“No, Father. I have it all. I’ll write it up for your review by this evening.”
“How do you think they’re all dealing with worries about the Narthani?”
Most of the boyermen would have been surprised, if not angry, to have their performance reviewed by a woman, even if she was the hetman’s daughter.
“All will do their duties.” She paused and then, with a noticeable lightness to her voice, said, “Even Arwin.”
Belman Kulvin was boyerman of the Arwin district of Southeast Keelan and chafed at having his people helping other districts and out from under his view. Culich considered Kulvin the least among the Keelan boyermen.
“If a crisis develops, as I fear, I may have to find a new Arwin boyerman,” Culich said. “So far, he hasn’t given me enough excuse. Maybe he’ll surprise me someday.”
Culich laughed in spite of himself. It wasn’t appropriate for him to be critical of one of his boyerman with another person, but Maera was not “another person.”
He changed the subject. “You’ve seen all the reports coming out of Moreland. What do you think?”
She was blunt as always. “They’ll try to take Moreland. Besides being in a central location, the Narthani aren’t going to find a stupider hetman bordering the land they already control. When is uncertain, but most of their attention is pointed that way. It’s just a matter of time. If I had to guess, I’d say within a year, two at most.”
He grunted in disappointment, having hoped she would argue with his same assessment. He also knew she worried about Anarynd Moreland.
“Which makes all the more important the outcome of the next conclave I called at Orosz City,” Culich said. “There has to be a way to make more of the other clans understand what’s happening.”
“Do you really expect such recognition at this meeting, Father?”
“This is more a meeting out of duty and hope, rather than one with optimism. I’m obliged to try, though.” Culich’s face drew down into discouragement. “Since it’s not an All-Clan Conclave, it’s up to each clan whether it comes at all, and even if it does, who will represent it. The best I hope for is for two-thirds of the clans to be there and as many as half of the hetmen. My expectation is somewhat lower.”
“A great Caedellium philosopher once said that all a man can do is his best,” said Maera.
Culich smiled. It was something he himself was fond of saying. “Obviously, a great thinker.”
“Obviously,” replied Maera innocently.
General Akuyun scanned the new report he had just received and laid it on his desk. “Well, Morfred, everything seems to have gone well on the Buldorians’ first mainland raid.”
Admiral Morfred Kalcan sat relaxed by the window overlooking the harbor. “Yes, I give those Buldorian scum credit. When it comes to raiding unsuspecting islanders, they’re efficient enough for our purposes. I admit, they surprised me with their discipline. They’re already agitating to move on the next target.”
“Where do you and Hizer plan the next raid?”
“Two raids on the same province within a few days of each other, either Swavebroke or Pewell Provinces. Then two more on the second province. We’ll see how the clans react to a double hit so near each other in time. After that, if things continue to go well, we’ll jump around the island to different provinces.
“As we’ve discussed, we’re saving the three southern provinces for later. If any clans are going to give the Buldorians major problems, it’ll be those, particularly Keelan Province.”
Chapter 26: Fertilizer
Yozef’s discovery of the guano deposits occupied his mind after returning to Abersford from Clengoth. The next morning, he went straight to the ether shop. He found Filtin Fuller working on a new distillation apparatus. The amiable man smiled and hummed to himself.
Yozef shook his head. Was Filtin ever in a bad mood? Being too cheerful could be just as irritating as being always dour.
“Filtin, are you always happy?”
“Happy?” queried Filtin. “What’s not to be happy about?”
“Never mind. Can you stop for a moment? There’s something I’d like to talk with you about.”
Filtin put down a distillation column he was inspecting, “Sure. What about?”
“Let’s go outside,” said Yozef. “It’s quieter there.”
They left the shop, and Yozef led him to the shade of a tree.
“Filtin, I have two new projects and wanted to ask if you could be in charge of one of them.” Yozef outlined ideas for both his retreat house and guano mining. Filtin listened, then shook his head when Yozef finished.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get involved, Yozef.”
“Why is that?” asked a surprised Yozef. Where was Filtin’s usual enthusiasm for anything new?
“For one thing, I’m already so busy with the distillation and other equipment projects that I would have to stop working here before taking on other major tasks. Also, anyone who took my place in ongoing projects wouldn’t be familiar with the problems, and progress would slow. You’re also looking for someone more senior. The person in charge needs to have not only authority but also the respect of workers in different crafts. I’m too young for the role.”
Shit. He’s right. Yozef hadn’t thought this through. If not Filtin, then who?
“Do you have any recommendation of who would be appropriate?”
Filtin’s perpetual smile got even wider. “My father, Dyfeld Fuller. He’s one of the most respected craftsman in the district and works with wood and combining wood with glass and metal. He’s worked with glassblowers and metal workers for years, and they all know and respect him. He’s also worked with most of the carpenters in designing and building houses and other structures. His furniture is well known throughout Caedellium. You must have seen some of his pieces in the abbey or in businesses and houses in Abersford.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Filtin, why don’t you work with your father? That’s normally how things seem to work here on Caedellium.”
“Oh, I’ve worked with Father for as long as I can remember, but I wanted to get some different experience, and glass blowing was the only other trade in Abersford I hadn’t worked at. I expect I’ll go back with Father and someday take over his shop when he can no longer work. Right now, I’m having too much fun working with you.”
“Sounds like he might be the person, Filtin. Can you arrange a meeting with him?”
“I’ll stop by his house tonight and let you know tomorrow.”
When Yozef arrived at the distillation shop the next morning, Filtin waited with another man, who gave an initial impression of being an old and worn lifelong laborer—stocky, heavy shoulders, thick arms, and large hands, gnarled and scarred with decades of heavy work, one finger missing, a lined face, graying hair and beard, a limp, and a noticeable resemblance to Filtin.
“Yozef, this is my father, Dyfeld Fuller.”
They exchanged greetings. Dyfeld’s gravelly voice matched his appearance. However, the initial impressions vanished when Dyfeld spoke. His son had already primed him with the outlines of Yozef’s two projects. He jumped right into asking questions, as if assuming whether he would work for Yozef was his decision alone. It wasn’t arrogance as much as a master craftsman confident in his skills and with enough other work not to need these projects. Within five minutes, the two men were going over Yozef’s maps and rough sketches, with Dyfeld pointing out issues that hadn’t occurred to Yozef and suggesting solutions.