Recluce Tales

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Six silvers, ser,” replied Brauk.

  “That’s more like it, not like that tiny black box.” The merchanter shook his head again. “It’s not much good for holding anything.”

  “Boxes should serve the needs of their owners,” replied Brauk.

  “This one will do fine,” said the merchanter. “Elegant and simple. Priced right, too.”

  “Is there anything else…?” Brauk’s voice was warm, helpful, but neither wheedling, nor intrusive.

  “Not a thing.” Even so, as the merchanter turned, his eyes went back to the pair of dracones, then lingered on the small black box, the one with the cigoerne on it, for just a few instants.

  Once the merchanter had paid for the simple jewelry box, Brauk wrapped it in gray felt and watched as the man left the shop. Only then did he walk back over to the end of the counter where Shaunyce stood.

  “Did you see how he immediately looked to the unique pieces? That was the sign of a man who was going to buy. He needed something to placate his consort, or his mistress. More likely his consort. He’d have picked jewelry if it was going to a mistress.”

  “I’d hoped he’d buy the black box.” Because Shaunyce wanted to take Brauk’s mind off the merchanter who she felt might have bought more, she pointed. “Where did you get those brass figures? The dracones?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “You said Thyel, the coppersmith, made them from a drawing. That’s all. You never said who did the drawing.”

  Brauk smiled. “I suppose I didn’t. He was an old fellow. He came to Nylan every so often. He wasn’t a seaman, but he didn’t seem to be a merchanter, and he didn’t wear black. Thyel wouldn’t make them without silvers up front. The old man paid them and said I could pay him back if they sold. I thought they might. The old man thanked me.” He frowned. “He said he’d be back, but it might be years … or longer. He couldn’t tell. That was more than five years ago.”

  “He just left them with you?” Shaunyce couldn’t believe that. Who would pay to have something made and then leave it for someone he wouldn’t see for years to sell? Yet Brauk wouldn’t make up something like that. He didn’t have the imagination, or the interest in telling stories.

  “He said that they could look out for themselves, and when the time came, they’d find the right owner.” Brauk paused. “He said one other thing … that they always found a good home.”

  They always found a good home? That suggested … Shaunyce shook her head. “What about the black box with the bird on it? You never told me about that one, except that it was rare and to watch it carefully.”

  “My father always thought it was a copy of something older. I didn’t think so. I still don’t. That’s why it’s priced the way it is.”

  “Did it come from Cigoerne?”

  “I’d judge so. Where else?” Brauk walked to the display case and picked up the small box. He carried it back and extended it. “You see? The finish looks like lacquer, but as old as it is, there’s not a single crack. Look at the cigoerne itself. Look closely.”

  Reluctantly, Shaunyce did. After a moment, she blinked. The bird seemed to stand out, against faint ripples, ripples that seemed to move as she looked. She swallowed and looked up. “Order magic? It has to be.”

  Brauk shook his head. “I’ve had one of the black masters look at it, several over the years. So did my father, right after … They all said it didn’t have excess order or chaos.”

  “You don’t really want to sell it, do you? Is that why the price is so high?” Shaunyce frowned. “If you don’t want to sell it, why do you have it out?”

  “It isn’t all the time. I set it out for an eightday or two every year. It’s good for getting attention, and it makes the other pieces seem reasonable.”

  Shaunyce had the feeling there was more to be said and waited.

  “Also, I hope that someday, someone might come along and tell me more. Like that old woman did about the ring with the carving of the first of great ships—The Black Hammer.”

  “The ring you saw was a copy of the original, she said.”

  “That means there is an original, and it’s likely priceless. I can always keep my eyes out for it.” He smiled.

  Shaunyce wasn’t certain his expression was friendly.

  “Here.” He extended the box. “Hold it. Hold it for a long time. Very carefully, though. You’ll see.”

  The way he said that, she didn’t want to, but she took the box in her long and slender fingers, the reason why she worked for Brauk, because those fingers were far too delicate to work the heavy clay the way her mother did, not without getting wrinkled. Besides, Shaunyce hated the way the clay worked up under her nails, and she liked having her nails longer. They showed off her hands better, and her hands were one of her best features.

  For several moments, she looked at the image of the cigoerne, but she didn’t like the way she seemed to stand out, as if she were alive or trapped in the oval that depicted her gliding across the rush-framed pond.

  She? Shaunyce wanted to drop the box, but she dared not, especially with Brauk standing there. An intense feeling of loss and longing swept over her, a feeling that all she held dear had vanished. She shivered.

  As she did, Brauk gently lifted the box from her fingers. “You felt something, didn’t you?”

  Wordlessly, she nodded.

  “You felt more than most. I can see that. Everyone feels something different. What did you feel?”

  Shaunyce didn’t want to say. She shook her head, then asked, “What did you feel?”

  Brauk looked sheepish, an expression Shaunyce had never seen from him, then said, “It feels peaceful to me. Now, at least.”

  “Not to me,” admitted Shaunyce.

  “I think it brings out what we feel or might feel.” Brauk looked down at the box. “I’ll leave it on display just for a while longer. Do keep an eye on it.”

  “Yes, ser. I will.”

