Free The Magic of Recluce by L. E. Modesitt Page B

carver try to entreat me.
    From the square I walked down toward the four long wharves. Each gray stone structure rose out of the dark blue water of the harbor more than five cubits, with a central paved roadway more than ten cubits wide. At the first wharf, the one closest to the harbor mouth and farthest from the center of the market area, was a huge twin-masted and steel-hulled ; steamer. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the forward funnel, The ensign I did not recognize, but, with the blue-green background and the golden crown, I would have guessed the ship was from somewhere in Nordla.
    A half-dozen loading carts, stacked with square wooden packing cases of differing sizes, waited for the ship's crane to transfer each into an open forward hold. What was in the crates I couldn't see. I walked down toward the pier. Although there was a small stone booth for a guard, the booth, spotlessly clean, was empty. Nor was there a guard around.
    Click . . . click . . . My boots nearly skidded on the smooth pavement underfoot.
    Whhhsssss .. . . Ahead, steam drifted from the small tractor linked to the loading carts, though they were long like farm carts, each nearly ten cubits in length. The sides were of smooth-milled red oak, held in place by steel brackets.
    "Stand clear, fellow." A woman I had not seen, wearing a set of black coveralls, waved in my direction then gestured toward the ship.
    Whhheeeepppp . . . The crane lifted two more crates, cradled in a heavy mesh net, up off the next-to-last cart. The end cart was already empty.
    The woman walked briskly toward me. Dark-haired, she was nearly as tall as I was, and as broad in the shoulders. She smiled. "Must be new in Nylan. Dangergeld?"
    I had to nod.
    "We're loading furniture right now. The ship is the Empress-out of Brysta, Nordla Lines. I'm Caron."
    "Is this your dangergeld?" I blurted.
    She laughed. "Not exactly. I started as a purser on the Brotherhood ships, but traveling got old. I liked dealing with cargo and making up shipments, handling the cube and stowage calculations-"
    Whhhheeee . . .
    "-Excuse me . . ." She was back at the cart, deftly jockeying two more crates into the net, without seeming to work up a sweat.
    Whheeeeppp . . .
    As the net lifted away, Caron returned. "So that's how I ended up here. I have a small farm not too far from Sigil, in the low hills north of the High Road. I spend my free time there."
    "But . . . don't you need help loading all these ships . . . ?"
    "There are four of us. That's enough. We don't handle that much bulk anyway. The economics don't work, not against forced labor or slavery."
    Whheeepppp . . .
    As she turned back toward the loading, I frowned. For a glorified stevedore, Caron was unusually bright, and perfectly willing to talk to a total stranger. Was she just another Brotherhood type, with quick and incomplete answers? In the direct sunlight, even though it was a shade cooler than normal for a summer day's late afternoon, I was beginning to sweat.
    After wiping my forehead with the back of my sleeve, I looked at the steam tractor. Magister Kerwin had taught us about steam-powered machinery, how it created too much chaos unless properly designed and handled, and how it generated too much concentrated heat. Steamships could handle the heat because of the conductivity of the ocean and their relative isolation from other chaos-sources.
    Whheeeepppp . . .
    Another full net lifted away, and the gregarious loadmaster, or whatever else she was, stepped back toward me.
    "What do you think of Nylan?"
    "Don't know what to think. I just got here today." I pointed to the tractor. "That seems contrary to the magisters' teaching."
    Caron grinned. She looked younger-say about Tamra's age-when she smiled. "It only seems that way. If you consider the alternatives in order theory, the number of bodies required to lift that cubage, it works out about even. Plus, the fact that we can operate them without the usual catastrophes scares the hell out