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“…another wizard loose in the Easthorns…walked through a wall…”

“…just an excuse because the fellow skipped and didn’t pay, that’s all…”

The pair nearest me got up and left. No one took their place.

Sitting in the corner on the long bench, I nursed one redberry, then another, listening not only to the older group, but to others scattered throughout the room…

“…apprenticeship? With his daughter? That’s a prison…”

“…he’d like those golden chains! Wouldn’t you, Sander? Wouldn’t you?”

“…frig out…”

“…say some of the old duke’s guard trying to carve out their own place…”

“…Northern Kyphros…”

“…wilderness…”

“…autarch will show them…”

“…how you’d like her bed?…”

“Let’s have another round.”

“Who’s paying?”

Between the continuing smoke from the kitchen, the pervasiveness of soured beer and wine, and the acridness of green wood in the hearth, my eyes burned, but I kept listening, waving away the thin serving-girl with the scar down her cheek, nursing my second redberry, and watching…

Perlot pulled back his chair, and I started to stand up, then sat down. Approaching a craft-master in a tavern was an invitation to trouble. So I waited for him to leave before I made my way out to the stable and Gairloch.

Although the air was cleaner and the stable far warmer than the Easthorns had been, my sleep was restless, as if the thunder of that sudden winter storm in Certis still echoed in my head, and I kept hearing the phrase “another wizard in the Easthorns.” In time I did sleep, though I woke and washed in the trough before the stablehand arrived.

He didn’t know exactly where Perlot’s shop was, but pointed generally to the far side of the mill quarter, and I greased him with another copper to leave Gairloch for the day.

“Before sunset, boy!”

I didn’t grin, but we both knew that he wouldn’t touch Gairloch with even a pitchfork. All being late would cost me was money, and I was losing that fast enough anyway.

Perlot’s Crafting. That was what the sign read. Under the sign was a display window with a cabinet and a wooden armchair, both darkened red oak in the Hamorian style. The crafting was better than anything I had seen since leaving Uncle Sardit, and the cabinet might even have gotten a nod from him.

Since the door was ajar, and no customers were standing in the waiting area, I stepped inside.

On the other side of the half-wall, the craft-master was directing two others, a junior apprentice, and either a young journeyman or senior apprentice slightly older than I was. They were discussing the composition of an oil finish.

“You there. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Please don’t hurry on my account, mastercrafter,” I answered, carefully inclining my head. Then I walked to the back side of the display window to inspect the three-drawered cabinet, comparing it more closely to my recollections of Uncle Sardit’s work.

“What do you think?” Perlot’s voice was even more raspy in the morning.

I turned to face him.

“Well…you seem to know something about woodwork. What do you think?”

I swallowed. “The finish is superb, as are the proportions. The grain on the side panel is angled, not much, but enough to detract. Since the joins are hidden, I can’t say much about the strength, but the mitering doesn’t jam the wood or leave gaps.”

“What about the wood?”

“The cabinetry is better than the oak. The design would have been better in black oak, but that might have raised the cost to more than most buyers would pay.”

Perlot nodded. “You’re looking for a job, that’s clear, and you know what’s expected. That’s clear, too. I can’t help you.” The words rushed together, as if he wanted to be done with them.

“I see.” It was my turn to nod. “Do you know any crafter who might be able to use a junior journeyman?”

The mastercrafter rubbed his chin. “Among the good ones…no. We all have more relatives than work.” Then he laughed. “If you’re as good as you talk, you might try old Destrin. He could use the help, but…” The man shrugged.

“Where could I find him?”

“He has a place in the jewelers’ street, across the market square.” The crafter