She weighed the loaves, added two buns for fairness, and put them into his basket. "Aye, and Maarsdam and Gember both frown on starvin' yourself to feed others. How's your lady-wife?"
"Better. The boy's ten pfund, and she's slower movin' for a while. Healer says she'll be fine, just needs a little rest."
The matron winced a little. "Oof. My biggest was eight pfund. Rella and Gember be with ye."
Her assistant took Aedelbert's mug and brought it back filled with fresh ale. He sipped, then inclined his head toward the pot on the side hearth. The boy dolloped something thick and meat-smelling onto a curved piece of bread and handed it over the counter. Aedelbert set the mug down, found two coppers in his belt-purse, and gave them to the apprentice. It was more than the ale and hearth-pot cost, but Mistress Godgifu had let Aedelbert's partner Caedda eat on promise before Wilfrid and the others had paid them. Aedelbert considered the little over-payment a half-tithe to Gember. Besides, staying on the baker's good side never hurt. The stone-cutters might need the mercy again.
After he finished his meal, Aedelbert crossed through the market and heard raised voices. Should he see what caused the commotion? No. He had enough fights of his own—no point in taking up someone else's trouble. The stone-worker cut past the weaver's stall and around the meat-sellers, then eased between the stalls and the shops, away from most of noise. A pair of great-haulers blinked at him as he passed, then returned to their naps. Two brown-clad matrons and a priestess of Korvaal hurried across the street, their heavy wooden pattens clattering on the stones. Someone had done a good job shaping and setting the cobbles, he observed yet again. It was an art to fit them and slope the market so it drained, although the town being on a slight hillside made it a touch easier. He turned into a side-street, then one of the covered alleys. At the end of the alley he climbed stairs to the first floor, knocked twice then twice more and opened the door.
Caedda waved him over to a small table set where the window light could shine in through the open shutters. Someone who did not know them would assume Aedelbert's assistant was actually his younger brother, given their pale hair, darker skin, dark eyes, and sturdy frames. They'd compared family histories once, but found no connection. Aedelbert's people came from near the Western Sea not far from Platport, while Caedda hailed from near Harnancourd in the north. "Is the site chosen?" Caedda asked.
"Aye. Winfrith still wants a wind smelter. I'm building in pipe-gaps even so. Three smelters, two levels, decent space but carrying the stone up-slope's going to cost. No road yet." Aedelbert prized off his boots and left them near the door. "Priest says the site's good."
"Good." Caedda squinted a little, then moved to the side, out of the light. "Found a second clay pit if we need it. Found some diggers and a second apprentice. Perhaps."
Aedelbert looked at the sketch of the smelters and the figures for how much material would be needed. He tapped the wood cost. "Lower that by a fifth. There's trash wood we can use from clearing the site."
"Good."
"Still building for lead and copper, third smelter for black copper. Master Wassa says the iron's good for flux but nothing more."
Caedda's blunt face relaxed a little, the lines around his eyes fading. They'd not need to do as many repairs on the smelters, since copper and lead melted cooler than iron. Fewer repairs meant hauling less clay and stone up to the site. "Still charcoal?"
"Aye, and still crushed at the mine, then hauled up." Aedelbert didn't really care either way, but storing crushed ore took less space and water than did raw ore, a mill, and crushed ore as well. "How far to the second clay pit?"
"Fifteen miles." Caedda scowled. "If we can, I'd get the clay first, then start on the stone before the farmers change their minds. No," he held up one hand. "They are not going to plant that field. It's too marshy as it is. But they're not satisfied with Bergmeister Sithulf's water plan. Say the river's already strange."
"Huh." The river had been strange since the Scavenger and Donwah had melted the metals into the Iron Stream, as best Aedelbert could tell. Not his problem until it interfered with his contract, as now. "We can do that. I'll talk to Turold and Wassa about storing the clay for us until the way to the smelters is open for carts." Letting it ferment and settle might not be a bad thing. The miasmas could thin out, and freezing once or twice would break up any lumps. "Tomorrow's Eighth Day, so we'll start on the clay the next day. Anything else?"
Caedda half-closed his left eye and rested his finger beside his nose. "Landlady says Widow Leoflaed's been watching us. Stopped by," he raised one eyebrow, "just to check on you. Asking about you, your family, if you paid more than a week down."
