The Wheelwright's Apprentice (4 page)

6

A couple of days later, when the Count returned, Master Simvil was able to report that he was happy with the progress that Art had made. The Count himself was too busy to see him, so Art actually had a bit of free time. He asked Gorgy what there was to do.

Gorgy thought for a short moment, and then said, “You could go up on the roof and check out the view. It’s quite something, you can see for miles.” So Art took himself up, and indeed the view was worth tramping up all those stairs. Mountains on one side, a river running past and the plains stretching back towards Horseford.

Art spent a few moments spacing before he heard a loud shout from behind him, “Hey you there, apprentice, come with me! I have work for you!” Art turned around, and saw a big man in a brown tunic, who said, “I am Jonjo, assistant head laundryman. We need your help.”

Art followed dutifully down to a huge room where most of the men were working bare chested because it was so hot. Art was tasked with carrying baskets of dirty and very smelly clothes to a large and soapy tank into which everything was unceremoniously dumped. He soon discovered why the others were working bare chested and joined them. After a couple of hours of this backbreaking work, it seemed that all the dirty clothes were in the big washtub, and he was allowed a short break. There were a couple of boys actually in the tank who were swirling the clothes around, and they would now and then pass items over a short wall to a series of rinsing tanks set up like a waterfall, that the clothes moved up in while water slowly trickled down from one to the next. He was then told to carry the cleaned clothes out to dry. He remained bare chested while he was going in and out with his loads, as it was still hot inside. He noticed Gorgy doing the same thing, but was too tired at the time to speak to him. Eventually this task was finished, and the boys were allowed to collapse on the grass and watch while the laundry girls hung up the last of the washing.

For a while Art was too dazed to talk so he closed his eyes for a few minutes until he felt a nudge. He opened his eyes to see Gorgy lying beside him. Guessing Art had got enough energy back, he said, “This is the best bit of the day. The girls love to see us boys showing our muscular chests, and now they get a few minutes break.” There were several girls wandering in their direction, so Art struggled up on his elbows. Art didn’t think that he had much of a muscular chest, but he was still too tired to do much of anything. He laid back down and let Gorgy and the other boys have their moment.

“Ah-ha,” he heard. “We have a new boy, and he is so exhausted that he can’t open his eyes.” Art slowly cracked an eyelid and saw a small semi-circle of half a dozen girls surrounding them. “I’m Eela,” said one looking straight at Art. “Who are you?”

“I’m Art, and I am, no I was, well I would be from Dane’s Hamlet if it was still there, which it isn’t, so I’m a bit at a loose end at the moment.”

Eela, who was a tall well developed brunette perhaps slightly older than him, and who was definitely the leader of this little gaggle of females, took a step forward and asked, “So Art, apprentice, whose apprentice are you?”

Art scratched his head and replied, “I suppose, unless he assigns me to someone else, I am the Count’s apprentice.”

There was a moment of absolute silence and then Eela said, “Stand up and let’s see your face properly.”

Art carefully got to his feet and said to Eela, “So?”

“You look like the Count. I expect you are another of his bastards. So do you have the Will?”

Art looked around at the other girls and boys who were all waiting for his answer, “What if I do?” he parried.

“Then,” Eela sighed, stretching out the moment, “Then we might be very nice to you as there are a lot of things you could do for us.” Turning to her friends she said, “Right girls?”

They all giggled. Art made a decision and said, “Sorry I don’t. I’m just a workhorse like the rest of you.” He bent down, retrieved his jerkin and walked away leaving the disappointed girls behind.

Later that evening in their room, Gorgy asked him, “I know that you have the Will or you wouldn’t be having lessons with Master Simvil, so why tell the girls that you didn’t?”

Art climbed up to his bunk and told Gorgy, “For one thing the Count told me not to use it for anything but my lessons, but the real reason is that I am just being overwhelmed by everything, and the prospect of me trying to do parlour tricks for them and making a total mess of it is too much at the moment. To top it off, the Count has warned me not to use it on girls anyway.” Art raised his voice, and added, “So why did you tell Jonjo I was on the roof?”

Gorgy fell over laughing, “Let that be a lesson to you. Never tell another apprentice where you are if you are free! I would have had to work a whole lot harder today if I hadn’t put Jonjo onto you!” Art grunted, then laid himself down and turned over.

The next morning at breakfast, he was found by Dano and taken to see Quorn. Quorn was a very small man of middle years, with a bald head. Art was told to sit down. “Master Simvil says that you have reached an acceptable level with your letters and numbers, and that you made enough progress with the Will. We really should have started with the Will first, but all the people who are good with the Will went on the raid with the Count, and in any case there are only a few. Starting today, The Count wants you to take arms practice in the morning and learn the Will in the afternoon. Dano will show you where to go.”

Lunchtime saw Art aching all over in places he didn’t know could hurt. It was so bad that he managed to Will away the pain, and was then able to face the afternoon lessons without distraction. The teacher for the Will was called Master Beech. He was a man who looked like the archetypal warrior. He was big, broad chested, had strong arms and a fearsome demeanour. His voice however suggested otherwise. It was mild and unassuming, but carried the suggestion that it was to be heard. Art made himself comfortable in a chair. In his mild but insistent voice, Master Beech asked, “What do you know about the Will?”

Art’s honest answer was, “Very little.”

Beech went on, “Tell me about that very little.”

