Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “That explains a few things. I wondered why Margrena and Jessyla were paid so little.”

  “The Council doesn’t like to spend coins on those who don’t make them golds. They only support the healing house because Klarisia showed them that she healed laborers and dockworkers and their consorts and children, and that meant they missed less work.”

  Beltur nodded. He couldn’t say that he was exactly surprised.

  “You’re working with Jorhan tomorrow?”

  “I am. I probably won’t be working with him every day that I could. The casting takes less time than the finish work. That’s just a guess, though.”

  “You’re already not working with him three days out of eight.”

  “I could stand to learn a bit more about healing.”

  “If Jorhan doesn’t need you every day, you might talk to Veroyt about doing some work for the Council.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Beltur nodded, knowing that was as close as Meldryn was going to get to saying that the Council might need to replace Athaal in inspecting piers and wharves. “After I talk to Jorhan tomorrow, I’ll know better how often he’ll need me.”

  “Don’t wait too long.”

  “I won’t, but do you really think Waensyn would lower himself to inspecting piers?”

  Meldryn chuckled. “Probably not, but he might need the coins.”

  “Do you know what he’s been doing?”

  “I heard he offered his services to some of the larger traders, detecting chaos, spoilage, and those sorts of things in their warehouses and wagons. Cohndar recommended him.”

  “Then it’s likely that some of them will use his services and pay for them.” Beltur frowned. “I never said much about it before, but shouldn’t there be other services blacks could do that bring in more coins?”

  “You haven’t thought about it because you were raised to be a white, and since you came here, you’ve been doing anything you could to earn coppers and silvers.” Meldryn closed the volume he had been reading, slipping a leather bookmark in place. “Athaal … and I talked about it a great deal. The essence of order is to strengthen, or to protect, or to detect chaos flaws. Those with coins will pay more for destruction that they can control than for protection. They’ll pay more for the object than its protection. You and Jorhan get coins because of the objects you create, not because of the order-confined chaos that you instill in the cupridium.”

  “Then there ought to be a market for a black iron, shouldn’t there?”

  “I’m told that working black iron is even harder than cupridium, that it almost never works unless the smith is a mage as well as a smith.”

  Beltur had to think about that for a moment, then nodded. “That’s why you’re successful as a baker. Your understanding and control of order makes your bread and cakes enough better that people are willing to pay a bit more.”

  Meldryn nodded. “Exactly. That means that for a black to make a good living requires that he be not only a good mage, but good at something else.”

  “Are you saying that I ought to learn more about smithing?”

  “You’re already learning, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve seen what Jorhan does, but that’s not the same as doing it.”

  “It’s a start, I’d think.”

  “You’re right.” Beltur nodded. “Do you mind if I read here for a while?”

  “Be my guest.” Meldryn smiled.

  After returning the basket to the bakery, Beltur retrieved Considerations on the Nature of Man and settled into the other armchair.

  VII

  Oneday was sunny, and markedly warmer than either sevenday or eightday, but still cold enough that ice and snow remained unmelted. Even so, walking from the bakery to the smithy was almost pleasant by comparison to previous days, but only because Beltur was wearing coat, gloves, and scarf.

  Jorhan was, as usual, already working in the smithy when Beltur arrived.

  “What are we casting today?”

  “Two more straight-swords for the Lydian, and a matched set of platters and candelabra for Barrynt. He’s acting for a merchant out of Sligo. He told me about those last night. Had to work late on the molds.”

  “He hasn’t left Elparta yet?” Beltur took off his coat, scarf, and gloves, and hung the coat on the wall peg, then stripped off his tunic and put it on the next peg.

  “He says that by midday tomorrow, it will be much warmer, and he’ll have at least a few days before another storm comes. The mold for the first blade is just about heated enough.”

  Beltur moved toward the bellows, where he began to pump as Jorhan adjusted the position of the stone crucible.

  Later, once Jorhan had poured the bronze into the mold and Beltur had set the order/chaos net into the metal that would harden as cupridium, Beltur blotted his forehead and said, “How much work-hardening is necessary for a blade?”

  “As much as it takes. Why?”

  “I just wondered. You do all that when I’m not here, but from what you’ve said, it takes a lot of time.”

  Jorhan shrugged. “The cast cupridium is hard enough for platters, mirrors, and the like without much work-hardening. It sometimes takes a fair amount of polishing, more than bronze because the cupridium is so much harder. The chasing I do for decoration adds some hardness to the surface. Polishing the mirror surface gives an even harder thin outer surface.”

  “How do you know how much to work-harden which parts of the blade?”

  “You need to have a harder edge to the blade. That’s why I fuller it a bit. I can’t fuller cupridium that much. Otherwise the edge splits away in a layer the way it happened to those first pieces we tried…” After a pause, the smith asked, “Why do you want to know?”

  “I thought that if I knew I might be able to make things better. I might be able to adjust the order/chaos net better.”

  “You’re doing just fine as it is. Sometimes, trying to make perfect something that’s already really good ruins it. Besides, nothing’s perfect. No matter how hard we try, there’ll always be tiny little things that we could have done better. No, making strong, good, honest blades or platters or mirrors that are simple and beautiful day after day will do more for us and for those who need what we forge than a perfect blade or candelabrum once an eightday.” The smith turned toward the forge. “This second mold is hot enough.”

