Colors of Chaos (17 page)

Cerryl raised his eyebrows.

“We bend the rules a little there. That’s where we get the prisoners for the refuse wagons and the gate cleanup details. We try to get the idea across that rules are rules.”

“Does it work?”

“From what I’ve seen… more than half the times, and that’s better than anything else. If a fellow doesn’t learn, well… sometimes the family can hold on without him, and at least they’re alive.”

“The other thing the Patrol does is judge things-the little things. That’s what that chamber is for.” Isork gestured to the white oak door to his left. “Folks sometimes disagree. So they come and ask me or Huroan to listen. We truth-read and try to sort it out. Most times, people just believe different things-no lies. When they find that out, and I’m sitting there, they can usually figure out an answer.” A crooked smile crossed the Patrol chief’s face. “We don’t get many liars-usually those are from outside of
Fairhaven.”

“What do you do with the liars?”

“If they admit it… and make good… nothing. If they insist… well… they go on the road crew.”

“Even wealthy merchants?”

A look of disgust crossed Isork’s face. “They can offer a hundred golds in bond; then the High Wizard has to review it. Most times, that means they get out of
Fairhaven.” A smile reappeared. “But… see, if they don’t come back and get judged by the High Wizard within a season, they lose the coins, and then, if they show up again and we find them, it’s the road crew, and not even the High Wizard steps in then.”

Cerryl nodded. And the road crew is usually life at hard labor building the White highways. He knew that much.

“We can’t control what people do in their dwellings, but shops, squares, streets, places of business, inns, stables-those are public places as far as the Patrol goes.

“For the first couple of eight-days you’ll be walking the streets with the best lead patroller we’ve got. That’s Duarrl. Only one rule-if he asks you to flame someone… do it. He won’t ask unless there’s a good reason.” Isork smiled. “It doesn’t happen often, but I want you to understand. Also, the Patrol never argues in public. Do you understand that? So try not to order anything stupid. Your patrollers won’t argue. They might suggest. Listen.”

“Yes, ser.”

“We don’t take young lancers as patrollers. There’s not a single patroller who’s not at least a score and five. That means you’re the youngest man in the Patrol. That bother you?”

“No, ser. I hope it doesn’t bother too many patrollers.”

“There’s one other thing. There are rules for peacekeeping and for patrollers and Patrol mages. They’re in here.” Isork held up a slim volume, then set it down. “If Huroan or I decide that a Patrol mage has broken any of them, then the Council decides on discipline. Do you understand that?”

Cerryl nodded. He certainly didn’t want to break any rules, not with Sterol and Jeslek able to discipline him.

“Good.” Isork nodded, then lifted the slim volume from the desk once again and extended it to Cerryl. “Read as much of this as you can today. Be here tomorrow at dawn. First two eight-days, you’ll go with Duarrl on the morning patrol. That’s mostly quiet, and that way you can learn where everything is in your section of the city-you’ll get the southeast. That’s where most things happen.”

As he took the thin book, Cerryl wondered about why he would be given a section where the most things happened but said nothing.

“You wonder why the southeast?” Another crooked smile crossed Isork’s lips. “That’s where the low trades are, the poorer folk. More fights, but they respect the Patrol. They haven’t got coins. Up in the northwest… well… best not to have a Patrol mage in a section where he has to deal with slick traders until he’s got some experience under his belt.”

“Do Patrol mages walk the streets all the time?” Cerryl couldn’t recall ever seeing a mage with the patrols.

“No. Once you know your section, you’ll be staying in your little room, just like I stay here. That way, your patrols can find you. You’ll have ten patrols of four men reporting to you-except you’re really there to back them up and protect them. Don’t forget it. You’ll have a set of guards, like here-and a messenger to find me in real trouble. Or to find you on the nights when you have the call.”

“The call?”

“Oh… guess I forgot that. When you get the afternoon duty-that’s really from midafternoon until midevening-you also have call. That means the messenger has to know where you’re sleeping… or eating… wherever you are. Most nights nothing happens after midevening, but you’d best be where you say you are.” Isork laughed. “In the Patrol, no one cares where that is or who you’re with-just so long as the messenger can find you quick. Means you don’t leave the city, and it’s better if you’re close to your section. Most mages just show the messenger their quarters, and that’s where they are.”

