The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(7)

Cerryl could feel his eyes closing.

“Boy?”

He jerked away and looked up at Dylert. “Yes, ser?”

“Long walk, was it not?”

“We left well before dawn.”

“I'd imagine so.” The millmaster extended a pair of boots, brown and scarred. “You be trying these.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” Cerryl slipped on the worn leather boots, one after the other, wiggling his toes inside.

“Those were Hurior's 'fore he left. They fit?”

“Yes, ser. I think so, ser.”

“Good. One problem less.”

A dark-haired girl peered from where she stood in the doorway over at Cerryl. She wore a tan short-sleeved shirt and matching trousers, with a wide leather belt and boots that matched the sandals.

“Erhana, this be Cerryl, the new mill boy.” Dylert laughed. “Don't be distracting him while he works.”

Erhana stepped onto the porch, and Cerryl could see that she was taller than he was, and possibly older. She had her father's brown eyes and square chin, but dark brown hair, cut evenly at shoulder length. “He's thin.”

“Your mother's cooking will help that.”

“He'll still be thin,” prophesied Erhana.

“Maybe so,” said Dylert. “You can talk at supper. I need to get him settled and show him the mill.”

“Yes, Papa.” Erhana slipped back into the house.

Dylert led Cerryl back down to the nearest of the lumber barns to the west-or uphill-side, where three doors had been cut into the siding and rough-framed with half-planks. “These are the hands' room. The far one-that's Rinfur's.”

Cerryl nodded.

“You know Rinfur?”

“No, ser. Uncle ... Syodor ... offered him a good day. He was driving the wagon.”

“Your uncle said you listened.” Dylert pointed to the second door. “That's Viental's.” Dylert grinned. “You know him?”

“No, ser.”

“He's the one does stone work and helps with the burdens. You'll know Viental when you see him. Let him go off and help his sister with the harvest. He'll be back in an eight-day. Now,” continued the mill-master, opening the door nearest the mill, “this be yours.”

Cerryl glanced around the bare room, scarcely more than four cubits on a side, and containing little more than a pallet, a short three-legged stool, and three shelves on the wall to the right with an open cubicle under them on the wall.

The bottom of the window beside the door was level with Cerryl's chin and a cubit high and half a cubit wide. It had neither shutters nor a canvas rollshade, just a door on two simple iron strap hinges with a swing bolt on the inside.

“Nothing fancy, but it be all yours. Put your stuff in the cubby there, boy, and I'll show you around the mill. You need to know where everything is.”

Cerryl stepped inside and slowly eased the sack into the cubby, his eyes going to the bare pallet on the plank platform.

“Be sending down some blankets for you after supper. Mayhap have some heavy trews, too. Yours are a shade frail for mill work.”

Cerryl swallowed, then swallowed again. “Yes, ser.”

“Don't be a-worrying, boy. You work for me, and I'll see you're fitted proper. 'Sides, I owe your uncle. Little enough I can do. He be a proud man.”

Cerryl kept his face expressionless.

“Not so he'd talk of it, but when he was the masterminer-that was years back, mind you-he was the one. Insisted that the timbers be right, and no shaving on their bearing width. Saved many a miner, I'd wager. Saved the mill, too.” Dylert shrugged. “I offered him a share here. He'd have none of it.” The millmaster looked at the youth. “Be ready to see the mill?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Said, he did, that someone had to look after the mines, old or not, and that was his duty.” Dylert led Cerryl around the back corner of the lumber barn and toward the mill.

A brief shadow crossed the hillside. Cerryl glanced up but the small cloud passed the eye of the sun, and he had to look away quickly as the light flooded back.

Cerryl glanced toward the second lumber barn. The oxen stood placidly, still yoked in place, without their driver.

They stepped through the wide door to the mill. The entire mill was floored with smoothed stone, worn in places, cracked in others, but recently swept. An aisle of sorts-wide enough for the oxen and lumber cart-ted to the far wall, where a raised brick-based platform stood.

Dylert gestured to the racks on either side of the cleared space. “Holding racks. Be where we sort the planks and timbers after cutting. Use some of the racks for special cuts. Special cuts-that's for the cabinet makers or the finish carpenters. Takes special work; charge 'em special, too.”

Cerryl waited.

“There be the brooms. When the blade's cutting, you sweep, unless tell you otherwise. Have to keep the mill clean. You know how fast sawdust burns? Goes like cammabark-faster maybe. Poof! Helps sometimes if'n you dip the end of the broom in water-specially if we're cutting the hardwoods. The dust there, it be specially fine.” Dylert strode toward the platform. Cerryl followed.

“This be the main blade, boy.” The dark-bearded man pointed to the circle of dark iron. “Don't you be touching it. Or the brake here, either.” His hand went to an iron lever.