Glasswrights' Journeyman

by Mindy L. Klasky

  Rani let Mair’s words flow down the stream, disappearing into the deepening twilight. She wished that she could be as dismissive, wished that she could care so little for what the Fellowship planned. “It’s not that simple, Mair. Even if they intend to throw the gold into a well, they’re affecting things by asking for it. They’ll come close to breaking Morenia, just to get their thousand bars.”

  “He’ll pay them from the princess’s dowry.”

  “He won’t. He won’t be able to bargain for that much. He already owes the church five hundred bars by Midsummer Day – which is fast approaching – and five thousand after that. The most he’ll get for Berylina is a thousand.”

  “You’re such an expert in royal trade?”

  “I’ve studied the market.” Rani tried to wash the bitterness from her tone. There were many books that she had studied when she was supposed to be focusing on her glasswright skills. She had read the histories of Morenia, and Amanthia too. She understood the limits on a bride price. Especially when the groom was desperate.

  “He’ll find another method, then. He’ll raise money some other way.”

  “Nothing pays that well, Mair.”

  “Of course things do. Mining gold itself. Slaves. The spidersilk monopoly.”

  Mining gold – as if Morenia would be lucky enough to find such deposits in its soil. Slaves – even if Hal had been inclined to ransom off his loyal folk, he had seen enough evil in Amanthia to kill the thought. The spidersilk, though. …

  Rani sat up straight. “Spidersilk. …” she repeated.

  Mair eyed her in the soft darkness. “Don’t even think about it. You’d need spiders, Rai. Riberries. Markin grubs.”

  “How many, though? We could do this, Mair!”

  “You’re a better merchant than that, Rai. Don’t you think others have tried? Mair shook her head. “They’ll protect those spiders, protect the trees – their very lives depend on it. Besides, even if you managed to steal them, how would you build a market overnight? You’d have to find skilled spinners, weavers, dyers. You’d have to send merchants to trade fairs, cart your goods all over Morenia. Amanthia too.”

  “I am a better merchant, Mair. I’m good enought to see that we’d never succeed if we try to keep the silk trade all to ourselves, the way the guild does now.”

  “What else would you do?”

  Rani saw the plan unfold before her, as if she had turned a page in a book. “We could disperse the silk monopoly among Hal’s nobles. We could look at the taxing rolls. Between Morenia and Amanthia, there surely are a hundred landed nobles. Each man could be required to purchase a riberry tree, markin grubs, a handful of spiders. Each man could pay to the crown … ten gold bars for the privilege. Ten bars to start, and ten bars every year thereafter, like payments on land, or a marketplace stall – a license. There’s Hal’s thousand bars for the Fellowship – more, if he obtains more trees.”

  “License! Why not tax them directly?”

  “They will not pay more taxes. They’ve been assessed heavily – three years ago, for the campaign in Amanthia, two months ago for the first of the fire costs. You know the border lords are restless, they’ll rebel at the first hint that they are being squeezed any tighter. But if they receive something for their payment, if they become masters of the precious octolaris. …”

  “This is all a fireside tale, Rai. You’ll never get the spiders. Never get the trees.”

  “But if I could, Mair. Just imagine, if I could!”

  “How many Morenian nobles will be able to keep a riberry tree growing? They’re tricky, from all we’ve heard. And the spiders are poisonous.”

  “What does it matter? They’ll pay to try. We’ll help them as best we can. If they fail, or if they fear the octolaris, that will be their problem. Ten gold bars is not an unreasonable wager for future riches. Not if a man can become a knight of the Order of the Octolaris!”

  “The what?”

  “Hal can announce a new knightly order. He can order Davin to design a sash or a pendant, something. The nobles are going to want to join him in this endeavor!”

  Mair shifted her gaze back to the stream, letting the silent night carry away Rani’s enthusiasm. “There’s only one problem, Rai.”

  “What?”

  “How are you going to get the spiders? How are you going to get the trees?”

  “I’ll work on that. I’m a trader. I’ll figure out how to get the goods.”

