The Wheelwright's Apprentice (12 page)

17

It was over a week later before Amia had the opportunity to visit Art. She looked up at the facade of the Temple. It was not a terribly pretty building, but it was imposing. Imposing enough to worry her as to how she would find Art. She walked in the main entrance, and was intercepted at once by an acolyte who asked her if she had come for healing. She was suddenly nervous. “No, thank you.” she managed, “I was hoping to see someone, an apprentice.”

“May I have a name then, and I will tell you if he is free?” he asked quietly.

She found it difficult to speak. “It is Art.”

The apprentice gazed sternly at her, “I wouldn’t refer to him as an apprentice here. He has become very important to all of us. He is a very good person.”

“Yes I know that,” Amia agreed. “He invited me to visit him here. Perhaps you could let him know that Amia is here?”

The apprentice gave her a cold look. “Many people want to see Art, but his time is limited. I will get the message to him, but you could be in for a long wait.”

An hour later she was still waiting. It was getting darker outside, and the lobby of the Temple where she was waiting was beginning to look drab and dull. At last the apprentice came back to her, now with a big smile on his face, and said, “Art will be a bit longer, and wondered if you would like to watch him at work.”

She was led to a largish room with many people in clerical robes. They were mostly clustered around an elevated table. Amia could just about see Art’s head somewhere in the mix. “Where should I go?” she asked.

“Anywhere you aren’t in the way,” was the helpful response from her guide’s retreating back. She moved as close as she dared. Art was delivering a baby. She looked again ~sho wWher and saw that there was another baby coming as well. She hadn’t known Art delivered babies, so perhaps there was some sort of complication. Both babies were placed onto their mother’s breasts, and then Art repaired the cut he had made in the mother. The crowd started dissipating.

Amia waited quietly while the mother and children were taken away. Art soon noticed her and came over. He was wearing a very basic set of shirt and pants which had a few blood splatters decorating them.

“Amia, it was very good of you to come and wait so long.” He managed to put on a respectable smile to greet her, but she could see he was dog tired.

“Perhaps I should come back another time. You look totally out of it.”

Art grabbed her arm. “This is the first time I see you in ten days, and you think I’ll let you walk away?” He steered her over to a bench and they sat down. “Once I wash, change and eat I will be fine. Can you give me a few minutes?” He already seemed a bit more animated.

Art walked her to his room. “You can wait in here while I tidy myself up.” He grabbed some clothes from a sparse cupboard and left.

Amia looked around. The room was cold empty and uninviting. There was hardly anything to personalize it. There were no possessions, just a few changes of clothes she had seen when the cupboard had been opened, and one of the instruments he had made at her shop. She hadn’t had much of a chance to look at the small one that he had left there. The master had immediately put it in a prominent place in one of the display cabinets. She picked Art’s instrument up and started to examine it. There were a lot of moving parts, and they all moved smoothly. She had no idea what it did but she was impressed with the way it was so perfect.

Art returned a few minutes later. He looked refreshed and invigorated. “Hope I wasn’t too long. Shall we get something to eat?”

Amia took Art’s arm as they left the Temple. “You don’t have much, do you? Your room is so empty.”

“I came to Red City with nothing. My whole village was wiped out in an Argle raid not long ago.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t say I have nothing, I have the Will, and I have you.” She squeezed back. They walked happily together until Art stopped in front of an inn. It was very grand.

“This looks a bit expensive,” Amia said.

“Don’t worry. This is the place.” Art steered her inside and they were met by a friendly but somewhat wary man. “Good evening,” he told the man. “Would you tell the owner that Art the healer is here please?”

There was a complete change in the man’s attitude. “Please, come over here and sit down while I fetch him, I know he will be pleased to see you.” They were parked in very comfortable chairs, and the man scurried off.

Moments later an extraordinarily fat man with a stained apron appeared. “Art, how wonderful to see you,” he enthused, “I never thought you would visit, and with such a pretty girl. I am Calando, the owner and chef.” This was said with a little bow towards Amia.

“This is Amia. I am sorry I couldn’t come before but I have been swamped.”

“No matter. You are here now, and I will make you the best meal of your life, just as I promised.” He clapped his hands together happily, smiled at them both again and left.

