In Service Of The King (Book 2) Read Free Page B

Forester Reeves, the steward of Stone Mountain.”
    “I have the other half coming tonight, Steward Reeves,” the merchant told him, hoisting the chair onto his shoulders. “I’ve only the one cart.”Reeves nodded at his words; singalling a young man from by the fountain, he directed the youth to help the merchant bring in the load.
    At the stop of the steps, the manor doors stood wide open. The breeze blew in past the carpenter as he stepped over the threshold. Inside, glass-encased lamps--nouted to the walls--shed light throughout the large atrium. Stacks of wooden crates of provisions leaned against the stone walls, along with rolled rugs and baskets of produce. Ahead, the sounds of work and voices emanated from a pair of large, arched doors on the otehr side of the room. Reeves led the way to them, into the ballroom beyond.
    Following after the steward, the chair turner could not help gazing around the ballroom with wide eyes. The room’s rounded shape and large dimensions ballroom rather belied the small front of the manor house, but the high ceiling above made the turner stop and stare. Covered with white stone, it reflected light from a huge dome of colored glass and wrought iron casements. Ornate chandeliers hung down from the curved roof like shining fruit. One such chandelier lay on a blanket upon the ballroom floor. Several servants busily polished its metal surfaces, or replenished the lanterns with new candles. Another newly-shined chandelier was being lifted into place by three men working pulleys and long ropes. Four immense stone pillars extended down from the ceiling to the polished, marble floor. More light poured into the room from the back wall, far across the room. Close to teh Great bay, the wall harbored large windows of wrought iron and glass, interspersed with stone pillars.
    Walking to the nearest wall, the carpenter swung the chair carefully off his back and set it down. The merchant stood for a moment, taking in the vast room with wonder.
    “It is quite a sight.” A strange voice spoke, from close by. Turning, the chair merchant spied a tall, soldierly man--in his late twenties--standing a few feet away. His clothes looked worn--and heavily stained with soot--but his eyes held a keen look. The man noticed the chair turner’s scrutiny and grinned.
    “I am Joseph, the smith of the forge in Dorenvines,” he explained. The carpenter nodded back.
    “I thought as much... that, or a chimney sweep,” he said. “I heard there was a new smith in town... one that can actually shoe a horse.”
    “The townsfolks tell me the same,” Joseph remarked. “Hard to believe. Shoes are a smith’s mainstay.”
    The turner shook his head a little.
    “He forgot how at sea, then. He was one was part sailor, one part smith, but for the most part drunk.” The turner sized up Joseph a little and nodded approvingly. “You look sober enough. My name is Jerome. I turn the chairs in Dorenvines. Do a bit o’ carvin’ too, when I gets the time.”
    Joseph looked down at the new chair by the wall. Bending down, he studied the ornate vines cut into the back and sides of the wood. It reeked of new varnish still, but Joseph could see it had been applied with care, in layers.
    “This is fine work,” he said, glancing up at the turner.
    Forester Reeves strode up to them as they spoke. Balking, the Steward’s face changed as he beheld the blacksmith.
    “Sir...” he sputtered. Joseph made a quick sign with his hand which the turner could not see; he shook his head. “Ah... sir you are welcome to... please feel free...to look at... the terrace.... outside.” Reeves blurted out, addressing Jerome. Surprised, the turner looked down towards the wall of windows.
    “The terrace indeed has a good view,” Joseph said, beginning to walk. “I’ll show you the way.”
    “Don’t mind if I do,” the carpenter replied. “My grandfather was once in here, during the old king’s reign.”
    Reeves let out a relieved