Cerryl nodded, feeling as though he were doing that far too often.

“One other thing… and I’ll wager Kinowin didn’t mention it. You get another gold an eight-day-and you’ll earn every copper.” Isork rose. “Tomorrow here at dawn.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You call me, Huroan, the overmages, and the High Wizard ‘ser.’ No one else in the Guild. And you call every person you meet on duty ‘ser.’ Strange world, isn’t it?” The crooked smile faded. “Tomorrow.”

Cerryl kept his face emotionless as he left the Patrol building and walked slowly toward the Wizards’ Square. Once he was well away from the building, he opened the book and read the front page-“On Peacekeeping.”

Another book like Myral’s on sewage? Or philosophy like Colors of White? Or did it really have firm rules? Did the Guild have a manual for everything?

He closed the book and took a deep breath.

XXVII

Duarrl was a head taller than Cerryl and half again as broad, cleanshaven with brown and gray hair and thin eyebrows that joined over his nose. Despite a bulk that threatened to burst out of the white tunic and crimson belt of a patroller, his face was long and narrow. He and Cerryl stood beside each other in Isork’s office, while Isork stood behind the desk that contained little beside the quill and inkstand and another pile of paper and scrolls.

“Duarrl, this is Mage Cerryl,” Isork began. “He’s a bit young. Kinowin says he’s talented. He killed those smugglers in the sewer last fall, the ones that had iron blades and shields.”

Duarrl offered a minimal head bow. “Good. Mage who can’t handle iron’s not much use to the Patrol.”

“He’s also been in a full battle in Gallos-killed close to a score of purple lancers.”

“Never liked those folk much,” Duarrl grunted.

“I told you-he’ll be taking the mornings from Fylker. Move him to the afternoon so Huroan and I aren’t down there all the time.”

“Be good.” Duarrl smiled. “That way all of us can find you.”

Isork spread a parchment map on the desk. “Like a sewer map. I’m sure you’re familiar with those.”

Cerryl nodded, then bent over, noting that red lines split the city in quarters. The north-south line was effectively the Avenue, and the east and west line ran outward from the Wizards’ Square in each direction.

“You will have to find another inn to eat at.” Isork grinned. “Least while you’re on duty. The Golden Ram is just across the Avenue, but it’s out of your section. Here’s the section Patrol building.” He pointed.

From what Cerryl could see, it was perhaps two blocks south and five blocks east of where Arkos the tanner had his shop.

“Your section has most of the tanners, some tinsmiths and coppersmiths, and some of about everything else except for big houses of wealthy factors. You should get to know it like the back of your forearm. Wouldn’t hurt to spend some time screeing it as well. Use your glass before you have to.” Isork turned to Duarrl. “Anything you’d like to add?”

“Well…like as a lot of hotheads in the southeast section… we try to yell first, give ‘em a moment to understand we’re Patrol. Makes it easier on all of us.”

“They respect the Patrol, but it takes a moment for them to realize that they could be in trouble?” asked Cerryl.

“Right as light, ser. And, the boys, well… no sense in slicing up someone or forcing you to ash ‘em, not if it not be needed.”

In short, look and think before you start throwing firebolts. Cerryl nodded.

“Cerryl… a word while Duarrl talks to the Patrol.” Isork cleared his throat and glanced at Duarrl. “Might tell ‘em about him… what you think necessary.”

“Yes, ser.” Duarrl straightened.

Isork rolled up the map. As Duarrl closed the door, the Patrol chief offered a smile. “Not much to say. The reason you’re here is so he can tell the patrollers what I told him to tell them. About you. They need to know that you’ve faced an iron blade and been in battle. Makes them feel better. Wouldn’t be quite so necessary if…”

“If I looked more like you or Kinowin?”

Isork nodded. “True you faced down Jeslek?” The Patrol chief offered a wry smile. “It’s not known to many… but I have talked to Kinowin.”

After a momentary hesitation, Cerryl nodded. “I’d rather it not be known… unless you think it important.”

“No one here but me needs to know that.” Isork stood. “There was one other thing I didn’t mention. Shouldn’t be a problem, though, seeing you were a scrivener. The Patrol mage is the one who writes down the daily report. You have to finish that before you leave your shift and send it here by messenger. You don’t start writing until you take over the morning duty, though. Next two eight-days, I want you learning everything you can about the southeast section-every inn, every spirit shop, every stable, and every warehouse. Any sewer tunnel you don’t know.”

