The Wheelwright's Apprentice (31 page)

49

As their cart neared the city of Furl, Art noticed that Davi was looking a bit strange, perhaps nervous. “Are you alright, Davi?”

“Thanks, I’m fine. It’s been six years since I was back here, and I’m not sure what to expect. I must have driven a cart like this one into Furl hundreds of times when I was a boy.”

“Are you worried that the City will have changed a lot?” Iria liked to hear her own voice.

“It’s not that is it, Davi? You’re wondering whether you might run into your cousin, and if you do, whether he has changed.”

Davi looked away, and Art dropped the subject. Iria, however, asked, “Do you have family here in Furl, Davi?”

He was polite in his answer, but omitted a bit of detail. “I came to live here with my mother’s cousin after she died. He was a carter, which is one reason why I’m a driver now and then. He had three sons too, so I might have more family now than when I left.”

Art knew that this was a tender subject, so he distracted Iria by asking, “Do you know how to find our inn? I know we aren’t staying with the rest of the troop.”

“My father has us staying at the ‘Built in a Day’. I don’t know where it is. Actually I don’t know Furl at all well.”

“Don’t worry, I know where it is.” Davi was happy the subject had been changed. “The ‘Built in a Day’ was the best inn when I lived here, a stone’s throw from the Earl’s castle. If your dad booked you in there, it’s still going to be the best.”

A mile or so before they came to the City gates, Captain Hanna rode up, and said, “Davi, I need you to drop the cart off where we are staying first.”

It turned out that where the company was staying was not too far from the inn, so Davi walked them there, carrying Iria’s bag. The inn was a grand establishment, and the clerk was very offhand with them. Considering that they were dressed rather casually, came without horses or carriage, and still sported some grime from the road, it was not his fault he got the wrong impression. “I’m sorry we have no room. You might try The Carter’s Rest. It’s...”

Davi knew the City, and he knew the people who lived there and how to handle them. He drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height, and said, “I don’t believe that Milady Iria and Milord Art would want to go to that low dive as they have reservations here.” He managed a happy smile all the time.

The clerk went white, excused himself and went into the room behind him. Seconds later a man who introduced himself as the owner appeared. “Welcome, welcome, Milady, Milord. Darrant here will show you to your suite. Is there anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable?” All the time he had been addressing Davi.

“Why, thank you, there is.” Art’s voice had the timbre and authority of power. The owner now saw his mistake. “I would like you to arrange for us to visit a shop where they are accustomed to adepts making their own clothes.”

The owner shrank back. “That won’t be a problem. Will there be anything else?”

“Yes, we will need to borrow part of your kitchen tomorrow.”

The owner coughed at this unusual request. “Of course, we will be happy to accommodate you.”

After the door had closed on their suite, Davi asked Art, “Remember that I told you that there were a lot fewer adepts outside Galland?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You just saw one of the consequences of that. Here adepts are more feared than admired. They don’t do the useful things they do where you come from. They tend to spend their time jockeying for influence, position and power. It’s a deadly pastime, and often bystanders get killed.”

“Then we will have to do our best to change their perception, won’t we?”

“I think I’d better leave now,” Davi said. “Captain Hanna will want to know you arrived safely.”

As Davi moved towards the door, Art grabbed him by the elbow. “Don’t run away so fast, let’s go and see if we can find your cousin tomorrow.” Davi went red. “You were worried I would suggest that, and now you don’t know what to say.”

He looked down. “You’re right, of course. I’m scared to death.”

“How about I check it out for you?” Davi was caught in a moment of indecision. He didn’t appear to be able to speak. “Give me his name and the name of his father’s business...at least I can tell you if he still works there.”

“Curvo’s Cart and Transport. Randon.” Davi ran out.

“You are an odd pair.” Iria had been trying to work out their relationship.

“I suppose we are. We both have few friends. Davi, because people are scared of him, and me because all of my childhood friends are dead. Since I lost them, I have come to appreciate the value of good friends fr. Randon, his cousin, is the best friend Davi ever had. As his friend I want to help him.”

“Let’s go and check it out now. I want to see Furl. I want to walk the streets. My father never let me do that before. As long as I am with you I can go anywhere.” She was excited by the chance to do something new and different. There was a twinkle of release in her eyes. Considering her upbringing, Art didn’t blame her.

Ten minutes later, having freshened up, they set out. Darrant had given them directions, although with raised eyebrows. The walk through the streets of Furl took longer than Art expected, as Iria kept stopping to look at shops and sights she had never seen before. Art saw she was enjoying herself and didn’t begrudge her the experience.

The carter’s yard reminded Art of Master Jangon’s. It was neat, well appointed, and busy. A large newly painted sign hung over the entrance and several troughs with clean drinking water in them gave the impression of efficiency. They went iinto the office, and Art asked the man there, “Is Randon here?”

The man turned, and poked his nose through a door behind him. “Rando, someone wants you.”

Art and Iria could hear his response. “It’s not Evorin, is it?”

They assumed a shake of the head as a big man, though not as large as Davi, came out.

“Good afternoon, good sir, you are Randon? My name is Art and this is...”

There was a loud bang as the door was flung open, hitting the wall. “There you are, Randon. Where are my damned fruits, and what about my bloody spices, you lazy bastard.”

Art put himself between Randon and the newcomer. “Sir, Randon is dealing with us and you will please be so good as to apologize to the lady here. Your language is from the gutter.”

The newcomer gave a sneer. “Do you have a death wish; do you know who I am?”

“I don’t need to know who you are. You are rude, arrogant and boorish. Why would I want to know you?”

