The Wheelwright's Apprentice (8 page)

11

Faran had been obliged to report on the day to Grammon, so he told Art, “We might as well see him together.”

After they returned to the Temple, Faran explained what Art had done. Grammon then told them, “At least I didn’t hear it from anyone else first.” He turned to Art and continued, “You just did something I’ve never considered in all my years. I don’t know if anyone has been as...as...”

“Mad,” suggested Faran. He got a dark look from Grammon and a darker one from Art.

“I think the word I was looking for was ‘flamboyant’.” Grammon managed somehow.

Art twisted his fingers nervously, and eventually said, “I wanted to give them a harmless jolt. I think I succeeded, but I may not be a popular person with them in the future.”

Grammon shot back, “Life isn’t a popularity contest, unless you are courting.”

Faran could not resist this little cue and blurted out, “Art may have imp N o panressed one girl there! She winked at him quite saucily as we left.”

Faran got a kick in the shins for his trouble while Grammon told them, waving his hand in dismissal, “Just go away and let me have a quiet evening.”

The door closed behind them, and Faran asked Art, “Do you think you will take Sammie up on her offer? I think she likes you.”

Art let out an almost exaggerated sigh and replied, “She likes the boy with the Will. The boy with the Will can do lots of interesting and diverting things for her. Does she like me for who I am, or does she only like me because I have the Will?”

Faran waited a moment before replying, and then slowly said, “I think I know what you mean. My older brother occasionally had a similar complaint. His worry was that the girls only liked him because our father is rich and he would one day run the family business.”

They walked further while Art digested what Faran had said. Eventually he said, “Your brother only has to tell girls that he has four older brothers and that your father is poor! I am stuck with looking like the Count, and I will always be recognized as a healer’s apprentice.”

Faran stopped walking. He waited for Art, who was by now several paces further on, to stop and come back. Art turned around and asked, “What now?”

Faran grinned, grabbed Art by the shoulders, and said, “You really haven’t had any time to think things through, have you?”

Art slowly shook his head and said, “Think what through?”

Faran started shaking Art, and told him, “You’ve got the Will, stupid. Don’t you ever think what you can do with it? You are a healer, an expert on anatomy; you could give yourself a different face! You don’t have to look like the Count all the time. Apart from that, did you ever think of buying some different clothes?”

Art sat down on a nearby bench, and said, “You’re right, I have a lot of thinking to do.”

“You haven’t had the time to realize what you can do with the Will, have you?” Faran went on, waving his arms enthusiastically. “You didn’t even know the Will existed until a couple of months ago, but I have seen it in action most of my life. I can remember when I was five or six, there was a big fire raging, and my mother had to get us all out of the house in case it spread. I remember seeing flames shooting skyward, and then it was out, just like that. I was told later that the Count put it out with a wave of his hand. When we were kids we would all wonder what people with the Will could do, and we all heard stories, so we had a reasonable idea. You are the oddity, someone who has the Will, but has never heard of it before!”

Two days later, Art asked Grammon just as they were finishing for the day, “Do you have a mirror I can borrow?”

Grammon stopped and smiled. “Come with me and I’ll give you one.” When they were in his office he said, “If you leave the temple with a different face I’d like to see it first.”

Art did a double take, “How did you guess?”

“I didn’t have to guess, I’m just like you, just quite a bit older. Looking like the Count is a pain, except when you want to impress merchants.”

Grammon went over to a cupboard, rummaged for a moment and then took out a small but serviceable mirror. “Here you are,” he said, handing it over, “Is th Sver rumere anything else?”

“Yes, there are two things. Can you recommend a good clothes shop where I will be treated fairly, and do I have any pay coming?”

Grammon sat down and replied, “As a Willed healer apprentice your pay is three silvers a sevenday, but as you are still the Count’s apprentice, he is supposed to pay you. The clothing shop is easier. I will send Faran with you the next time you go out. It’s best if I give him the directions.”

A few days later, when it was Art’s day off again, Faran and Art left the temple together. Art immediately turned to Faran, and said, “I would like to go to the Count’s castle first. Grammon told me that he was supposed to pay me, and I must be owed something by now!” Art had been practicing for two days and he had managed a few small changes to his face that made him look quite different. His nose was slightly longer and thinner. His eyes were blue where before they had been brown and he had given himself a squarer, more solid chin. He thought it was a handsomer face, but the main point was that didn’t look like the Count anymore, and that was all he really cared about.

