"Modesitt, L E - Recluse 10 - The Magic Of Recluse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"But we don't even have any white magicians in Recluce."
"We don't? Are you sure about that?"
There wasn't much I could say to that. Practicing magicians, at least the white ones who used chaos, were strongly discouraged by the masters. And what the masters discouraged generally stayed discouraged, although there seemed to be only a few masters for all the towns in Recluce.
I guess my old teacher, Magister Kerwin, actually was a master, although we didn't usually think of magisters as masters. They were both part of the same order. Magisters were those who actually taught.
So ... I kept studying woods, trees, and tools, and after nearly a year began to make a few simple items.
"Breadboards?"
"Someone has to make them. And they should be made right. You can do it well enough to keep chaos at bay, and you can select from any of my designs or try one of your own. If you do your own, let's go over it together before you begin cutting."
I did one of my own-simple, but with an octagonal shape.
"Simple, but nice, Lerris. You may actually have a future as a wood crafter."
From breadboards, I went to other simple items-outdoor benches for a cafe, a set of plain bookcases for the school. Nothing with carving, although I had begun to do carving for my own furniture, and Uncle Sardit had even admitted that the wooden armchair I had built for my quarters would not have been out of place in most homes.
"Most homes. Not quite clean enough, and a few rough spots with the spoke-joining angles, but, on the whole, a credible effort."
That was about the most I ever got in praise from Uncle Sardit.
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.
A tray sat on the table. On it were two icy glasses, some slabs of fresh-baked bread, cheese, and several sliced apples. The bread was still steaming, and the aroma filled the small room.
Uncle Sardit eased himself into the chair nearest the kitchen. I took the other one. Something about the tray being ready bothered me. It bothered me a whole lot.
The soft sound of steps caused me to look up from the tabletop. Uncle Sardit put down his glass-iced fruit punch- and nodded at Aunt Elisabet. She, like father, was fair-skinned, sandy-haired, slender, and tall. Uncle Sardit was smaller and wiry, with salt-and-pepper hair and a short-cropped beard. Both of them looked guilty.
"You're right, Lerris. We do feel guilty, perhaps because you're Gunnar's son." That was Aunt Elisabet.
"But that doesn't change anything," added Uncle Sardit. "You still have to face the same decisions whether you're our nephew or not."
I took a gulp of the fruit punch to avoid answering, though I knew Aunt Elisabet would know that. She always knew. So did my father.
"Have something to eat. I'll do some of the talking. Elisabet will fill in anything I miss." He took a wedge of cheese and a slab of bread and chewed several bits slowly, swallowed, and finished up with another gulp of fruit punch.
"Magister Kerwin should have taught you, as he taught me, that a master or journeyman who instructs an apprentice is also responsible for determining the apprentice's fitness for practicing the craft."
I took some bread and cheese. Obviously, the master was responsible for the apprentice.
"What he did not tell you, or me, is that the craft-master must also determine whether the apprentice will ever be ready for practicing a craft, or whether the apprentice should be considered for dangergeld or exile."