In the end Swanee, the camp supply man, and Ima, the camp’s butcher, gave Kindan a hand moving his stuff.
“If you take the frame apart, you can carry it up in pieces,” Swanee said to Kindan while he rolled the mattress up and heaved it over his shoulders. He tapped the empty frame. “There’s good wood there,” he said approvingly. “Get the slats first and then come back for the rest.”
Under Master Zist’s directions, they took two chests of drawers and a smaller clothes chest out of Danil’s cottage.
“Your sisters will doubtless want these when they hear the news,” Master Zist said. “I’m sure you’ll do well with just the chest, but set all of them up in your room.”
“My room?” Kindan echoed. He’d never had a room of his own; he’d always shared with Tofir and Jakris.
“Well, you won’t be sleeping with me,” Master Zist said with a wry look.
“I’d best bring lots of blankets, then,” Kindan said thoughtfully. For all their trouble, Tofir and Jakris had been enough to keep Kindan warm on the coldest nights—when they hadn’t pulled the blankets off.
“If it’s all the same with you, Kindan,” Swanee said after taking a careful look around the cottage, “I’d like to take anything you don’t need and give it to those that don’t have. The rest I’d like to put up in storage. Tarik has enough stuff of his own.”
Kindan heartily agreed to the request, and all three nodded in approval.
“Just a moment,” Master Zist said, raising a hand. Everyone looked at him. “Kindan, is there anything special you’d like for yourself?”
Kindan thought about that for a moment. “Anything?”
“Anything,” Master Zist agreed.
“Well, if I could have Mother’s old table, the one with the hinged lid and the old music inside—”
“Music?” Master Zist raised an eyebrow.
Kindan nodded. “It was special to her, and to my father after...”
Master Zist raised a hand to stop him. “Ima, Swanee, can you see to it?” The two nodded in quick agreement. “Anything else?”
“Take a good look around, lad,” Swanee advised. “If, after we’ve distributed everything, there was something you’d forgotten we could always get it back, but...”
Kindan took a good look through the cottage. He stopped in the kitchen and looked at Master Zist. “Do you need any cook-ware or dishware?”
Master Zist shook his head. “The Harper’s cottage is well supplied with both.”
Kindan pursed his lips in a frown, thinking. Then he nodded. “I think that’s everything, then.”
Swanee gave Kindan a searching look and then nodded firmly. “Very well, we’ll get your stuff up and distribute the rest. Thank you, lad, there’s many will be grateful for what you don’t need.”
Kindan nodded mutely, not really understanding what the supplier meant.
Nuella made Dalor tell her everything when he came upstairs.
“Kindan’s moving in with the Harper?” she exclaimed when he finished his tale.
“And Uncle Tarik is moving into Danil’s old house,” Dalor said by way of confirmation. He was glad—that way he wouldn’t have to listen to their uncle complaining all the time.
“Oh, but it’s awful!” Nuella complained. “How will I get to see the Harper if Kindan’s staying there?”
Dalor frowned, then said, “I don’t know.”
“And Master Zist was going to teach me the pipes,” Nuella added sadly to herself.
“You’re good already!” Dalor told his sister stoutly.
“Only you would know,” Nuella said, feeling miserable.
“And Mother,” Dalor corrected.
“This cave-in’s set Father’s plans back, hasn’t it?” Nuella asked.
Dalor shrugged.
Nuella sighed. “I wish...” She sighed again, shaking her head, her wish unvoiced. After a moment she picked up her pipes and began playing a soft, sad song.
Kindan was really surprised, hours later, to find himself sitting on his own bed, in his own room, with the sounds of the Camp’s harper pottering about in another room.
Master Zist had popped his head in several times to ask, “Everything all right, lad?”
The first time, Kindan had nearly jumped with shock at the question and could only bring himself to nod mutely in response.
“Well, then, I’ve got some things to attend to,” Master Zist had said. “If you need anything, you can get it from the kitchen. I’ll be in my study and I’m not to be disturbed.”
A quick glance at the Master’s face told Kindan that disturbing him would not be a wise thing to do at all. He had nodded quickly but said nothing.
“All right, then,” Master Zist had said, to fill in the silence. “Get yourself settled in and we’ll have dinner when I’m finished with my work.”
Now Kindan heard voices from Master Zist’s study. A younger voice and the Master himself. Curious, Kindan listened more carefully. The young voice sounded a lot like Dalor, but he couldn’t hear it clearly enough to be sure. Maybe Master Zist was trying to catch Dalor up on all his missed lessons. It occurred to Kindan to wonder if perhaps Dalor had received extra lessons from Journeyman Jofri, as well. Perhaps because he was Natalon’s son it had been decided to keep him out of all the rough and tumble of the everyday classes. Kindan knew that all the kids in the camp thought that Dalor was a bit sickly. Although, come to think of it, Kindan couldn’t recall ever seeing Dalor coming down with anything. Perhaps Jenella, who’d lost so many babies in childbirth, was being careful with Dalor and keeping him in whenever he got the slightest bit sick. It didn’t seem likely to Kindan ... and the voice didn’t quite sound like Dalor’s. He wondered if he was allowed to open his door to hear the voices more clearly.
As he pondered the notion, another voice joined in. Kindan immediately recognized the voice as Miner Natalon’s. It seemed as though Natalon was not pleased about something. He heard the youngster’s voice, as well, and Master Zist’s. Judging by the rise and fall of the voices and their tones, Kindan was certain that whoever owned the younger voice was someone well known to Natalon. So it was probably Dalor, Kindan decided. Maybe Natalon was annoyed to find Dalor bothering the Master, Kindan guessed.
The voices rose in parting and Kindan heard two sets of feet walk to the front door and leave. A while later Master Zist walked into the hallway and knocked on Kindan’s door.
Having never been afforded such a courtesy, Kindan didn’t know how to respond.
“May I come in?” Master Zist asked after a short wait.
Kindan opened the door. “Of course, Master Zist.”
Master Zist entered the room and looked around. “All settled, then?”
“Yes, thank you,” Kindan replied.
“Good,” Zist said, nodding emphatically. “Come along, we’ll eat in the kitchen.”
Kindan smelled the hearty beef stew before he saw it bubbling on the hearth in a pot he recognized from Jenella’s kitchen. He looked around for the dishes and cutlery and set the table.
Master Zist served them and they ate in an awkward silence. Kindan finished his stew quickly and waited politely to see if he could have seconds. Master Zist noticed this but continued to eat in slow, deliberate bites. By the time the Master was finished, Kindan was squirming in his chair.
“Dessert?” Master Zist inquired.
“Well,” Kindan began, then blurted, “I was wondering if I could have some more stew.”
Master Zist gestured to the pot. “There’s only you and me here, Kindan. You may have what you want.”
As Kindan refilled his plate, Master Zist regarded him thoughtfully. When Kindan returned to the table, the Harper said, “When we are alone, Kindan, you may always help yourself. You just have to ask.”
Kindan, mouth full of stew, smiled and nodded.
“You had a lot of older brothers and sisters, didn’t you?”