The Death of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Do you want war?” Maris’s voice is high, almost squeaky. “Do you know what that will do to Recluce?”

  “To your precious traders, you mean?” asks Heldra.

  “No,” counters Talryn, “but do you think we really have any choice? I think it’s time to have the Brotherhood act.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Maris fingers his beard.

  “Follow Heldra’s suggestion. Have the trio pick off every Hamorian warship that leaves Dellash. If they have to stay there, then that neutralizes them.”

  “What about their traders?”

  “Leave them alone… for now.”

  “And Sammel?” asks Heldra. “I had planned to take-”

  “I think Sammel is the least of our problems. Besides, do you want to take one of the trio out of action for three eight-days to transport you and a black squad? Right now, the ships are needed more off Delapra. In any case, if chaos and order focuses attract, Lerris may solve that one for us.” Talryn straightens and takes his hands off the chair.

  “I don’t know…” muses Heldra.

  “I don’t either, but I don’t think you should be wandering through Sligo at the moment. As for using the trio, what’s the alternative? Wait until Candar is run by Hamor with dozens of those steam cruisers?”

  “I don’t understand,” protests Maris. “How can they build all those machines? I thought the amount of order in the world was limited.”

  Talryn laughs. “They’re using the other side of the balance. If order is limited, so is chaos. Cassius suggested this could happen. Their machines are made of steel, and they’ve made so many that they’ve stretched out the destructive aspects of chaos. If Cassius is right, at some time, there will be a rebound, but it won’t happen immediately, and it won’t do us much good if Hamor holds Candar before it happens.”

  “But how could this happen?”

  “How does anything happen? People make it happen, and we let it occur.”

  The Eastern Ocean glitters bright blue and green as the three glance to the east, in the direction of Hamor.

  LVI

  SINCE KRYSTAL WAS in Dasir-some sort of shake-up with the outliers and some problem in the region involving the local and the regional commander-I was up early. I’d fed and groomed Gairloch and the mare. After feeding the two, I took out my staff and worked a little with the exercise bag, until I was sweating. By then I felt guilty for taking the time. I always seemed to be rushing from one thing to another.

  By the time I actually got to woodwork, my tunic was damp, not from exercise but from crossing the yard to and from the barn in the rain-four times-to clean the stables and feed Gairloch and the mare, and because I’d had to get some oil from the far shed.

  Outside the shop the rain continued to pelt against the shop windows. Chilly as it seemed, it was warmer than it had been, and in Kyphros no one said anything about the late winter and early spring rains because there was seldom much moisture after that-not until the next winter.

  The little details ate into my time at every opportunity. If it weren’t the need to get finishing oil or lamp oil, it was time to sweep the floor, or refill the moisture pot, or sharpen the chisels, or take the saws to Ginstal for sharpening, or reformulate the glue, or fix a stool or chair for Rissa. That didn’t even include such problems as lying flat on my back for nearly a season, or trying to improve my staff skills. With the chores held at bay, I was working on Antona’s desk, muttering to myself, because the way I’d drawn the framework for the pedestals wasn’t going to work. Like a lot of things, the plan looked good, but sharp edges weren’t good planning because they get chipped or they hurt people. Rounding corners is better planning, but every piece has to be double mitred. Some crafters don’t-they just use a forty-five-degree angle and then plane the angles down. When I tried that, each one looked subtly different, and I wasn’t about to charge fifty golds for a desk with different roundings. With a simple-looking piece, for the wood surfaces to fit, I had to trim each internal brace piece exactly the same-for the entire two-plus cubits. It was easy enough, but time-consuming. Cherry is hard, and the least impatience usually ruins the wood under the blade.

  As I’d suspected, Antona’s desk was going to be more involved than I had figured-even though I’d thought that when I had priced it.

  “Master Lerris-someone’s driving into the yard,” Rissa announced from the door to the shop.

  “I’m coming.” I set down the calipers and walked right onto the step under the front eave. A well-kept covered trap, with polished brasswork, was pulling into the yard. The driver wore both a waterproof and livery. Anyone who had a two-wheeled carriage also had a full-sized carriage, and anyone who could afford both was clearly wealthy.

