“Sometimes it is, and sometimes people return with greater understanding.”
“I’d wager not many return.”
For a time, Jenevra was silent. Finally, she spoke. “That may be true. There are always those in any town or city who do not fit in. Is it not kinder to allow them a chance, rather than executing or enslaving them?”
“They might not fit anywhere, and they may end up being killed elsewhere. People anywhere don’t much care for those who are different.”
“You don’t think much of people, do you?” she asked gently.
“I know what I see. For every kind act, there’s one or more not so kind. People talk kindness. Don’t always act that way.”
“I suppose kindness and unkindness must balance, like order and chaos.”
“You don’t sound so certain about that,” Kharl said.
“I’m too young to be certain.”
Kharl laughed. “Most young-’uns are certain. Only when we get older that we see that naught’s as sure as we thought.”
Jenevra’s eyes moved to the right, looking past Kharl.
He nodded to her and turned to see Arthal almost tiptoeing down the steps. “Arthal! I was wondering when you’d be coming down. You can take the hollowing knife and smooth the inner side of the staves on the ones I’ve already shaped.”
“Ah…I’d thought I’d…well…Derket was saying that they might be looking for a carpenter’s apprentice at the shipworks. It pays a half silver an eightday.”
“You think you’d find that work more pleasing than being a mere cooper?”
“Da…the shop’s good for but one of us, and Warrl’s better at it already than I am.” Arthal did not quite meet his father’s gaze.
Kharl waited for a moment, then nodded. “Mayhap you ought to go see, then.”
“You’ll let me?”
“Arthal, I can’t make you be a cooper. Go and see.”
The young man looked at Kharl, then said, “They might not want me.”
“You won’t know that, will you, ’less you ask.”
“No, ser.”
“Then go and ask. But when you’re done, come on back here, unless they offer you a position right then.”
“Yes, ser.” Arthal nodded and was gone almost before his words died away.
“You don’t think they’ll take him, do you?” asked Jenevra.
“I don’t know. Know it’s harder to get a position than he thinks, but he’s got more skill than he wants to admit.” Kharl picked up the first of the red oak shooks, hoping that someone else would come in before long with an order for more barrels. Senstad had ordered twenty barrels for harvesttime, and that was good, except it would be four to six eightdays before Kharl could collect. Korlan had asked for another thirty, but, again, not until the end of harvest, and that was a good five eightdays away. Kharl would have to start soon, but he didn’t have enough of the seasoned oak billets for all of them, and that meant more golds to Vetrad-as Vetrad had told Arthal.
Aryl had been in the shop three times, talking about barrels for his apples, but he’d wanted them for almost less than the cost of the oak and iron.
Warrl had long since gone to his lessons, and Charee had left with her stitchery for Fyona, and Jenevra had drifted into a dozing sleep by the time Kharl had finished turning the shooks into rough staves. He checked the hollowing knife and began to work on smoothing and fine-shaping the staves. He’d finished the staves for one barrel and was working on the second, when he saw Charee coming back into the shop.
His consort slipped up to him, and said in a whisper, “Kharl…you’ve got to get her out of here.”
“Her name’s Jenevra.”
“I don’t care what her name is,” Charee replied. “Fyona told me that Mallamet was going to put a complaint before the Crafters’ Council that you’re using the blackstaffer’s magic on your barrels.”
“That’s stupid. The poor girl can’t even see straight yet. Mallamet’s a poor excuse for a cooper who just wants to cause me trouble.”
“That well may be…but if the Council decides you’re using order-magery in support of a craft…”
“How about tomorrow morning?” Kharl said quietly. “You could walk her down to Father Jorum’s, and she could rest there for the day.” If Jenevra weren’t much better in the morning, perhaps he could persuade Charee to let her stay another day. He didn’t want to think about what might happen after that day.
“Why not now?”
“She can’t even sit up for long without getting dizzy.”
“First thing tomorrow,” Charee said. “I’ll make sure Father Jorum will be around, but I won’t let him know why. But it will be first thing in the morning.”
“After breakfast,” Kharl said.
“After breakfast, but no later.” Charee headed for the stairs, carrying another bundle of fabric and thread.
Kharl looked at the dozing blackstaffer, then slowly lifted the hollowing knife once more.
VII
In the early afternoon, somewhat to Kharl’s surprise, a lanky man ambled into the cooperage, an unpleasant odor clinging to him, for all of his neat and clean appearance, although his leather trousers bore stains that had clearly resisted all efforts at fullering. His heavy boots thudded on the floor.
Kharl set down the drawing knife and went to meet him.
“You Kharl?”
“That I am. How might I help you?”
“I’m looking for slack cooperage that’s close to tight. Heard you were the best at that.” The man gestured at the range of barrels on display. “Those look to be tight.”
“They are, but I’ve just finished a few slack barrels out of red oak. They’re here in the back.”
“Be pleased to see them.”
The two men walked to the back of the cooperage, past Arthal, who was slowly, as always, hollowing a red oak stave, and Jenevra, who was almost invisible against the wall and had drifted back into sleep.
“Good slack work…you see?” Kharl gestured to the red oak barrel, open-topped, but otherwise completed.
“Might I handle it?”
Kharl nodded.
The other man inspected the barrel carefully, paying particular attention to the joints and the iron hoops. Finally, he straightened. “How much?”
“A silver a barrel.”
“Mallamet sells them for eight coppers.”
“He does. They’re not as tight.”
“For ten, nine silvers,” offered the man.
“Nine and five coppers,” countered Kharl.
“Nine and four,” offered the other.
“Done.”
“You have three here, I see. When could you have the other seven?”
“I have eight ready now. The others are on the other side.”
“Better yet. Five now, and five in two eightdays? I’ll pay you six silvers and four now, and the rest when I pick up the others.”
“That would be good.” Kharl paused. “I must apologize, ser, but since we have not done business before…”
The man laughed. “We have not. I had thought you might have guessed. I’m Werwal.”
“The renderer? I have heard of you.”
“And I you. That is why I am here.” Werwal counted out the coins. “My wagon will be here shortly for the five barrels.”
“They’ll be ready.”
With a smile, Werwal bowed slightly and left.
Kharl was smiling as well. The copper he’d given Jekat had been well spent, even if that had not been his intention. He’d have to remember to slip another to the cheerful urchin. Jekat had probably given him more business than his own sons.
The cooper shook his head, sadly, and headed back toward the staves he’d been fine-drawing.
Arthal coughed. “Da…he smelled.”
“That’s not surprising. He’s a renderer.”
“Shouldn’t let him in…”
“He bought ten barrels, Arthal. He can’t help the smell. That’s what he does. Someone has to do it.”
“Stinks…”
Arthal’s mutter was so low that Kharl decided to ignore it as he went back to work. If he corrected Arthal on every word his son said, these days, he reflected, he’d do little enough coopering and Arthal would get even more angry than he always seemed to be.