Art closed his eyes for a moment, and then said thoughtfully, “I think I have used it to stop people seeing me and finding me. I have used it to remove my pain and to help me learn. I have used it to fix things and to put a book in front of a knife Master Simvil was going to stab me with. There have been a couple of times that I wanted to use it, but it didn’t work. That’s it I guess”

Beech steepled his hands and looked at Art. “What you need to understand is how the Will works. Either you are born with the ability or you are not. About one person in five hundred has the talent. You either have it or not. No one is born with more or less ability to use the Will. Any difference in strength is due to training, rather like the muscles you see on blacksmiths, which they get from repeatedly wielding a hammer. In other words, everyone starts out equal. It is the person who learns how best to apply their Will who becomes the strongest. A lot of people never find out that they have the Will, but there are tell tale signs that we can see. The farmer whose crops are healthier. The innkeeper whose inn is free of vermin. The artisan whose work is of exceptional quality. That sort of thing. We don’t mind and we don’t bother these petty Will wielders. Do you know why?”

Art shrugged and said, “I guess that they help improve things in the Kingdom.”

Beech laughed but replied, “That as well, but the big one is that they are no threat!”

Art was now more than a little bit confused so he asked, “Threat to whom?”

Beech grimaceed, and answered simply, “Other Will wielders, which includes the Count. There is only room for one really strong Will wielder in each kingdom, do you know why?”

Art wondered, “Do they fight when they disagree?”

“Yes and invariably one ends up dead!” Art shuddered. Beech continued, “Now you are beginning to see how things work. The Count is the strongest Will wielder in this kingdom by far. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Whenever he thinks anyone is getting too strong, he simply kills them. I don’t want to tell you how many, or how many like you were his own offspring, but he has been around for much longer than anyone can remember, and has disposed of several that I know of, and I am only a hundred and twenty. That is why the Count said he would probably kill you when he took you on as an apprentice.” This last was a bit too much for Art so he said that he needed to go to the jakes.

A few minutes later he came back in, and when Beech asked, “Ready for the real lesson now?” Art was able to sit down and nod his head without shaking. Beech then said, “Just to make you feel a little bit happier, there are quite a few Will wielders working in the kingdom. They perform a lot of very useful jobs. There are healers in the Temples. There are judges who are truthreaders. There are people who repair all sorts of things from bridges to sewer pipes, and so on. The key is not to get big ideas! Some of us even asked the Count to curtail our talents so we would be less of a threat to him.” Beech leaned back in his chair, looked Art in the eye and asked him, “Exactly how to you think the Will works?”

Art was silent for a while, but Beech could see that his mind was grinding along towards an answer. Eventually Art replied, “When I want something to happen, I mean, when I really want something to happen, and I am clear enough in my mind as to what it is, ten hat it hen it works.”

“That’s pretty good,” Beech replied, “But how is it that you can make yourself really want something?”

There was another long period of silence while Art’s mental gears clicked over. “I remember the first time I used the Will was when I would have been killed otherwise.”

“So what drove you to use the Will?” Beech asked quietly.

“Fear, I guess,” was the equally quiet reply.

“That’s right. Fear!” Beech went on, “Now think of another time.”

Art remembered, “I was in agony the first time I rode a horse.”

“So what was it then?” Beech probed.

“Pain!” was the reluctant response.

“Now are you beginning to get the idea? Try another time.”

Art remembered, “I repaired something of Master Simvil’s, but that was fear too, I think.”

Beech then asked him, “Do you want to guess as to what happened?”

“As a guess I would say that the fear and the pain really made me want something. I suppose other things could as well!”

Beech smiled and said, “Yes, any ideas what?”

Art blurted out, “Something else like them.”

“So what else is like them?”

Art took a few moments to reply, “Some other strong emotion, hate sounds like it could do it...so does pity...” he trailed off.

“How about love? Isn’t that a strong enough emotion?”

“I don’t really know, not yet...”

Beech smiled and said, “You will find out eventually that love is the strongest emotion.”

Beech stood up, rubbed his hands together, and said, “Now let’s have some practical work.” Beech offered, “Most of the time you do not have the threat of someone trying to cut your head off to provide the impetus for your talent to kick in. What you have to do is to be able to recall the feeling that allowed it to work.”

Art jumped up and said, “That’s right! I fixed a chair for Master Simvil like that!”

Beech continued, “Can you remember an incident that left you with strong emotions?”

Art thought for a short while, then answered, “The massacre in my village certainly did that. I mean there was fear, no that’s not right, it was terror. There was hate for the raiders, pity for the dead, despair, especially with the loss of my mother.” Here he stopped, fought back tears, and took a few moments to get a grip on himself, then said, “There was also a strong desire for revenge.”

Beech agreed, “Revenge is a good motivator. It can work well.” Beech picked up a small vase and carried it to a table against the wall. “Imagine this vase is the face of a raider whom you saw kill someone dear to you.” Art took a good look at the vase, which was green with a rose painted on it and tried to place the face of one of the raiders with big horns on his helmet in the place of the rose. “Now try and crush it.”

Art screwed up his face, clenched his fists and concentrated on the vase. Suddenly it vanished in a puff of smokealluff of . So did a large section of the wall behind it, as well as the table it had been on. Art could see pieces of wall tumble down as the sunlight streamed in and dust billowed up. He stood watching the scene mutely for a couple of seconds, then all was as it was before, the vase was back on the table, the wall was solid again and the table appeared as new. Art then collapsed.

Beech laughed and said, “We know that revenge can be a powerful motivator, but how did you manage to put it all back together so quickly?” Beech picked up the vase, examined it and continued, “And so well!”

Art went red in the face and squeezed his hands together. “I was so embarrassed, I just had to put it right!”

Beech noted deadpan, “That works too, as a motivator, but you need a bit of practice in control.”

Art then spent an hour alternatively pulverizing and recreating the vase until the vase was the only thing that was damaged, and when it was, it was completely smashed. Beech grinned and said, “That’s it for today. Repairing things is very useful. Breaking them less so, although it is a mart
ial skill. We’ll try something else useful tomorrow!”