Kharl’s eyes and senses focused on the single long crate in the hoist sling-and sensed chaos-tightly bound within iron. “There’s something wrong with that crate in the sling.”
“Lord Kharl?” asked Furwyl.
“Don’t let Bemyr load that crate,” Kharl said tightly. “Swing it back onto the pier. There’s something dangerous in it.”
“Bosun! Swing that back to the pier! On the double!”
“Bring her around! Back to the pier. Don’t ask questions!” Bemyr hurried down the gangway toward the pier. “Where’s that teamster?”
“Stay here!” Kharl ordered Erdyl, before rushing back down the gangway after the bosun, but Demyst immediately turned and followed Kharl. The undercaptain had his blade out at the foot of the gangway.
As he neared the crate, Kharl could sense the chaos within it, massive but restrained. He’d never felt anything quite like it. He turned to the wagon before him, whose driver had vanished, but none of the other crates seemed to contain anything like the first one.
Bemyr approached the crate where it sat on the pier. He turned to Kharl, who had stopped halfway back along the side of the wagon. “This one, right?”
“That’s the one. Don’t touch-”
Bemyr kicked it with his heavy boot. Nothing happened. “Looks all right.”
“It’s not. There’s something in it.”
“It’s just this crate, right?” asked the bosun. “Just dump it in the water. That’ll take care of it.”
“No! Leave it-”
Before Kharl could say anything more, Bemyr had hoisted the heavy crate, grunting as he did, and pitched it off the pier. So heavy was the crate that it splashed into the water just beside the pier, sinking so that the top edge was only a handspan above the water within moments. Bemyr stepped forward, looking down at the water, three cubits or so from the top of the pier.
Kharl could sense chaos building within the crate and threw up a shield, but Bemyr was too far from the mage-too far if Kharl had to cover Demyst and himself.
Chaos flared up from the top of the crate.
“Back!” yelled Kharl, too late, as a wave of destruction and flame roared over the bosun.
Pieces of iron slammed into the sides of the pier. The two horses screamed-if but for an instant-as flames seared them.
Bemyr’s charred figure toppled onto the edge of the pier, then dropped into the water. The horses reared, trying to escape both the pain and the wagon traces. Kharl’s senses swept over the animals, and his stomach twisted. With so much chaos … there was no way to save them.
For a moment, he just stood there. What … what could he do?
The wagon lurched as the dying horses tried to escape.
Kharl moved forward along the side of the wagon, then reached out with his order-senses. After a moment, he hardened the area under the nearer horse’s chest, around where he felt the heart was. The gelding dropped in the traces. Sweat began to stream down Kharl’s forehead as he did the same for the second horse.
Slowly, he looked up, blotting his forehead with the back of his hand.
No one seemed to have moved. Demyst stood to his right, blade in hand. Everyone on the deck of the Seastag moved so slowly, as if their feetwere anchored in near-solid molasses. The front half of the wagon smoldered, wisps of gray smoke rising from the seared wood and paint. Foglike steam rose from the puddles of water on the pier in front of the wagon.
Kharl swallowed, then turned to look back along the pier. He could not sense any chaos.
“Rhylla! Ghart!” ordered Furwyl. “Get a net. Do what you can for Bemyr.”
“He’s dead,” Kharl said, loudly enough for his voice to carry. He turned slowly back toward the ship.
Erdyl’s eyes were wide, fixed on Kharl as he walked up the gangway. So were those of Cevor and Alynar.
Kharl stopped short of Furwyl and looked at the captain. “I’m sorry. I had no idea something like this …”
“Wasn’t your fault, Lord Kharl.” Furwyl moistened his lips. “You told him to lay off. Heard you.” The captain looked at the carnage on the pier, then turned to a mate Kharl did not know. “Hysen … soon as they get Bemyr in canvas, we’ll be casting off. Quick-like. Single up and make ready.”
“Yes, ser.”
Furwyl looked back to Kharl. “Safest place for a ship in times like these is at sea.”
“How long before we cast off?” asked Kharl.
“Less’n quarter glass, if we cast off at all.”
Kharl understood that.
Undercaptain Demyst stood at the top of the gangway, his blade out. He jerked his head for the two guards to join him.
Furwyl studied Kharl. “Don’t think someone wants you going to Nordla, Lord Kharl. Best we get you there before they try something else. The lord-chancellor warned me.”
“Is there anyone who could take a message to him?”
“Cargo-master for all his ships hasn’t left with the manifest yet.”
“Good.” Kharl turned to Erdyl. “Get ready to take down what I say. We’ve only a few moments.” He could already hear the heavy steam engine beginning to turn over, and the smoke from the stacks had begun to thicken.
Without speaking, Erdyl had opened his case and taken out a portable inkpot.
“Best in the cabin,” suggested Furwyl.
“Thank you.” Kharl glanced to Erdyl. “This has to be quick so that we can give it to the cargomaster within a few moments.
“Yes, ser.”
Kharl hurried into the passageway leading to the master’s cabin, Erdyl following.
Once his secretary was seated at the narrow desk along the inner bulkhead, Kharl began to speak, trying to organize his thoughts.
“Honored Lord-chancellor,
A crate exploded in chaos at the pier when Bemyr threw it into the water. I had felt chaos in the crate as it was being loaded. I told him not to, but my warning was perhaps too late, and he was killed by the chaos. It was the kind of chaos that comes from white wizards. It was set off by water when the bosun threw it into the harbor. I would judge that it was built to do the same thing when bilgewater or seawater seeped into the crate when we were at sea ….
As he talked, Kharl could not help but wonder why someone did not want him to arrive in Brysta-and how they had been able to act so quickly-and without a white wizard seemingly nearby. What sort of device had they used, that stored chaos in such a fashion?
Hagen had been right, again.
LV
By midday, the Seastag was well away from Valmurl and had long since passed the low headlands marking Cantyl. Bemyr’s burial at sea had been swift and quiet, and already Reisl, whom Kharl had known when he had been ship’s carpenter under Tarkyn, had taken over as bosun.
“He’ll do a good job,” predicted Furwyl.
Kharl thought so as well, but he worried that he hadn’t been quick enough to warn Bemyr. Still, he’d never seen or sensed anything like the chaos in the crate, and there was little he could do now.
“Hagen ordered you to get me to Nordla, no matter what, didn’t he?” Kharl said quietly. He could see Erdyl stiffen with interest, although the secretary was at the starboard poop railing, several cubits away.
“That he did, Lord Kharl. Told me not to let anything stop us.” Furwyl scanned the horizon to the south before continuing. “He looks tired-like. Older, too.”
“He has to worry about all of Austra,” Kharl replied.
“Thought that was what Lord Ghrant was supposed to do.” Furwyl shook his head. “He’s too young to understand everything that can go wrong. Same thing happens when a ship’s master is too young. That’s why he needs Lord Hagen. Needs you, too.”
“He needs Hagen more,” Kharl said.
“Hope we don’t see any Hamorian warships this crossing. You think they’re the bastards got Bemyr?”
“I don’t know, but if I had to wager, that’d be where my coins went.”
“Mine, too.”
After a time, Kharl eased away, to the railing beside Erdyl. “I’m going below for a bit.”