After weeks in the city of Abura, it was strange, away from the port buildings, to see a door that opened on the ground level. To be fair, there were no living quarters on the ground - these rested in a large gourd shaped structure that hung at the end of a great hook, looking rather like an oversized birdhouse above the sawpit. But even so, it was odd seeing Akvatari work on the ground itself.
At the same time, while she herself was no craftsman, the scents and sights of worked green wood were sensorily familiar - they reminded her of the shipyards, with a pang of sorrow that she did not recognize at first: homesickness. The place was so similar to a turner’s yard at home, but with just enough difference to strengthen the feeling of being foreign. Some of the differences were, she could easily imagine, entirely utilitarian - the shave horse, for example, had a carved seat in it that Minnie could think of no better description of than a side-saddle. This, she determined, was almost certainly the result of the user thereof having one thick tail instead of two legs to put astride the shave-horse. Then, there was also the difference in scale - the turner’s years in Zeltiva lathed detail work, but they also turned spars, masts, oars, and any number of other great works. Here, the lathes were short, and the tools fine, delicate instruments largely - the tools of one who worked in fine detail instead of grand scale. This was bodger’s work - narrow lengths of unseasoned birch and beech, or straight wands of well-coppiced hazel.
Then there were the pleasant differences. Instead of stumps of rough knot-wood for sitting, beautifully turned chairs sat here and there in the yard, though odd chairs, suited more to Akvatari, with a single chaise arm and broad, deep seats to allow for a heavy tail. Over the top of the yard, an awning of waxed canvas hung, in a bright, well-dyed green hue, which filtered the sunshine into a haze the color of forest-light, when filtered through tall stands of summer-green leaves. These were all well and good, but the scent of dust brought tears to Minnie’s eyes, and a thirst for the brackish scent of the Zeltivan harbour, instead of the hot tang of the open-ocean. She entered, then and the turner’s apprentice turned first to look at her, and seeing her look, leaned to whisper something to her master, who nodded and went back to work on a treadled pole-lathe, murmuring softly to his apprentice as he went.
Minnie went quietly to a chair and closed her eyes, breathing the rough sawdust into her nostrils, and wiped her eyes, but they did not stop running. She simply gave in then, and quietly cried for several minutes, attempting to ignore the fact that she’d look a wreck when she was done. When she finally regained her equilibrium she opened her mouth and stood, and with a kindly dishonesty, the master turned as if just noticing her for the first time. He was only a few years younger than Minnie, in apparent age, and Minnie’s first striking impression of him was how much he looked like an anatomy textbook, with carefully sculpted lines almost in exaggeration of the individual muscles and sinews of his frame. He was a fascinating body to watch, each movement displaying itself very clearly in a series of tensions and releases: the pull of his pectorals as he lifted a hand in greeting, the long strands of his neck as he nodded.
“The Lady is most welcome. The Lady is the new Geldscrier, yes?”
She nodded politely, no longer surprised that people whom she had never so much as seen were sufficiently aware of her as to recognize her on sight, “I am here on business, Master Turner.”
The man bowed decorously, “The Lady Geldscrier, I beg, would call me by my given name. Rosrow the Bodger at the service of the Lady and her hands.”
“At your service, please call me Minnie.”
The man drew his brows together just a fraction of a second - nicknames of the abbreviational quality of ‘Minnie’ were seemingly not particularly attractive to the Akvatari, for she had seen the same reaction from her new apprentice.
“The Lady Geldscrier comes on business of the House? Is there a space where my work would be of beauty?”
Minnie cocked her head at this - she had not thought of that being the man’s expectation, for a turner or bodger in Zeltiva would have been treated as a craftsman rather than artist. Here, that line seemed much blurrier, “Of.. a sort. Beauty and function?”
The man nodded, but looked a bit downcast, “Yes, of course.”
“The thing is… I need a crook.”
“A… crook, the Lady Geldscrier sayeth?”
“Yes, I… I don’t have wings, you know, and it is hard to get to the sides of the shaft where the boxes are, and — you have seen the House?”
“Of course, the Lady’s studio has seen me more than once, and I am acquainted with Semiyr Gelscrier.”
“Yes, well, we have set up a… a winch, with a basket, and so I can get to the right height, but I need a… a long hook, eh? Summat that I can latch the shelves, and pull me and the basket to them. And with a little hole on the straight end, about yea big,” she gesticulated throughout, not being terribly experienced in describing physical manipulations or tools. The idea itself, however, had been hers, and if she was honest with herself, she was rather proud of it.
“A… crozier, perhaps?” the man eyed her with a look at once pleading and sly.
She considered this - it was a word at once redolent with implication and abstract of visual representation in her mind - she knew what a crozier was, but not necessarily its precise appearance, for in Zeltiva, no religious ceremony she had been to involved the use of one, “It would have a hook at the end that was open? I’m not very clever handed, Rosrow Bodger.”
He smiled, the half smile of one who feels he’s getting his own way, “It can be thus arranged for the lady Geldscrier.”
