Wizard of Jatte by Rowan Erlking (librera reader txt) 📕

“I overheard you, and I already decided that I should leave here,” she said.

The men turned to see her better. Theissen nodded, figuring she would think things out. With how quick she had agreed to his scheme, he knew she would not want to leave anything up to chance, especially her future.

“What are your plans, then?” the carpenter asked, turning to regard her.

Giving a courtesy and a smile, the woman said, “Thank you for your hospitality, but I believe I should sneak out tonight and head south. Your wife left me a message with this dress, and she suggested that I take up with the fishing village not far on the east where she hears they need a cook and maid in an inn.”

The carpenter nodded, knowing the place his wife had mentioned. He smiled. “I wish you the best then. Do you need supplies for the trip?”

She glanced at Theissen and smiled broader. “Your son already provided me with a meal, clothes, and a basket. I don’t need anything else.”

The doctor looked somewhat put out. “You won’t even stay one night? I have a warm bed here I’d be—”

Theissen kicked the back of his leg. “She won’t be staying.”

With an appreciative laugh, the woman crossed the room patting Theissen on the head as the doctor scowled at him.

“Thank you for watching out for me.” She then looked to the carpenter. “You have raised a fine son. You should be proud.”

Casting Theissen a slight smirk, the carpenter answered, “Well, he still needs some tending to, but I like what I see so far.”

He then patted Kolbran’s head also.

“I want my sons to all be good men.”

The woman bowed to him. “Thank you.”

The departure of Lord Baron Kirsch Rinchant Persillan Landownerson of Scarbrone City happened on a happy Saturday morning. As if it were a parade to watch, the village gathered on the roads to cheer his departure with more gossip than when he had arrived. Of course this only served to build up his feelings of self-importance rather than insult the man that most people wished to leave. The body he had been storing had started to stink.

But once the lord baron was gone, pressure to fulfil his orders only built up more. Nearly every skilled tradesman scrambled to fill his work orders. The Shoemakers were cutting, soaking, folding, gluing and sewing night and day. The Weavers were at the loom nearly every hour, taking breaks for only seconds before going at them again. The Tailors were hard at work, and the Potters were constantly throwing pots and firing up their kiln, perfecting their stoneware beyond the level of art. Of course, the Carpenters were in their shop just as much, using even Doreen to help with tasks that normally they would have given to an apprentice to do.

Of course, Doreen was not fond of sanding. She was not fond of gluing. She didn’t like the smell of wood stain, and she despised the odor of the lacquer they used to seal up the furniture. However, that was all she knew of carpentry and they were not going to risk damaging their best pieces on an amateur no matter how much she begged. Her complaints were sometimes too hard to bear in the carpenter’s shop, so they often made her do the work outside.

Doreen collected complaints those days it seemed. Though they held her budding ceremony the week the lord baron was in town to give her full attention, she felt it was lackluster and less than what Theissen had gotten. Though she was given tasks in the carpentry shop that she had never been given before, she complained that she was still being treated less than she deserved. And when her mother claimed her for the household chores, demanding that she help her instead of getting in her father’s way in the shop, Doreen screamed that she was unappreciated.

“I never get to do what I want!” she shouted.

“Who does?” Kolbran murmured, carrying out dinner to his father who could not leave the shop until he finished his daily quota of chair legs.

“Theissen always does!” she screamed back at him.

Theissen was luckily not there to hear the screaming, too busy finishing the other orders that they still had to fulfill for Lord Baron Grianne of Tucken Town. He had to sand the dried surfaces of the vanity he had made, and he needed to set in the glass mirror.

“Does not,” Kolbran said, ducking through the door before she could throw something at him.

“Does too!”

Their mother set her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “No, he doesn’t. He is busy working when you know he’d rather be out making—”

“You always take his side!” Doreen stomped out of the room and up to her bed, slamming her door shut.

The carpenter’s wife closed her eyes, hanging her arms at her sides with exhaustion.