“What did you dWhayour o for him, save his daughter’s life or something?” Amia asked after they were seated at a table.

“Nothing like that,” Art grinned. “He is a chef and is huge because he loves to eat. He was having trouble with his hands which were getting all gnarled. He could hardly hold a knife. Those I managed to straighten out easily. He was so happy that I asked him a favour. I had never seen someone so overweight before, so I wanted to examine him so I could learn. When I did I found that his blood was hardly flowing at all as there was something gumming up his arteries. All he had been worried about was that his hands hurt. He never mentioned that he was tired all the time and had trouble walking. When I fixed him up, he was like a new man. He was overjoyed, and now we are going to enjoy his cooking.”

The meal was wonderful, different from anything they had ever tasted before, so much so that they hardly talked at all. Eventually Amia broke the silence. “I think it was funny you were delivering babies. Only fifteen, and you looked like you knew more about the inside of a woman’s body than the outside.”

“You’re right, that’s probably true. The babies were having problems so I had to cut them out. They all would have died otherwise. I don’t normally deliver, but now and then the problem cases get referred to me.” He looked her in the eye. “I am going to be sixteen in a few days.”

Amia burst out laughing, “You changed the subject really fast.”

“It’s a good subject, but that’s the same day Grammon comes back, and anytime after that I could be gone. My father said he is going to move me, but I don’t know where yet. Knowing him, I may get five minutes notice if I’m lucky.”

“All you have are a few changes of clothes and that funny thing you made at my shop.”

“Even so it would be nice to know a little bit beforehand. I think he likes to keep me off balance.”

No sooner than they finished their food and leaned back than Faran came in, breathless. “Art you are needed.” He turned to Amia, “l am so sorry to drag him away but...”

“It may not be a problem.” Art stood up and held out his hand. “I have wanted to try this for a while. Faran, please tell the owner why I had to go, and tell him the meal was fantastic. Amia, please get close to me.”

“That’s an invitation I have been hoping for.” She grabbed him tight, and they both vanished.

“Art,” she said moments later, “If this is your room you have a very sneaky way of getting girls in here.” She was not unhappy but was grinning flirtatiously from ear to ear.

Art ignored the comment. “I can’t very well use a public place to do this so I keep this corner of the room clear. Let me go and see why I am needed. You can stay here or come with me.”

“I am not staying in this drab place alone.”

The call had been for a girl who had both legs crushed when a pile of logs had fallen off the back of a cart. Amia, keeping her distance could see that it was horrible and she had to look away. Art, after only a cursory glance, told Amia, “This won’t take long.” After a bit, she risked a peek and saw one of the girl’s legs had been split open. She watched as the loose bone instantly knitted itself back together, then the blood vessels and finally the skin. She managed to watch, fascinated, as Art did the same with the other. “I said it would be quick.”

“That girl had a great pair of legs,” Amia offered.

“Did she? I don’t notice that sort of thing with patients, I have to be very focused on my healing or my Will won’t work.”

Amia took his arm. “That was the best answer I have ever heard a boy use when a girl has accused him of ogling another.”

Art looked up. “I am sorry we were dragged away. I was relaxing for the first time since...” His voice trailed off.

“Since when?”

“Since I was last with you.” He suddenly seemed very tired again.

“I can stay for a bit, if you like.” She hid a smile.

“That would be nice, but I think I am fading fast. Let’s go back to my room.”

Back in his room he took off his shoes and lay down on his bed. “I am sorry,” he slurred, “I am so out of it...”

He was asleep.”
No wonder he has no time to do anything except sleep and work.”
Amia thought. She teased him carefully out of his socks and pants, and managed to get him under his blankets. His shirt was too much. She gazed down at his sleeping form, and told herself,
“This may be my only chance.”
She took off her shoes and skirt and slipped in beside him thinking,
“He is an amazing boy and deserves so much. I just want to hold him close.”
She was lying.

Hours later, Art woke up to find Amia holding him. His movement woke her. It was a very long time before they went back to sleep, and when they did, they both slept soundly, holding each other closely.

In the morning, when they had a fast but tender parting, he told her, “Wherever my father sends me I am sure I will now be able to muster the Will to transport myself back here.” That got him his final smile and hug.

Three days later Grammon came back, and as soon as he was settled, he told Art that his father wanted to see him.

