The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(44)

“Better,” said Beryal when he reappeared in the common room holding the leather jacket from Dylert that still fit tolerably well. Tellis had left, presumably for the workroom.

“You look like a real apprentice,” added Benthann from the kitchen worktable where she sloshed dishes in the washtub.

“I don't like to wear it around the inks and dyes and the glues,” confessed Cerryl.

“The boy thinks about his clothes,” said Beryal, “unlike some. Considering how they might be dirtied ... imagine that.” With a twisted smile, her eyes went to Benthann.

“Oooo ... I might drop one of these.” The younger blonde juggled an earthenware platter, then caught it.

“Trust that you don't,” suggested her mother, adjusting the short gray-and-blue woolen wrap that was too heavy for a shawl and too short for a cape. “Master Tellis may offer coin for clothes, but platters be another matter.”

Cerryl looked at the recently washed floor stones.

“We need be going,” said Beryal, touching his shoulder. “Out the front way.”

“Yes, Beryal.” Cerryl glanced through the open door from the showroom into the workroom, where Tellis was hunched over the stretching frame. The scrivener did not look up as they stepped out onto the street. Cerryl closed the door gently.

The sun shone through high hazy clouds, imparting little warmth to either Fairhaven or Cerryl. He fumbled the top bottom on his jacket closed and slipped his hands up under the bottom edge to keep them warm.

“It's another five long blocks down toward the wizards' square, not so far as the white tower, say three blocks shy of that.” Beryal shifted her basket to her left arm and started down the lesser artisans' way toward the artisans' square.

Cerryl shivered as they stepped back into the shadows of the narrow street. The shutters of all the shops were closed against the chill, and the light and fitful breeze occasionally carried the smell of burning ash to him. He thought he heard the click of the big loom as they passed the weavers, but it could have been the shutters rattling or the sound of the cooper's wooden mallets.

“Are we getting anything else?” he asked when they stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the artisans' square. The square was empty except for a man hunched on a white stone bench under a blanket.

“Besides spices? Not unless it be a true bargain.” Beryal laughed as she turned left and continued her brisk pace. “Like as I have to run out of things before Tellis opens his purse-for spices and stuff for the kitchen, anyway.” Her eyes went to the man under the blanket. “On the crew for the Great White Road, he'll be afore long.” She shook her head. “Some folk never learn. Anything be better than that.”

Cerryl wondered at the slightly bitter undertone, suspecting he knew all too well to what Beryal referred.

'“The history Tellis made me read, it says that the black mage-the one who founded Recluce-he worked on the white road and escaped, and that he was the only one who ever did.”

“If he did...” Beryal laughed and lowered her voice to almost a whisper, “no wonder that he cared little for the white mages.”

“Is it that bad?”

“It is nothing to talk about.” Beryal shook her head. “Especially not where others can hear. Or Tellis.”

“Tellis?”

“Aye, Tellis.” Beryal lowered her voice. “His father was a white mage, save he knows not whom.”

“What?” blurted Cerryl, wondering why Dylert had sent him to Tellis, repressing a shiver.

“The mages, they cannot love a mage woman.” Beryal shrugged. “She would not survive the birth. Most times, anyway, they say. The children of the mages, for they have women but not honest consorts, they are raised in the pink house off the wizards' square. They call it a creche. Some become mages. Some do not. Those who have not the talent, they are apprenticed into the better trades. Tellis is a scrivener.”

Cerryl forced a nod. “That... I did not know.”

“I had thought not. Best you do, and say little.” Beryal seemed to walk a shade faster.

Cerryl stretched his own legs to keep up.

The artisans' shops around the square gave way to a line of larger structures-an ostlery, then a long building without a sign of any sort, although two carriages waited by the mounting blocks outside the arched doorway.

Cerryl glanced across the avenue at the building, his view; blocked for a moment by a wagon laden with long bundles wrapped in cloth that was headed in the same direction as he and Beryal. The rumble of the ironbound wheels on the whitened granite of the paving stones sounded almost like distant thunder.

“The grain factors' exchange,” Beryal explained, lifting her voice above the sound of the wagons. A second wagon-its high sides painted right blue and drawn by a single horse-followed the first.

What did grain factors do? Cerryl wondered. “How do they exchange grain there? There aren't any wagons or silos.”

Beryal laughed. “They exchange pieces of parchment. Each piece of parchment has on it a statement of how much grain the factor will sell-something like that. Tellis explained it once.”

Cerryl nodded, understanding that such trading made more sense than carting grain from place to place. “Are there other exchanges? For other things?”

“I'm sure there are. Tellis has talked of them, but I've forgotten where most of them are. There's an exchange for cattle somewhere on a square south of the wizards' tower. I remember that because it's near where they sell flowers from Hydlen.”