Shadow of a Dark Queen by Raymond E. Feist Page B

of sour sickness. Never seek to hide in a wine bottle, Erik. It’s a slow and painful death. Meet your sorrows head on, and after you’ve wrestled with them, put them behind.”
    Something in his tone told Erik that Nathan wasn’t simply repeating an aphorism but was speaking from belief. “I can put this room right, sir, while you take your ease at the inn.”
    â€œI’d best make myself known to the innkeeper; he is to be my landlord, after all. And I could use something to eat.”
    Erik realized he hadn’t thought of that. The office of guild smith might be granted by the guild and a patent for a town might be exclusive, but otherwise the smith was like any other tradesman, forced to make a profit the best he knew how, and responsible for setting up his own place of business. Erik said, “Sir, Tyndal had no family. Who . . .”
    Nathan put his hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Who should I be paying for all these tools?”
    Erik nodded.
    Nathan said, “My own tools will be coming by freight hauler any day now. I have no desire to take what is not rightfully mine, Erik.” He scratched hisday’s growth of whiskers as he thought. “When you’re ready to leave Ravensburg and begin your own forge, let us assume they go with you. You were his last apprentice, and tradition has it that you are to pay the widow for the tools. As he had no family, there’s no one to pay, is there?”
    Erik realized what an incredibly generous offer he was being made. An apprentice was expected somehow to supplement his earnings so that by the time he reached journeyman’s rank he could purchase a complete set of tools, and an anvil, and have the money to pay for the construction of a forge if needed. Most young journeymen were able to begin modestly, but Tyndal, for all his sloth in his last years, had been a master smith for seventeen years and had every conceivable tool of the trade, two and three of some. With proper care and cleaning, Erik would be set up for life!
    Erik said, “If you would like, I can show you to the kitchen.”
    â€œI’ll find my way. Just come get me when this room is cleaned up.”
    Erik nodded, and as Nathan moved off toward the rear of the inn, the boy held his breath and went into Tyndal’s room. Throwing open the single window didn’t help, and Erik hurried back outside because of the stench. Unpleasant odors bothered Erik, strong as he was in most ways, and he confessed to a weak stomach. Though he was used to the smell of the barn and forge, nevertheless the odor of human illness and waste caused the bile to rise in his gorge, and he had tears in his eyes from the reek by the time he got Tyndal’s bedding outside the hut.
    Breathing through his mouth and turning his headaway, he hurried to the large iron tub his mother used for washing and threw the filthy linens into it. As he was building up the fire beneath, his mother approached.
    â€œWho is this man claiming to be the new smith?” she demanded.
    Erik was in no mood to battle his mother, so he calmly said, “Not claiming; is. The guild sent him.”
    â€œWell, did you tell him there already was a smith here?”
    Erik got the fire under the tub going and stood up. As calmly as he could manage, he said, “No. This is a guild forge. And I have no standing with the guild.” Thinking of Tyndal’s tools, he added, “Nathan’s being very generous and is keeping me on. He’ll apprentice me to the guild and . . .”
    Erik expected an argument, but instead his mother only nodded once and left without further comment. Puzzled by her lack of outburst, Erik stood a moment until the crackling of the fire under the tub reminded him he had a still-unfinished task. He took one of the hard cakes of soap used to wash the inn’s bedding and broke it in half. Tossing the hard soap into the tub, he began stirring with