The big buildings made sense for the most part, barracks, a dining hall, furniture shop and so on. Tor chuckled then. They had a furniture shop right here, but he didn’t have any furniture? Couldn’t they at least lend him some? Walking in he saw that no one was working yet, since it was early and nothing probably really started until after breakfast. There was a sheet that was put up for people to request furniture pieces or things for different buildings. Tor blinked. There were a lot more than a half dozen names on the list. Were they covering other places too? Or, could it be that the buildings hid a lot more people than he’d thought? He hadn’t been getting out much and most of his runs had taken place near dinner time. Heh, yeah that could skew his idea of how many people were about.
He looked around for a while, seeing how the place had been laid out. Tor noticed that there was a large stack of completed furniture near the back of the space, a rectangle that must have been a hundred feet long and nearly fifty foot wide, as well as a large pile of dirt off to one side. There was a little door that they used to bring the dirt in he saw, only a few feet across and about five feet off the floor, just above his eye level.
A long work table made of the compressed dirt had been set up with six of the compressors on little flat tables in front of the bigger one. It had large boxes about six inches deep all the way along, about five foot square. It took a second, but Tor got the idea after noticing that there was dirt in each one. You kind of drew what you wanted with the compressor in the dirt, then put the pieces together with more dirt, like how he’d joined the roof onto the hut. Kind of like gluing wood to make furniture. Only way stronger, as well as much faster. No drying time for one thing.
Picking up one of the variable compressors he put the small square of copper, marked with three light green acid etched arrows that all pointed inward and started to turn it on before he realized that he needed a plan first, or he’d just be wasting dirt and making a mess. Quickly he sketched out a chair back, seat and legs, using a measuring stick that sat next to the table to make certain he got it the right size. It was just a basic chair, sized to him, but he did make the back rounded at the top. He made the back and seat both an inch thick and the legs two inch squares. It would be heavy, but it wouldn’t break easily. He also made the seat extra wide, so that he could sit in it with his legs crossed. It was a comfortable way for him to sit, if not proper. His chair, his rules, right?
Just as he finished the last of the legs someone walked in, a man, not royal, but still about a foot taller than he was, if Tor could judge such things based on looks, who wore a workman’s drab shirt and brown pants. He was clean shaven and looked to be in his mid-thirties. Reddish brown hair that was shorter than Tor’s, a military cut that reminded him he should go get his own hair done soon and a look on his face that seemed more than a little angry.
“What,” the man growled, sounding like he was about to physically harm someone. “In the thirty-seven hells, do you think you’re doing?”
“Um, making a chair?” Tor pointed to the pieces and started pulling them out slowly, thinking that one of the heavy legs would make a good enough weapon if he had to fight. He didn’t have any amulets on at all, since he’d been working so much he’d gotten used to not wearing them. The man stalked towards him and glanced at what was being laid out on the table.
“Oh. Well, it’s a little rough… Not too bad though. Done this before?” The man’s voice softened a little as he closed and took everything in.
Tor set the leg down next to the others and shook his head.
“I haven’t gotten to try these out yet, I’ve been too busy. I did a little construction, so I get the basic idea, how to make the joins and all. Just killing time really…”
The man grinned.
“Ah, so you’re the new guy? The one they’ve sent to do shipments for us? A little young, but if you can fly and run the cargo floats, we can get them loaded for you. How old are you anyway? Fourteen?”
Sighing Tor started to try and balance the seat on the legs, which got the man to laugh. He moved in and put the seat, smooth and nearly black, looking like it was made of glass almost, flat on the table, set a small pile of dirt in the corners and had Tor compress each while holding the legs in place one by one. It took about a minute for all four. It was a good trick.
“No, a little older than that. Seventeen. Nearly eighteen now.” Tor, a quick study turned the chair so that it sat flat on the ground and added four little piles of dirt where the spokes of the back would sit, being careful so that the soil didn’t over lap, since that would leave a bulge and not look very nice.
“Also, I’m not the new delivery person. I think she’s over in the hut, um, occupied with the Prince. At least it makes sense that it would be her. I guess there aren’t that many people that have been flying as long so far. Me, but that doesn’t mean I’m all that good compared to some.”
The chair, as he suspected, was heavy. Not too heavy to carry though. They had a clock on the wall, which showed that he’d been occupied for a little over an hour already, only about half of it making this chair. That was fast. He could probably make another one in less than ten minutes, now that he knew how.
It took a second for him to realize that Godfrey didn’t recognize him, and since it was basically his house, it would be rude to make the man guess. Mainly because he just wouldn’t. After all, if he thought that Tor was the new delivery boy, well… It was still hard to figure out how to let him know. Most people looking at him didn’t think “Builder” they thought things like, “he can scrub the pots for us after dinner”. Or in this case probably wondered if he could be given some menial task like shifting dirt around for the people doing the actual work. Not a bad idea, except that he really didn’t have the time at the moment.
The man, Godfry, asked if the new delivery girl was good looking. He didn’t seem to be asking for the normal reasons, sounding doubtful about the whole thing, so Tor asked why that mattered, curious.
“Well, we have fifty men here, most young, and horny enough that the sheep should be scared, if you get my meaning. Drop an ugly girl in here and she’ll have company every night, two or three men if she wants them, or is even just willing to be a sport about it. A good looking woman means fights breaking out. It wouldn’t be so bad if we had more girls, but with only one… Not a good situation really.”
That… was something Tor had never considered before, He also didn’t know that there were fifty men living around him. How out of it was he?
“Oh, yeah, well she’s pretty, if she’s the right one I mean. Very much so. The Prince’s, um, close friend, so maybe that will help keep people off of her?”
Godfry snorted.
“Not likely. Really that’s worse than if she was dating the lowest private on the base. At least then the other men could have some feeling of hope, like they could score with her too. Prince, General, Captain, or I guess in our case, Wizard, that sort getting the only woman, it’s like a slap in the face to all the men that have nothing for company at night but their hand, you get me?”
Tor could see how it might be a problem. Still, the men could just go into town and find girls there, right? He suggested it to the gruff man who shrugged.
“How? Most of the guys here aren’t flyers and couldn’t get flying rigs for that reason even if they were. We have people building furniture, cisterns and plates, making things and what not in the three shops we have here. It’s near on two hundred miles to the Capital and men only get one or at most two leave days per week.”
And by wagon that would mean about six days travel each way, if they moved fast and didn’t actually stop for anything when they got there. Possibly less, but the roads here weren’t good.