  Beltur moved back to the bellows.

  Although Jorhan hadn’t asked, Beltur stayed at the smithy for almost a glass longer, turning the grinding and polishing wheels, because it was clear that the smith worried about finishing the platters and candelabra before Barrynt left to return to Axalt.

  Once the second candelabrum was polished, Jorhan turned to Beltur. “I can finish the platters. You need to head home before the wind picks up.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “That I am.”

  While Beltur cooled down, Jorhan left the smithy, returning shortly, and handing Beltur two silvers. “By next twoday, I’ll be able to give you the back pay I’ve owed you. The Council still hasn’t paid, but a Traders’ Council acts like traders and pays everyone as late as they can. But twoday’s when the Lydian will be here for his blades. Might be a day sooner or later, but around then.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur took the silvers, slipped on his tunic, then his coat, gloves, and scarf.

  “My thanks to you. I appreciate your staying late today. If I know Barrynt, he’ll likely be here earlier than he said tomorrow.”

  “He strikes me as a good man.”

  “He’s been good to me and especially to Johlana. He doesn’t have trouble trading here, either. For now, anyway.”

  That raised a question that Beltur had wondered about. “How does the Council collect tariffs on goods from Axalt?”

  “There aren’t any to speak of, except on weapons, and that’s usually ignored. The Viscount has a fort on the east side of the pass. That’s where he collects tariffs on goods coming into Certis, and Axalt has a pos
t there for goods coming into Axalt. If they’re destined for Spidlar, part of the tariff goes to the Council.”

  Beltur recalled that Veroyt, Councilor Jhaldrak’s assistant, had quoted tariffs on blades. But then he probably wasn’t about to mention to the councilor that they were seldom paid. “The Council trusts Axalt on that?”

  “It’s not a matter of trust. There once was a tariff post at the west end of the pass. It cost more to collect the tariffs than the Council got back, and a lot of the tariff fees disappeared. Some might have ended up in Axalt, but no one’s ever been successful in attacking them.”

  “And this way the Council gets something.”

  “The traders also get to send goods to Axalt without tariffs, and Axalt sends things here without tariffs.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “Tomorrow,” affirmed the smith.

  Beltur stepped out into the late, late afternoon chill and headed down the lane.

  His eyebrows felt frosted by the time he stepped through the northeast gate, and his feet, even inside his boots, were definitely chilled when he reached the corner of Bakers Lane and Crossed Lane. He was more than glad for the warmth of the house and the smell of baked goods when he closed the front door and took off the heavy coat.

  Meldryn was in the kitchen, rising from the table as Beltur entered. “You’re late.”

  “I didn’t know I would be. We had to cast more than Jorhan planned. He got a late order from his sister’s consort. I stayed an extra glass to help with the grinding and polishing.” Beltur offered a crooked smile. “Someone did suggest that I needed to learn more.”

  “You do take things to heart. Get the ale, and I’ll serve.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “You don’t even know what we’re having.”

  “If you fixed it, I don’t have to worry.” Beltur took the mugs from the cupboard and then went to the small keg, where he filled one mug and then the other before setting them on the table and sitting down. “How did it go for you today?”

  “Slow. Like most onedays, but not as bad as some. The good thing is that I judged right. Not too much left. That’s why we’re having a fowl pie.” Meldryn set two platters on the table and seated himself.

  “Oh?”

  “Farodyn asked if I’d take a capon in trade for a molasses potato pie. I did, and I made three fowl pies. I usually can sell some on twoday or threeday, but this one is for us.” Meldryn smiled.

  “I’m glad of that, but…”

  “Everything’s fine. Veroyt said he’d bring what the Council owes me threeday morning.”

  “They must pay everything on twoday.”

  “Mostly.”

  Beltur took a bite of the warm meat pie, enjoying the combination of meat and root vegetables in the flavorful filling, combined with the thick but flaky crust. “This is good.”

  “I thought so. Have you heard anything interesting?”

  Beltur thought, then said, “You might already know this. Jessyla told me that Grenara had consorted a black and that she’d inherited the house when he died…”

  “She did. Her consort was Ghelhan. He mostly inspected boats and their cargoes.”

  “Inspected boat cargoes?”

  “Both boats and cargoes,” Meldryn repeated mildly. “He could tell if the boats had hidden compartments or goods stashed where inspectors couldn’t find them. That’s what Lhadoraak does now. Ghelhan could also sense where hulls were weak long before the weaknesses were dangerous.”

  “If the Council paid him the way they do for other things…”

  “They did. The Council is not notably generous to blacks, except in the case of invasions that threaten their trade.” The last words carried more than a trace of irony. “Then they pay more, but still less than the worth of the service.”

  “So how did Ghelhan come by a house? I mean, from what you’ve said, it took a long time and two of you to come to own this house.”

