"Mindy L. Klasky - Glasswright Apprentice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Klasky Mindy L)

Chapter 1

Rani Trader pushed through the throngs in front of the cathedral, sparing only the Pilgrims'
dusty robes from her sharp-elbowed thrusts. Fighting the crowd gave her an opportunity to
spend some of the rage that pulsed in her thirteen-year-old veins, and she barely remembered
to protect the precious basket that was slung over her arm.

The day had begun far too early, with Cook splashing a cup of icy water in her sleeping face,
swearing at her to get her miserable bones down to the kitchen. As Rani crouched on the icy
flagstones, dispensing threads of dried cotton to the faintest of smoldering embers, she
shivered so hard that her teeth ached. Still, she managed to fill her lungs with breath after
breath, blowing life into the fire that her fellow apprentice, Larinda, had let die during the
night.

Of course, Rani could not speak out against Larinda, even when Cook kicked her for being so
slow at building up the flame. Apprentices needed to stand by each other no matter what the
assault from journeymen, masters, or servants.

That miserable dawn had only been a harbinger of a terrible morning. Rani had helped Cook
stir the great cauldron of sticky porridge, ignoring the protest of her own belly as she ladled
the noxious stuff into bowls for the masters and journeymen. Even if the food had been
palatable, Cook never made enough for the apprentices to eat their fill.

When Rani's parents had bought her way into the prestigious glasswrights' guild, it had never
occurred to them to question the fare that would be served at the apprentices' table. Now,
there was not a night that Rani's belly did not cry out in hunger. Even when Cook prepared
enough food for all, it was difficult to swallow the rations, thinking of the mice that swarmed
in the pantry.

Rani knew that she was learning humility. She knew that she was learning patience. She
knew that she was learning the blind obedience that paved the way to the highest level of her
chosen craft. Still, when her belly growled and the sun had only climbed halfway to noon, it
seemed that she would never be an instructor.

Now, in the cathedral square, a Pilgrim stepped backward and ground his leather-heeled
boot into Rani's inadequate soft shoe, unaware of the girl behind him. She stifled a cry and
caught her large basket before it toppled to the cobblestones. Nevertheless, she heard glass
clink hard against metal, and she offered up a quick prayer to the Thousand Gods that the
knife had not cracked the jar of lemon water.

Thinking of the tart-sweet drink, Rani swallowed hard and, for the hundredth time, cast aside
the shameful thought of sneaking a hand into the basket and extracting a morsel from the
treasures Cook had ordered her to bring to Instructor Morada. Rani bore fresh-baked
caraway bread and a plump sausage, the latter newly carried in from the smokehouse. She
had watched as Cook counted out a half-dozen tiny, tart apples, and she had almost swooned
when she was required to cut a slab of rich, creamy cheese to complement the feast. Almond
honey cakes anchored the basket, and Rani could smell their heady fragrance over the
less-enticing odors of the perfumed and overheated crowd.

She would not dishonor the guild. She would serve Instructor Morada with humble