“You don’t sound like someone who wanted to study the law, ser.” Erdyl’s tone was almost accusatory.
“I needed to learn about the law, Erdyl. That’s not the same as liking it.”
“Aye,” added Demyst. “A good lancer knows his blade well, but he’d rather not use it. If he uses it well, he lives, and the other fellow dies. If he uses it poorly, he dies. I’d wager that an advocate is like a blade.”
Kharl found himself surprised by Demyst’s observation. Then, Hagen hadn’t actually said that the undercaptain had been stupid, just that he’d never make a good captain. There were many reasons for that besides lack of brains.
“Do you think magery-” Erdyl broke off his words with a wince.
“That’s a question we don’t discuss.” As he spoke, Kharl repressed a smile. He’d heard Demyst’s boot strike the secretary’s shin. “Not now.”
“Ah … yes, sir.”
Little was said for the rest of the meal, with Erdyl’s eyes jumping back and forth between Demyst and Kharl.
Finally, Kharl took a last swallow of ale and rose. “I’ll be in the library. Demyst, if you would tell Mantar to ready the carriage?”
“Yes, ser.” The undercaptain inclined his head slightly and departed.
Erdyl followed Kharl into the library, closing the door behind them.
He squared his shoulders and looked at Kharl. “Ser … I’m sorry.”
Kharl looked squarely at the red-haired young man. “Erdyl. There are times when an apology means nothing. It might make you feel better, but the damage has already been done. This was not one of those, but it could have been, had anyone else been present. Even so, one never knows who might be listening.”
“Are you going to dismiss me?”
“Demons, no. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don’t do it again.” He wanted to add something about not making the same mistake over and over, the way Arthal had, denying it every time. There was no point to that. Kharl had learned that people either learned from their mistakes or didn’t, no matter what was said. Erdyl’s actions would tell which kind he was.
“About the function, ser … We need to decide on a date …″ ventured Erdyl.
Kharl laughed. “Pick the earliest date that you think is possible. Make it a date that will get others to wonder, but still attend.”
Erdyl nodded. “Do you want just the envoys or the envoys and their principal secretaries?”
“See what you think after you talk to the other secretaries.”
“What do I say if they ask about the magery in the rebellion?”
“Just tell the simple truth. That Lord Ghrant has two mages, and that you really don’t know that much about either one, and that your envoy has suggested most strongly that you not discuss what you don’t know.”
A faint, if worried smile, appeared on Erdyl’s face.
“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Good. I’ll send Mantar back with the carriage after he drops us off. I suppose you could ride one of the mounts, but the carriage might be easier.”
Erdyl nodded dubiously.
There was a rap on the library door.
“The carriage is ready,″ called Demyst.
“I’ll see you later,” Kharl told Erdyl, “and we’ll talk over what you’ve discovered.” He nodded and opened the door.
Undercaptain Demyst followed Kharl to the carriage.
Neither spoke until they had left the drive of the envoy’s residence.
“I’m sorry, ser. The young lord wasn’t thinking.”
“You were right. He wasn’t thinking. I had a word with him.”
“I thought so, the way he looked when you left the library.”
Had Kharl been that hard on Erdyl? Or was the young man too sensitive?
“Never make a lancer officer,” Demyst went on. “Frets too much about what others think. That stuff about what other envoys do. Had Lord Ghrant wanted someone who did what other envoys did, it’d not be you, begging your pardon, ser.”
Kharl burst into laughter. “You’re so right.” He was also beginning to see more clearly why Hagen thought Demyst would be helpful to Kharl and not necessarily that good a senior lancer officer. A properly deferential officer would never have put a boot on Erdyl’s shins.
“He’ll learn,” the undercaptain went on. “Not like he’s stupid or anything. Just hasn’t seen enough.”
Kharl wondered if he himself had.
Before that long, Mantar stopped the coach at the head of Crafters’ Lane. “You sure you don′t want me to meet you somewhere, ser?”
“No. I need the walk, even in this heat.” He also needed a better feel for what was happening in Brysta. It almost didn’t feel like the same city he had left. That could reflect the changes in him, but he didn′t think so, not with what Erdyl and others had said.
Kharl stepped out, at the intersection of Fifth Cross and Crafters’ Lane. He stood almost directly in front of the shop of Zabyl, the tinsmith, and he turned to take in the small leaded-glass windows, but, clean as the glass was, the display space was empty, as it had always been. Zabyl had never displayed any of his work.
“Tinsmith doesn’t show anything,” said Demyst. “Must be good, or real cautious.”
“Probably both.” Kharl could smell the odor of hot metal, despite the closed front door. He also had the feeling he was being watched. Slowly, he turned as if surveying the shops. A young Watch patroller in his crisp maroon-and-blue uniform on the opposite corner made no secret of his observations.
Kharl smiled politely before turning and walking past Zabyl’s to the adjoining shop. There, Kharl stopped to study the bolts of woolen cloth shown in the square window. One was a muted plaid of blues and greens. Kharl frowned. The cloth looked more like something that Gharan might have woven. Was the weaver doing so well that he could sell in his own shop, and place cloth in Derdan’s small factorage as well? Even with the cotton from Hamor? Beside it was a bolt of black wool, clearly from Recluce, along with another of white. Had the white come from Austra? From his neighbor, Arynal, who had boasted of his fabled white wool? Kharl shook his head. That, he doubted.
He studied the window again, then leaned forward and looked down, then up. Derdan had added brackets to hold bars behind the heavy shutters.
“Not bad wool,” offered the undercaptain. “Black has to be from Recluce. Wouldn’t be surprised if it cost a good silver a half yard.”
“It costs a half gold a yard.” At least it used to. Kharl regretted saying that much, but the words had popped out because he had once asked, when he had been thinking that it would have made a warm and stylish coat for Charee.
“That’s right. You’d know. You were on a merchanter. Everything from Reduce costs a lot.”
“It does.” Even the knowledge, Kharl reflected. He turned away from the woolen factor’s and looked across the lane, taking in the two shops, side by side there, that of Hamyl the potter on the left, and Gharan’s weaving shop on the right. Gharan had never used a window to display his work, just a sample board at eye height beside the doorway.
Kharl wanted to see Gharan-and Jeka, he had to admit. But with the patroller watching so closely, and after Erdyl had visited just the day before, he wasn’t sure that was wise. Still …
He stood there for a long moment, before finally deciding against it, then wondering if he were being too foolishly cautious.
Absently, as he used his handkerchief to blot his forehead, before turning to head toward the cooperage, he noted the barrel of sand to the left of Derdan’s window. It was the same barrel of sand he’d used to put out the fire in Tyrbel’s scriptorium on the day that his whole life had finally changed.