  “You’re right. It did take time. Ghelhan was more fortunate. The house was a wedding gift from the father of his first consort. That was Trader Viltaar, the elder. Ghelhan inspected all of his boats and cargoes and got a stipend for doing that. Viltaar had more than a few daughters, and there weren’t enough traders’ sons for them to consort. He felt that she wouldn’t suffer unduly as a mage’s consort, provided she had a decent house, and he could also get the Council to offer some additional work to Ghelhan.”

  “Does Lhadoraak do that now?”

  “No. The Council insisted that another mage do that. They said it wasn’t right for the same man to do both. Right now, that’s Mharkyn. He obviously doesn’t make much at the moment. You haven’t met Mharkyn, have you?”

  “No. You’ve mentioned him, though.” Beltur paused. “How much would a house like Grenara’s cost to buy … these days?”

  Meldryn laughed. “I can tell what you have in mind.”

  Beltur flushed. “Well … someday I will consort, and it wouldn’t hurt to know.”

  “Grenara’s house? I haven’t seen it.”

  “Kitchen and parlor on the lower level, and two rooms plus a small washroom on the upper.”

  “Depending on where a house like that is located and its condition, you might be able to buy one for twenty golds. That’s about as little as you could expect for anywhere that you’d wish to live. If you’re fortunate, you could rent a house like that for half a silver a eightday.”

  Beltur couldn’t say he was surprised. He might have, all told, close to four golds in silvers to his name. That suggested that even saving every spare silver, it would be years before he could buy anything. Renting, however …

  After a moment, he said, “You two must have worked very hard and saved every copper.”

  “It took us ten years.”

  Beltur could believe that.

  “Right now, you’re earning more than we did.”

  “That’s for now,” Beltur pointed out. “I worry about how long people will be willing to pay for cupridium, especially in Elparta or even in Spidlar.”

  “If you and Jorhan are the only ones forging it, you might be able to do well for years. But you’d best be careful, because when you sell to merchants who sell elsewhere, you’ll get larger sums far less frequently.”

  “I think Jorhan’s already had that problem.” Beltur didn’t know that for certain, but he did know that the smith had owed a fair amount before Beltur had arrived.

  Meldryn just nodded, then said, “There is a small pearapple tart. Enough for two.”

  Beltur couldn’t help smiling.

  VIII

  Twoday morning was sunny again, but warm enough that Beltur did not have to wrap the scarf around his ears and across his nose on the walk to the smithy, at least not until the last kay. He actually arrived before seventh glass. Jorhan was already at work on the polishing wheel, putting a last finish on the cupridium set for Barrynt.

  After taking off his outerwear and tunic, Beltur immediately took over using the foot pedal to turn the wheel. “You’ve been here since dawn?”

  “Not that long. A glass or so. I needed light to see where I had to touch up the finish.”

  A glass or so later, when Jorhan was satisfied and had laid out the set on the workbench, Beltur took his place at the bellows.

  “Now look at the melt,” said Jorhan. “Don’t ever let it get to a whitish color. That means you’ve overheated it.”

  Surprised as he was at what Jorhan volunteered, Beltur just nodded and kept pumping the bellows and listening as the smith continued his explanations.

  Some time later, Jorhan poured the bronze-like metal into the mold for another straight-sword, and Beltur created and held the order/chaos net in place as the metal cooled. Just as Beltur felt it was nearing the time when he could release his concentration, there was a rapping on the smithy door.

  “I’ll get it,” said Jorhan. “Don’t want you to spoil the set on this one.”

  Although Beltur hadn’t d
one that except at the very beginning, when he was feeling his way, he kept concentrating, forcing himself to just hold the complex pattern in place, although he knew that the caller had to be Barrynt from what he overheard.

  “… don’t mind that I’m a bit early…”

  “You’ve never been late. The cupridium set’s laid out on the workbench, the back one away from the forge. Don’t mind Beltur, he’s working on making certain his order/chaos pattern sets right in the bronze.”

  “How hard is that?” asked the merchant, his tone cautiously curious rather than sardonic or sarcastic.

  “Hard enough that he’s more tired than I am by the end of the day.” Jorhan laughed. “Part of that is that he also acts as my striker, but even when he doesn’t he’s sweat-soaked by then.”

  “Like many things, magery is harder than it appears, then.”

  “More dangerous, too. Half the mages fighting in the invasion ended up dead.”

  Although that number was close to what Beltur thought it might be, he had never mentioned anything like that to Jorhan, and he wondered where the smith had heard about the mage casualties.

  “Here’s what you ordered.”

  There was a long lull in the conversation before Barrynt spoke again. “These are better than Zaethyr deserves, better than he paid for, but I’ll have to honor the price I offered him. I won’t change terms the way some do, like Emlyn.”

  “Ask him for a favor in return,” suggested Jorhan. “That way he can boast that he got them for less by offering the favor, and if you get other orders, you can charge more, or garner more favors.”

  “You talk like a merchant, Jorhan.”

  “I’m no merchant. I can talk louder with friends and family, but I don’t do so well when I’m talking for myself. You know that as well as anyone.”

  This time, Barrynt laughed. “That’s why you ought to come to Axalt.”

  “I’m not ready to put away my hammers.”

  “You wouldn’t have to.”

  “I’d have to pay for coal.”

  “You could afford to.”