Tuesday Tidbit: Daily Life and Subcontractors

Harald sheds the apprentices and learns more about the waters.

“Four?” Master Leofric looked from the letter to Harald, then reread the letter, lips moving. “Ceol owes me. He said more than one, but that usually means two.” He set the scrap of parchment on the scuffed and battered workbench and shrugged. “I’ll find space and tasks for them. Ceol says that you’ll need a master to oversee the work on the mill?”

“Aye. I’ve a journeyman, and we can turn our hands to most wood, but we’re not so good as to build it all ourselves. Have you a wax— Thank ye.” Leofric slid a large wax tablet across the workbench. Harald drew a rough outline of what he needed, adding numbers. “This for the outside, don’t know exact location or measures until I find the place. Inside, two floors, and the gears and water wheel.” He pointed to himself with his thumb. “I’ll select the woods, you confirm before they’re cut.”

Leofric’s eyes narrowed. “Huh. Never done a mill like this before.” He walked to the end of the shop and back. Part of him moved constantly, not nervous but excess heat in his nature, perhaps? “And you have the contract already?”

“Aye, on file with Korvaal’s temple here. Wood’ll be eich, castana, alm, bech, white needle leaf, and mayhap hard sendal, mayhap not. Some iron work as well, plus stone for the channel and the grinding stones.”

Leofric rubbed under the small yellow beard on his chin, then nodded once. “I’ll do it. I’ve got journeymen who can finish the other work we’re contracted for, and who are good for basic house building and the like. Be good to learn summat’ new, aye?”

“Aye.”

They shook, and Harald gave Leofric a token earnest coin. “Don’t worry about the formal contract until you have a site and materials. Tomorrow, send the boys over. They green or seasoned?” Leofric drummed his fingers on the workbench.

Harald watched one of the journeymen as he considered. The short, squat man handled a heavy smoothing plane as long as his forearm as if it weighted nothing at all. “Part seasoned. They all four worked on the last mill, Mak and Gaddy from the start, Jal and San from mid-spring on. Mak’s senior, in his fifth year?” Harald tried to recall what Ceol had said. “No, late in his fourth. He was called back to his father’s village because of an inheritance dispute among the other sons and lost almost a quarter year.”

Several of the journeymen and Leofric all winced or groaned. Leofric shook his head. “Ugh. Korvaal my witness, that sort of thing almost makes me glad my father left nothing for us. No kin strife if there’s nothin’ to fight over.”

“Aye that! ‘Lessen someone finds summat anyway.” His own father …

A passing apprentice nodded so hard his cap almost fell off. He caught it and hurried on before someone found an extra task for him.

Leofric folded his arms. “Send ’em tomorrow, and tell me when you have a site and wood selected.”

“I’ll do that. Korvaal bless your work and may it flourish.”

“Radmar turn His Wheel in your favor.” They touched palms, then went their ways.

Toglos was taking the boys to the temples and making them known to the watch, since they’d be here longer than three nights. Harald considered matters, then nodded once. He needed to learn more about the place claimed by Donwah and the Scavenger. Jormund had not observed anything worth mentioning, had he? Harald strolled toward the main market square, trying to recall. No, he didn’t remember Jormund describing god-sign on any of the streams. The millwright snorted to himself once more. A fixed mill on the Gheel. Truly, Count Ealdred had not thought about waters and their ways.

“I got it, I got it!” Harald jumped up into an open doorway as four boys, a girl, and a hoop raced past.

“Watch yer way!” a portly man called to the children, shaking a fleshy and well-gloved fist at them. “Scavenger take them, the brats.” Harald stayed in the doorway until the man stomped past. He wore a silver trade master’s chain.

A woman sighed from behind him. “Radik will be in for a surprise when m’lord Scavenger comes for him, one of these days.”

Harald turned and inclined to her. “My thanks for shelter from both storms.”

She chuckled and half-smiled. “You are welcome, sir.” She came closer and extended her right hand. “Mistress Osbruga, spice seller and grinder. If you need common healing herbs, I have those as well. Not from the same cabinet.” Her smile invited a smile in return.

He pressed palms with her. “Harald Tolson, millwright. Well met. I might need your wares, come winter.”

“Mistress, Goodwife Hulda’s comin’ with nuts,” a boy called from the doorway. Harald inclined toward the spicer once again then hurried out of the way. Interrupting trade never won friends unless the building was afire. He continued up the street, memorizing the way and which lanes and alleys might lead to trouble.

The street opened up to a market square. No one did business there on this day, giving him a clear view of three temples, once each for Gember, Korvaal, and Yoorst. He blinked and glanced left and right. The sound of squeaking, like an ungreased wheel or pulley, caught his ear, and he followed it into a narrow, short alley that ended in a well. The building behind the well sported a pattern of waves. He nodded and walked around the well and the servant woman filling two buckets. To his right, he found the temple of the Scavenger. Radmar’s chapel and the Silver Pestle, an apothecary, filled in the space to his left. Harald paid his respects to Radmar, then stepped into Donwah’s place.

The sanctuary smelled of fresh waters and mist. He bowed to the veiled figure behind the altar. “All honor to the Lady of Waters, and thanks for Her gifts.” He stepped a little farther into the dimness and knelt. “Gracious Lady, give me clear sight and guide me that I do not trespass on what You have claimed.” He stood and bowed once more.

“A wise request, and one that will be granted, if you have ears to hear,” a rich, age-darkened voice murmured in the stillness. Halting steps approached, and he bowed to the limping, slightly stooped woman who approached him. “Thank you.” He stood, and saw light glint on the wave and fish pendant on the silver chain around her neck. Donwah’s Daughter drew closer. “Know you more of what you seek, Master …?” she asked.

“I am Harald called Halfpaw, born to Donwah and Radmar both, born for Korvaal, honored Daughter. I seek a place on a steady stream to build a grist mill, a place acceptable to the Lady of Waters. The sponsor suggested the Gheel, but I was told that the Lady did not approve of such. I do not either, not a fixed mill.”

The lips below the dark blue half-veil frowned. “No. The Gheel is too free and frisky for aught save a floating mill.” The lips pursed and he waited. “Speak with Famrik of our brother Korvaal.”

“Famrik of Korvaal, yes, honored Daughter.”

Something flowed around them, and he went to one knee. “What my brother and I claim will be clear to one who seeks truly. Go and blessings flow over you, Harald son of Tol.”

He bowed until his forehead touched his knee. “My thanks, gracious and generous Lady.” He waited until the uneven steps faded away, then got to his feet and bowed low once more. He wanted beer or something stronger, much stronger. Instead, hands shaking along with the rest of him, he turned his steps toward the temple of Korvaal.

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