Recluce - Colors Of Chaos Part 27

"So who benefits most from the Guild?" Myral smiled crookedly.

"Oh..."

"And who pays most of the golds?"

Cerryl nodded.

"Remember, Cerryl, most of those golds the factors and merchants pay ... where do they come from?"

"From those who buy their goods." Cerryl wanted to shake his head. Myral was running his mind in circles. There were few very wealthy factors, and that meant that most goods were bought by those who had less.

"Taxes are not what they always seem," Myral lectured. "The merchant who pays them charges them to those who buy his wares. Yet he feels that they come from his pocket, even though his buyers supply the coin." The balding mage sipped his cider. "You need to think about that. Confusion wars with confusion upon your face."

Cerryl offered a twisted smile, then asked, "Why do the gate guards report to the overmage, rather than the Patrol chief?"

"Did Isork raise that with you?" asked Myral dryly.

"No. Not even indirectly. I hadn't even thought about it. It just Popped into my thoughts."

'Be most careful where you express any such unguarded thoughts. In any event, the Patrol chief does report to Overmage Kinowin, as do the gate guards." Myral coughed once. "Now ... this old mage needs a respite. Off with you."

Cerryl rose. "Thank you for once again enlightening and confusing me." He grinned.

It's not enlightenment if it is not confusing," Myral answered.

After closing the door, Cerryl stood on the stone landing for a moment, trying to gather together his scattered thoughts. The factors, merchants, and artisans paid 10 percent of their earnings to the Guild. He pursed his lips. How much had Tellis made? Fifty ... a hundred golds a year? Five to ten golds to the Guild, and Cerryl had known another ten scriveners ... That would only be a hundred golds. But if each group of artisans paid a hundred golds ... there were weavers, potters, coopers, basket makers, woodworkers, fullers, apothecaries, jewelers, coppersmiths, and tinsmiths and all sorts of other smiths ...

"Still..." Most of the taxes had to fall on the larger traders and factors. But what did that have to do with the purple cart, silksheen, and the fact that Fydel had warned him away from more than simple peacekeeping?

He walked slowly down the tower steps.

"Few would dare to carry silksheen..." For some reason, those words remained in his thoughts.

Why? Who had the coins to buy silksheen? Cerryl shook his head. It was obvious, so obvious he should have seen it earlier, far earlier, but mages who had been scriveners and sawmill boys did not think in such terms, not naturally. He knew in general terms where the silksheen had gone and possibly even to whom in particular, but why was an unanswered question. He had trouble believing that even the wealthiest of factors would accept silksheen gotten from peacebreakers merely for coins.

He frowned. Why not? There was nothing in the manual or the codes against purchasing stolen goods-or goods of dubious origin. Was that because it was impossible to prove that goods were stolen? Or for some other reason?

Every question raised another.

As he walked toward his room he ma.s.saged his forehead slowly. At least, he'd get to have dinner with Leyladin the next evening. Perhaps that would help ... one way or another, if he could get his thoughts together.

x.x.xVI.

It is always a treat to dine here." Cerryl looked across the blond wooden table to his left, at Layel.

"You are kind, Cerryl." Leyladin pa.s.sed the white china bread platter to Cerryl, then served herself one of the half fowl b.r.e.a.s.t.s wrapped in wafer-thin ham and covered with melted white cheese, topped with an off-white mustard dill sauce.

After that, she served some b.u.t.tered nut beans to Cerryl and then to herself.

"I meant it." Cerryl took a chunk of bread and set the bread platter to the right of the balding and clean-shaven factor, who had begun to sample his own fowl breast.

"Thank you," answered Leyladin.

"Good dish Meridis turned out," mumbled Layel.

Cerryl served himself one of the fowl b.r.e.a.s.t.s and cut a slice, following the example of the other two at the table. He took a bite, agreeing silently with Layel's a.s.sessment.

"It is good." Leyladin smiled. "That's because she knew Cerryl was coming."

"More likely that she knew you wanted it to be good," suggested Cerryl.

"Doesn't matter," responded Layel, "why it's good."

Cerryl took another slice of the fowl dish and ate it, nodding, then followed that with the beans and some bread.

"Except that I should tell Meridis," pointed out Leyladin.

"You will anyway," said her father. "You always let her know when you especially like things."

"She makes her likes known?" asked Cerryl, giving the blonde healer a quick grin.

"She hasn't shown you that yet, young mage?" Layel laughed. "If she hasn't, she will."

"Silks and jewelry ... or herbs and potions?"

"Silks?" Leyladin raised her eyebrows.

"She hasn't had much use for the silks lately," said Layel.

Leyladin frowned, and Layel laughed softly. "Daughter, what was ... well... it was."

After a moment, Cerryl spoke. "One time, when I was an apprentice mage, I saw some silksheen scarves in the Market Square." He shook his head. "I made the mistake of asking how much they were. It was a mistake for an apprentice, anyway."

"It would be a mistake for most," said Layel. "Though it would seem odd for there to be silksheen in a common market."

"I've seen it there a handful of times, but not often, and not in the past few seasons," Cerryl answered carefully. "Does anyone know much about how they make silksheen?" He took a slow sip of the white wine and waited.

"The druids of Naclos make it, or so I have been told," answered Layel. "They will only trade with those of Recluce and some few traders out of Sarronnyn. So we can procure it here only through them."

"You have silk hangings here ..."

