L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“You’d be wanting to know?” Glyan’s tone was somewhere between ironic and amused.

“I do. I was wondering…Do we have a cooperage here?”

“No, ser. Oak doesn’t grow well on the lands round about.”

Kharl nodded slowly. “And about the grapes?”

“What would you want to know?”

“As much as you can tell me. I’ll never know what you do,” Kharl admitted, “but it seems to me that I ought to know as much as I can.”

Glyan laughed. “That’d be taking some time.”

“I have time.” Kharl grinned. “And if you tell me a bit at a time, I might remember it more easily.”

Glyan cleared his throat. “Well…ser…the vineyards are over the second hill there, on the south-facing slope. We only grow two grapes here, the full red and the golden green. Green’s better, makes a Rhynn like no one else…”

Kharl listened intently until they neared the house on the hillcrest and Glyan broke off his words.

“…and that’s why we check the stones in the watering runs with a bubble level. They’ve got to be just so. Too little water or too much, and you’ve got a juice that’s good for vinegar and not much more.”

Kharl stopped and looked at the house. A flagstone walk led from the lane, which ran up the hill, then beside the dwelling, to the front porch, the one overlooking the harbor. After a moment, he followed Speltar to the porch.

There he set down the leather bag, before turning and looking out over the harbor, slowly scanning the water and the surrounding lands. He found it hard to believe that he owned the lands…lands that seemed too vast for someone considered a small landholder.

He stood and looked for some time, until he heard a cough.

“Ser,” offered Speltar, “might I show you the house?”

Kharl smiled broadly. “You certainly can, then the barns and the sawmill.” He turned to Glyan. “And the vineyard and the cellars as well.”

As he turned toward the door, he paused. There really wasn’t any reason he couldn’t have a cooperage now, was there?

With a nod to himself, he followed Speltar through the door.