The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(37)

Tellis read through the scroll, licking his lips, once, twice, as he neared the end. “Dylert says you're a shirttail relative.”

“Yes, ser.”

“He also says you work hard, and that'd not be something he'd offer easily.” Tellis scratched the back of his head, absently disarraying the thick, brown-flecked hair. “Tell me about master Dylert. What does he look like, and what does he favor?”

“Master Dylert...” Cerryl managed not to frown. “He is a fraction of a span taller than you are, ser, but tall as he is, he is a wiry man. His beard is black but shows silver. His eyes are brown. He always wanted the mill clean, and the planks and timbers stacked in the barns by their size and quality.” Cerryl shrugged. “His speech is hard, but he is fair.”

“And his household?”

“His consort, Dyella, she is warmer.” Cerryl smiled. “She often gave me extra food.”

“Spoken like a young fellow, thinking of the food. Go on.”

“She has brown hair. It's thinner. Erhana favors her mother, excepting her face, and Brental-I don't know. He is the sole one with red hair, so far as I know, but... he was good to me as well.”

“Where are your people?”

“None are living ... now. My uncle ... he lived in Montgren.” Cerryl swallowed, fighting the burning in his eyes, wondering why the question had upset him.

“You lived with your uncle, then?”

“Yes, ser. Until I went to work for master Dylert.”

“You miss him, your uncle, I mean?”

Cerryl nodded, swallowing again. “My aunt, too.”

“Dylert... a good judge of men, but far too good for his own good.” Tellis shook his head. “Ah... well... we have you to deal with. Not so as I really need an apprentice, you understand, but an extra pair of working hands ... that we can manage.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl kept his eyes on Tellis, his voice polite.

“A few matters, young fellow ...”

“Cerryl.”

“Important matters, if you intend to remain here.”

Cerryl nodded again, waiting, trying not to shift his weight from one leg to the other as the scrivener studied him again, trying to appear serious and attentive.

“Well, Cerryl.. . you'll learn as the days pass. But there are some things that don't change. You'll be pumping the water for all, and we'll be getting to that. Water's close here in Fairhaven, and this is a clean house. You look neat, but clean is better. I expect you to bathe leastwise every third day, and wash your hands and face every time before you work in the shop here. That's after breakfast and after supper. Dirty hands, dirty sweat-they've ruined more books than fires or bugs. And you'll need another set of clothes. I'll provide that, but you wash them.”

Cerryl nodded. “Yes, ser.”

“Another matter. You'll be spending some time with Arkos the tanner. You won't be touching the binding till you understand the leather. That clear?”

Cerryl gave another nod.

“And the parchment, as well.”

“Yes, ser.” The youth just stood there, afraid that another nod would show him as agreeably dull.

“Your wages are a half copper an eight-day for the first five eight-days. If we're both satisfied after that, a copper an eight-day for the rest of the first year. Then we'll talk.” Tellis fingered his not-quite-pointed and clean-shaven chin, then pulled his hand away, almost disgustedly. “And after all my talk ...” His eyes went to the washstand in the corner. “You'll have your own towel... Cerryl, is it?”

“Cerryl. .. yes ... ser.”

“And don't wipe your face with your hands. Your sleeves, a clean rag, but not your hands.”

Cerryl found himself nodding again, against his better judgment.

“Now ... let's see how well you listen. Tell me what I told you.”

Cerryl continued to meet the scrivener's eyes as he responded. “You want my hands and face clean any time before I go to work. I'm not to wipe my face with my hands. I'm to bathe at least every third day. I must spend time with the tanner to learn about leather and parchment, and I'm the one who will pump water for the house and shop. And I start at a half-copper an eight-day.”

“A good memory, leastwise.” A slight smile flickered across the scrivener's lips. “Follow me.” Tellis led the way back into the front room and then through the other door.

Behind the showroom was a narrow kitchen-with a small iron stove, half built into the wall, presided over by a slender woman whose back remained turned from the scrivener and Cerryl-and to the right of the kitchen, through an archway, Cerryl glimpsed a common room with a trestle table, and a wall bench piled with pillows.

Tellis gestured to the thin, almost frayed-looking woman whose blonde-and-gray hair was square cut in a thick thatch just below the bottom of her ears. “This is Beryal. She runs the household, she and her daughter Benthann.”

“No. I run the household. Benthann runs you.” As she turned slowly, Beryal's pale blue eyes appraised Cerryl, and he felt as though she had looked right through him. “A new apprentice? About time. You need someone who listens to you.”

“That's true enough.” Tellis laughed. “Beryal and Benthann are better at directing than listening.”