Free Havenstar by Glenda Larke Page A

once he could no longer
work—things like the smoking herbs for his pipe, which were
imported from the Eighth Stability.
    Thirl’s buying
spree upset her. The few gold coins would not last long, and after
they were gone, there would only be her dowry money. According to
the Rule, all the money was now legally Thirl’s as long as he
undertook to look after his mother until her death, and his sister
until she married. In fact, provided she was cared for, an
unmarried woman had no rights to property unless her living male
relatives—and the Rule Office—sanctioned the ownership. Keris had
heard the village devotions-chantor, Nebuthnar, pontificate on the
reasons for such laws. ‘This Rule is designed to protect the
interests of the weaker members of our community, the children and
husbandless women,’ he’d said.
    ‘Who says such
women are weaker?’ she’d asked cheekily. She’d been about fourteen
at the time. ‘All the oldest people in the village are women.’
    He’d not been
able to give an answer that satisfied her. His spluttered, ‘The
Rule brings Order and should therefore not be questioned,’ was
hardly an adequate explanation. Order, all important Order.
Regularity was paramount, change was anathema. Order ruled, and the
Rule brought Order. What nobody mentioned was that the Rule
stifled, that Order suffocated.
    She and
Chantor Nebuthnar, a pompous man who spluttered saliva everywhere
when he talked, were old enemies. Sheyli had once remarked that a
place the size of Kibbleberry was not thought to merit a chantor of
quality. Certainly Chantor Nebuthnar lacked learning, just as he
lacked humility and half a dozen other virtues normally considered
desirable in a chantor. What he did not lack was belief in the
necessity of obedience to the Rule and a forthright officiousness
in applying the law. Not only was he responsible for seeing that
the Rule was obeyed, but he performed the duties of a
mentor-chantor as well, which meant Keris had been in his winter
reading classes as a child. She’d stuck it out for four years, by
which time she could read and figure as well as he could.
    It did not
help that he had an innate distrust of all the Kaylen family
because Piers worked the Unstable, and in Nebuthnar’s rather simple
mind, Unstablers were suspect. Mapmakers and such lived outside of
the Rule for the greater part of a year, after all. He kept a close
watch on the Kaylens and pounced every time one of them made a
mistake. He complained when Piers did not wear regulation clothing,
fined Keris once when he caught her wearing trousers to ride
Ygraine, railed against Thirl when he was caught climbing down from
Mistress Verlan’s window when Master Verlan was away—all
transgressions against Order.
    Still, Keris
now appreciated his visits to her mother, to offer her solace and
the usual homilies to the dying. Sheyli needed the comfort of
religion and he seemed able to offer her hope for an afterlife,
which was more than all his teachings in winter school had done for
Keris herself. She might have thought better of him, if he had not
sought her out following one of these visits to ask her what
thought she had given to marriage.
    She gave him a
level look. ‘My mother lies mortally sick, and you ask me such a
question?’
    ‘More reason
now to ask it than ever. You will soon be an orphan and in need of
a man’s protection—’
    ‘I have a
brother.’
    ‘And he’ll
have his own family soon. You must look to start your own. I
understand that Harin Markle from—’
    ‘I will not
wed Harin!’
    ‘Ah.’ He
considered that, obviously searching his mind for a possible
reason, and not finding one. ‘Ah, well then,’ he said finally, ‘if
marriage doesn’t appeal, then perhaps you should then consider a
chanterie—’
    ‘I didn’t say
marriage did not appeal,’ she snapped. ‘It is Harin that lacks
appeal. And I have no intention of donning a chantora’s habit!’
    He shook his
head sadly at her