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

Kharl was not amused at Warrl’s lack of enthusiasm about his tutor and his
lessons, not with the coppers they were costing Kharl.
Ill
First thing on fiveday, Kharl had opened the loading door and left it ajar,
waiting as he was for a teamster he’d hired to cart the finished hogshead
standing just inside the door down to the Seastag. Kharl had tried to complete
the cask earlier, but he’d had to wait for Smythal to finish the iron blanks
that Kharl forged into hoops, and that had meant sending Arthal twice.
The Austran trader wasn’t due to cast off until tomorrow, on sixday,
but Kharl found himself glancing at the large cask and loading door again and
again as he continued to plane and joint the small black oak staves for the set
of fancy fifth-barrels for Yualt. He’d already commissioned the brass spigots,
and he’d have to pay a silver to Cupret before
eightday.
Arthal was at the other workbench, rough-shaping red oak shooks into proper
staves for flour barrels, not that Kharl had any orders, but because he always
had some from Wassyt, the miller, come harvest. That was good, because, fast as
he made coins, it seemed as though he had to spend them almost as swiftly.
Hot damp air seeped into the shop as always in summer in Brysta. Kharl hoped it
wouldn’t be too long before the winds changed, and Nordla got some rain, but the
easterlies had lasted longer this summer.
The cooper blotted his forehead with the back of his forearm before pausing and
readjusting the plane.
“Ge-ha!”
At the teamster’s call and the crack of a whip, Kharl set aside the plane.
“Arthal! The teamster’s here. I’ll need you to help load the hogshead.”
“Yes, ser.” Arthal straightened.
The two walked back to the loading door. Kharl opened the door wide. From there
Kharl watched as the teamster brought the wagon and team to a halt. Kharl knew
many of the teamsters, but not the burly and bearded young man on the wagon
seat. Not that he’d had a choice. A crafter put in a request at the teamsters’
hall and took what he got.
He stepped into the alley. “I’m Kharl, the cooper with the hogshead for the
ocean pier.”
“Morat.” The teamster spat out onto the alley, the side of the wagon away from
Kharl. “Be two coppers down to the pier—and two back if it comes to that.”
Kharl showed four coppers. “But not until we’re at the pier.”
“And you tie the hogshead in place, and I check it. We don’t move till I think
it’s secure.”
“I expected that.”
The brawny teamster lowered the rear wagon gate, and Kharl and Arthal lifted the
hogshead and eased it into the wagon. While Kharl lashed the cask—equivalent to
three barrels—in place in the wagon bed, Morat closed the rear gate.
Arthal watched both men.
Kharl tied the last knot and looked at his eldest. “Close the loading door and
watch the shop until I get back. Keep working on those staves.”
“Yes, ser,” replied Arthal.
With a nod to his son, the cooper looked to the teamster. “Cask’s in place.”
Kharl climbed up into the wagon seat, waiting for Morat to finish checking the
lashings.