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

Looked like some merchant’s spoiled brats. Had too much to drink and didn’t care
who they hurt.”
“Sanyle said they drew against you.”
“Had my cudgel. Worked better.” Kharl laughed brusquely.
“I hope they were very drunk and didn’t know exactly where they were,” offered
Tyrbel. “Merchants’ sons… well, some of them don’t forget. Sometimes wealth is
the wellspring of chaos.”
“It was dark,” Kharl replied, glancing toward the inside of his shop.
“I won’t keep you.”
“I’m waiting for Korlan, and I don’t want him to load his barrels without
leaving what’s in his purse.”
Tyrbel laughed. “I understand. It took me four eightdays to collect from him for
making a copy of Emyl’s Tales.” The scrivener paused. “But I did want to thank
you. Neighbors or not, most wouldn’t put themselves out.”
“Been my daughter, I’d have wanted someone to put themselves out,” Kharl said.
“She’s always been thoughtful to us.”
“She is.” Tyrbel smiled. “That she is.” After a moment, he cleared his throat.
“I must be going. I have to go to the Quadrant Hall.”
“Copying some records?”
“Exactly. I can’t really say who or why, you understand?”
Kharl didn’t and never had, but he nodded anyway.
“Thank you, my friend,” said Tyrbel as he turned.
Kharl lifted the broom and headed back into the shop.
Warrl looked up. “The shooks are here, Da, and there are two extra, like you
said.”
Except for the two of them, the cooperage was empty.
“Good.” Kharl looked around. “Arthal?”
“I’m coming.” The lanky dark-haired youth slumped as he made his way down the
stairs from above. “I’m coming.” He paused on the fourth step and rocked back
and forth, until the step squeaked.
“So is year-end,” suggested Kharl, “and it well might get here before you.” He
waited until his older son reached the workbench before continuing. “Smythal
promised he would have the iron blanks for the hogshead last night. I need you
to pick them up. Tell him I’ll stop by with the coins later today.”
“Yes, ser. What if he wants the coins now?”
“He won’t. But if he does, then come get me.”
Kharl watched for a moment as Arthal left, not quite slouching, but not exactly
hastening, either. Then he turned. During Kharl’s conversation with Arthal,
Warrl had laid out the hollowing knife and the round shave. The younger boy
stood at the end of the main workbench.
“Have you sharpened the hollowing knife? And the planer blade?” Kharl looked at
Warrl.
“I sharpened the blade the day before yesterday, Da…” The redhead looked down,
not meeting his father’s eyes.
“That was the day before yesterday. Today, we have heavy oak to joint.”
“Yes, ser.”
Warrl’s tone was so resigned that Kharl had trouble not smiling in response
before he replied, “The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be done, and then
you can head off to Master Fonwyl’s.”
“Yes, ser.” The younger boy’s tone was even more resigned.