Wellspring of Chaos Read Online Free Page A

round sections, rather than sections of quartersawn wood doweled in place.
    With a smile, he eased over to the quarter barrel that held sealant.
    The smile vanished, and he looked up. “Arthal!”
    There was no answer, not that he expected one. After a moment, he walked to the steps and climbed up, and peered into the main room, where Charee was seated at her sewing table, working on the embroidery that she did for Fyona, the seamstress fancied by most of the consorts of the wealthier merchants.
    “Where’s Arthal?” Kharl asked his consort.
    “He said you were finished with him, and he had to meet some friends.”
    Kharl pursed his lips tightly for a long moment. “I said he was free if he’d done everything. He did today. But he didn’t yesterday, and he didn’t tell me. I’m out of sealant, and he was supposed to get two buckets from Hyesal. He said he’d taken care of it, and he didn’t, and that means… oh… never mind…” The cooper started to close the door, then turned back to Charee. “If anyone should come by, I’ll be back shortly. I’m going over to Hyesal’s to get the sealant Arthal didn’t. I’ll leave the door open so you can hear if anyone comes in. Or if Warrl gets back from his lessons.”
    “Don’t be angry, Kharl. Arthal’s still young.”
    “He’s near-on double-eight, and I don’t like being misled.” Kharl snorted, then headed down the steps. “I should have asked him direct… have to ask ‘em every little thing… thinks he’s so bright…” he muttered to himself as he crossed the shop.
    Kharl left by the front door. Outside, on Crafters’ Lane, he heard a low rumble and glanced up. Clouds were massing over the Eastern Ocean to the west of the harbor, and the wind had finally shifted from out of the east to the west, bringing with it an actual hint of rain, not just soggy air, and the chance that the long-overdue and welcome late-summer rains would finally arrive.
    He glanced at Tyrbel’s small display window, which held several books, including a red leather-bound Book of Godly Prayer —a work that Tyrbel had done on his own as an offering to his faith. Kharl shook his head, thinking about the one-god believers. How could anyone believe that everything from the Great Western Ocean and beyond the Heavens to the Rational Stars could have been created by one god? Or that the same god knew everything everywhere, down to the smallest beetle? Or more important, from Kharl’s viewpoint, that such a god cared equally for all men, women, and children? Given what he saw on the streets of Brysta, Kharl didn’t put much faith in such a god.
    He laughed to himself at the last thought. He didn’t put any faith at all in such a god. Tyrbel did. With a rueful smile, he kept walking.
    Two blocks down toward the harbor, he came to the upper market square, although most of the peddlers and vendors had already packed up their wares and left. A one-handed beggar was seated on the low stone wall that surrounded the near-empty square. Topped with redstone with rounded edges, the wall was a good place for sitting and resting.
    “A copper, ser, just a copper for a poor fellow.” The bearded beggar, in a tattered gray tunic and trousers, held his cap upside down, lifting it toward Kharl.
    The cooper ignored him and kept walking. “Just a copper, ser. Just a copper…”
    Another thirty cubits down Crafters’ Lane, also seated on the wall, was a young woman, with short-cropped dark hair and wearing a tan tunic and trousers. Her skin was pale, but unblemished. Her boots were sturdy and brown, and beside her was a canvas pack, against which rested a shimmering black staff. She was small enough that her boots did not touch the cobblestones beneath the wall.
    As Kharl neared her, he took in the blackstaffer, then nodded politely. She looked up. “Good day to you, ser.” Her brown eyes smiled with her mouth.
    “And you as well,” Kharl replied, almost in spite of himself. But her