Art had made sure that the little fox designating him as part of the Count’s household was in the proper place on his jerkin, so the boys strolled confidently through the open gates into the courtyard. Art noticed another apprentice who was passing, and asked him, “I am new here. Do you know where we get paid?”

The boy said nothing for a moment while a look of surprise played over his face, and then he murmured, “We are given it once a fortnight. We don’t go and get it, they bring it to us.”

Art said, “Thank you, but who is this ‘they’ you mentioned, and where can we find them?”

The boy replied, “That would be Master Cairn. He is on the fourth floor, and his door is right by the top of the stairs.”

Art and Faran followed the directions, and arrived, slightly breathless, at their destination. While they were taking a moment’s rest after all those stairs, a man in a blue outfit came breezing along, and said happily, “An apprentice doing nothing, it’s my lucky day! Come in now, boy, I need some help.”

The boys went in and Art said immediately, “Faran here is not fair game, he is doing something for Grammon at the temple, but I will be happy to help! I presume you are Master Cairn.”

“Yes, I am. I need you to copy these documents. You had better have a fair hand.” Cairn set down a fat sheaf of papers. “Here is some paper and ink; the quills are over there on that desk.” He waved lazily towards a very messy desk in a corner. “And hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

This last unnecessary admonition was just a bit much for Art who had been growing more and more annoyed by Cairn’s overbearing and rude manner. Three minutes later, he came back from his dusty corner, and said, “I have finished, and now I have something I need you to do for me.”

Cairn laughed and said, “Nonsense, you can’t possibly have finished yet, here let me see!” He leafed through the pages and all were perfect fair copies, including the smudges and blots.

Art stood up over Cairn, and said, “You can thank yourself for the speed as you got me really annoyed, I wouldn’t have found the impetus otherwise.” Art put both hands down on the desk in front of Cairn, and said menacingly, “I believe you owe me three fortnight’s pay. My name is Art, and I am the Count’s apprentice Ss in front working as a healer in the temple. My pay, I believe, is three silvers a sevenday; that makes eighteen silvers! My understanding is that it should have been delivered, as I have been working much too hard to come and get it.”

Cairn leant back in his chair and went completely white. He started to say something but he stuttered so badly that Art could not make out what he said. After a bit he fumbled in a drawer and got out a ledger, found a spot in it, and whispered hoarsely, “Sign here.” Art signed, and then Cairn wordlessly counted eighteen silvers onto the desk in front of him.

Art straightened himself up, and said, “Thank you. I can expect my pay to be delivered to the temple in the future, can’t I?” Cairn silently nodded his head, and then breathed a huge sigh of relief as the door closed behind them.

“That was quite easy wasn’t it?” Art observed to Faran, as soon as they were out of the room.

“I should think so; you don’t realize what you looked like in there. I mean, you were seriously pissed with him, and it was almost oozing out of your pores. You looked as if you were prepared to decapitate him with a snap of your fingers, and that’s definitely the message he recieved. That copying trick was neat too.”

Twenty minutes of brisk walking brought them to the tailor’s shop that Grammon had recommended. It was a grand establishment, and Faran was almost overwhelmed by the opulence. “This place must be really expensive,” he noted as his head bobbed around all over the place.

Art’s recent experiences had left him in a totally different frame of mind to Faran’s. He confidently strode up the three steps that led from the entranceway to the shop proper, and was greeted by a somewhat obsequious attendant who sniffed out, “Good morning young man. If you are picking up for your master, that door is at the back.”

Looking down his recently elongated nose, Art loftily replied, “I am a customer, and this place was recommended to me by my brother Grammon. Are you saying I should go elsewhere?”

From the shadows behind him, another man appeared and told the attendant, “I’ll take over from here.” He smiled at Art, proffered his hand and said, “I am Ingon, the manager here. Please excuse Curbol but we do get a lot of apprentices who are unfamiliar with our arrangements. You must be Art. Grammon told us you would be coming. Now what are your needs?”

Ingon looked very polished and professional, so Art tried to inject a dose of reality. He told Ingon, “Today, I have only fifteen silvers to spend, and my priority is to acquire two outfits merely appropriate to my station as apprentice.”

