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shooks next to the planer where he could easily reach the shooks. He glanced toward the stairs, but neither Warrl nor Arthal had yet appeared. He snorted quietly to himself.
    Jenevra watched, without saying a word, just occasionally sipping the cooling cider.
    “Why do you blackstaffers come to Brysta?” Kharl asked, moving back to the planer.
    “Many go to Candar and some to Hamor. A few go to Austra,” she replied. “We must go somewhere.”
    Kharl didn’t understand that at all, and his face must have shown it, even to Jenevra’s blurred vision.
    “If we do not accept the tenets of order, as set forth in the book of order, and judged by the Council, and by the Institute, then we must undertake a dangergeld—that’s a trip away from Recluce to learn who we are and where we should fit in the world.”
    “Fancy way of throwing you out if you don’t agree, sounds like to me,” Kharl replied. “Don’t go along, and out you go.”
    “Sometimes it is, and sometimes people return with greater understanding.”
    “I’d wager not many return.”
    For a time, Jenevra was silent. Finally, she spoke. “That may be true. There are always those in any town or city who do not fit in. Is it not kinder to allow them a chance, rather than executing or enslaving them?”
    “They might not fit anywhere, and they may end up being killed elsewhere. People anywhere don’t much care for those who are different.”
    “You don’t think much of people, do you?” she asked gently.
    “I know what I see. For every kind act, there’s one or more not so kind. People talk kindness. Don’t always act that way.”
    “I suppose kindness and unkindness must balance, like order and chaos.”
    “You don’t sound so certain about that,” Kharl said.
    “I’m too young to be certain.”
    Kharl laughed. “Most young-‘uns are certain. Only when we get older that we see that naught’s as sure as we thought.”
    Jenevra’s eyes moved to the right, looking past Kharl.
    He nodded to her and turned to see Arthal almost tiptoeing down the steps. “Arthal! I was wondering when you’d be coming down. You can take the hollowing knife and smooth the inner side of the staves on the ones I’ve already shaped.”
    “Ah… I’d thought I’d… well… Derket was saying that they might be looking for a carpenter’s apprentice at the ship works. It pays a half silver an eightday.”
    “You think you’d find that work more pleasing than being a mere cooper?”
    “Da… the shop’s good for but one of us, and Warrl’s better at it already than I am.” Arthal did not quite meet his father’s gaze.
    Kharl waited for a moment, then nodded. “Mayhap you ought to go see, then.”
    “You’ll let me?”
    “Arthal, I can’t make you be a cooper. Go and see.”
    The young man looked at Kharl, then said, “They might not want me.”
    “You won’t know that, will you, ‘less you ask.”
    “No, ser.”
    “Then go and ask. But when you’re done, come on back here, unless they offer you a position right then.”
    “Yes, ser.” Arthal nodded and was gone almost before his words died away.
    “You don’t think they’ll take him, do you?” asked Jenevra.
    “I don’t know. Know it’s harder to get a position than he thinks, but he’s got more skill than he wants to admit.” Kharl picked up the first of the red oak shooks, hoping that someone else would come in before long with an order for more barrels. Senstad had ordered twenty barrels for harvesttime, and that was good, except it would be four to six eightdays before Kharl could collect. Korlan had asked for another thirty, but, again, not until the end of harvest, and that was a good five eightdays away. Kharl would have to start soon, but he didn’t have enough of the seasoned oak billets for all of them, and that meant more golds to Vetrad—as Vetrad had told Arthal.
    Aryl had been in the shop three times, talking about barrels for his apples, but he’d wanted them for