"Silk, not silksheen," answered Leyladin with a laugh. "All the silk in the house would not pay for a pair of silksheen gowns."

"All the silk hung in the house," corrected Layel. "Not all the silk gowns." He smiled fondly at his daughter, but his eyes twinkled.

Leyladin flushed. "I don't wear them often anymore."

Layel raised his eyebrows. "Now. That is true. Perhaps I should have them made into tunics and trousers."

"Perhaps," agreed Leyladin.

"Or give them to your niece when she is grown."

"Father, I do believe you are you trying to irritate me." Leyladin smiled and handed the fowl platter to her father. "Do have some more fowl."

"If silksheen is that costly," Cerryl pursued, "I'm surprised that I ever saw it in the Market Square." He paused. "Where would one find it, then?"

Layel shrugged. "It is too dear for my purposes. I would not deal in something that only a handful of men could or would buy. Muneat has bought silksheen in the past. He has a nephew-well, he's not exactly a nephew; the fellow's consort is Muneat's niece, but he's Jiolt's youngest son, and he factors all manner of rare and scarce items."

Cerryl hid his nod and observed, "Silksheen sounds too dear for most. What do you find the best things for trade?"

"Me? What the good might be matters little, save that I can purchase it for many fewer coins than I can sell it and that there are many who would buy.

Copper when new s.h.i.+ps are being built; grain before others know that the crops will fail; tin or zinc whenever it is cheap; silver in the winter, for it is always cheaper then." Layel spread his hands. "You see, I will reveal all."

Cerryl smiled. "Not quite, for you have not revealed how you know when a good is cheaper and will become more dear."

"Father has not ever told me that; he just seems to know." Leyladin glanced across the table. "Are you both finished with your dinner?"

"If there be something special for sweets, Daughter."

Cerryl reluctantly decided against another fowl breast, knowing he would sleep uneasily with its weight in his gut. "Yes, thank you."

"Meridis?"

"Could you hearty men not eat more?" asked the cook as she appeared in her blue livery.

"A full breast I had," answered Layel, "and richer than anything I've had in days it was. Quite enough, thank you."

"Excellent," added Cerryl.

Meridis took the platters with a smile. "A yam mola.s.ses pie we have, though as getting enough of the sweet mola.s.ses was a ch.o.r.e, and dearer than you would have liked, Master Layel. Each eight-day a few more coppers it takes, or silvers."

The door closed behind her.

"They've raised prices at The Golden Ram again," Cerryl said. "That's twice this year."

"Aye, and it may happen yet again." The factor shook his head. "But enough of such. Leyladin tells me that you are a bright flame in the Patrol. How came that?"

Cerryl spread his hands. "Scarcely a bright flame, just a very junior Patrol mage who has much to learn." He paused as Meridis set what seemed to be a quarter of a golden brown pie before him and then before Layel. A smaller section went before Leyladin.

"There you be, and I be not expecting more than crumbs returning to the kitchen." The door closed behind Meridis.

Leyladin laughed. "She means that."

Cerryl looked at the huge chunk of pastry and filling. So much for trying to spare his gut. He looked helplessly at Leyladin, then said, "You have to eat all of yours, too."

The healer glanced down and swallowed. "Me?"

"She looked at you, too," Cerryl pressed, with a grin.

"If I must..." Leyladin offered a groan.

"Such sounds from the woman who as a child ate an entire half-pie," Layel offered.

"That was then," the healer said. "Much has changed."

Indeed it has, reflected Cerryl as he began to eat the sweet. Indeed it has. He was not looking forward to returning to the Halls, not by himself.

x.x.xVII.

Cerryl glanced from his notes to his half-written daily report to Isork, then at the doorway as Isork himself stepped into the small duty room.

"Ser." Cerryl stood immediately. "I didn't know you were coming." He gestured at the desk. "I was just finis.h.i.+ng my report. Gyskas should be here before long."

"I didn't come to see Gyskas." Isork slipped into the chair across the desk. "Sit down."

Cerryl sat.

"I understand you occasionally still walk with one of the patrols?"

"Yes, ser. Not too often... but every so often. I don't tell them before that day when, or why ... I just do it."

"Why?"

"Ser ... I couldn't say exactly," Cerryl fudged, "but... it feels better when I do.

People know I'm young, and I felt that they had to know I intended to learn the city and keep the peace."

"You also walk the section by yourself when you aren't on duty."

"Yes, ser. I don't know that I'm helping much... Nothing seems to happen when I go with any patroller ..."

"You're keeping the peace if nothing happens." Isork laughed. "When you're on duty, even when you don't patrol, almost nothing happens."

"Ser ... you said that people respected the Patrol here. I just wanted to make sure that they still did."

"Oh, they respect you. So do the patrollers. They see you walking the streets by yourself, checking out things-"

"I'm still trying to learn where everything is," Cerryl explained. "I don't want to have my lead patrollers trying to explain where something happened."

"We need more mages who've been through whatever you've been through."

Isork shook his head. "Your patrollers call you their tough little sawmill b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

First new Patrol mage in three years that I can keep. First one who's either patrolling or where he's supposed to be, too." The pudgy-looking but muscular Patrol chief glanced around the room, then frowned. "Don't let that go to your head. You've still got a lot to learn, but you're on the right road."

"Thank you, ser." Cerryl waited, suspecting from the Patrol chief's body position that Isork had more to say.