‘Thirty gold mizas? Are you sure?’ The infirmary official regarded the little pouch suspiciously, and raised an eyebrow at Montaine. Fogle stood at the entrance, idly kicking the dirt off the steps. ‘There’s only seven in there, and most of it’s silver, but I’ll bring the rest round tonight, I just have to finish up some work first,’ Monty swung his bag back round his shoulder and turned to leave. The bureaucrat called after him. ‘Aren’t you one of Calbert’s boys? I know I’ve seen you working his stall in the market. He know you’re donating to the cause? Seems a little odd for one of his, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of the stingy old bastard up here!’ Monty stopped, turned and glared at the man, ‘Listen, pal, Johann Calbert might not be the most generous of salts, but he 'n' his crew love this city just as much as you, so don’t you go blabbing when you don’t know nothing! Come on Fogle,’ he spun on his heel and marched out the door. The young novice beamed in admiration, and a hint of fear, of the man and dug a few coppers out of his pocket, tossing them at the official and bounding after Montaine. It was a bit of a walk across town to get back to the workshop, and the cold evening air did little to soothe Monty’s blackening eye. Fogle had done his best to clean up the mess before going in search of him, but it was still in a bit of a state. He contemplated sending the novice off to make the place a little more shipshape but instead did something new. ‘Fogle, you useless venhrehk, come here,’ ‘Yes, Mister Redsun?’ ‘Pick up that pipe and do what I do,’ Montaine picked up his own and eased it down into the batch where, as promised, a well of molten glass waited. He gathered up a sufficient quantity and pulled it out. Then he blew into the mouthpiece and they watched the sienna glass expand. Completed |