  The thin and white-haired man who stepped from the carriage and walked up to the narrow porch created by the overhanging eaves and the wide stone step was Finance Minister Zeiber. The first time I’d met him had been at the dinner where I first met the autarch, and Minister Zeiber had suggested my approach to Antonin had been too theoretical.

  I still didn’t like him, but I opened the door to the shop and gestured for him to enter. “Please come in, Minister Zeiber.”

  Rissa stepped back and headed for the kitchen, not that I blamed her.

  I followed him inside and closed the door.

  “You are said to be a fine crafter.” Zeiber’s deep-set eyes did not meet mine, but traversed the shop, settling for a minute on the partly completed framework for the desk pedestal. “What is that?”

  “That’s the beginning of a double-pedestal desk.”

  “Hmmm…” He cleared his throat and looked back to me.

  I couldn’t really sense much in the way of disorder about him, but he made me feel uneasy. Was there such a thing as ordered-dishonesty? Or dishonesty that didn’t involve chaos?

  “I would like to commission a simple bookcase.”

  “Do you have any idea of exactly what you want? Size, number of shelves, height of shelves? What type of wood?”

  “It does not have to be large…” His eyes roamed back across the shop, stopping on the moisture pot. “What is in the pot?”

  “Water. It keeps the wood from splitting if I keep the air a little moister. In the summer, I don’t need the pot, but I hang damp cloths around.”

  Zeiber nodded. “You are very thorough as a crafter. Surely, you could use your… other abilities…”

  I laughed-softly, I hoped. “That takes a great deal of effort. What counts is how the piece looks in your home, not how it looks here.”

  He waited.

  “Do you want me to sketch some rough ideas for you?”

  “Oh, no. I want a case with four shelves. Each shelf would be three-quarters of a cubit above the one below. The bottom shelf should be a half cubit off the floor, and the legs should be strong enough to bear four stone worth of books. The wood should be the strongest possible.”

  “For a bookcase, I’d suggest red or black oak. Lorken is too brittle, and cherry isn’t strong enough. The nut woods could be rather expensive.”

  “The case should be dark.”

  “Black oak?”

  “How much would that cost?”

  “First, let me sketch what you told me.”

  The public works minister frowned, but I sketched, until I had the piece laid out on paper. “Is this what you had in mind?”

  “Are the legs thick enough?”

  “That’s why I planned to slant them in the arcs. The weight is gradually shifted to the bearing surface.” I used the quill to point out what I meant. “Here the weight rests across the entire top of the leg piece. What you don’t see is that I’ll run another piece of oak all the way around the inside here to reinforce the legs. That way, you’ll have grace and strength.”

  “You would use oak where it cannot be seen?”

  “Minister Zeiber, you wish a strong case, do you not?”

  “How much?”

  “Eight golds,” I
told him. “If you are not satisfied when it’s done, you do not have to accept it.”

  “And lose my deposit, I suppose?”

  “No. There is no deposit.”

  “How do you make coins, young fellow?”

  “Frankly, if you don’t want it, I could probably sell it for more to someone else.”

  “Oh…” Zeiber looked positively disappointed, and he stood there for a long moment. “You will inform me when it is complete?”

  “I will deliver it when it is complete-if that is agreeable?”

  “Oh, most certainly.” He nodded. “You do run a different business, crafter, but to each his own. Good day.”

  I barely got to the door before he did, and I watched as the trap carried him out of the yard and back toward Kyphrien.

  The whole business bothered me more than a little. Minister Zeiber was in charge of public works, basically the main roads and bridges-mostly the metaled ones. I’d bid the bookcase low because I felt Zeiber had commissioned it not because of my skill, but because of my consort. There was no way I wanted it construed as an indirect bribe. He’d been surprised at my indications that I had bid lower than the going price. The whole thing bothered me. If I didn’t take the work, then I was too good to do it, and that caused problems. Besides, Krystal was important enough that I’d run into the same problem with anything I did. That meant I had to do good work, and even then I wasn’t going to be certain if I were getting the commission because of my skill or contacts.

