"Modesitt, L E - Recluse 12 - The Wellspring of Chaos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

so that he only needed the slightest bit of cordage between the wood and the
brass flange and pipe. The second one was almost as good. He could start sealing
the inside of the barrels in the morning. He didn’t like doing barrels that
required sealing, but Yualt had insisted on only the lightest of toasting and
sealant afterward, saying that even the tightest grained oak would absorb some
aspect of the contents and thus change them. Since Kharl was neither alchemist
nor apothecary, and since the alchemist had refused to tell Kharl what he was
putting in the fancy barrel, there wasn’t much the cooper could say—especially
since Yualt was paying a premium that Kharl needed.
He checked the first barrel before him a last time, running his fingers slowly
over the inside of the finely finished staves, nodding in satisfaction, before
carrying it over to the finishing bench against the south rear wall. Then he
returned to the turning bench and did the same with the second. The heads for
both barrels were also laid out— single round sections, rather than sections of
quartersawn wood doweled in place.
With a smile, he eased over to the quarter barrel that held sealant.
The smile vanished, and he looked up. “Arthal!”
There was no answer, not that he expected one. After a moment, he walked to the
steps and climbed up, and peered into the main room, where Charee was seated at
her sewing table, working on the embroidery that she did for Fyona, the
seamstress fancied by most of the consorts of the wealthier merchants.
“Where’s Arthal?” Kharl asked his consort.
“He said you were finished with him, and he had to meet some friends.”
Kharl pursed his lips tightly for a long moment. “I said he was free if he’d
done everything. He did today. But he didn’t yesterday, and he didn’t tell me.
I’m out of sealant, and he was supposed to get two buckets from Hyesal. He said
he’d taken care of it, and he didn’t, and that means… oh… never mind…” The
cooper started to close the door, then turned back to Charee. “If anyone should
come by, I’ll be back shortly. I’m going over to Hyesal’s to get the sealant
Arthal didn’t. I’ll leave the door open so you can hear if anyone comes in. Or
if Warrl gets back from his lessons.”
“Don’t be angry, Kharl. Arthal’s still young.”
“He’s near-on double-eight, and I don’t like being misled.” Kharl snorted, then
headed down the steps. “I should have asked him direct… have to ask ‘em every
little thing… thinks he’s so bright…” he muttered to himself as he crossed the
shop.
Kharl left by the front door. Outside, on Crafters’ Lane, he heard a low rumble
and glanced up. Clouds were massing over the Eastern Ocean to the west of the
harbor, and the wind had finally shifted from out of the east to the west,
bringing with it an actual hint of rain, not just soggy air, and the chance that
the long-overdue and welcome late-summer rains would finally arrive.
He glanced at Tyrbel’s small display window, which held several books, including
a red leather-bound Book of Godly Prayer—a work that Tyrbel had done on his own
as an offering to his faith. Kharl shook his head, thinking about the one-god
believers. How could anyone believe that everything from the Great Western Ocean
and beyond the Heavens to the Rational Stars could have been created by one god?
Or that the same god knew everything everywhere, down to the smallest beetle? Or
more important, from Kharl’s viewpoint, that such a god cared equally for all
men, women, and children? Given what he saw on the streets of Brysta, Kharl
didn’t put much faith in such a god.