“Yes, ser.”

After a moment, Isork cocked his head to the side. “Let’s go meet this morning’s Patrol group. I don’t expect you to remember all the names at once, but make an effort. Patrol mage is supposed to know every patroller by name and face.”

“Ah… eight score?”

“About nine score, with the wagon drivers and everyone. We should have ten score, but…” Isork shrugged. “It’s hard to get patrollers, too.”

Cerryl opened the door, then waited for Isork to step around the desk. Duarrl and four men stood in a loose row in the entry hall. The four patrollers straightened slightly as Isork and Cerryl approached. Isork’s eyes rested on each of the white-uniformed men in turn before he spoke.

“This is Mage Cerryl. Duarrl’s told you some about him, I’m sure. I’ll tell you one more thing. He was raised in the mines and worked his way out of a sawmill.” Isork nodded to Duarrl.

“Here they be, ser.” Duarrl pointed to a tall and thin man with dark red hair and the faint trace of a scar above his left eyebrow. “Reyll.”

“Noyr.” The next patroller was squat, even shorter than Cerryl, but twice as broad, and his hair was jet-black, his eyes equally black.

“Churk.” Churk offered a broad smile with his mouth, but the blue eyes remained distant under the short flax-gold hair.

“Praytt.” After meeting Cerryl’s eyes, the last patroller’s green eyes flicked from side to side, as if he had to study everything around him all the time.

“All right, once we cross the Avenue, we’ll do it like a sweep, except this is so Mage Cerryl knows what a sweep’s like, and also so you don’t forget.” Duarrl grinned at the four patrollers. “First four blocks, Noyr and Praytt… you be in front of us. Reyll-the left alleyway, Churk, the right.” He nodded sharply, and the four started for the doorway.

Isork looked at Cerryl and then at Duarrl. Cerryl understood-listen to Duarrl and try not to do anything stupid. Cerryl followed Duarrl out to the Avenue, out into a day that was already gusty, with a hint of chill, forecasting the cooler days of late fall after harvest. The six waited for a lumber wagon to rumble past before crossing the divided pavement of the Avenue. On the other side, Reyll and Churk eased away from the other four.

Cerryl had walked through some of the area east and south of the square on the last part of his sewer duty, but he’d walked through it, not studied it. So he tried to take in all the details poured forth by Duarrl.

“Vuyult-sells baskets and chairs, things woven from withies. Also sells withies themselves to the traders from Kyphros…

“There… the long warehouse with the gray timbers… used to belong to Hefkek… till he got bigger than his trouser… sold it to some brothers from Biehl… They grind all sorts of stuff… make pigments… Traders take ‘em everywhere…

“…Bavann… says they’re all his daughters and cousins.” Duarrl snorted. “Always different daughters and cousins, and they’ve stayed young, and his beard’s gone from black to gray. Doesn’t make trouble, though, and we’re here to keep the peace, not to judge what folk do behind doors and walls…”

Cerryl had to nod at that, though he wondered at times if some of the mages didn’t cross that line. After all, he hadn’t exactly made any trouble, yet the Guild had sought him out and would have sent him to the road crew or killed him if he hadn’t been acceptable to the Guild.

Duarrl stopped at the edge of a small square with a fountain. The water spurted out of a time-worn marble vase taller than a man. “They say this be the old square, the center of
Fairhaven before the first Whites fled from the Westhorns.” An apologetic smile crossed the patroller’s thin face. “Not that I’d be knowing that, you understand, ser, but that be what the folk say.”

“It could be true,” Cerryl said. “I wouldn’t know. That’s the sort of thing no one would have a reason to lie about.” He glanced around the near-empty square. An old man sat on the sunny side of the fountain basin, covered with a patched gray blanket, his eyes closed. Beside him rested a yellow dog with pointed ears, whose nose twitched as it surveyed the pavement.

A woman struggled down the narrow street to the east of the fountain, bent under a load of willow rods, while a cart pulled by a small donkey creaked past her and toward the square. On the far side, two boys, not even to Cerryl’s chest, tossed a ball back and forth

“Good folk here,” observed Duarrl. “Mostly from the countryside. Stay in the houses along the square for a time. Then they go back to the country or make enough coins to move north.”