Aedelbert winced a little inside. Mistress Wigmunda would also be watching him now, trying to see if he returned the herb-wife's interest. "I'm not going to be the man to plow her widow's weeds under." Forewarned was forearmed, and he'd avoid her shop from now on.
"If you're back, I'm for the bath house." Caedda departed. Aedelbert sat on the stool and studied the drawings and figures once more. Caedda did far better with numbers than he did, and everything looked proper. He didn't like the column with the costs for the more distant clay, but if the farmers said no, that was that. He wasn't a noble to think that landsmen couldn't fight, not after that misunderstanding that had led to dodging a pruning hook. What her father had been drinking Aedelbert hesitated to guess. The girl'd been rather plain, her voice had made great-haulers sound like court musicians, and she hadn't had a dowry!
2
Clay and Stone
Thunk. The mattock's flat face bit into the creamy-grey clay. Aedelbert grunted with effort as he wiggled it loose, prying the lump of clay farther out of the wall of the pit. He raised the tool and brought it down again. A quiet splash sounded behind him, followed by Caedda's familiar grunt as he tossed water out of the hole.
"Be nice if the rain had waited," Caedda said at last. Thunk. They took turns bailing as rainwater oozed and trickled into the trench.
Aedelbert saved his energy for digging. The weather had turned chill and damp, of course. Radmar of the Skies they should have called the god, not Radmar of the Wheel. Bad enough to be digging at the edge of a marsh, but the rain... Well, now they knew that the clay would keep water out if anyone needed it for that. The hired cart should return soon, and he wanted to have a good load for it, since they paid by the day, not by weight.
Rip-schlorp. "Urk." Splop. Caedda pulled a block of clay free and dropped it onto the wet ground just beyond their trench. The clay pit would be long rather than deep. Aedelbert preferred it that way, and gave thanks to the Scavenger for leaving the clay so close to the surface. Working deep clay... too many things could happen. Like working underground. Everyone had heard stories about men slipping, or water flooding and trapping diggers, or men releasing miasmas from rotten rocks that overwhelmed the diggers before they could climb out. Or worse, that killed a man slowly by making his lungs rot. Or clay that hid rotten slopes and then collapsed on the men in the pit. Long and shallow was better.
"Farmer's brother asked about the clay," Caedda said. Thunk. "He's a potter."
"You tell him he can have the pit once we finish?" Aedelbert prized the chest-wide lump loose and set the mattock on the ground, then dug his fingers into the soft, heavy clay and lifted it to the top, shoving it away from the edge of the trench. They'd been able to borrow the farmer's plow to mark the trench, but after that it was all mattock, spade, and pick work. Scavenger be praised that the clay hadn't hardened into stone yet. Aedelbert preferred young clay to old, and they'd not seen any evidence that this patch had begun changing yet. He hoped it stayed that way. They were using iron-edged ironwood mattocks at the moment. The clay didn't stick as badly to ironwood as it did bronze and true-iron.
Caedda said, "Aye. He wanted a chunk to test, but I told him to wait and let it age a little, soften up." He worked a while longer before adding, "Not sure this is good pottery clay."
Aedelbert thought, then sh
rugged a little, concentrating on the work. The sooner they got the clay hauled, the sooner they could start working on the rock. He dearly wanted to get started on the rock before true winter. Donwah broke stones far more easily than any mortal, when She chose. And he'd not be standing in water. He stopped, laid the pick aside, and reached for the bucket.
Two days later, he considered the mound of clay heaped up behind a screen of brush and rushes. "One more day. Just to be safe, in case some of the clay rots over winter."
"How many wagons?" Caedda walked around the pile, thinking aloud. "Three, if we go as far as Scavenger's Gift, then hand-haul from there."
Aedelbert did not—most heartily did not—want to do that, but unless the gods saw fit to make a wagon road between now and the next Eighth Day, they'd be hand hauling. "Three, or five carts. Wagons are better." He shouldered his mattock and walked to the edge of the trench. Caedda followed. This should have been apprentice work, but something about the boy warned Aedelbert off of bringing him into the work so soon. He'd be good for stone work, but not this.