Doreen had given up screaming when her father had made her sand all the chair legs the following day, but things did not get easier for the carpenter’s family. The carpenter spent all hours in the shop, barely resting for three hours per night just to keep up with the bulk of the work, knowing the rest of the time would have to be spent in carving. Lord Baron Kirsch had left specific instructions on each article that had to be carved. He also gave the carpenter a drawing of the scrollwork he wanted carved into each piece. Just looking at the intricate design, the carpenter knew that one month was not enough time to deliver such a perfect design. He needed at least three good months to carve all of them with the perfect refinement the lord baron demanded. The pressure of his threats loomed over him with a growing sense of grim reality. If he did not complete the job in time, his reputation among lord barons would be marred despite his longstanding business deals with such men on the West Coast. It might even ruin his sons’ futures. Who would hire a carpenter from Lumen Village after Lord Baron Kirsch smeared his name as a fraud and a cheap craftsman?

Hour by tedious hour, the carpenter sanded, cut, planed, set pieces together and glued. His sons and daughter sanded, edged and sealed what could be done before carving. It took the entire month to complete the basic shapes of the entire set, but the carpenter was barely able to even sketch on the design for carving. And when the lord baron’s steward arrived to check on his progress a week ahead of the pick up date, he had only just started the basic scratches.

“This will not do,” the steward said, shaking his head at the chair back and the inlay on the pieced-together table. He turned with a grave stare. “You realize that my master is not a patient man?”

The carpenter’s eyes looked sunken, dark rings in the crevices and new wrinkles along the cracks. His hands were worn and aching. Both of his sons were still hard at work in the shop, sanding the last of the pieces that did not need to be carved into. “Maybe he will have to learn patience.”

Looking grave, the steward let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “I am reminding you that he will ruin you.”

“Do I really need that reminder?” the carpenter asked, resting his hand. He had been carving this one chair non-stop.  It was beautiful work, but it was only one chair.

Narrowing his gaze, the steward did not respond. He turned to look directly at Theissen. “He does.”

Theissen stared back, then glanced at his father.

The carpenter rose from his seat. “He is not yet ready to do master carving. Do not pick on him.”

But the steward ignored him, walking over to Theissen. “You ought to think about more than yourself. You could have saved that woman with your magic.”

The carpenter jerked the steward back from his son. “I said, don’t pick on him!”

Staring at him with surprise, and then at Theissen once more, the steward pulled back. With a step that staggered somewhat, the man moved towards the door straightening his coat and then smoothing his hair, which had somehow become ruffled in the shop.

“Fine. Your funeral.”

He tromped out. The carpenter did not even bother to watch him go, turning back towards the chair to finish it. Theissen, however, did watch him, feeling his chest clench and his insides sicken.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Kolbran said, peering out also.

Theissen turned from the door to work back on his project. “If he knew what happened, his master would find out.”

“I don’t think he’d tell.” Kolbran followed after him, picking up his own piece of sandpaper.

“It’s not that,” Theissen said, and he started to carve the edge again. “That kind of lord baron would have wheedled it out of him. He’s an unscrupulous b—”

“None of that!”

Both boys looked up and flushed, their eyes meeting their father’s stern gaze.

Kolbran ducked his head down again. He whispered. “I still don’t see why you didn’t do more than mess up his hair.”

Theissen smothered a laugh, ducking down also.

Their father worked late into the night. Then woke early the next morning and continued again. One day gone. Six left before the arrival of Lord Baron Kirsch.

Then another late night, and another early morning.

Five days left.

Each day came and went too fast for the carpenter to get in more than a little effective carving done. Two chairs completed.

Four days left.

Up extremely late one night, Theissen remained in the shop to finish with the staining of those two chairs while his father worked on a third, once slicing open his hand in his exhaustion. Theissen healed it then took off the bloodstain from the wood.

Three days left.

They had to let the stained wood cure as the carpenter continued to work on the one chair, even showing Theissen how to carve one just like it, risking a small accident in carving that he hoped his son could heal if he failed to do it properly. Theissen healed eight of such scars in the wood until he was able to master control over his carving tools. Both finished late into the night.

Two days left.

The carpenter finished the third chair. Theissen managed to finish the fourth as his father started on the fifth. Kolbran remained behind to sand and stain both chairs while Theissen started the inlay carving for the table, one he was confident he could at least start for his father in the deep unrefined grooves without doing any damage. They varnished two chairs before bed.

One day left.

“Go and bring your father his supper,” Carpenterswife said to Doreen who had quit sulking and had put her angry efforts into helping out at the Weavers’ home the last few days. Milrina had been in and out of her family’s shop packing the linens for Lord Baron Kirsch all day, and she had just been claimed for final sewing work so they used Doreen to run the small errands.

Rolling her eyes, Doreen picked up the tray they had been using and carried it to the door, nudging it open