Glasswrights' Test (36 page)

It seemed that no time had passed, and yet she was staring at a completed drawing of Lor. His eyes looked out at her, simple and direct. A bolt of cloth leaned against his legs, rich symbol of his wealth.

Rani straightened, and she was surprised to feel that her muscles were tight across her back. She had not realized how long she had crouched over the table. She set down her charcoal crayon and shook her fingers, longing for full sensation to return, wishing that she could be free of the prickling that had tormented her for weeks.

Of course, the other journeymen had already completed their drawings. As Rani looked around, she saw that several of her peers stood at the far end of the chamber, helping themselves to a platter of fresh-baked bread. Cosino glanced up and met her eyes; he held up a chunk of bread, as if to offer her some of the feast.

Rani's belly clenched. When had she last eaten? Not that morning, certainly, and not the night before—she had been roaming the streets with Mair. The morning before then? No, she had thought to come to the guildhall, thought to eat something where her vows could be observed, but she had let Mair drag her out before the sun rose.

Now, she stared at the bread longingly, but she realized that she could not waste her time. There would be time enough for food after the test. She would have a lifetime for bread once she became a master.
If
she became a master. She shook her head at Cosino, making herself add a smile to the resigned gesture.

Rani crossed the chamber to the great bins of glass. The guild made this concession to its one-day test. Journeymen were not required to pour their own glass, to wait for it to cool. They did not need to treat the panes with silver stain, with other pigments. Instead, they could use colored sheets from the guild's storehouse.

All of the journeymen had combed through those sheets in the days preceding the test. Rani could recite everything available, the colors and the textures. She had taken great care to study her options with nonchalance, so that none of the other glasswrights might notice what she preferred. Rani would not be surprised if some of her fellows purposefully took prized sheets early in the day, if they appropriated the crimson that was perfect for Lor's robes, the flawless white panes that she intended to cut into a bolt of silk.

Now, behind her fellows, Rani needed to choose with care. She needed to select her most treasured pieces first, then return for less valuable shades, more common sheets. There. She had captured the grey for Lor's eyes. She seized a serviceable piece for the deep crimson of his gown. She collected the brown for his fringe of hair.

Nevertheless, the white glass that she had hoped for was gone. The bolts of silk were central to her design; she had intended the creamy Zarithian white to set off the crimson perfectly. She would have to make do with a murkier shade, a sheet of glass that had impure streaks of yellow.

Only when she walked past Larinda's table did she realize who had taken the creamy white. The other journeyman was settling the sheet on top of her own charcoal drawing. Rani could not make out the shape of the heavy lines beneath.

That was just as well. No reason to compare how each would have used the treasured pane. Rani would work without it. That was right. That was fair. She tried not to wince as Larinda flexed her Hand and picked up a heavy grozing iron.

Rani settled at her table and thought her way through the Guildsman's Prayer once again. The words were hardly necessary, but they helped her to focus, to center. Then, when she believed that she might not be the object of
every
eye in the room, she reached beneath her table and took out her roll of tools.

The leather was smooth beneath her fingertips, well worn from years of service. Ordinarily, her family would have purchased her glasswright tools for her when she rose to the rank of journeyman. By the time that Rani achieved that rank, though, her family was long gone, dead in Moren's rubble.

Tovin had given her her tools. He had tried to act casual when he presented them, as if he were not changing her life. He had shrugged off her effusive thanks, pointing out that he had not even had a new leather roll crafted for her; he had merely given her his spare.

And yet she knew that he had traded some of his tools to her. She had his good diamond knife, the blade that she had first used when she discovered the power of such a device. She let her fingers smooth the leather, as if she were smoothing Tovin's flesh. Soon, she told herself. By that very night. After she had finished her test. After she had completed the matter at hand. Then she would make her peace. Then all would be right.

Rani steeled herself, knowing that her diamond knife would attract much attention from the other guildsmen. When she picked up the tool, she half-expected Parion to bark a command, to forbid her from using the instrument. When the master remained silent, Rani raised her eyes, seeking out his explicit approval.