“That isn’t a surprise,” was Art’s first reaction. When he was told that he was to bring his bag, Art replied, “That isn’t a surprise, either.”

Five minutes later, he was walking towards his father’s study in the castle, having taken the quick route. He figured he was expected. He was.

“There you are Art. Right on time. Happy birthday, too. You seem very bright today. I expect that’s because you are keen to know where you are being sent, so sit down.” As usual he was not being given time to think. “You are going to the Capital. I have arranged for you to be a wheelwright’s apprentice, since you were one before. Remember not to let anyone know that you have the Will. That is the point of this part of your training. There is one exception. I have told your new master that you have been a valuable Te
mple volunteer here, and that you will go to the Temple there to help one day and one evening a week. There you can be yourself and wear your own face. In compensation, you will have to work two extra evenings for the wheelwright. He thinks you have a bit more experience than you have, so I have found a book for you to digest.” He passed over a much worn volume. “Ready to go?” Art hurriedly tucked the book in his bag before his father grabbed him and spirited them both away.

18

They appeared in another relatively featureless room. Art guessed it was somewhere in the Capital. He noted that events had moved so fast, and he had been working so hard, that he hadn’t even had time to ask anyone its name. He resolved to find out quickly.

“We are in the main Temple,” his father told him. “I am going to take you to meet the High Priest here. He’s your brother too, except he is older than Grammon. He is called Anaxis.” They went out into a corridor only slightly less featureless than the room they had arrived in, and after walking down another that at last seemed a bit more civilized, they found Anaxis in his study. He resembled their father too, and had stopped his age at around thirty. He distinguished himself by sporting a goatee which gave him a certain presence.

He stood up from behind an imposing desk as they entered. “This is your youngest then, father, and my newest brother?” He extended a hand, “Well met Art, I have heard a bit about you already. I’m to get you for one day a week, and I hope you will show me how you managed to cure those delirious patients in Red City.” He pumped Art’s hand enthusiastically. Anaxis certainly had inherited the ability to rattle on from their father, Art noticed.

Art greeted Anaxis politely but forcefully, “I will of course do whatever I can for you.” He fished out his instrument and put it on the desk. “I am going to leave this with you. I made it myself, and you need to run up a few copies. I will show you why when we have the time.”

Anaxis was slightly taken aback by Art’s air of authority. He looked at their father, the Count, who said, “Don’t look so surprised. He has been running the Temple in Red City for the last month.” Turning to Art, he said, “This should not only be practice in living without letting on that you have the Will, but also an opportunity to rest a bit. You will still do a day each week here at the Temple covering for Anaxis, but you will have much more free time than you are used to.” This was an understatement. If Art had had an evening a week to himself when he was in Red City, he had counted himself lucky.

Art’s life was to be turned completely upside down again in no time at all. One moment he was important, and in charge, and working much too hard. The next he was slap back at the bottom of the pile being a lowly apprentice again. An hour later Art, wearing his “Gim” face, and clothing suitable to a wheelwright’s apprentice, followed his sponsor into the courtyard of his new master’s establishment. The man who brought him was a local merchant of some importance called Maranaan who owed a favour to the Count in his guise as Farnham. He introduced Art as Gim, and made sure he acted properly towards his new master. Master Jangon was a big man, but with his muscles now starting to go to fat as he aged. Still, he came across as confident and authoritative. Art was shown to a very small, but adequate room over one of the cart houses. It had just a chest, a table, a chair and a pallet. He got a quick tour along with the rules of the house. The property consisted of two large cart houses and a smaller stable block set across the courtyard from the main house. It seemed imposing, but only in contrast to the rough and ready look of the outbuildings. Both carthouses contained workshops, as well as rooms over them for the apprentices. His new Master’s obvious prosperity marked him as competent, and a good businessman. The premises looked large, clean and busy. Jangon allowed him time to settle himself and told him to present himself for supper in the main house at six exactly. This gave him an hour or so of time to read his new book.

In his small room, Art lay on his pallet and thought, “I am allowed to use the Will. The trick is not to let anyone know.” He paused and made the logical jump, “I can’t do anything that will leave a clue that I have the Will. The Will can only be used when absolutely necessary, and even then so carefully that I leave no trace.” He then picked up the book, spelled himself to remember it and started to read.

