The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [138]
Bostric had more potential than Perlot’s Grizzard, of that I was convinced, but he still didn’t have the confidence, and only time would build that.
First, I made him work on breadboards, but only a few, mainly to give him confidence. The market for breadboards was limited, and designing and carving breadboards that didn’t sell wasn’t building confidence. I called them display pieces, and two actually sold, right from the window.
Then I talked to Wryson, who ran the dry goods store off the jewelers’ street, and persuaded him to commission a storage chest, a simple piece but lined with cedar, to provide summer storage for woolens.
Doing it took twice as long, because I made Bostric do a lot of things I would have done.
“Why don’t you do this, ser? I have to struggle, just getting the lines right.”
“So did I,” I snapped. “But will I always be here?”
“If you’re not here, honored mastercrafter, how will I learn?” He said it in a respectful tone with a straight face. Only his eyes betrayed him.
“I’m not a mastercrafter. I’m just a journeyman woodcrafter.”
“I understand, ser.”
He gave me that hangdog look, and with his unruly red mop, freckles, and bushy eyebrows, resembled a sheepdog more than an apprentice. Then, maybe the two were similar. Sometimes it was hard to remember how frustrated and bored I had been, and how I would have liked to have said what I felt.
“But, honored journeyman, I still don’t see what you want.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “Sorry…you’re right. It is hard to learn how to do.” I took the calipers once again and showed him what I wanted, then I watched and corrected him when necessary, trying not to laugh.
In the end, on that piece, everything worked out. Wryson was pleased, and placed an order for another chest, but not until early in the fall, when he would be getting his last shipment of finished woolens from Montgren.
Sometimes, it didn’t work out so well—like the chair for Wessel. Bostric had trouble with the spooling, and that was my fault. He wasn’t ready for it, and I had pushed too hard. We gave his effort, sturdy enough, to the Temple sisters, and I completed the second one myself. The bonus almost paid for the extra wood.
Deirdre turned out a matched cushion that made the piece even more spectacular, and I made a mental note to have her do more work like that in the future. She would be a real partner for Bostric.
After that, I suggested that Bostric try a bench to match the ones Destrin was making for the Horn Inn, perhaps the seediest drinkery in Fenard. At least, the breakage and Destrin’s low prices had given him a steady, if poor, income.
Destrin had hummphed at my suggestion, coughed some more, but hadn’t openly objected.
In the meantime, to try to upgrade Bostric’s finishing skills, I had sketched out a child’s table for him, scaling down a simple one from Dorman’s incredible plan book. Once I had gone through it several times and explained the reasons for everything, Bostric finally nodded. I could sense the understanding.
The table turned out well, although it sat in the window for more than an eight-day before Wryson, the dry goods merchant, paid two silvers for it and a matching pair of armless chairs. I think that was because the weather had closed in, drifting snow over the roads toward Kyphros, and an expected shipment of Kyphros silverware had been delayed until after the holidays. So he needed a year-end present for his littlest.
I put my share into the hidden strongbox to go with the dower chest, and Bostric bought himself a pair of boots, barely used, but an improvement over his muckers.
Still…the table had been an experiment that almost hadn’t sold, and that bothered me. We couldn’t count on the weather to save us every time.
I rubbed my chin, then looked at the white oak I was working for a corner cabinet. White oak was so clean, but that meant that any mistake was there where no one could miss it, at least no one with a half-trained eye. Strangely, the same was true for black oak, but for the opposite