Ingon gave a mild chuckle and said, “Oh, don’t worry about money. You can have as much credit as you like.”

Art immediately shot back, “Isn’t giving an apprentice like me a lot of credit a bit risky?”

“Not at all!” Ingon forcefully replied. “You are the best sort of credit risk we could have. You have the Will, and the only risk we have is if the Count kills you.” Ingon then conjured up a beaming smile and allowed, “You see he always settles all the debts of anyone he kills.”

Art decided to quickly change the subject and said, “Can I look at some clothes, please?”

Ingon shook his head and pontificated, “Oh no, young sir, that’s not how it’s done here for such as you. For clients like you, first we look at cloth.” Placi Soth I loong his hand under Art’s elbow, he steered him towards the back of the shop saying, “The bolts are over here. Once you choose the cloth, you choose the style. After that, you choose accessories like buttons and belts and so on...”

Art butted in asking, “Then how long does it take for it to be tailored?”

Ingon placed a hand on his chest and gasped out, “Young sir does not understand. Young sir himself does it all instantly. There is no reason to involve a tailor.”

Art felt very silly. He really did need to sit down and think of what he could do with the Will.

Half an hour later, and poorer by thirty silvers, most of which he still owed, Art walked out with four shirts and four pairs of trews, along with smallclothes and two pairs of boots. He was wearing all new clothes, and they all fit perfectly.

To tailor the clothes the way he wanted them, all he had needed was the thought of what a fine figure he would cut. Certainly, when he admired himself in the mirror he looked dashing. He hoped others would agree.

The boots were a different matter. He had not had the time to watch how a bootmaker made boots so he could see how they were put together, and what went into them. Instead he had let Ingon steer him towards some readymade boots that were a bit larger than his size after he told him, “You can just shrink them slightly to get a perfect fit if you are in a hurry.”

Faran asked Ingon, “Why does it have to be a larger pair? Why can’t he expand a smaller one?”

Ingon looked condescendingly back and told him, “Two reasons really. With a bigger boot there is leather to lose when it becomes smaller, but with a smaller pair you can’t pull leather out of thin air to make it big
ger. What happens is the sole gets thinned out and the boot will wear out faster. Now think. Would you like to ask someone with the Will, someone who could probably kill you with a look, to put on a pair of shoes that hurt?”

12

Burdened as he was with several packages, Art decided to go back to the Temple to drop them off before going anywhere else. Once he had unpacked them, and put them up tidily in his room, he allowed himself a small glow of satisfaction. He had made these clothes, and they looked good on him.

The boys went out again, and Art suggested, “Shall we go to The Porcelain Kettle?” Faran nodded and they ambled off in its direction.

Along the way, they passed a book shop. Art turned to Faran and asked him, “Do you suppose there is a book written about the Will? If there is it might help me a lot.”

They entered. The shop was dusty and messy. Books were strewn all over the place. There did not seem to be any sense at all to their arrangement. Books were everywhere. They were on the floor, on tables piled here and there. What bookcases there were, were all full to bursting. For Art and Faran, neither of whom had ever even thought of going into a bookstore before, it was an amazing sight.

“Good day, young sirs.” they heard, but they could not see the owner of the voice.

Faran decided to ask, “Where are you? We can’t see you?”

“That’s because I am behind you,” came the voice again. They turned and saw a huge Voth Icenter">

“Do you have any books that describe the Will or how to use it?” Art wondered.

The bearded man’s expression suddenly turned from affable to extremely somber. “That subject is banned,” he said slowly and deliberately. “That is the only subject that is banned, I’m sorry.” His frown turned to a professional smile. “I would guess you have recently discovered you have the Will and want to learn.” When Art nodded assent he continued, “I do have some other books you might find useful.” Before they could reply, he had moved unerringly in a speed that belied his girth and returned quickly with a selection of tomes. Blowing dust off them, he said, “This is a dictionary, and this one a grammar. Finally we have a book about the political structure in the country.”

“How much are they?” Art understood his need for some education.

“To buy, they cost a silver each, but for a copper you can have them for a month, by which time you will have memorized them.” This made Art think. He would never need a library, as long as he read a book once.

Hefting his borrowed books as they moved on, Art said, “That was a shock. I guess the Count doesn’t want people like me to learn too fast.”

Faran gave his angle, “I think that the Count doesn’t want the rest of us to know too much about the Will either.”