Parion was waiting for her question. His eyes locked on hers, and Rani was startled by the line of his jaw, by the hard glint of his gaze. She had known that steely demeanor in her past; she had worked for an instructor who was as rigid, as unyielding, as stern.

Instructor Morada. Rani flashed back to the last time she had spoken to the woman, on an ill-fated scaffold outside Moren's House of the Thousand Gods. Rani had followed Morada in the marketplace, tracked the woman to an abandoned quadrant of the city. Morada had met with her own secret cabal, and then the instructor had paid for her collusion, paid with her life. Was that the fee that would be demanded of Rani? Was that the price for joining with shadowy others?

Rani shuddered and moved her hand away from the vial hidden in her pocket. There was no time to question the Fellowship, to explore its demands, its goals. She must complete her test.

Slowly, she raised the diamond knife, twisting it in her hand so that it caught the gleam from torches on the wall. She made certain that Parion could distinguish it from the guild's traditional grozing irons; she wanted him to know precisely what she intended to do.

The guildmaster's eyes were drawn to the dark metal as if he were enchanted. She saw him scrutinize the narrow blade, study the device until Rani thought that he would never breathe again. Then, he raised his eyes, snaring hers and nodding once. Master and journeyman sighed at the same time, and then Rani set to work cutting her glass.

The diamond knife flowed beneath her fingertips. She had perfected her technique in the years since Tovin had first shown her the tool. Now, her fingers bore down with a precise weight. Her wrist made minute adjustments as she traced the lines of her drawing. She sensed a small air bubble in the glass, and she automatically relaxed her fingers, letting the knife ride through the weakened space.

Her work was not flawless. The first time that she cut Lor's eyes, she pressed too hard, trying to make the orbits perfect. The grey glass crumbled to dust beneath her heavy hand, and she bit back an oath. The crimson for the god's robes was flashed; a piece of deep crimson glass was melded to clear, so that the color was not overwhelming. Rani forgot that the melding might be flawed, and she was rewarded with shattered fragments on her first attempt. Her initial cut for the bolt of silk left a broad orange streak down the center of the piece; it looked as if the cloth were stained.

Nevertheless, she worked quickly, efficiently. She stacked the good pieces on her white-washed table, layering them carefully. Twice, edges of glass nicked her fingers, leaving tiny trails of blood. Once, Rani's prickling fingers slipped on the iron handle of the diamond knife, and she was rewarded with a stinging cut. She scarcely noticed the wounds, though—they were part of the glasswright life, part of the guild that Rani ached to join. She wiped her hands against her robes and went back to her labor.

At last, she was through with the cutting. By long custom within the guild, she must return her unused glass to the bin—there were always other glasswrights who might need her remnants. She collected the pieces quickly, ferrying them across the room with careful hands.

Her fingers tingled as she placed the partial sheets back in their bins. She felt as if she had been panting for hours; she needed to remind herself to fill her lungs with one complete breath. When she turned back to her table, it seemed that her head followed too late after her body.

She saw that other journeymen were through cutting their glass. Several gathered at the far end of the hall. The tray of bread had been replaced by bowls of fruit. Belita and Cosino were actually chatting with each other; Belita coasted her hand over Cosino's arm, and the pair laughed. The sound of amusement wafted across the room, carrying with it the aroma of the peaches in the bowl between the journeymen. Rani's mouth started to water.

Nim, the god of wind—he tasted of peach.

No, she remonstrated with herself. Not yet. She would worry about Berylina's demise after her test.

She ignored the food and returned to her table. Parion was standing over her cut pieces, examining them with a master's eye. Her first reaction was to cry out, to order him away. She remembered herself in time, though, and she settled for hovering anxiously as he fingered the glass.