  “You might want to hold it again later. Not soon, though.” At her expression, he added, “The feelings it evokes can change. Mine did.” Then he replaced the box in the display case before he walked back to the small study.

  Shaunyce stood there beside the counter. She was confused. He had suggested that she hold it again, but not anytime soon. Yet he was only going to leave the cigoerne box out for a short time? Did he think she was going to work in his shop forever?

  The rest of the day was better, especially after she ate the cheese and pearapple her mother had sent with her. No one either asked about the dracones or even looked at the small box, and Shaunyce even sold an antique silver-and-sapphire necklace to the young consort of an older merchanter. The age of the merchanter was a guess, since the comparatively young woman came with a guard, a hard-faced man at least a decade older than she was.

  A quarter glass before closing, Shaunyce was about to begin carrying the items in the display case—the really valuable ones, like the brass dracones and the cigoerne box, and, of course, the jet-black pearl necklace that also came from Hamor—when Talysen walked into the shop.

  “What are you doing here?” She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she did have to put all the valuables into the locked chest in the iron-walled strong room in back before she could leave for the evening. If she spent time with Talysen, then it would take just that much longer.

  “I came to apologize. I obviously did something to displease you yesterday. I still don’t know what it was, but I’d like to apologize.”

  “If you—” She managed not to sigh, even as she wondered how a black, even a student who wasn’t that close to being a master, could be that dense. She could see the desire to please in every line of his face, and she couldn’t help but smile, just a bit. At least, she kept from laughing. “It’s a woman thing.” That covered a lot, and she hoped he wouldn’t ask for more of an explanation she didn’t want to give.

  “That doesn’t tell me much.” A rueful smile accompanied his words.
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  “If I have to tell you something that you should understand, then…” She shook her head.

  “You’re saying that I should be able to know what you’re thinking so that you don’t have to ask for it or tell me something that’s painful for me to hear.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Whether you said it or not, that is what you meant.” Talysen added, his voice warm and slightly amused, “Would you really want me knowing what you’re thinking … or do you just want me to know it when it’s convenient?”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Why is it that people always say that when someone points out an unpleasant fact?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then tell me why you were so upset at me yesterday.”

  Shaunyce wanted to scream. She tightened her lips. Finally, she said, “I really wanted to see a black ship. You didn’t listen.”

  Talysen sighed. “I did listen. I told you why the masters don’t allow anyone on board who isn’t an engineer or a master.”

  “But I’m not anyone who would do anything to hurt Recluce.”

  “Anyone who wanted to learn about the ships to use the knowledge against Recluce would say the same thing. And if a lot of people saw the ships, then those who wanted to learn about them could find out from them.”

  “Not from me,” declared Shaunyce. “I wouldn’t even know what I was looking at.”

  “The engineers don’t have the people or the time to question everyone who might want to look at a black ship.” Talysen glanced toward the hinged bronzes. “Those are the dracones you mentioned?”

  “Yes.” Shaunyce’s reply was just short of curt.

  “They couldn’t fly, not really. Their wings are too small for their bodies.”

  “Spoken like an engineer!” Brauk’s voice was hearty as he walked toward the pair.

  “Ser,” said Shaunyce quickly, “this is Talysen. He’s a student engineer.”

  “Apprentice engineer,” corrected Talysen. “I’m pretty junior, though.”

  “You’d better go,” said Shaunyce, looking to Talysen. “I need to finish up here.”

  “Oh … I can take care of that,” interjected Brauk. “You’ve worked hard today.” He turned to Talysen. “Before you two leave, though, could I ask a favor of you? It will only take a few moments.”

  “If I can, ser,” replied the apprentice engineer cautiously.

  “I’m certain you can.” The shop owner walked to the display case and lifted the black box off the top shelf, returning and extending it to Talysen. “I’d appreciate your thoughts and feelings on the box, especially your sense of whether the box has an excess of order or chaos.”

  “I’m not a master, ser.”

  “I understand that, but I would appreciate your thoughts.”

  “As you wish, ser.” Talysen accepted the box, holding it in his square-fingered hands.

  Shaunyce watched as, first, he looked at the box, then half-closed his eyes. After several moments, he opened them.

  “What can you tell me about the box?” asked Brauk.

  “It’s … different. There’s no excess of order and no excess of chaos. It feels perfectly balanced. Nothing is perfectly balanced. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt anything quite like it.” Talysen shook his head.

  “What if you both touched it?” asked Brauk. “Do you think that would change anything? Go ahead.” He looked hard at Shaunyce. “Try it. Both of you touch it at the same time.”

  Shaunyce hesitated.

  “Go on,” Brauk urged.

  While his words were not exactly a command, Shaunyce knew he’d be displeased if she didn’t follow his suggestion. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the box that Talysen still held. For a moment, she felt nothing, not even the sense of loss that had swept over her that morning.

  Then came an image of a woman wearing a shimmering gray tunic and trousers, her brown hair perfectly in place, with vivid green eyes. Shaunyce swallowed, realizing she was seeing herself—except she wasn’t like that at all. She had mouse-brown hair, and a nose that was too strong, with eyes set too close together. And her gray shop tunic and trousers certainly didn’t shimmer.