  “All this, just to meet Glair’s demands?” Mair’s skepticism was clear, even though her face was lost in the darkness.

  “What choice do we have?” Hal is determined to make his bid within the Fellowship, and they’ve handed him the perfect opportunity. Maybe Glair does not want Dartulamino to succeed her after all.”

  “Rai, you have no idea what Glair wants! Maybe Glair and Dartulamino, together, want to ruin the king with this latest request.”

  “They’ve miscalculated, then.” Rani’s voice was firm, loyal.

  Mair waited a long time before she asked, “Do you think they have a presence here, Rai? The Fellowship, in Liantine?”

  “They must. They have their fingers in every kingdom. I could ask Flarissa.”

  “You can’t!” Mair exclaimed. “You can’t tell her about the Fellowship!”

  “I won’t tell her,” Rani said. “I’ll ask. I’ll just see what Flarissa knows.”

  “What Flarissa knows about what?” The voice was loud in the darkness, loud and masculine and wholly unexpected. Rani scrambled to her feet and whirled to face the intruder. Tovin was frowning at the girls as he threw wide the shutter on the lantern that he carried.

  “Tovin!” Rani exclaimed. How much had the player overheard?

  “What did you want to ask my mother about?”

  “Glass,” Rani extemporized. “I want to know where you get the glass for your panels. I want to know who you trade with.”

  Tovin looked at her steadily, his copper eyes reflecting the warm lantern light. A small smile curved the edges of his lips, and he raised his eyebrows, as if in disbelief. “Flarissa isn’t the person you should speak to, then. I make the glass screens.”

  “Then I suppose I’d like to speak with you,” she managed at last. “I’d like to see the work you do.”

  “Aye,” he nodded. “But wouldn’t you rather eat first? The Meet is finally finished for today. Flarissa sent me to bring you back for supper.”

  The three of them made their way back to the main camp. Rani could see that even more tents were being pitched at the edges of the settlement by the last of the players, the ones who had arrived too late to settle in before the serious business began. Carts now ringed the entire camp, and people called out to one another, greeting old friends with jokes and good cheer. The air was charged with excitement as children tumbled between the tents.

  Cooking fires sent forth mouth-watering aromas, and many players already huddled over bowls of stew and hunks of fresh-baked bread. Greenwine flowed freely; numerous barrels had been breached. Tovin lost no time finding leather cups for the girls, and Rani realized for the first time that she liked the bite of the drink at the back of her throat. It smelled sharp and clean, and she drank deeply. She collected a bowl of stew as well and wandered toward a makeshift stage.

  A team of players was practicing Mair’s rope tricks, adding to the challenge by holding streamers, by throwing their bodies into impossible poses as they leaped clear of the spidersilk lengths. They called on Mair to join them, and she declined at first, but managed to be cajoled back into the fray, even though she favored her sore wrist.

  “Your friend should take care of her arm.”

  “Tovin!”

  “Aye,” he said, grinning wolfishly.

  “You should not sneak up on people!”

  He looked around the open square, at the clusters of people laughing and drinking, sharing snippets of stories and song. “Sneak?”

  “You surprised Mair and me by the stream ton
ight, and I was not expecting you now!”

  “I apologize, Ranita.” The glint in his eyes gave the lie to his courteous words. “Were you serious tonight, when you said you wanted to learn about our glasswork?”

  “I’m a glasswright,” she answered immediately. “I hope to be a journeyman by summer’s end.”

  “So my mother said. She told me that I am to show you the storeroom.”

  “Now?” Rani looked around at the players.

  “Aye, if you’d like. The feasting will go on till dawn. You’ve never been to a players’ celebration – we’ll be telling tales all night.” Rani started to call out to Mair, to say where she was going. The Touched girl was in the middle of the turning ropes, though, engaged in some new trick. “Of course,” Tovin said, “if you’d rather wait. …”

  “No!” Rani protested. “I want to learn.”