He lifted the diamond knife as well, tested it with a well-scarred thumb. Then, as she watched balefully, he reached toward her, letting his sleeve fall back along his arm. The crossing scars were plain in the torchlight; the raised flesh was livid, as if it had only just been carved by Morenian King's Men. Parion set the diamond knife against his own dead flesh, as if he could measure the blade more exactly that way.

Rani held his gaze, refusing to remember how he had acquired those scars, refusing to admit how she had contributed to them. At last, Parion nodded and returned the diamond knife to the table.

Her hands moved as if they were guided by another. It was time to wrap metal foil about the edges of her pieces, pressing it smooth with one of Tovin's tools. In the interest of the timed test, she was not required to create the foil herself, pounding it thin between felt-wrapped blocks of iron. Each of the journeymen was permitted to take completed foil from the guild's stock.

Rani arrived at the table just after Larinda. She had to remind herself that the test was not a race; Rani was not trying to complete her work faster than any other journeyman. Rather, she only needed to compete against the sun, to finish before the end of the day.

Larinda was fumbling with the fine foil, trying to pry away a single sheet of the clinging stuff. Her Hands did not readily give her the dexterity to lift the foil, and on her first attempt, she came away with three. Her second try netted no metal at all. Rani watched the other woman set her jaw; she imagined the muttered curses that she could not hear.

When Larinda's third attempt resulted in thin sheets splayed across the table, Rani stepped forward. “May I help you?”

“I don't need your help!” Larinda snapped. As if in reflex, she curved her wrist, and the Hand's thumb snapped close to her forefinger. Rani was reminded of a brutal crab, and she leaped back, looking away until she heard Larinda stalk back to her work table.

By the time Rani returned to her own table, her headache pulsed inside her skull, sending shafts of nausea down her throat, into her belly. More bells started tolling outside, and she whipped her head toward the doorway, fearing that the sound marked sunset. Of course, it did not. The other journeyman were still hard at work; every guildsman watched in eager anticipation.

She blinked hard to clear a swarm of black spots from her vision, and then she forced herself to move slowly, carefully. If the foil buckled after it was applied, it would take the lead with it, rendering the finished panel unstable.

The long pieces of Lor's robe were simple to prepare, but the round sections caused more trouble. Twice, she needed to rework the god's eyes, and the bolt of silk required four attempts before it passed her critical inspection.

By the time she wrapped the edges of the last piece of glass, her eyes stung, dry as the Briantan streets. She did not have time to rest, though, did not have time to ease her aching head by rubbing at the nape of her neck. Instead, she collected her lead stripping from across the room, hefting its simple weight on her palm. The metal was coiled tight, and Rani needed to coax it into a straight line back at her work table. She heated it over her brazier, taking care not to breathe too much of the acrid fumes. Nevertheless, the stink of the molten metal made her belly clench.

She turned her head to one side, swallowing hard, and she saw that Larinda was just finishing the foil on her own creation. Several of the pieces were large—understandable, since they had been cut with a standard grozing iron. Larger pieces were easier to cut, easier to foil, easier to solder. They required less dexterity.

Rani started to gloat over her fellow's inferior effort, but she stopped herself before she could complete the thought. Larinda simplified her design, it was only because of her past in the guildhall. It was only because of the past that she and Rani shared, the injuries that Larinda had suffered when Rani called down the wrath of the King's Men.

Rani's lungs hurt as she bent over her lead stripping. She was exhausted now, and she had to blink her eyes rapidly to make herself focus. She wondered if she should take a moment, close her eyes, let them rest. She could not afford to ruin her piece now. She could not afford to drop the work from clumsy fingers.

How much time remained? How long before Parion snapped out a command? Were other journeymen finished already? Had other guildsmen left for afternoon prayers?

Concentrate. Forget about the others.

Rani heard Tovin's voice, smooth, calm. She let his words flow over her like water, like the river that he had guided her down years ago, when she first Spoke with him. He had taught her the secrets of glass then, on the Liantine plain, and in her workshop in Morenia. He had told her all she needed to know.