"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 10 - The Magic of Recluce" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

But I was still bored, even as I continued to learn.


II

"LERRIS!" THE TONE in Uncle Sardit's voice told me enough. Whatever I had done-I did not wish
to know.
I finished washing the sawdust from my face. As usual, I got water all over the stone, but the
sun had already warmed the slate facing, and the water would dry soon enough, even if my aunt
would be down with a frayed towel to polish the stone within moments of my return to the shop.
"Lerris!"
Aunt Elisabet always kept the washstones polished, the kettles sparkling, and the graystone
floors spotless. Why it should have surprised me I do not know, since my father and, indeed, every
other holder in my home town of Wandernaught, exhibited the same fastidiousness. My father and his
sister were both the householders, while Mother and Uncle Sardit were the artisans. That was
common enough, or so I thought.
"Lerris! Young . . . man, . . . get . . . yourself . . .back . . . here . . . now! "
I definitely did not want to return to the carpentry, but there was no escape. "Coming, Uncle
Sardit."
He stood at the doorway, a frown on his face. The frown was common, but the yelling had not
been. My guts twisted. What could I have done? .
"Come here."
He thrust a wide-fingered hand at the inlaid tabletop on the workbench.
"Look at that. Closely." His voice was so low it rumbled. I looked, but obviously did not see
what he wanted me to see.
"Do you see that?"
I shook my head. "See what?"
"Look at the clamps."
Bending over, I followed his finger. The clamps were as I had placed them earlier, the smooth
side, as he had taught me, matching the grain of the dark lorken wood.
"With the grain of the wood . . ."
"Lerris . . . can't you see? This end is biting into the wood. And here . . . the pressure has
moved the border out of position . . ."
Perhaps the tiniest fraction of a span, if at all, but all I had to do to correct that would be
to sand the other end a bit more, and no one, except Uncle Sardit, and perhaps the furniture buyer
for the Emperor of Hamor, would have ever noticed the discrepancy.
"First, you don't force wood, Lerris. You know that. You just aren't paying attention any more.
Woodworking means working with the wood, not forcing it, not working against it."
I stood there. What could I say?
Uncle Sardit sighed.
"Let's go into the house, Lerris. We have some talking to do."
I liked the sound of that even less, but I followed his example and unstrapped my leather apron
and racked my tools.
We walked out the door and across the smooth pavement of the courtyard and into the room Aunt
Elisabet called the parlor. I never knew why she called it the parlor. I'd asked once, but she had
just smiled and said it had been a name she had picked up along the way.


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