistra approaching him as he rinsed his dishes.
“You must be Rahl. I’m Leyla.” She had an open cheerful face and attitude.