The trench extended almost to the edge of the mire proper. The other end brushed a copse of trees. Did the roots go sideways, away from the clay and then down or did they actually grew into the clay seam? If so, he admired their strength and determination. The clay shifted color towards the mire, turning lighter tan-grey rather than cream-grey. The water had stained the clay as the clay ripened and aged. As he thought about it, most clay in this area had water nearby, and Aedelbert wondered if instead of seeping down, here the water wicked up as the rocks cured and hardened from below. The miners said that in some places, the farther down you went, the warmer the waters became as they seeped into the shafts, although not at Scavenger's Gift or Blue Cliff.
Musing didn't make clay. The men clambered down into the trench and resumed work. The sun emerged toward noon, a welcome blessing, and Caedda breathed a prayer of thanks to Rella of the Lights for Her mercy.
The sun had moved half-way toward the western horizon when Aedelbert stopped. He leaned forward and pulled a hunk of clay out with his fingers, squeezing it and rolling it a little. It felt grittier, and he rolled it with both hands. The snake broke a little and he grunted, then dropped it into the trench. Sand in the clay, not what he needed or wanted. But they had enough for the smelters and for repairs.
"We're done," Aedelbert announced.
"Good." Caedda pried a last slab of tan clay loose from the trench wall and added it to the row on the ground, then heaved himself up after it. He looked down at his clothes. "Are we charging for this too?" The younger man gestured to the streaks on his thigh-guards and apron.
Aedelbert smiled as he scrambled up onto the surface. "Would that we could. Or trade it to the fullers in exchange for washing them." At least it would knock off easily once it dried, not like that yellow crap Aedelbert'd had to work as a journeyman. The men carried the last slabs of clay to the stack and sat to wait for the cart. They'd brought rough sacking and used that to clean the water and clay off their feet before re-wrapping them in wool strips and pulling on wooden clogs.
The cart creaked up the road, great-hauler whistling and complaining about something. "Oh, stop that," a tired woman sighed. "Yoorst made you to pull and you're going to pull. You're not a dawn-praiser or black warbler so quit acting like them." Caedda rolled his eyes as they got to their feet. A young woman in a patched skirt and man's shirt clomped up with the cart. "Good day, sirs." She bowed, then edged away from them a little, keeping a hand on the great-hauler.
"Good day, Miss Mildthryd." The men loaded the cart as she held the bird steady. It stopped fussing and seemed to droop, as if it realized that now it had to work in truth. "Last load."
She drooped as well, then caught herself and blushed. Aedelbert wondered what caused the blush. She only said, "Yes, sirs." Once they added their tools to the cart and closed the end, Mildthryd guided the bird to turn around in the little clearing. "Ah, sirs, has anyone claimed the wood?" She nodded to the brush pile.
"Not yet. We don't need it," Aedelbert said.
"My father claims it, then. This is commons land." The men knew that, but didn't speak. They didn't want to waste breath, or at least Aedelbert didn't. He preferred moving stone down to lifting clay up. It wouldn't hurt if the man took the brush, and keeping the farmers happy would probably make life a little less hard if they had to come back. Some of the rumors Caedda had reported about the farmers and their problems with the miners...
"You grease the cart, miss?" Caedda inquired after a mile. The half-wagon creaked and groaned, but not as loudly as many.
"Yes, sir. Father found some schaef-bacon that had gone rancid past the point of salvage. Even the Scavenger didn't want it—His rats had left it behind." She made the sign for truth oath. "Father said I could have it, and I used it on the cart. Anything so Bonna doesn't work too hard while she's carrying a clutch, sirs." The girl hunched her shoulders a little as she spoke, as if expecting a blow or a complaint about her conduct.
"Waste not, regret not," Caedda said. "Yoorst blesses those who care properly for His creatures." Mildthryd's face turned pink once more, but she stayed silent.
Aedelbert considered the cart, the great-hauler, and the rotten bacon. That made a great deal of sense, really, and was less of a waste than burying the rancid food. Had someone failed to cure it properly? Or not stored it in cooling stone and water? Even smoked and cured meats went bad if left in summer's heat too long. The girl had a good head on her to think so well. She'd make someone a good wife.
Or would she? Her father either trusted her a great deal to send her alone with the cart, or thought so little of her that he didn't care if the men took her virtue. Aedelbert studied her clothes and how she walked a little hunched. Probably the second, not that either he or Caedda would touch her. Even if he'd found her attractive, he was too tired. Caedda as well, given how he almost shuffled his feet. They'd sleep soundly once they got the clay to the mine.
