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

With a shrug, the cooper stepped back and left the shop. In most cities, he
would have gotten sealant from an alchemist, but not in Brysta, not that it
mattered to Kharl so long as the sealant worked. What worked, that was what
mattered, not which craft produced it.
Outside, he could smell the dampness of the rain that had already begun to fall
on the ocean beyond the breakwaters, and he lengthened his stride as he hurried
back up the gentle incline of Crafters’ Lane toward the square and his own shop.
The blackstaffer and the beggar had left the square, but a small figure in gray
accosted Kharl as he passed the empty stone sitting wall. “Master Kharl! How be
the best cooper in Brysta?”
“Jekat… how’s the most flattering urchin in Brysta?”
“Not bad, Master Kharl. ‘Course a copper or two’d help.” A grin crossed the
towhead’s grimy face.
“Coppers always help.” The cooper grinned. “You know anyone who needs barrels?”
“I heard the renderer—Werwal—he’s going to be needing some barrels ‘fore long. I
told Sikal—that’s his man—he ought to see you. Werwal won’t talk to me, but
Sikal will.”
Kharl slipped a copper from his purse. “Take this, you worthless urchin.” He
couldn’t help smiling.
“Thank you, ser, and I’ll not be telling no one ‘bout your kindness.” Jekat
skipped away across the square.
Kharl was less than half a block from the shop when the rain began to fall—fat
drops that splattered against everything. He began to hurry, but the shoulders
of his gray tunic were black with water by the time he dashed into the shop.
“Is that you, Kharl?” called Charee from up the stairs.
“Sure as life.” Kharl raised his voice to make sure Charee could hear him above
the heavy rain pelting down on the roof. “Almost made it back before it started
raining. Arthal never ordered the sealant. Won’t be ready before tomorrow.
Where’s Warrl?”
“I sent him to Fyona’s with the embroidery. He came in right after
you left.“
Kharl stopped by the workbench, then turned as Arthal ran inside, his tunic and
trousers darkened with rain. Arthal stopped as he saw his father. “I’m not too
happy with you, young fellow.”
“You’re never happy with me, Da.” Arthal did not meet Kharl’s eyes. “You told
me, yesterday, that you’d taken care of all the chores. I just got back from
Hyesal’s, and you never ordered the sealant. You told me you’d done that.”
“I said I’d do it. I was going down there—” Arthal stepped back. “When? Next
end-day? Whenever it met your fancy?”
“It’s not like that.”
“How is it like?” asked Kharl. “I could have used the sealant today. It would
have been ready today. You’re almost a double-eight, and I shouldn’t have to
follow up on everything you do.”
“You said you wouldn’t finish those today.” Arthal’s voice was low. “That isn’t
the blade’s edge, Arthal.” Kharl’s tone dropped into resignation. “You led me to
believe that you’d ordered the sealant. That’s deception.”
Arthal did not answer. “Isn’t that deception?”
“Yes, ser. I’m sorry, ser.”
“You get a reputation for that, and no one will trust you to do anything. Don’t
you understand that? A man’s worth is his reputation. Never forget that.”