“Jemelya.”
“She said that she’d be happy to meet with you after I met with Envoy Luryessa. I think you should meet with her. Don’t tell her about how far we went or about the fort and the quarries, but mention the gray stone road-and the new patroller barracks on the south side of Brysta-and the lancer drills. See what her reaction is.”
“She’s very sharp, ser.”
“So is the envoy,” Kharl replied dryly. He had the feeling that everyone was smarter than he was, and it wasn’t the most cheering of thoughts.
“Do you want me to have Mantar ready the carriage, ser?” asked Demyst, rising from the table.
“Please. I’ll be washing up, then in the library.” Kharl forced a smile he did not feel before turning and heading up to his quarters. He had not slept all that long and certainly not that well. He’d dreamed of Warrl, a nightmareabout what had befallen his son, and he’d been trying to reach him, and had never gotten close enough.
He felt as though everywhere he went, unrest and chaos followed. Or was he bound to follow trouble? Was it him, or just circumstances?
He laughed softly, wryly. Did it matter?
He washed quickly, then donned a lighter black jacket, also trimmed in Austran green, to go with the silver shirt. He made his way down to the library. Enelya was in the front hall, dusting the pair of portraits on the inside wall.
“Good morning, Enelya.”
“Good mornin′, Lord Kharl.″ Her eyes did not meet his.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been sleeping. Wasn’t doing much of that for more’n few eightdays. Khelaya’s teaching me to cook the better stuff, too.”
“Good.” He paused. “That’s if you like it.”
“Can’t be a tavern server forever, specially not here.”
Kharl smiled and stepped into the library. It was clear she didn′t associate him with the ragged beggar who had bribed food from her almost a year earlier. Would Jeka or Gharan recognize him? There was only one way to find out.
Less than a quarter glass later, he and Demyst were seated in the carriage, riding through another warm and cloudless morning that promised to become a sweltering day.
“Are we looking for something special like, ser?” asked the undercaptain.
“In a way … I want to talk to the weaver-Gharan. He might have some cloth I’d like to buy and ship to Cantyl. I’ll have to see. He’s had some before that I liked.” Kharl had liked some of what Gharan had woven, but he’d never been able to afford much, and some of it Charee had not liked at all. So, for one reason or another, he’d bought little from his former neighbor, and that had nagged at him as well.
As Mantar brought the carriage to a halt outside Gharan′s shop, Kharl swallowed. Was he doing the right thing? How would he know? He’d waited far too long with Warrl. He shook his head. It wouldn’t have mattered. Yet, no matter how much he told himself that, he still felt that he had caused Warrl’s death. He wasn’t certain, and probably wouldn’t be, ever, what else he could have done-except confess to a murder he hadn’t committed.If he had just let himself be hanged … then his consort and children might still be alive.
… and Ghrant and his consort and children would be dead, and Hamor would hold all of Austra …
“Ser … we’re here.” Demyst’s voice was apologetic as he opened the carriage door and stepped out, holding the door for Kharl.
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking …″ Forcing a smile, Kharl eased his frame through the narrow doorway. The faintest breath of wind swirled around him, then died away. “I’d like you to remain here and guard the carriage and the doorway, if you would.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I’m not certain that anything is wise anymore.” Kharl studied the entrance to the weaver’s shop. The door was half-open to catch what vagrant morning breezes there might be.
He squared his shoulders and stepped into the shop, past the racks just inside that showed four separate wool patterns. One was a variation on what was considered the “Brystan” design, a plaid of burgundy and blue, with faint lines of black. Beyond the display racks was the open main room that held the looms. There were three, one more than when he had left Brysta.
Gharan hurried away from his loom. “Ser? How might we help you?”
“It’s me, Gharan. Kharl. The cooper.”
The weaver’s mouth opened. Then he closed it, and shook his head.
“My secretary was here last threeday. He asked you about the cotton cloth used for the patrollers’ uniforms.”
“He said … he said that he worked for the Austran envoy …″
Kharl grinned. “He does. He works for me. A lot’s happened in the last year.” He tried to look beyond Gharan without being too obvious, but neither Amyla nor Jeka had looked up from their looms.
“It’d be true then … that … that you’re a lord? An Austran lord? Ser?”
“It is.” Kharl’s lips curled. “I took a position as a subofficer-after a while-on an Austran ship-the Seastag. Her captain was a lord, and he ended up as the lord-chancellor of Austra.”
“A real lord …” Gharan shook his head. “Hard to believe.”
“It’s true. But I’m the same Kharl who gave you the silvers to try Jeka as a weaver, and you’re the same man who warned me to flee before Egen got his patrollers after me.”
“Egen … he’ll never forget,” Gharan said.
“He won’t expect to see me as the Austran envoy, or without a beard. You’re the only one who knows.”
The weaver looked down for a moment. “And you’re telling me?”
“I owe you-and Jeka-too much to deceive you. Besides, I always wanted to buy some of your wool, but I never could afford it before.” Kharl smiled. “You had a pattern of dark and light green. I always wanted a set of blankets out of that.”
“The green grid pattern.” Gharan laughed. “Charee …” His face stiffened.”I’m sorry … I didn’t mean.”
“I know you didn’t. She never liked it. I’d also like you to design a pattern for me, for my lands.”
“Lands, too?”
“Some. Will you do it?”
“Why did you come back? If Egen finds out …″
“He’s not likely to.” Kharl wasn’t so sure about that, but there was no point in telling Gharan that. “If he does, he does. I came back to get Warrl … and to see about some other things.”
“How are your boys?”
Kharl shook his head. “Arthal was killed when a Hamorian warship sank the Fleuryl. Egen, some way or another, killed Warrl … and Charee’s sister and her family. That’s another reason why I’m here.”
″Kharl … Lord Kharl … I’m sorry.″
″Kharl … just Kharl.″
“You’re an envoy? Really?”
Kharl nodded. “How is Jeka?”
“Do you want her to know?”
“She saved my life. She can keep a secret.”
Gharan grinned. “You’d best tell her yourself.” He turned. “Jeka … please to come here.”
From behind the second loom appeared a gaminelike face, but the face was framed by longer hair, and set above blue trousers and shirt. She walked toward the two men briskly. Her steps slowed as her eyes took in Kharl.
He watched her closely, amazed at the transformation from an urchin boy to a woman.
″Cooper … Master Kharl …″
“He’s Lord Kharl of Austra, now,” Gharan said. With the slightest of winks, he stepped away, moving toward the back room. “I’ll be getting that pattern book. Might take me a while. Amyla … I’ll need you.”
The weaver and his consort left Kharl and Jeka standing in the loom room, alone.
“Master Kharl … you’d be looking far better dressed …” Jeka looked down abruptly.
“You look …” He wanted to say “beautiful,” but only could come up with “good.” He hadn’t realized how green her eyes were, or how lustrous her sandy hair. He’d also forgotten how tiny she was, her head not even to his shoulder.
“So do you.” Her eyes flashed. “Why’d you come here?”