The White Order(9)

Cerryl wanted the millmaster to keep talking, and he nodded, without speaking, as Dylert continued.

“This first barn here. See—it’s smaller. Mostly hardwoods—oak, lorken, maple. Some fruitwoods, like cherry and walnut and pearapple, when we can get it. Crafters, cabinet makers—they’re the ones who use it—and the builders who work for the duke or the white wizards. Fairhaven—they want a lot of white oak.” Dylert walked over to one of the racks on the left of the aisle. “See. You can touch it.”

Cerryl let his fingers brush the wood, white, but with a trace of yellow or gold that would darken with age, like the chest Syodar and Nall shared. The white oak felt cool to his touch, reassuring, unlike the black iron of the saw blade.

“People think there’s no difference between lorken and black oak.” The millmaster shook his head. “Not seen a blade struggle through lorken, they haven’t. Here.” He pointed to a stack of thin, nearly black planks, no more than a span wide and three cubits long. “Pick up the top one.”

Cerryl had to strain for a moment. “It be heavy.” The dark wood felt warm to his touch, smooth as polished silver, yet prickly beneath the patina, and he quickly eased it back onto the pile.

“That’s lorken. Not more than a handful of crafters can handle it. One big lorken log, and even the keenest mill blade needs sharpening. Got some logs on the back racks, seasoning till a buyer comes. No sense in blunting a blade.”

Dylert led Cerryl to the next set of racks, also bearing dark narrow planks. “Lift one of those.”

Cerryl complied. “Not so heavy.”

“What else?” prompted Dylert.

Cerryl replaced the plank. “I don’t think it be quite so dark, and it seems rougher.”

Dylert nodded. “Black oak. It be hard, not so hard as lorken, not so heavy, not so smooth.” He snorted. “And folks say there be no difference.”

Cerryl nodded. The dark oak hadn’t seemed so warm to the touch, either.

The tall man walked toward the back of the barn. “Sometimes we get virgin logs, the big ones. If I’ve the time, I’ll crosscut a section. Takes a different blade, and a lot of care. But some of the cabinet makers like bigger wood sections. Can charge them as much as a silver a section that way.” He wiped his forehead. “Work, though. A lot of work, and the sections are brittle—break just like that if you drop ’em. Only do a few a year.”

Cerryl hurried to keep up with Dylert’s long stride.

“A lot of guessing if you be a millmaster . . . keep the wide planks back here. Charge more for them, but a lot of folks rather’d use more of the narrower cuts . . .”

The gray-eyed youth found himself struggling to take in all the words as Dylert turned at the rear wall and walked back toward the door.

“Folks always want some lumber. Some years, we couldn’t cut and season enough . . . hate to let go of green wood . . . even if you charge less and it splits, folks don’t forget . . .”

As soon as Cerryl stepped into the sunlight, Dylert shut the barn door and strode quickly toward the second barn.

Again, the youth had to hurry to catch up.

“This barn—it’s where we put the rougher cuts and the heavier timbers used for bigger buildings. Not that simple, but you’ll learn.” The millmaster opened the door and stepped inside, between another set of racks.

Cerryl followed, his eyes adjusting to the dimness and taking in that the racks in the larger barn seemed fuller.

“The racks on the right—they’re for planks, smaller timbers, that aren’t as good as those in the first barn. On the left here . . .”

Cerryl squinted, concentrating on every word, even though his stomach growled, and sweat continued to ooze down his back.

After going through all the racks in the second barn, and then escorting Cerryl back out onto the stone causeway that connected both barns and the mill, Dylert grinned. “Lucky I’d be if half of that stuck in your head, young fellow. But you’ll learn. Yes, you will.”

Cerryl tried to look attentive.

Dylert fingered his beard. “Now . . . for the house.”

Cerryl could feel the weight of the new boots and his feet dragging as he followed Dylert back up the lane to the house, up the three steps that felt even steeper, and to the door in the middle of the porch.

Dylert gestured, and Cerryl stepped inside. The kitchen ran most of the length of the space behind the front porch. At the left end of the kitchen was a hearth—of yellow bricks—that held two separate niches for fires and three iron oven doors for baking. Out from the hearth area were two large worktables, and two large cabinets were against the side wall nearest the hearth. A narrow many-drawered chest stood between the cabinets.