L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

Still…there wasn’t much a scrivener could do about that. Other things were another matter.

He smiled, thinking of redberry pies and what well might follow.

Rahl could hardly wait to finish dinner, but he forced himself not to appear hurried as he washed and dried the platters and replaced them in the narrow cabinet against the kitchen wall.

“You won’t be late, now.” His mother’s words were not a question.

“Not too late,” he replied with a grin. “But I wouldn’t want to leave too much redberry pie behind.”

“Don’t make a hog out of yourself, son. Folks’ll excuse a picky eater and one with a healthy appetite, but hogs aren’t welcome anywhere.”

Rahl forced another grin. “I think you’ve told me that before.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

He smiled pleasantly, wishing that she wouldn’t keep dishing up the same old sayings, time after time, as if he had no brains or memory.

When he finally finished helping his mother, he washed up in the stone-walled area just outside the kitchen, then set off. He was careful not to take the shortcut and instead to turn at Alamat’s, where he could be seen by Quelerya-even in the growing twilight-as being on his way to Sevien’s. What a wretched old biddy Quelerya was, watching everyone, then telling if she saw anything she thought might cause someone trouble.

The dwelling attached to the pottery works was at least three times the size of the dwelling in which Rahl had grown up, although Rahl had felt fortunate enough to have his own room, small as it was at four cubits by six, with his pallet bed against the outer wall. Many children slept in the common room or with their parents.

Rahl stepped onto the low stone stoop before the front door. The stoop was almost wide enough to be a small porch under the wide eaves. He knocked.

Sevien opened the door. “Rahl! Come in. You’re the first one here.”

The front door opened into a common room with a long dining table at one end, nearest the kitchen. Chairs stood at each end of the table, with long benches at each side. Two brass lanterns-each in a wall sconce on opposite sides of the room-provided a steady low light. Facing the hearth, where a brick heating stove stood, unneeded on the comfortable spring evening, were two upholstered and low-backed benches. There were even high-backed chairs flanking the benches, rather than stools, and a sideboard for platters and bowls and tankards-and several real glass goblets.

Even from the front door, Rahl could smell the aroma of baking and spices. His mouth watered, but he swallowed and smiled.

Sevien closed the door behind Rahl. “Mother, Rahl’s here.”

The gray-haired Nuelya turned from where she stood beside the kitchen sink. “Rahl…I set aside one pie for you to take home to your mother. She was so kind to bring all that fresh asparagus by the other day-and even some early brinn. It helps with burns, and handling a kiln, they do happen.” She shot a brief glance to Sevien, who glanced away from his mother. “Now…you won’t forget it, will you?”

“No…ma’am. I certainly won’t.” He wouldn’t, either, because he’d get at least two pieces out of it at home, and they didn’t get redberry pie-or any pastries-that often.

“It’s the one in the corner here, covered with the cloth.” Nuelya turned to check something on the stove, then added to her daughter, who had stepped inside the rear door, carrying a large crockery pitcher, “Did you run the spigot a bit first?”

“Just a little.” Delthea glanced at Rahl, offering an all-too-knowing smile.

Rahl smiled back blandly. “Good evening, Delthea.”

“The same to you, Rahl.”

“If you’d get the small plates, Delthea?” Nuelya gestured toward a tall triangular cabinet in the corner closest to the dining table.

“Yes, Mother.”

“What did you do today, besides cart amphorae down to the keep?” Rahl turned to Sevien, trying to change the unspoken subject quickly.

“Mixed and blended clay. Then I shoveled the coal that Muldark delivered into the bin, except for the last bushel. I had to break that into the right-sized chunks before I loaded it into the kiln.” Sevien shook his head. “Waltar used to do it. I think he slaved to get his own works in Alaren just so someone else had to handle the coal. Clendal just went to sea, and that leaves no one but me. Anyway, someone’s got to do it. Mother and Da need to light it off tomorrow so that they can start firing the day after tomorrow for the next shipment for the Guards.”

“That far ahead?”

“We have to preheat the kiln. Otherwise, the temperature’s uneven.”

All that sounded like even more work than copying books-and a lot dirtier, reflected Rahl.

“Cold water doesn’t take off the coal easy. It takes forever to get clean,” said Sevien.

“That’s because you’re not careful,” suggested Delthea from the kitchen area.

“And you don’t take long enough,” added Nuelya.

Rahl refrained from grinning, not because Sevien was embarrassed but because sometimes all mothers sounded the same. “She and my mother could have been sisters,” he murmured, barely under his breath.

“We’re third cousins, young Rahl, and we’ve got ears like the rock-owls.”

That Rahl could believe.

Sevien did grin. “Did anything interesting happen at your place?”

“Magister Puvort came by today. He was asking about some book,” Rahl offered.

“He was here, too. He talked to Mother.” Sevien looked toward the kitchen, where Nuelya was now setting out the small plain earthenware plates that Delthea had taken from the cabinet.

Rahl had never seen so much ceramic ware. Most people had plain platters and bowls and not much else, but he supposed that potters could make things for themselves. “He didn’t seem too happy. He said something to Da about the engineers and how things weren’t that good now.”

“The magisters never think things are good,” countered Sevien.

“Sevien,” cautioned Nuelya.

“Magister Puvort was looking for a book called The Basis of Order. I’d never heard of it,” Rahl went on. “He said that he thought someone around here might have a copy of it. I’m an apprentice scrivener, getting close to being a journeyman, but I’d never even heard of it until this afternoon.”

“Sounds like they don’t want folks knowing about it.”

“He didn’t sound very happy about the engineers in Nylan.” Rahl hoped Nuelya would say something.

“The Council hasn’t been happy since the engineers built Nylan,” said the potter. “They’re always claiming that the black wall doesn’t really stop anyone. Walls don’t, whether they’re black walls or orchard walls.”

“Especially orchard walls,” added Delthea.

Rahl barely managed to avoid wincing.

Sevien grinned more broadly, then murmured, “See what I got to listen to? All the time?”

Tap, tap!

Sevien turned and hurried across the common room to open the door. A tall young man and a slightly shorter young woman stood there. Both were redheads. With Sevien’s red hair, and Delthea’s, Rahl definitely felt outnumbered.

“Rahl…this is Faseyn and his sister Fahla. They’re pretty new here.”

Rahl had heard that the factor who had taken over Hostalyn’s chandlery had a son and a daughter. He’d seen them both from a distance but never met either. He stepped forward, smiling. “I’m glad to meet you both.”

While Rahl was slightly taller than most men in Land’s End, Faseyn was close to a half head taller than Rahl. Up close he was gangly, and he looked to be younger than his sister. Rahl guessed that Fahla was about his own age.