for you.”
Rahl smiled. It hadn’t been a bad day at all. Not at all.
VII
For the next two eightdays Rahl did little besides copy from Tales of the Founders and then Natural Arithmetics and Other Calculation Methods. Unbelievable as most of the tales were, they had been at least interesting. He could not say that for Natural Arithmetics.
He hadn’t even had to explain anything to Jienela about his end-day visits to Shahyla. The last eightday or so, Jienela had been in Extina. She’d been sent there to help her mother’s younger sister Joslyn. Jienela’s aunt had nearly died in childbirth, even with a black healer present.
Rahl could not say that he truly missed Jienela except for the pleasures she had afforded him, but he’d also not been able to stop by the chandlery more than a time or two, and never long enough to talk with Fahla for more than a moment, if that. Still, he had had another pleasant afternoon with Shahyla.
The last three mornings had dawned gray and drizzling, unusually so for late spring and early summer in northern Reduce, and fourday was far colder than twoday and threeday. Rahl was trying not to shiver as he worked on copying a page that held formulae and exercise problems.
“For darkness’ sake, Rahl,” snapped Kian, “go put on a heavier tunic or a jacket. You can’t keep a steady hand if you’re shivering. You young folks have no sense at all. I saw your friend Sevien coming out of the chandlery the other morning in a sleeveless tunic. His arms were near-dark blue, and yet he had the audacity to tell me he wasn’t cold. His teeth were chattering so much I barely understood a word he had to say.”
Rahl decided against trying to point out that anyone who wore a heavy winter tunic in spring, or summer, or darkness forbid, an actual jacket, would have to suffer silent ridicule in the eyes of his friends for at least an eightday, if not longer. He did set aside his pen and rise to follow his father’s order. He could always hide the tunic if his father sent him on an errand away from the shop.
When he returned to the workroom, Kian nodded. “Much more sensible. You’ll get more work done without errors, too.”
Rahl hated it when his parents talked about sensibility. He knew what was sensible, even when they didn’t, but he said nothing and went back to work.
He finished another page and started on the next.
“Frig!” Kian murmured.
“What is it?”
“There must have been something wrong with the pen point. It just snapped. That shouldn’t have happened. Hardly put any pressure on tit at all.” Kian shook his head.
Rahl winced silently, wondering if that had been the pen he’d dropped in cleaning up the night before.
“Why don’t you run down to the chandlery and pick up the nibs. They should be there by now. I’d already ordered some from Kehlyrt. He’s the new factor.”
“Factor?”
“Well… he’s taken over the chandlery, but he’s adding things, goods we haven’t seen in years. Good prices, too. It’s getting more like a factorage than a chandlery.”
“Yes, ser.”
“And don’t strip off the tunic as soon as you leave the workroom.”
“No, ser.”
“I mean it, Rahl.”
“Yes, ser.” Rahl did manage to keep his voice pleasant as he cleaned his pen and set it in the holder. “Do I need silvers to pay for them?”
“Hardly,” snorted Kian. “I had to pay in advance. That goes for anything he orders from Nylan. It’s still cheaper and quicker than getting them from Lydiar or Hamor.” He frowned. “I still wonder how that broke.” He shook his head. “That nib was getting worn anyway… why I’d ordered another pair.”
Rahl stood and headed toward the door.
“Don’t take too long.”
“No, ser.”
Once outside the workroom, Rahl thought about pulling off the heavy winter tunic, but it was cold, and he could sense his father watching. With a resigned shrug, he headed down the street toward the factorage.
The cold and
Rahl smiled. It hadn’t been a bad day at all. Not at all.
VII
For the next two eightdays Rahl did little besides copy from Tales of the Founders and then Natural Arithmetics and Other Calculation Methods. Unbelievable as most of the tales were, they had been at least interesting. He could not say that for Natural Arithmetics.
He hadn’t even had to explain anything to Jienela about his end-day visits to Shahyla. The last eightday or so, Jienela had been in Extina. She’d been sent there to help her mother’s younger sister Joslyn. Jienela’s aunt had nearly died in childbirth, even with a black healer present.
Rahl could not say that he truly missed Jienela except for the pleasures she had afforded him, but he’d also not been able to stop by the chandlery more than a time or two, and never long enough to talk with Fahla for more than a moment, if that. Still, he had had another pleasant afternoon with Shahyla.
The last three mornings had dawned gray and drizzling, unusually so for late spring and early summer in northern Reduce, and fourday was far colder than twoday and threeday. Rahl was trying not to shiver as he worked on copying a page that held formulae and exercise problems.
“For darkness’ sake, Rahl,” snapped Kian, “go put on a heavier tunic or a jacket. You can’t keep a steady hand if you’re shivering. You young folks have no sense at all. I saw your friend Sevien coming out of the chandlery the other morning in a sleeveless tunic. His arms were near-dark blue, and yet he had the audacity to tell me he wasn’t cold. His teeth were chattering so much I barely understood a word he had to say.”
Rahl decided against trying to point out that anyone who wore a heavy winter tunic in spring, or summer, or darkness forbid, an actual jacket, would have to suffer silent ridicule in the eyes of his friends for at least an eightday, if not longer. He did set aside his pen and rise to follow his father’s order. He could always hide the tunic if his father sent him on an errand away from the shop.
When he returned to the workroom, Kian nodded. “Much more sensible. You’ll get more work done without errors, too.”
Rahl hated it when his parents talked about sensibility. He knew what was sensible, even when they didn’t, but he said nothing and went back to work.
He finished another page and started on the next.
“Frig!” Kian murmured.
“What is it?”
“There must have been something wrong with the pen point. It just snapped. That shouldn’t have happened. Hardly put any pressure on tit at all.” Kian shook his head.
Rahl winced silently, wondering if that had been the pen he’d dropped in cleaning up the night before.
“Why don’t you run down to the chandlery and pick up the nibs. They should be there by now. I’d already ordered some from Kehlyrt. He’s the new factor.”
“Factor?”
“Well… he’s taken over the chandlery, but he’s adding things, goods we haven’t seen in years. Good prices, too. It’s getting more like a factorage than a chandlery.”
“Yes, ser.”
“And don’t strip off the tunic as soon as you leave the workroom.”
“No, ser.”
“I mean it, Rahl.”
“Yes, ser.” Rahl did manage to keep his voice pleasant as he cleaned his pen and set it in the holder. “Do I need silvers to pay for them?”
“Hardly,” snorted Kian. “I had to pay in advance. That goes for anything he orders from Nylan. It’s still cheaper and quicker than getting them from Lydiar or Hamor.” He frowned. “I still wonder how that broke.” He shook his head. “That nib was getting worn anyway… why I’d ordered another pair.”
Rahl stood and headed toward the door.
“Don’t take too long.”
“No, ser.”
Once outside the workroom, Rahl thought about pulling off the heavy winter tunic, but it was cold, and he could sense his father watching. With a resigned shrug, he headed down the street toward the factorage.
The cold and
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