The man seemed confused, as if nobody had stood their ground in front of him before. The man gave a wave of his arm, and he was thrown out of the doorway into the yard outside. Moments later he came storming back inside with a murderous expression on his face. It gave way to one of utter surprise as the floor beneath his feet turned to mush and he sank up to his neck. Art took a step towards where he was floundering. “You and I are different from most people, but it seems we have diverging views on life.” The man struggled while Art said, “I wouldn’t try anything as you will only annoy me. Now get up and apologize. Milady should at least know your name.”

Randon offered, “He’s Milord Evorin.”

Art looked down. “Where I come from, Milord, the way we feel is that we are here to look after those unlucky enough not to have been blessed with the Will.” Evorin was now out of his wet hole, and drying himself. “We have a life that will last many hundreds of years and they get about eighty. At least they could with Willed healers to help them.” Everyone in the room seemed overawed by Art’s speech, and hung on his every word. “It seems only fair that we should dedicate ourselves to making their short lives as good as we can. I have recently realized that is what my father thinks, and has thought for a very long time. It’s the way all of us should think, whatever country we belong to. I am sure you have traveled and know that there is a big gate oursep between the way people live in Galland and how they live here. I want the people of every country to enjoy the benefits that my people do.”

Evorin didn’t know what to say to that so he asked, “Whom might you be?”

“My name is Art, and my father is the Count of Red City in Galland. This lady, to whom you still owe an apology, is Milady Iria, daughter to Baron Edgurd.” Art stepped to one side of Iria and waited.

Evorin showed a moment of indecision, and then flitted away. It appeared as if he had never apologized to anyone in his life and didn’t know what to say or do. Art turned to Randon. “My apologies. Let me fix that hole.” He focused on the wet hole in the floor and it slowly reinstated itself.

Iria was excited. “Ooh! Art, how did you do that?”

“I swapped the ground under him for the water in a trough outside the door. I’ll have to apologize to the horses too. Since he was such a rude lout, the motivation came easily.” He walked back outside and cleaned out the trough.

Randon followed. “I’m so sorry, Milord. Milord Evorin has a bad temper and he always expects his deliveries early. Today we were very busy and the wheels on two of the carts broke, putting us behind.”

“Do you have some tools? I’ll fix them for you properly. I could use the practice.”

Randon didn’t know what to say, the situation was too far outside his experience. He sped away mutely and came back smartly with a set of tools. Twenty minutes later the wheels were fixed and the carts were on their way. Randon was still at a complete loss. When Art gave him his tools back, Randon was at last able to manage, “Did Milord want anything with me?”

Art laughed. “In all the confusion I forgot. You can drop the Milord stuff. Any friend of Davi is my friend too.”

Randon fainted.

When he came to, he was sitting in his favourite chair, with the clerk hovering over him. “Rando, Milord Art left this message for you.” He was handed a piece of paper on which was written, “The Hostler’s retreat”.

By then Art and Iria were well away. “What was the message you left?”

“It’s where he can find Davi. Judging by his reaction I’d say he’ll go looking. At least Davi won’t have to agonize any more.”

On their return to their inn, there was a message waiting for them with a rather flustered Darrant. It was an invitation from Earl Fordry of Furl, for dinner. “I can have your reply sent to the castle if you wish, Milord.”

“Has our visit to the clothing shop been arranged?”

“Oh, yes, Milord. They’re at your convenience.”

“Then we’d best hurry if we want to look reasonable for dinner.”

Since the castle was so close to their inn, there was no point in taking a carriage, they simply walked up to the gate. This time, their greeting was entirely different to the one they had received at the inn. Good clothes, perfectly tailored, were obviously all that was needed to go anywhere.

Dinner in the castle was to be a formal affair. A uniformed functionary conducted them to a room full of scattered chairs and tables, where twenty or so well dressed people sat talking and drinking, and making conversation. He guided them straighed tht to Earl Fordry, and announced them.

“My, you’ve grown!” The Earl was all over Iria. “I haven’t seen you in, what must it be? Seven years?” Art stood quietly as they reminisced. It seemed to be a very different world. Eventually the Earl beckoned over his son, whom he introduced as Milord Damoten. He then led them on a slow procession around the room acting as host, and introducing them to the other guests in turn. Only one other was introduced as “Milord”.

They never really got to exchange more than a few pleasantries with anyone, as a liveried servant came into the room and in a clear voice announced, “Dinner is served”.

They followed the crowd into a small, for a castle, dining room, where the servants showed them to predetermined places. The Earl sat at the head with Iria to his right, and Art beside her. One place was vacant, opposite Art, and an elderly lady sat between the Earl and the vacant seat, Lady Jenna. She was the Earl’s daughter, one without the Will. It struck him that it must be hard to be part of a family, some of whom were Willed, and some not.

He heard a voice behind him. “Good evening, Milord. It was good of you to invite me, I regret having been delayed.” It was Evorin.

“Ah, Evorin, there are a couple of people here I don’t think you have met.”

“Thank you, grandfather, but I made their acquaintance earlier today.” Evorin had changed completely into a suave courtier. “Milady, please forgive me my earlier actions.” He took her had and pressed it to his lips. Iria was flummoxed and could only smile.

“That’s good then. You’ve met already. Go on, be seated. The soup should be out soon.”

Art didn’t trust Evorin. It was one of those times when it was unacceptable to be rude or boorish, but that didn’t mean that Evorin was above getting his petty revenge in some other way. He tried to think the way Evorin might, which he found difficult. When a large tureen of steaming hot soup came out from the kitchen, borne by a liveried servant, something clicked. Each of the guests had a silver goblet in front of them for their drink. Although it wasn’t a mirror image, he could at least see that the servant’s progress was normal. Without warning, the servant stumbled and the tureen went flying with a gush of soup aimed at the back of Art’s neck.