  Tovin led her through the crowd easily. When they arrived at the storeroom, he dug into a pouch at his waist, taking only a moment to extract an iron key. He opened the door with a flourish, and Rani inclined her head at his mockingly gallant gesture. Stepping over the threshold, she felt as if she were a lady in one of the players’ tales.

  The hut was filled with shadows. The far wall was covered with masks – great, ornate faces that leered and frowned and smiled and gaped at the couple who stood before them. Trunks were open along the sides of the room, spilling forth tangles of costumes and finery. Rani huddled near the doorway as Tovin strode forward. With his back to her, he worked some magic with a lantern on the large table that filled the center of the hut, and a warm, yellow glow spread out across the room.

  “Come in,” he said, and she stepped forward gingerly, catching her breath against the excitement of being in the presence of the glasswork, the masterpieces she had seen on stage in Liantine. “Close the door behind you.”

  Rani obeyed mechanically, hearing the latch snick closed as she tugged the oak. The lantern light seemed to swell higher then, picking out more details from the costumes, from the gleaming eyes of masks. The room shrank around her, growing close with its secrets, and Rani was reminded of other dark rooms she had been in, of the hidden passages inside Moren’s city walls. There were mysteries here among the players, mysteries that she would need to pay to understand. The hair rose on the back of her neck.

  “Over here,” Tovin said, gesturing toward the table.

  Shivering, Rani reminded herself that this man was Flarissa’s son. Flarissa had been kind to her. Flarissa had watched out for her. Flarissa had Spoken with her. Drawing on the peace of that Speaking, on the quiet strength that welled up from the cobalt pool within her mind, Rani found the courage to cross the room.

  Glasswork was laid out on the table. Rani could make out the edges of a design sketched on the whitewashed table in dark charcoal. She could see a tangle of flames, narrow pieces of glass, impossibly long, impossibly fragile.

  “You’ll never cut those,” she breathed, her fingers hovering over the colored tongues.

  “Of course I will. How else could we play the story of the firebird?” Tovin was not boasting; he merely stated the truth that he understood.

  “How?”

  “I don’t use grozing irons. I use a diamond knife.”

  “A diamond knife?” Rani had never heard of such a tool.

  “We trade for them. They come from kingdoms far to the south of here.” Tovin picked up an instrument, an iron haft with a glinting crystal set in the tip. He offered it to Rani, who stepped closer to look at the curious tool. She turned it about in the lantern light, seeing the impossible thinness of the blade, the sharp edge as fine as a hair. She balanced the knife in her left hand and started to test it with her right index finger “Careful!” Tovin exclaimed.

  “I was careful!”

  “Not careful enough. It’s sharper than any blade you’ve used before. Here.” He reached across the table and selected a piece of clear glass. “Cut this.”

  Rani glanced down at his hands, holding the glass steady. Now, this close to him, she could see the network of scars that traced across his fingers. It had been years since she had seen hands like that, hands marked by a lifetime of cutting glass and being cut by it. She swallowed hard, surprised by the memories that swept over her, the prideful recollections of her too-few days in the guild that she had loved. She pushed down the ache that welled up in her chest.

  Switching the knife to her right hand, she set the point against the clear glass. She started to bear down, with all the force that she would apply to a grozing iron. “No,” Tovin said, shaking his head impatiently. “Lighter. The blade is not metal. It’s not going to force the glass apart. It’s going to cut it.” Rani relaxed her wrist a little, but still he shook his head. “Lighter still. It’s like a pen on parchment. Think of it as drawing a design.”

  Rani was doubtful that she’d be able to cut the line she wanted, but she eased up on the pressure until it seemed that the knife barely skimmed the surface of the glass. Tovin nodded, and she pulled the diamond blade toward her. The thinnest of lines melted onto the clear glass.

  Tovin leaned forward and set two fingers on the pieces, pulling them apart easily. Rani gasped in astonishment – it was impossible that he had separated the pane with so little effort. “See?” he asked. “I can make long pieces, because I don’t need as much pressure to break them.” She nodded slowly, imagining the complicated designs she could craft with Tovin’s knife. She clutched the tool with fingers suddenly stiff with longing. The player noticed, nodding as he said, “You’ve much to learn, Ranita Glasswright, and I can teach you. For a price.”