“And it must also be very light, and fairly long - I’m not as strong as Master Rosrow might ‘imself be.”
“That makes an interesting and delightful problem. How long?”
She considered this, thoughtfully, “Maybe… one and a smidge of me’s.”
He looked confused, “Mehys? These are a foreign measure?”
“No, no, me’s. Like… if you lay me on the ground, and then added just an eensy bit more.”
He nodded sagely, watching Minnie’s gestures carefully, “I see. And it must be strong, yes? That it will not break in all the pulling, and perhaps bound within the hook, so as to not be worn out in its use.”
“Yes… yes! Yes, exactly!”
“And… of course, it is to do honor to the House and the office of Geldscrier, so it must be beautiful, yes?” He looked sidelong at Minnie as he said this, obviously concerned that the little human would cheat him of the pleasure the making.
Minnie smiled, “Yes, that would be wonderful.”
He nodded, and clapped once, “So it shall be. Thou art a friend now, for I will make a work for thee. Keshir! Philomena Geldscrier would have a crosier made, wouldst thou make survey of her to what sort of crozier would suit her hands?”
The apprentice nodded, and gather a bundle of long poles, bringing them towards Minnie, having Minnie take them one by one as the master went to a small deal table at the side of the lathes, and took up a graphite nib, to begin sketching at something. Minnie held the rods. Aside from one being obviously too thick, it happened in such a flurry she found them, frankly, hard to distinguish.
‘Would the Lady Geldscrier remove her gloves?” the young apprentice smiled, rather business like, something like a store clerk fluttering about a customer with a peculiar request.
“No! No… nae, the fit must be with gloves on.”
The apprentice blinked, and smiled, “Oh, how lovely! Master, the Lady Geldscrier hath but small hands, and soft, and wears white cotton.”
“The box elder, perhaps? It comes from the mountains of her home, yes? It is fresh green from the ship and will warp as we ask of it.”
Keshir sped off to a little leanto, and dug about. Minnie, as she waited, craned her neck to see what Rosrow was at with the graphite. He caught her at it and clucked his tongue, turning, “Thou wouldst take from me the pleasure of the unveiling!”
Minnie blushed and waited. Keshir dashed out of the lean-to with obvious excitement, toward Rosrow, who smiled with amusement. She whispered in the man’s ear, and the slender cords of muscle on the man’s wrists rose and fell as he touched his fingers thoughtfully to his palm, one by one. Finally he chuckled softly, and nodded, “Philomena Geldscrier, thou hast given to me what I need. I shall deliver it in two week’s time.”
Minnie was a bit startled, feeling something had happened behind her back, but frowned with a nod, “Very good, then… alright. I will… thank you, then.”
In confusion she turned to step back out of the turner’s yard.
x
At the same time, while she herself was no craftsman, the scents and sights of worked green wood were sensorily familiar - they reminded her of the shipyards, with a pang of sorrow that she did not recognize at first: homesickness. The place was so similar to a turner’s yard at home, but with just enough difference to strengthen the feeling of being foreign. Some of the differences were, she could easily imagine, entirely utilitarian - the shave horse, for example, had a carved seat in it that Minnie could think of no better description of than a side-saddle. This, she determined, was almost certainly the result of the user thereof having one thick tail instead of two legs to put astride the shave-horse. Then, there was also the difference in scale - the turner’s years in Zeltiva lathed detail work, but they also turned spars, masts, oars, and any number of other great works. Here, the lathes were short, and the tools fine, delicate instruments largely - the tools of one who worked in fine detail instead of grand scale. This was bodger’s work - narrow lengths of unseasoned birch and beech, or straight wands of well-coppiced hazel.
Then there were the pleasant differences. Instead of stumps of rough knot-wood for sitting, beautifully turned chairs sat here and there in the yard, though odd chairs, suited more to Akvatari, with a single chaise arm and broad, deep seats to allow for a heavy tail. Over the top of the yard, an awning of waxed canvas hung, in a bright, well-dyed green hue, which filtered the sunshine into a haze the color of forest-light, when filtered through tall stands of summer-green leaves. These were all well and good, but the scent of dust brought tears to Minnie’s eyes, and a thirst for the brackish scent of the Zeltivan harbour, instead of the hot tang of the open-ocean. She entered, then and the turner’s apprentice turned first to look at her, and seeing her look, leaned to whisper something to her master, who nodded and went back to work on a treadled pole-lathe, murmuring softly to his apprentice as he went.
Minnie went quietly to a chair and closed her eyes, breathing the rough sawdust into her nostrils, and wiped her eyes, but they did not stop running. She simply gave in then, and quietly cried for several minutes, attempting to ignore the fact that she’d look a wreck when she was done. When she finally regained her equilibrium she opened her mouth and stood, and with a kindly dishonesty, the master turned as if just noticing her for the first time. He was only a few years younger than Minnie, in apparent age, and Minnie’s first striking impression of him was how much he looked like an anatomy textbook, with carefully sculpted lines almost in exaggeration of the individual muscles and sinews of his frame. He was a fascinating body to watch, each movement displaying itself very clearly in a series of tensions and releases: the pull of his pectorals as he lifted a hand in greeting, the long strands of his neck as he nodded.