  She looked helplessly at Talysen, taking in his too-thin blond hair and high forehead, the slightly stooped shoulders, and the intensity in his eyes … and the goodness behind those eyes. A feeling of shame washed over her, and she immediately lifted her fingers from the box.

  For another moment, she and Talysen continued to stare at each other.

  Then he looked away and toward Brauk. “I’ll leave now.” He bowed to Brauk. “Thank you, ser. The box was most illuminating.” He turned without looking at Shaunyce, then walked out of the shop.

  Shaunyce remained motionless, frozen. She finally faced Brauk. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Did what?” asked Brauk innocently.

  “You knew he’d learn what I was feeling.”

  “You don’t think he should know? Isn’t deceiving him inviting chaos into your life?”

  Letting Talysen know that way had just created more chaos. Shaunyce couldn’t afford to say that.

  “Deception always outs, Shaunyce. Always. And it hurts you, because it wounds the deceiver as much as the deceived, if not more.”

  Even in her anger and confusion, she could hear a hint of sadness in his voice. She couldn’t help but wonder why he’d mentioned her specifically. She was only his shopgirl. Why did it even matter to him?

  III

  When Shaunyce came to work on twoday, Brauk had already removed the cigoerne box from the array of the more expensive items being displayed. The pair of hinged dracones remained. He did not mention the box, and she did not ask, much as she wanted to know why he had changed his mind.

  He did ask, as he did occasionally, “How is your mother?”

  “Fine, ser.” Shaunyce didn’t feel like saying more.

  Very few people stopped in the shop that day.

  Threeday was different. A Lydian merchanter had ported, and so had vessels from Austra and Southport. The common seamen didn’t even pause outside the shop windows, Shaunyce noticed, but that type never did. The better-dressed ship’s officers—or mates, if that was what they were called on merchanters—usually did. Sometimes, one would even come in.

  The first one who did spoke only old Candaran, the language of Fairhaven, similar to the Temple of Recluce, but difficult to follow. Even so, she sold him a small jewelry casket of worked lorken, inlaid with a border of ivory shaped to look like a chain.

  The second man, who eased through the shop doors with the grace of a mountain cat less than a glass later, wore the striped patch of some sort of mate, but he carried himself more like the ship’s marines who defended the Brotherhood’s section of the harbor where the black ships ported. He was tall and lean, with golden-green eyes and a warm smile as he approached her. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” His Temple was precise.

  “It’s a very nice shop.” Shaunyce managed a pleasant smile. “Are you looking for something special? For someone special?”

  “From what I’ve seen, you’re the most special treasure here.”

  “Treasure? I think not.” She gestured toward the dracones. “Those are special. They’re the only ones in all of Recluce.”

  The man’s eyes moved from appraising her to the dracones, but did not linger there long, returning to her in far too familiar a manner. “They might be, but … they’re not what I’m seeking.”

  “Could I show you some of our fine jewelry?”

  He smiled again. “You could … but, to be fair, I wouldn’t buy any.”

  “I see.” Shaunyce was afraid that she did indeed see, but she didn’t dare be rude. She gestured again, this time toward the bookcase against the wall. “Perhaps some rare books?”

  “I think not. I’m interested in … company.”

  “You’re a very good-looking man, ser,” she replie
d with a smile, “but that’s something we don’t sell here.”

  “I didn’t think you did. Perhaps you’d be free later.”

  She managed a gentle laugh. “Not even for a handsome fellow like you.” After a pause, she added, “Is there anything we do sell that you’d be interested in?”

  “No … but you can’t blame a man for trying.” He smiled a last time before leaving the shop.

  After the handsome ship’s officer had left the shop, Shaunyce retreated to the counter. He’d been handsome enough, and polite in his approach, direct as he had been, but … She shook her head. Even Talysen had been far more respectful.

  Then a trader came into the shop—older, bearded, and wearing a shapeless brownish-gray woolen jacket. “Merchanter Brauk, girl.”

  Shaunyce didn’t argue with his rough voice and peremptory and dismissive demand. She’d learned that in the first days of working in the shop. She inclined her head, then turned and walked to the back, where she announced, “A trader for you, ser. He’s likely from Hydlen. He’s not been here before.” Those that had always knocked on the side door.

  Brauk raised his eyebrows.

  “The way he speaks, ser. He demanded you.”

  Brauk nodded and rose from the table desk, carefully closing the ledger he had been perusing. Shaunyce followed him as far as the counter, where he stopped and gestured to the trader. The two retreated to Brauk’s study, but Brauk left the door open, something he did not do if he knew a trader well. Shaunyce moved back to a position near the counter. She’d have to assist anyone else who entered the shop while Brauk haggled over whatever the trader had brought.

  Thinking over what she just said to Brauk, Shaunyce reflected on the handsome ship’s officer, realizing that, while he certainly hadn’t been from Recluce, his precise Temple had offered no hint of an accent at all. He seemed more like a marine, but the Brotherhood didn’t allow warships of other lands into the harbor at all. Or maybe they didn’t let the crews come ashore. She wasn’t sure which.