Supper turned out to be the only time of day when everyone got together. There was Master Jangon and his wife, who the apprentices had to call Mistress Salia. She was short and pudgy, but was spry and energetic. They had a daughter, Ellary, a bright looking girl near his age, with long black hair and a slightly stern expression, whom he was advised to call “Miss Ellary”. There were two other apprentices. The elder, Dannoy was fresh faced and open. At eighteen he was nearing his Journeyman’s testing. The younger, Trorn, looked to be around Art’s age. He was small and wiry with a shock of unruly brown hair. Art suspected that he was eyeing him with a view to establishing his place in the pecking order.

Mistress Salia set a good table and was clearly a competent cook. She served generous portions, no doubt a reflection of the hard work they all did. She had obviously made it a firm rule that work was not to be mentioned at supper, as the all the diners carefully avoided the subject. The conversation turned to Art/Gim. Trorn asked the first question, one he hoped would be revealing and damaging. “Why did you leave your last master?”

Art looked up. “He’s dead.”

That burst Trorn’s bubble, as he had hoped Art might have been let go, or his master had gone bankrupt. The next question came from Mistress Salia. “What can you tell us about your family?”

Art considered carefully. This was a potential minefield. “I lived in Dane’s Hamlet. Four or five months ago the whole village was wiped out by Argles. I escaped as I was out running an errand for my master.” He swallowed. “My late master. A relative in Red City helped me, and now I am here.” He hoped that to be enough of a mix of the truth and obfuscation to forestall any further probing.

It seemed it was, as Miss Ellary tried a totally different tack. “Gim, do you have a girlfriend?”

Art went red and put down his fork, “I did meet a girl I hit it off with while I lived in Red City, but I have no idea when I will see her again, if ever.” The last was added rather wistfully.

After the meal, Master Jangon grabbed Art, and gave him a stern lecture about the shop, how they all worked and what was expected of him. He ended with, “This is a very busy shop and I expect good work from you. As long as you work hard, we will get along. In the morning you can show me what you know about the lathe. Sleep well.” Art knew that he would be happy to follow that last order.

The next day Art did a workmanlike job showing off his skill on the lathe. He had used one before and did an acceptable job without using the Will, showing his skill at the level he was supposed to have reached. He was left to produce sixty spokes for what was obviously a big cart that would carry a heavy load. He found it soothing to again be doing work he had learned when he was still in Dane’s Hamlet. He took a couple of hours to finish, tidied up and went to tell Jangon.

After lunch, Art was assigned to help Dannoy who was making rims for carriage wheels. He had never worked carriage wheels before, as there was no need where he had been. Here in the capital it was different. Fully hereh of a malf the business was for carriage wheels. They were thinner and more elegant, and attractive designs were a must. Carving those designs was the Master’s job. The problem for the apprentices was that the wheels were thinner and so easier to break. They needed to be a lot more careful. Dannoy took his responsibilities towards Art seriously and proved to be a good teacher. The day flew by for Art. When they were finishing up, Dannoy warned, “I suggest you be careful around Ellary.”

“You have your eye on her?”

“Nothing like that. She’s not my type. She had hoped a boy she liked would get the apprenticeship you got. The Master would never have allowed that anyway, but you might become a bit of a target for her anger. Watch out.”

Master Jangon joined Dannoy in the washroom, as he cleaned himself up before supper, and asked, “How was Gim today?”

“You’ve got a good one there by the looks of things, Master.” Dannoy told him. “He was attentive all the time, and careful when I gave him work to do. By the end of the afternoon, his work was nearly up to my standard, slower though.”

“He did good work this morning too. Useful boy.” When they left the washroom there was Ellary waiting outside. She had heard the exchange.

At supper, Art decided it was better to only speak to Ellary when she spoke to him. She didn’t. Trorn did ask him about Dane’s Hamlet. Art quietly told him, “I don’t want to talk about that yet,” which effectively stopped that line of questioning.

Sensing a gap in the conversation, Mistress Salia mentioned, “I hear a healer in Red City managed to cure a disease that was previously incurable.” Art did his best not to drop his fork. “I also heard it was someone really young!”