  Still, I needed work at the moment, and puzzling about the customer’s motivations wasn’t going to get the commission started.

  I had just finished sketching out the last of the details for the bookcase for Minister Zeiber when I heard another horse. After setting down the quill, I walked to the door. The rain had completely stopped earlier, but the yard was muddy.

  The small man on the horse wore a peaked cap of green and white plaid wool, and a quilted brown waterproof over it. Clearly at home in the saddle, he vaulted down with an ease that equaled Krystal’s, tied the horse to the post with three quick turns, and bounced up to the step.

  “Master Lerris, I trust?”

  “I’m Lerris. How might I help you?” I held the door and gestured.

  “Thank you. Thank you. I’m Preltar. I’m a wool factor- the man who deals mostly with the Analerian herders.”

  That explained his ease on horseback. According to the history I’d learned from Lortren and the Brotherhood, Analeria had been the high plains region between what were now Gallos and Kyphros, when they all had been ruled from Fenard. Then Jeslek, the High Wizard of Fairhaven, had raised the Little Easthorns, driving the nomadic herders-those that survived- into the high grasslands of southwest Kyphros. The Analerians lived on horseback, and distrusted those who did not or could not ride.

  “I take it that you want some woodworking done?” I closed the door.

  “Quite so. Quite so.” He unfastened his jacket, rubbed his hands, then pulled off the wool cap. He had a shiny bald head and bushy white eyebrows that gave him a hawkish look. “A dowry chest. Yes, a dowry chest.”

  I drifted toward the bench that held my makeshift drafting board. “Do you have any idea of what you want?”

  Preltar wandered toward the beginnings of the frame of Antona’s desk. “This? What might this be?”

  “It’s the beginning of the left pedestal of a twin-pedestal desk.”

  “I see. But you’re using cherry for the frame?”

  I nodded. “Good crafting starts on the inside.”

  “Good crafting starts on the inside! Ha! I like that. I do like that. Good crafting starts on the inside.”

  I waited.

  “Ah, yes, a dowry chest. It must be a quality chest, and of course it has to be of cedar, to keep the woolens and the linens, you understand, and the hinges must be beautiful and brass. Brass doesn’t rust, and, if it’s lacquered… but you understand all that. Hylera is marrying-we’re old-fashioned, you know, and the ceremony will be in the Temple. Most folks don’t think all that ceremony is necessary, but blood will tell, you know?”

  Blood probably did tell, but that wasn’t anything I’d choose to explore.

  “Well… blood is blood, and Jisrek-he’s Kilert’s father- trades more in the southeast off the grasses at the edge of the High Desert. The wool is tougher there, but who wants clothes as tough as cordage? Kilert is more into the factoring-he spends most of his time in Ruzor, and since he and Hylera will be moving to Ruzor, she must have a good-quality dowry chest. Hensil, except it was really Verin-she told Mura, and Mura, well, it wouldn’t do that anyone but you craft the dowry chest. Ha!”

  I was breathless by then, and I hadn’t even done the talking. “Hylera is your daughter. You want a dowry chest for her. It should be made entirely from cedar, preferably using the most aromatic wood to line the inside, and the hinges should be both strong and decorative, and they should be of brass?”

  “Exactly! Just so. Just so. Verin said you understood what she needed, and she never talked to you even.”

  “How big a chest?”

  “How big? How big? Hylera… she never said, but she will be getting linens and woolens and darkness knows how many cloths and things. How big do you think it should be, Mastercrafter?”

  “If it is a decorative piece, it should be smaller-probably no more than three or three and a half cubits, and a cubit to a cubit and a half high.” I bent down and used my hands to indicate the approximate size.

  Preltar frowned.

  “I could make it bigger, but the bigger it is the heavier it gets.”

  “Heavier… yes… but she will have much to store in it.”

  It was his chest-or hers? “How about this big?” I motioned again, using my hands to draw in the air a piece a third again the size of the first.

  “Much better. Much better.”

  I turned to the drawing board and dipped the quill, then sketched out a simple design. “How about something along these lines?”