  Rani froze for just a moment, and then she set the diamond knife on the table. Suddenly, she was aware of the cut of her gown, the flow of linen that smoothed across her thighs. She felt her hair against her neck, curling in the lantern light. She was standing too close to Tovin, close enough that she felt the heat of his body. She took a step away and crossed her arms over her chest. She forced herself to say, “Of course. There’s always a price.”

  For just an instant, Tovin stared at her with his copper eyes, penetrating and shrewd. Then, his lips curved into a smile, and he shook his head. He, too, took a step away from the whitewashed table, and he held his hands before him, shrugging. The lantern caught the pathway of glass scars, highlighting the white lines. “Not what you are thinking, Ranita. We players do not collect our tolls in flesh.”

  Rani flushed, but she pulled her arms closer about her. “What, then?”

  “Speak with me. Now.”

  Rani immediately thought of the pool of cobalt glass that Flarissa had shown her, of the soothing, powerful path that she had found. She remembered the peace and the power, the strength of the Speaking, and a shiver trembled from her neck to her spine to her limbs.

  “I’ve done that already,” she whispered. “I Spoke with Flarissa.”

  “Aye, that was one bargain, to see our panels. This is another. To learn how I make them. To learn a journeyman’s skills.”

  Rani looked at Tovin’s hands. She imagined cobalt glass nudging the white scars. She thought of the glasswright secrets that he could teach her, lessons beyond diamond knives. When she raised her gaze to his eyes, she found him staring hard at her. His breath was even, but she sensed his excitement. His voice was calm, though, as he said, “You do not need to do this. No one can force another to Speak.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “This is your own choice, Ranita.”

  “I’ll do it,” she repeated.

  Still he eyed her, nodding slowly. “Very well then.” Tovin gestured toward a pallet that lay at the far end of the storehouse.

  When she hesitated, he said, “I will not touch you, Ranita Glasswright. You’ve felt the power of Speech before. You know that I cannot make you do what you do not want to do.”

  Rani knew that. She knew that he could not force her to tell stories against her will. She remembered the power of Speaking with Flarissa like a physi
cal thing. She longed for it the way a drunkard longed for ale, the way a bride longed for her groom. That ache was what frightened Rani – not Tovin, not the man.

  Swallowing her fear, her desire, she crossed to the pallet. When she settled on the edge, her spine was as rigid as wood. She watched as Tovin turned back to the whitewashed table. He moved his hands among the tools there, and he palmed something before he crossed to her. She raised her chin as he approached, brave, defiant.

  He laughed. “Relax, Ranita Glasswright. I cannot take anything that you don’t offer freely. Take a deep breath.” He settled beside her, leaning back on one elbow. His weight forced her to shift on the pallet, and she rested her hands on either side of her body.

  “Relax,” he repeated. She forced herself to take a deep breath and exhale slowly, unclenching her fists. “That’s right,” he said. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” A child shrieked outside, squealing with laughter, and Rani flinched. “Ignore the noises,” Tovin said. “Listen to my voice. You can hear the players, you know that they are there, but they will not bother you. They will not distract you. That’s right, Ranita. Breathe in. Breathe out.”

  She felt herself absorb the rhythm of his words, felt her body sag as she filled her lungs and emptied them. Tovin nodded slowly, and then he moved one closed fist between them. “Here, Ranita. Here’s the glass you carved upon the table.” He opened his fingers slowly, revealing the curve-edged piece of clear glass. Slowly, cautiously, he tilted it toward her. “Think of cutting the glass, Ranita. Think of the power in your wrist as you hold the diamond knife. Power that flows from your shoulder, down your arm, to your hand, to your fingers. To the knife.”

  She watched the ripple of light on the cut glass surface, remembered the control and grace that she had possessed while using the diamond blade. Tovin tilted the glass a little further, and it collected all the lamplight in the room. “That’s right, Ranita. Do you see the light? Do you see the glass?”