When they arrived at The Porcelain Kettle, it was still very quiet. Art and Faran had their choice of tables, so they chose one where they could sit and watch both the serving counter and the rest of the room. Sammie wasn’t there so another waitress came to take their order, and soon they were quietly sipping good hot cups of tea.

“In a way I’m glad that it’s quiet here, and that Sammie isn’t here,” Art began, “I never thought about what I would say to Sammie. After all, I don’t look the same now.”

“Amia isn’t here either,” Faran returned, “You can have a fresh start with her and her friends as well. She is actually a pretty sweet kid, just a bit excitable.”

A short while later Amia and three others came in, saw Faran and came over. “Not with Art today then?” she asked him.

“No,” he replied dryly, “I thought I would have a low key day.”

Art realized that Faran could not introduce him as he had not thought to give his new look a name. So he stood up and said, “I’m Gim.” This was the first name he could think of, one that belonged to his dead friend from Dane’s Hamlet.

Faran laughed and said, “Gim is a lot more laid back than Art!” That little crisis over, Art relaxed and soon found himself fitting in.

A minute or two later, their waitress brought a pot of tea and cups over for the new arrivals. While she was placing the cups and saucers around for Amia and her friends, one of them, a boy called Oden noticed, “That’s the teapot with the frog on it, I thought that was the teapot that Sammie broke.”

The waitress smiled and told them, “You’re right. This was the one Sammie broke, but after you all left, that healer boy put all the pieces together and repaired it. It’s just like new now, isn’t it?”

Amia looked at [mia. Faran and asked, “Did you see that too?”

“Yes,” he said, “He even had us scrabbling under tables and in corners to find the missing piece. It was weird. The first time he repaired it, there was still a funny shaped hole in it where a piece was missing, so he made us find that piece.”

“Perhaps he is not such a bad guy after all,” Amia said. “He was very professional treating Sammie’s leg, and so quick. He was cute too.” Art looked away. Turning to Faran, she asked, “Do you think we’ll ever see him back here?”

Faran told them, “I don’t think we will ever see Art here again. He got really upset last week. He told me he just lost it, and would be embarrassed to face you all again.”

“That’s a pity,” Amia stated. “I would have liked a chance to say I was sorry. I really was a bit pushy then, and his ‘Show’ was totally amazing. I was fascinated, but when he stated pulling out his intestines I lost it, and had to make a dash for the door.”

It was strange, Art thought. They were talking about him, but instead of being antagonistic towards him, they wanted to see him again. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but still he was here as Gim because he did not want to go about town as Art, the Willed healer. They were just normal kids and he was the one who had been acting oddly. Regardless of that he relaxed and was in a happy mood when they left to go back to the Temple.

As soon as they got back, Art was told by a waiting apprentice that Grammon wanted to see him. On arrival at his study, Grammon was all business, “Don’t bother changing that face back, the Count wants to see you right away, and he wants to see how your new face looks. Just change into your apprentice healer’s outfit and go.”

Art felt funny walking towards the castle in his Temple clothes after having worn his new, perfectly fitting creations. Just as someone had been waiting for him to get back to the Temple, there was someone waiting for him by the gate to the castle courtyard. He was hustled along and soon he was alone with the Count.

“I have heard about everything you have done. You have done extremely well as a Temple healer, better in fact than I had any right to expect. You have showed admirable restraint when angered and you have been quite innovative. I even know how you overawed Cairn. I like your face too! Do you have any idea why you are here?”

“Master, I really have no idea, but my recent experiences make me doubt that you called me here just to give me a pat on the head.”

“Has it been that bad then, and have matters gone so wrong for you?” The Count asked.

“Matters have gone so fast that I hardly know where I am, or where my life is going. I haven’t had any time to think. There is so much about the Will that I don’t know. My only guess as to why I am here is that my life is probably about to change again.” Art suddenly realized that who he was talking to, so he bowed his head and said, quite quietly, “Sorry, master.”

The Count looked him up and down and cracked a smile. “You’ve done well and I want to reward you. It looks like you need more than just a day off to get yourself back together. What you need is a good holiday. How would you like to come with me and visit another country?”

“I don’t know. I mean, what other countries are there?” Art pondered for a moment. “Wouldn’t it take forever to get to one?”