  “Hylera said something about a bumper rail… a bumper rail…”

  “Yes. You run a coping around the edges at the top and bottom.” I sketched those in.

  “Better. Better. And what about the hinges?”

  In the corner of the paper, I drew several types of hinges- strap hinges, inside hinges, and big decorative butterfly hinges.

  “Those. Yes, those are it exactly.” He pointed to the decorative butterfly hinges. “And it should be appropriate to their station, and their entrance into Ruzor. Yes… most appropriate…”

  I’d have to get a coppersmith to do the too-elaborate butter-fly hinges on his daughter’s chest. That might be a problem because I didn’t know arty of the coppersmiths that well. So far, I’d gotten by with ironwork from Ginstal.

  Borlo did good work, supposedly, but outside of three words once, I’d never really spoken to him. There was also a woman-Merrin-who had come from Southwind. I took a deep breath. I probably needed to visit them both if I needed metalwork. Like everything else, one thing led to another.

  “This will be too much, Mastercrafter? Too much? You sighed.”

  “I did sigh, but that was not for this chest.” The lie tightened my guts, and my head throbbed for a moment. “I was thinking about other items not within my control. I apologize. Is there anything else you would like? Or that your daughter would need in this chest?”

  “Two compartments-one for linens and the other for woolens. Yes, I should have mentioned that. But ordering chests, I don’t do that often, although I will, I suppose, next year again, when it gets to be Gresta’s turn, and two years after that… you see, Mastercrafter, you could see many chests.” Preltar beamed. “Is it possible to get this chest for five golds?”

  The hinges would probably cost me close to a gold with the decorative nature. If the top were too heavy, I might have to reinforce them with inside hinges, although I hoped to avoid that. Cedar wasn’t cheap, either.

  “Alas, no.
The materials alone might run that.” That was an overstatement, and, again, my guts protested. This part of the business I did hate, because bargaining is based on deception of sorts, and deception is more than a little hard on me.

  “I see. I see, and the look on your face tells me that it must be close to true. Fine, yes, fine, and the word is that you are honest, as honest as any, more honest than any, in fact. You tell me what a fair price might be.”

  “One last question, Master Preltar. You want two compartments. Do you want separate flat lids inside?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. One would not want anything to mix from the linens to the wools. Yes, very separate compartments.”

  “Eleven golds, and I’ll deliver it anywhere around Kyphrien.” With his mention of Ruzor, I wasn’t about to commit to that.

  His lips pursed for a moment. “More than I had thought, yes, more, but Hermiel had said it would be fifteen and not a copper less.” He smiled. “In these things, she is often closer to the coin than I. Done for eleven, and I would hope that it could be done before the harvest.”

  “I would hope so, also.”

  “A pleasure doing business with you, Master Lerris. A pleasure, indeed, and if you need the finest and softest wool in Kyphros, Preltar will have it. Yes, indeed, we will have it.”

  After he rode off I wiped my forehead and took a deep pull of cold water, afraid that my tongue might race away after listening to his rapid words.

  I finished sketching what Preltar wanted before I went back to the design for Minister Zeiber. Then I harnessed the cart and drove down to Faslik’s. I didn’t see Wegel, but one of Faslik’s older sons helped me. The wood for both pieces came to nearly seven golds, although that really wasn’t right, because I’d have some left over, and in time, the remnants were often sufficient for smaller pieces. At least they had been when I had worked in Destrin’s shop, and Uncle Sardit had assured me that such was often the case.

  That night, after I unloaded and racked the wood, with Krystal gone, Rissa and I had leftover stew with fresh bread. I climbed into bed early to get the weight off my leg.

  I didn’t drop off to sleep immediately, not with my mind going over Minister Zeiber’s commission. Why had he done it? Was he trying to get around Mureas and to Krystal through me? Talkative as he had been, Preltar had almost been a relief, although his tactics had probably gotten him the chest cheaper than I would have offered. The next time, if there were to be a next time, would be different. I just hadn’t run into a Preltar before, and I learn better from experience, as I had unhappily discovered. Others’ words didn’t always mean something to me, unfortunately, as both Justen and my father and Uncle Sardit-and I-had discovered.