Erdyl frowned. “There was something about him. I didn’t like him. He didn’t look at me, not straight. He kept asking why I wanted to know all this. I hope you didn’t mind, ser, but I told him that envoys tell their secretaries what to do, and we don’t ask too many questions, not if we want to keep being secretaries. I did tell him that you’d once been in trade and liked to know what was being traded where. That seemed to settle him some. He didn’t say much, except that the cloth was Hamorian cotton and not up to the standard of good Nordlan linen.”
“Is there anything else I should know?”
Erdyl’s brows narrowed in concentration, and he cocked his head slightly, almost squinting, before he finally spoke. “There is one thing. Derdan … he said something about having trouble meeting prices when harbor tariffs had been lowered on cotton. It was almost under his breath, but when I asked him, he just shook his head.”
“Did it look like any of them had added or lost weavers?”
“I never saw Derdan’s back room, but I didn’t see new looms or empty looms with either Gharan or Soret …″
After another quarter glass, Kharl stood and led the way to the dining room.
There, he didn’t say much at supper, his thoughts partly on the cotton from Hamor. Given how many patrollers he’d seen already, there must have been hundreds, if not thousands of yards of the cloth, and all of a uniform dye. If none of the three weavers were complaining too much about lost business, then Kharl judged that not much cloth besides that had been shipped from Hamor … but that was a guess.
He was still concerned about Jeka, glad as he was that she was still with Gharan. He could still call up that gaminelike smile, infrequent as it had been in the cold days between the walls.
After supper, he retired to the library, where he tried to sort out all that he had learned since he’d arrived in Brysta. It didn’t seem to help. Finally, he turned out the lamps and headed up to the overlarge bedchamber. He doubted that he would sleep all that well, but pacing around the library wasn’t helping, either.
LXVI
Kharl had been right. On threeday night, he had not slept that well, worrying about what Luryessa had said, about what all the cotton for uniforms meant, about why he had reacted so strongly to Erdyl’s almost casual observations about Jeka. He also found his thoughts swirling over the question of whether he was hopeless as an envoy.
All the matters that Luryessa had brought up did not surprise him.Hagen had prepared him for the worst concerning Hamor’s intentions. Nor had Luryessa’s wealth of knowledge surprised him. She had asked nothing, but had learned more than Kharl would have liked to reveal. Yet he knew he could not be a hermit. He also knew that within another eightday or so, Lord West and the other envoys would learn more about him once they received word from the envoys and spies in Valmurl and elsewhere in Nordla. That was, if they had not already learned it. He doubted that he had more than another eightday at most before word would be everywhere in Brysta that he was a mage-or might be one.
When Kharl woke on fourday, he was still worrying, but he had some ideas. He washed and shaved, and dressed quickly, before making his way down to the smaller breakfast room, where a mass of egg toast and ham and breads awaited him, with both cider and ale-more of everything than either he or Erdyl or Demyst would ever be able to finish.
Erdyl was already eating, heartily, with all the zest of a growing young man. He looked up with a contented smile. “Good morning, Lord Kharl.”
“Good morning.” Kharl seated himself. After he had several bites, and some cider, he looked across the breakfast table at Erdyl. “We will need to offer entertainment to the other envoys.”
“It is summer, Lord Kharl.” The secretary looked puzzled. “One does not entertain before late harvest.”
“Harvest will be here before that long, and it will take time to plan out such an event. I would like you to contact other secretaries once more and work with Fundal and Khelaya. We need to host a party or reception, or whatever they are called, as soon as it is acceptable to do so.”
“Yes, ser.”
“You will contact the other secretaries. Explain that you have never done this, and that is why you are talking to them so soon again. Pretend to be what they think you are, a younger son of a lord who knows little.”
“You want me to find out everything I can?”
“Yes. But make sure that you keep talking about our reception.”
Erdyl nodded brightly. “I can only be stupid for a while before I should have learned something.”
“That is true. Also, if you seem not to know much …″
“They won′t expect as much of me.”
“Or of me.” Kharl hoped that was so. “I’m going to watch Lord Justicer Reynol this morning, and then, this afternoon after we eat, the undercaptainand I are going to take a walk. That will leave the carriage for you to use this afternoon, if you need it.”
“Yes, ser.”
“A walk?” asked Demyst. “Not even a ride, ser?”
“We won’t be learning much about Brysta if we don’t look at it. We’ll walk down Crafters’ Lane. We can go into shops and talk to people. A ride may come later.”
“Ser,” began Erdyl, “envoys don’t usually-”
Kharl just looked at Erdyl. Doing what other envoys did would only make matters worse. They had spies and retainers and knew how to use them. Kharl didn’t.
“Yes, ser.”
“You put it that way, ser, sounds like a good idea,” added Demyst.
Kharl thought so, but that depended on what they learned.
“I was looking through the armory, and I found something that might be useful, ser.”
“You know I’m useless with a blade, and carrying a staff would mark me.” He snorted. “Envoys don’t carry cudgels, either.”
“Ah … ser … I found a long truncheon. Must be years old, but it’s sound, and it’s got a scabbard. Looks like a shortsword, but it’s heavy. Lorken or black oak, I’d say.”
That brought Kharl up short, but only for a moment. If it looked like a blade, at least from a distance, the truncheon might serve several purposes. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “That’s a good thought. I’ll wear it this afternoon.”
“Not this morning?”
“I’m going into the Hall of Justice itself. They won′t allow weapons inside. They don’t care if I am a lord and envoy. You can leave your blade behind, or you can wait outside for me.”
“Outside, ser.”
Kharl finished eating quickly, then went upstairs to finish getting dressed while Demyst and Mantar readied the horses and carriage.
In his large bedchamber, Kharl pulled on the black jacket, then fingered his chin as he looked into the floor-length mirror. He still had trouble recognizing himself without the beard. He hoped others in Brysta did as well. Then he descended to the library, where he picked up the leather case he had been using for his studies.
Mantar had the carriage drawn up beside the residence by the timeKharl stepped outside, into what promised to be another hazy, sultry day. He’d forgotten how steamy Brysta could be before the late-summer rains finally arrived.
“Let’s go.” Kharl climbed up into the carriage.
Demyst followed.
The streets of Brysta looked no different on fourday than they had on any other day. There were still fewer people than Kharl remembered, and neither beggars nor unaccompanied young women. He could still recall Charee running through the streets before they had been consorted, and Tyrbel’s daughters coming and going-until the time Egen had attacked Sanyle. Had things changed that much in little more than a year?
Just before Mantar brought the carriage to a stop outside the Hall of Justice, Kharl realized something else. Not only were there Watch patrollers on almost every block, but he had not seen a single regular armsman or lancer since he had returned to Brysta. There had never been many, but there had been some.