"Ah, sir? Do," she hesitated before looking over her shoulder at Aedelbert. "Do you know ought of a rumor that Garmouth has claimed all of the Wimdere River as well as Iron Spring?"
He considered as they trudged along. Only the great-hauler—Bonna was it?—seemed well-rested and fresh. "I heard of a rumor, yes, miss. I don't know more. I'm not of the city, just working there."
"Thank you, sir. Father came in from market day screaming that Garmouth had claimed the full run of the river and was turning it into the mine for the miners, trying to force us from the land." She shook her head a little, and her maiden's braid wagged back and forth. "That sounded strange, since the river heads below the mine and city, and no man turns water uphill. Only the gods could do that."
Caedda raised his eyebrows. Aedelbert shrugged. Caedda explained, "You have the right of it, miss. And miners want less water in the mines, not more." He sniffed, sneezed, then sniffed again. "Your pardon, miss. Dry mines have fewer miasmas because the rocks have not begun to decay."
The girl held her peace for a while before speaking. "That sounds wise, sir. Thank you."
Aedelbert didn't correct Caedda. And he was right, to a point. Dry quarries certainly functioned better than wet ones did.
They reached the pile of clay chunks just before the sun touched the western horizon. The men unloaded the cart, then Aedelbert paid the girl the agreed wage, plus a copper. "Mercy coin" he said when she started to object. She bowed and departed. The great-hauler stepped more quickly into the growing shadows. Caedda found where he'd made the fire last night and moved the stones over three paces, clearing the ground of anything that might burn and blow. Aedelbert piled sticks and dry grass in the ring, crouched, and breathed the first words of a set-spell, seeing in his mind heat from the sun-warmed rocks concentrating on the grass, then the twigs. He smelled smoke, and Caedda slid a few more twigs into the tiny flame, taking care not to overwhelm the fire. Aedelbert sat back and waited for the trees to stop shimmering and wagging. He should ha
ve used fire-iron and stone, as tired as he was.
The wagons arrived the next day. Before they'd gone to sleep, Caedda had triggered the pre-set spell that notified the sight-mage at the Scavenger's temple of their readiness. Aedelbert did not care for the expense of so many set-spells, but he also preferred not to leave the clay unguarded as they walked eight miles to Garmouth, found wagons, and walked back. Tempting the weak or some Scavenger Born... all priests frowned on it. Even the Scavenger's own priests discouraged such things. Skillful theft was one thing, but drawing men into trouble should not be done. Besides, all the Scavenger-born in Garmouth served as miners and the like.
"Ye were not joking about the weight," the lead teamster exclaimed as he hefted one of the blocks of clay. "This is heavier than stone."
Aedelbert wagged one hand back and forth. "Aye and nay. Clay is unripe, young stone, full of water. You lift the water. Once it dries, baked or with age? Not so heavy."
"Like dried wood, or dried fruit," the teamster said. He set the clay into the wagon bed. "Makes sense."
One of the younger teamsters said, "My da's brother's an herb-healer and says that different earths have different natures, like men. Some are wetter and cooler, others hotter and wetter, so different herbs take root there."
"Like that, aye," Aedelbert agreed. Then they needed all their breath for loading the clay. It took all three wagons, given the weight. No one wanted to overload the great-haulers, since they'd be climbing up to the mine the next day. A man could walk the distance in a day, but a loaded wagon needed twice the time, or Yoorst would strike both teamster and stone-worker for being so cruel to the beasts.
The wagons creaked into motion. Aedelbert looked around, studying the land and the rocks that peeped out of the soil and woods here and there. Something had tipped the rocks, turning those that ran flat elsewhere until here they stacked like fish-bone-laid bricks. Perhaps it had been the Great Cold, when ice had formed in places ice no longer reached. If a man travelled far enough, the Green Mountains rose like a blister on boiling milk, Grey-Cap Mountain forming the peak of the bubble. Maybe, as the ice sank roots into the rock, it had bent and tilted the stones as it broke other rocks. Or the gods had simply made the rocks as they were, for their own reasons. Some miners claimed that metals had flowed into the rocks, pushing some apart or dissolving others before cooling and freezing. Aedelbert didn't really worry about why the rocks tilted or poked out of the ground. His business lay on the fact that they did.
Miners and Empire Page 2