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

“Let’s not be starting that again.”
Kharl forced a smile. “I won’t, dearest. I need to wash up.” The pitcher on the
wash table was full, and the basin empty and clean, with a worn but clean gray
towel and a narrow bar of fat soap laid out on the left side. He closed the
washroom door and began to wash, enjoying the faint rose scent that came from
the petals in the soap. It took time to get the sawdust off his face and hands
and arms, and out of his dark beard, short-cropped as it was.
When Kharl stepped into the main room, it was still warm from the day, but the
harbor breeze blowing through the open windows offered a welcoming coolness,
even if it did bear the scents of salt and fish and caused the two wall lamps to
flicker.
The cooper walked toward the round table where Arthal and Warrl waited, their
eyes following him, but not exactly looking at him.
“Did you finish your lessons?” Kharl’s eyes fixed on Warrl, his younger son, by
three years.
“Yes, ser. I did.” After a moment, the younger boy asked, “How much longer will
I have to go to Master Fonwyl?”
“Until he says you can read and write well enough to pass the craft-master’s
tests.” Kharl seated himself.
“I don’t see why,” interrupted Arthal. “It’s not as though we’ll ever have the
golds to post the bond for mastercrafter.”
“Maybe so, and maybe not,” replied Kharl. “But if you get the chance, I don’t
want you looking back and complaining that I didn’t prepare you. Reading and
writing aren’t something you can pick up easy-like when
you’re older.“
“But what use is it if you’re not a mastercrafter or a merchant or a lord? You
scarce have a chance to read a broadsheet—”
“But I can, and once or twice it’s saved me good coins. Enough.” Kharl managed
not to snap. “Let’s enjoy supper.”
As if she had been waiting for them to stop, Charee lifted the heavy cast-iron
stewpot off the stove and carried it to the table. There, she set it on the
well-browned trivet in the center of the oval oak table that had been one of the
first pieces of actual furniture that Kharl had made after he had taken over the
cooperage.
His consort set the large basket of afternoon-baked bread on the table and
seated herself at the opposite end of the oval table from Kharl. Kharl began to
ladle the stew into the chipped brown crockery bowls that had come from Charee’s
mother.
“Smells good,” offered Kharl.
“It does,” added Warrl.
“More summer squash and potatoes than meat,” murmured Arthal.
“It’s tasty, and it’s hot, and you didn’t have to spend the day cooking it,”
Kharl pointed out. “If you’d rather not eat, you can leave the table
right now.“
“No, Da… I’m sorry, Ma.” Arthal’s voice was barely apologetic.
Kharl didn’t feel like calling his older son on his borderline rudeness, not
after a long day finishing the last of the barrels for Korlan, especially when
he knew that Arthal would just make some other comment.
“What was going on outside, Da?” asked Warrl.
‘’Tust some young fellows who’d had too much at the Tankard. Had