To Rahl, that didn’t sound all that different from Land’s End.
“How do they look at use of order-and chaos-skills?”
“If they’re used as the Emperor wishes, that’s acceptable, and those who serve him directly are respected. Only outlanders or healers are allowed to serve others.”
Rahl wasn’t sure what else to ask, and Tamryn seemed reluctant to volunteer more on the rest of the ride down into the harbor area.
The Merchant Association building was set slightly east and north of the main shipping piers, but on an avenue that ran along the seawall. The second-story windows were narrow but tall, while those on the ground level were high and narrow. The oiled door was of dark oak, a gold so deep it was almost brown. Tamryn eased the cart to a halt, vaulted off the seat, and tied the mare to an iron post painted black. “We won’t be long, lady,” he said to the mare.
Then he walked toward the door, which he opened, and stepped inside. Rahl followed and closed the door behind himself. They stood in an open area bordered on all sides by oak counters as old and as oil-polished as the front door.
Two clerks sat on high-backed stools behind the counters, whose surfaces were just slightly higher than a dining table, one on the right, the other on the left. Beside each were various stacks of paper. The stool at the counter opposite the door was vacant. Farther to the rear of the open chamber was a paneled wall, and in the center was an archway, off which at intervals were several doors.
From one of those hurried a tall but round-faced man so bald on top that his remaining silver-blond hair formed a furry ring around a tanned and shining scalp. Handlebar mustaches filled the space between his upper lip and nose and flowed out almost to his ears. “Magister Tamryn…you caught me checking a cargo reconciliation.”
Tamryn nodded politely. “We did not mean to interrupt.” He inclined his head. “This is Rahl, Ser Varselt. As we explained, he was trained as a scrivener and has a good head for neatness and is capable with figures. He knows High and Low Temple, as well as having a working and speaking knowledge of Hamorian.”
“He’ll be most useful here for now, but Master Shyret in Swartheld will be most pleased. A scrivener with a good and working knowledge of Hamorian-we don’t see many of those. No, we don’t.”
Rahl could sense the veiled curiosity from the two clerks.
“He’ll be available every afternoon, starting now until his ship comes in,” Tamryn said.
“We’ll have plenty of work for him,” Varselt promised, “that we will.”
“Then I’ll leave Rahl in your capable hands.” Tamryn bowed, turned, and departed.
Varselt gestured toward the vacant stool. “For now, that will be yours, Rahl. Gorot and Wulff will instruct you on how each form is to be filled out. Now in Swartheld, some of the forms-the ones that go to the Emperor’s tariff enumerators-must be filled out in Hamorian, but here the tariff declarations are done in High Temple. Not that there’s really much use of words-mostly figures, but they must be precise. No smudges. No…no smudges at all.” Varselt bobbed his head cheerfully, and his ample jowls shook as well.
Rahl made his way to the stool, undecided about whether to climb onto it or wait.
“Take a seat. Take a seat,” said Varselt jovially. “Look over the forms. You’ll get a smudged and crumpled one from the ship’s master or supercargo, and your task is to provide three fair copies, one for the ship, one for the association, and a final one for the tariff collectors. They’ll check the cargo against the copy the ship gives you, but they’ll want both the one they seal and a clean copy.” The managing director nodded to Gorot. “I need to get back to that reconciliation. Take him through the declaration first.”
The thin-faced Gorot hopped off his stool and walked to where Rahl sat.
The clerk set a partly filled-out printed form on the counter.
At that moment, Rahl could definitely see a reason for the use of Magister Sebenet’s printing press, especially with three copies for every vessel.
“This is what the straight declaration of cargo looks like,” Gorot began. “Two sections, one for everything off-loaded and one for everything on-loaded. There has to be one for every port the ship makes. Of course, we only have to do the ones here in Nylan, but sometimes we have to make copies for ports where there’s no association representative. Purser or supercargo has to put down everything that has more than a token value. Captain has to sign it. Right now, a token value means more than a silver…but that doesn’t mean that a trader can get away with not listing a keg of nails or spikes because a single spike is less than a copper. Token value applies to the units in which a cargo is usually traded. Cloth-yards for fabric, kegs for nails, amphorae for oils…you get the idea. The cargo declaration is not the same as the manifest. The captain’s manifest is usually kept by the purser or supercargo, and it’s a listing of all cargo carried from port to port. There’s a separate manifest for each leg of a trading voyage, and at the end, we have to go through them and reconcile the declarations with the manifests. You probably won’t do many reconciliations in Hamor because the home port of all Association vessels is here in Nylan. If you do, of course, everything should balance.”
Wulff looked around and, seeing no one near, laughed. “Never does. Never. But Ser Varselt and the other directors don’t say anything if the difference is a few golds or less. More than that, they call the captain in. Bad business, that. Captains know it, too. Sometimes, they’ll sneak in with a different declaration.”
“And?” asked Rahl cautiously.
“You got to look at ’em and decide. Was the original right, or is the one he holds right?”
Rahl could see that might be a problem for most clerks, even if they could tell.
“If it’s a lot, you just tell ’em you can’t do it, because Ser Varselt or the directors’ll bring in a mage. Most captains won’t try it unless they made a mistake on the original and are just trying to set it right. Thing is, they got to make the coins balance, too.”
Rahl hadn’t even considered this side of trading.
XXXII
Rahl followed the routine dutifully for more than an eightday, still trying to perfect Hamorian in the morning and working at the Merchant Association in the afternoon. Almost immediately, Wulff and Gorot had given him the job of making the second and third fair copies of the various forms. Even so, after just a few days, he had mastered the standard terms and usages in the most-used forms.
What was far more difficult was the arms training with Zastryl and Aleasya. Some evenings, his entire body felt as though it were on fire when he collapsed into his narrow bed, even as he improved enough so that they only struck him infrequently. He did discover that the chaos-pain was far less if he only defended himself rather than attempting any sort of attack.
He also finally got around to something else he’d been putting off, and that was writing a letter to his parents. He didn’t really want to tell them his exile was permanent, and there was a chance it might not be. So he just said that he was being sent as a clerk to Swartheld, and how he did there would determine what might happen next. He added that he’d been learning Hamorian and that he’d received more training with staff and truncheon, as well as instruction in his new duties. He told them not to worry and that he would write as he could. What else could he really say?
On and off, he looked for Deybri at meals, but never saw her. Was she avoiding him?
Even Anitra no longer plopped herself at his table in the mess, and it had been eightdays since he’d seen Khalyt around.
Then, on sevenday, Kadara found him on his way to the evening meal.
“The Legacy of Diev ported this afternoon. That’s the ship that you’ll be taking to Swartheld. You’ll report to Captain Liedra before midmorning tomorrow. As a clerk of the Nylan Merchant Association, you’ll be expected to help the purser in minor ways, copying manifests or cargo declarations. Nothing you shouldn’t be familiar with by now…You can take the gray trousers, but I’d leave the gray tunics. Those won’t be that welcome in Swartheld.”