“The young tend to have good ideas and they make interesting new things.” This was Dannoy having a little dig at his Master. It sounded to Art that friendly old coals were being raked over.

Jangon grinned. “I’d like to see him design a better wheel.” Dannoy nodded back, and Jangon, having been conceded the win in this little foray, sat back contentedly.

Art settled down happily to his new existence. It was a lot easier than healing. He wasn’t woken in the middle of the night for emergencies and he had four evenings and an afternoon free every week. On the first evening he was to work at the Temple, he was sent with a bundle of messages to Red City. Anaxis told him that was all he had to do for the evening. Art now recalled that when they met Anaxis had told him that he would have him one day a week, not a day and an evening as his father had arranged. It seemed he would have a chance to see Amia again after all!

Two days later when he was again making spokes on the lathe, Ellary interrupted him and asked him to carry some water from the well to the kitchen for her mother. He couldn’t refuse, but remembering Dannoy’s advice he decided to double check everything. Nothing was broken, but three of the spokes were missing. He simply made three more. Later at supper he said nothing. He had now definitely decided it would be best for him not to speak to Ellary unless she spoke first.

A week or so later, Master Jangon sent Art over to the main house to give a message to his wife. While he was there, a customer arrived, Ingurion, Master Coachbuilder. He was a man of middle years who looked very prosperous. Miss Ellary asked Art to take his coat, and then show Ingurion into the lounge while she got her father. This struck Art as being somewas okehat odd as he should have been sent, while Miss Ellary attended to the customer.

He graciously greeted the customer, introducing himself as apprentice Gim, took and hung up Master Ingurion’s coat then showed him into the lounge. Ingurion made a beeline for a green velvet chair. Bells started to go off in Art’s mind, and he quickly intervened, “Please, Master Ingurion, choose another chair. One of its legs is a bit unsteady, and you won’t be comfortable.”

Master Ingurion sat in another chair. A minute or so later Jangon entered, greeted him very dererentially, and ushered him into the office. Art took the time to examine the chair, and found that the seat was soaking wet, a difficult thing to see against the green velvet. He might well have been blamed if this good customer had got his pants wet. He let Mistress Salia know what he was doing and then carried the chair out behind the stables where it could get the sun full on it to dry, and went back to work.

That evening was the “Evening at the Temple” that his father had arranged for him. It seemed his father had known all about his relationship with Amia and was helping him out. Art grabbed this opportunity with both hands. He saw the time he could spend with Amia as his reward for putting up with Ellary and her tricks. He didn’t think of Ellary again that evening.

Next morning he figured that there might be other ways that she would try to get to him and wondered how he might anticipate them. The worst thing he could think of was theft. If something was put into his room, and it was then said to be missing, he would be in big trouble. He took the precaution of putting a shoe just behind his door when it was almost closed so that it would be moved if anyone went into his room. This would give him notice when he went back to his room. The problem with that was that he seldom went there between breakfast and dinner. He really needed a faster warning in case anyone did go in.

Later that afternoon, he was carefully sanding down some rims. It was relaxing work and he let his mind wander. He wondered if there was anything that he could do with the Will to alert him when someone else went into his room. Nothing seemed obvious. Could the Will even be used in this way? He resolved to at least try something. When he went to his room that evening, he carefully opened his door and made sure the shoe hadn’t moved. Sitting on his pallet he tried to come up with something that might work. It wasn’t that he couldn’t use the Will, it was that he needed to learn how to get by without others realizing he could use it.

Why not try to create something that might help? Even if it didn’t, it would be interesting to see if he could do something, if only for the practice. There was still an awful lot he didn’t know about the Will, and it seemed he was mostly expected to teach himself. He lay back on his pallet and, for motivation, he imagined the problems he would have if accused of stealing. He wished for the third button to fall off his shirt if anybody but him opened his door. At least sewing it back on would provide him with an excuse to go back to his room. He had no idea if it would work or not. There was no one to test it for him so he would just have to wait and see.

Several days passed uneventfully. Art worked another full day at the Temple and was gradually becoming known and accepted. The work was just the same as at the Temple in Red City, only the respect had to be earned again. His work with his instrument that helped him to cure some previously incurable patients had at least stopped them seeing him as an uppity apprentice. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the work and usually overdid it.