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Art knew that the Count was the one person he couldn’t refuse, so he said simply, “When do we leave, master?”

The Count replied, “Tomorrow morning at eight. Right now I need you to go back and see Ingon again. I have already sent him a list of what you need. Bring only those clothes, and the face you are wearing. That’s it. Hurry up and get going.”

Art was still having trouble adjusting to the Count’s abrupt manner, and also to all the continuous changes in his life. A holiday did not seem too bad, but Art was wary. Nothing in his life now was what it seemed. Still, something different from resetting bones and curing haemorrhoids was definitely welcome.

The next morning, Art presented himself in the castle courtyard well before eight. He was wearing the clothes he had made the evening before, and his spares were in a saddlebag he had slung over his shoulder. He was glad he had not had to make that as well. He spent a quiet vigil waiting, and almost exactly at eight, the Count appeared along with Beech and another man who looked like he was a big, grizzled veteran soldier. He was introduced as “Arch”. They were all carrying saddlebags too.

“Master,” Art asked. “Where are the horses?”

“We won’t pick up the horses until we are over the border,” came the quick reply. “Now, take my hand.”

Instantly they were on top of a stone slab in the middle of a forest clearing. Art’s mouth was wide open while the Count said, “Hurry up now. You need to memorize this place, and when you have done that you should run to catch us up. It’s two miles from here to the stables, and I don’t like the look of those clouds.” Art struggled to memorize the spot, and it took him several minutes to be mostly sure that he had it. When he had just got the others in sight, the Count glanced back to check on Art, and the Count was wearing a different face.

Art had just received another jolt. He hurried to catch up to the Count, and when he did, he asked, “What did you do, master?”

The Count looked at Art and said, “I forgot how ignorant you are. If you know where you want to be, and your Will is strong enough, it’s easily done. The strength of your Will determines how far you can go. We are already across the border into Hanpo. We only went a little bit over three hundred miles. Hanpo is my favourite of the neighbouring countries. It is the most similar to our happy kingdom of Galland.

Art felt himself rocked back. He had been so ignorant he had never known the name of the country he had been born into and lived in! He stumbled on until they reached a small settlement. The Count strode forward with the confidence of familiarity, and they all had to shift smartly not to be left behind. When they reached the stables, the Count was already talking to the owner as if they were old acquaintances.

“...got everything you asked for, My Lord. Six horses all in prime condition, two spare saddles, tack and feed. In all thirty golds, but you’ll want to see the horses first.”

“No need”, the Count said, “We have known each other long enough.” He passed a purse to the ostler.

Fifteen minutes later they were riding their horses along a track. The Count called Art to ride alongside him. The first question Art asked was, “Master, if we could travel so easily, why are we riding now?”

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The Count grunted, and replied, “Again I am reminded of how little you know. Travelling the way we did earlier using the Will only works when you are going to a spot that you have memorized. I have been using that spot for years. It is secluded, and no one is ever likely to see us pop into view. When you have the Will and travel to other countries, you run the risk of meeting other Will adepts. Usually they are very hostile as they will almost certainly realize you are from somewhere else, and will be worried about your intentions. It doesn’t matter if they are stronger or more experienced than you or not. The weakest and most inexperienced Will wielder can kill even the strongest with the benefit of surprise. The way we prevent that is by looking like something else, something normal and innocuous. People like me do not take kindly to foreign Will wielders coming into their country and making waves. I have killed a few of them in my time. It is much simpler and safer to pretend we don’t have the Will, and look as inconspicuous as possible.”

Art didn’t reply for a while as he tried to make sense of what he had been told. “You mean, we don’t use the Will?”

“Of course we use the Will. We use it when we are sure no one can see us, and when using it will leave no evidence.”

The Count called a halt and said, “This is far enough. Arch, please get the steel links and a spare saddlebag over here.” The Count proved he would use the Will. Five minutes later, the steel links and the spare saddlebag had become four very workmanlike swords with leather scabbards, along with more than a few knives.

The Count tossed one of the swords to Art, telling him, “Belt this on, and if you’re lucky, I’ll show you which end to hold!” When Art had buckled it on, the Count looked at Art, and said,
“I am a merchant who deals in nuts and spices. You are my son, and Beech and Arch are my bodyguards. We have no goods because they have all been sold. That is all the locals need to know.”

They all saddled back up and moved out.