“The Lady is most welcome. The Lady is the new Geldscrier, yes?”
She nodded politely, no longer surprised that people whom she had never so much as seen were sufficiently aware of her as to recognize her on sight, “I am here on business, Master Turner.”
The man bowed decorously, “The Lady Geldscrier, I beg, would call me by my given name. Rosrow the Bodger at the service of the Lady and her hands.”
“At your service, please call me Minnie.”
The man drew his brows together just a fraction of a second - nicknames of the abbreviational quality of ‘Minnie’ were seemingly not particularly attractive to the Akvatari, for she had seen the same reaction from her new apprentice.
“The Lady Geldscrier comes on business of the House? Is there a space where my work would be of beauty?”
Minnie cocked her head at this - she had not thought of that being the man’s expectation, for a turner or bodger in Zeltiva would have been treated as a craftsman rather than artist. Here, that line seemed much blurrier, “Of.. a sort. Beauty and function?”
The man nodded, but looked a bit downcast, “Yes, of course.”
“The thing is… I need a crook.”
“A… crook, the Lady Geldscrier sayeth?”
“Yes, I… I don’t have wings, you know, and it is hard to get to the sides of the shaft where the boxes are, and — you have seen the House?”
“Of course, the Lady’s studio has seen me more than once, and I am acquainted with Semiyr Gelscrier.”
“Yes, well, we have set up a… a winch, with a basket, and so I can get to the right height, but I need a… a long hook, eh? Summat that I can latch the shelves, and pull me and the basket to them. And with a little hole on the straight end, about yea big,” she gesticulated throughout, not being terribly experienced in describing physical manipulations or tools. The idea itself, however, had been hers, and if she was honest with herself, she was rather proud of it.
“A… crozier, perhaps?” the man eyed her with a look at once pleading and sly.
She considered this - it was a word at once redolent with implication and abstract of visual representation in her mind - she knew what a crozier was, but not necessarily its precise appearance, for in Zeltiva, no religious ceremony she had been to involved the use of one, “It would have a hook at the end that was open? I’m not very clever handed, Rosrow Bodger.”
He smiled, the half smile of one who feels he’s getting his own way, “It can be thus arranged for the lady Geldscrier.”
“And it must also be very light, and fairly long - I’m not as strong as Master Rosrow might ‘imself be.”
“That makes an interesting and delightful problem. How long?”
She considered this, thoughtfully, “Maybe… one and a smidge of me’s.”
He looked confused, “Mehys? These are a foreign measure?”
“No, no, me’s. Like… if you lay me on the ground, and then added just an eensy bit more.”
He nodded sagely, watching Minnie’s gestures carefully, “I see. And it must be strong, yes? That it will not break in all the pulling, and perhaps bound within the hook, so as to not be worn out in its use.”
“Yes… yes! Yes, exactly!”
“And… of course, it is to do honor to the House and the office of Geldscrier, so it must be beautiful, yes?” He looked sidelong at Minnie as he said this, obviously concerned that the little human would cheat him of the pleasure the making.
Minnie smiled, “Yes, that would be wonderful.”
He nodded, and clapped once, “So it shall be. Thou art a friend now, for I will make a work for thee. Keshir! Philomena Geldscrier would have a crosier made, wouldst thou make survey of her to what sort of crozier would suit her hands?”
The apprentice nodded, and gather a bundle of long poles, bringing them towards Minnie, having Minnie take them one by one as the master went to a small deal table at the side of the lathes, and took up a graphite nib, to begin sketching at something. Minnie held the rods. Aside from one being obviously too thick, it happened in such a flurry she found them, frankly, hard to distinguish.
‘Would the Lady Geldscrier remove her gloves?” the young apprentice smiled, rather business like, something like a store clerk fluttering about a customer with a peculiar request.
“No! No… nae, the fit must be with gloves on.”
The apprentice blinked, and smiled, “Oh, how lovely! Master, the Lady Geldscrier hath but small hands, and soft, and wears white cotton.”
“The box elder, perhaps? It comes from the mountains of her home, yes? It is fresh green from the ship and will warp as we ask of it.”
Keshir sped off to a little leanto, and dug about. Minnie, as she waited, craned her neck to see what Rosrow was at with the graphite. He caught her at it and clucked his tongue, turning, “Thou wouldst take from me the pleasure of the unveiling!”
Minnie blushed and waited. Keshir dashed out of the lean-to with obvious excitement, toward Rosrow, who smiled with amusement. She whispered in the man’s ear, and the slender cords of muscle on the man’s wrists rose and fell as he touched his fingers thoughtfully to his palm, one by one. Finally he chuckled softly, and nodded, “Philomena Geldscrier, thou hast given to me what I need. I shall deliver it in two week’s time.”
Minnie was a bit startled, feeling something had happened behind her back, but frowned with a nod, “Very good, then… alright. I will… thank you, then.”
In confusion she turned to step back out of the turner’s yard.
x