It was a moving scene, now I think back on it, for these good and honest folk of Saghena stood nothing to gain for their efforts, except the knowledge they had returned my child to me. They searched for two hours or more, with no sign of the child, until at last I was approached by a tall man in a yellow suit. He said, “Are you the man who has lost his child?”
I said, “I am.”
He said, “Was the child about this big, with dark skin and brown eyes, a little ugly about the chin and forehead, and wearing a leather tunic?”
I said, “Indeed yes. Have you seen her?”
He said, “I believe I have. Early this morning, I was travelling west from Stanneck when I passed a fat man riding in a biddler’s cart with his wife and a myrmidon. They were travelling fast back to the city. There was a little girl up there with them in the cart, and the woman was holding her very tight, and laughing in a curious way. The man, too, was laughing, and driving the donkeys at great speed. For truth, I thought them both mad.”
I gave a groan then, for I had a terrible feeling the man in question was none other than Otter, the wicked carpenter, whose very life, it seemed, was devoted to bringing me misery.
My suspicions were confirmed when I checked my belongings, for I found the items stolen included everything I had righteously removed from Otter’s house: the china spoon, the silver incense holder, the tray that had held the tarts, and even a number of my cakes, which, I suppose, was in retaliation for the loaf of bread I had taken, although anybody can tell you that fine cakes cost a good deal more than loaf of plain bread, so it was not a fair trade, even if you believe my requisitioning of Otter’s things was unjust, which it was not.
Also, when I counted the money in my purse, I discovered ten arrans were missing, which, when I worked it out, was the same amount God had given to me from Otter’s cash box.
When I tell this story, people always say the same thing, which is, “That man Otter cannot have been as bad as you say, or he would have taken all your money, not just a part of it.” Such people think only in terms of material gain, and not in terms of pride or honour. For I knew what message he was leaving me by spurning the bulk of my gold. He was saying to me, “I have taken this sum of money, but I will take no more, because, although I am an unprincipled thief, your money is not good enough for me, for it has been soiled by your hand. There now, I have insulted you. Follow me and be rightfully avenged, if you dare, for I and my villainous friends will be waiting for you in Stanneck with our myrmidons at the ready.”
What comfort is it to have gold, when your honour and your dignity have been bruised in such a way? Still, I did not wish to take him up on his challenge, for I am not such a fool that I would march back into a place I have fled in fear of my very life.
I called together all of those who had been searching for Dalit, and spoke to them. I said, “I thank you all for your tireless efforts, but I fear they were all in vain. My daughter has been stolen by an enemy of mine in Stanneck. The fellow is a rogue, and has many thieves and assassins among his friends, so I dare not take her back, but I will curse him now, before all of you.”
Then I laid a terrible curse upon Otter. I said, “Otter, carpenter of Stanneck, may your business fail, may your ambitions fail, and may your health fail. May your wife desert you for a still less worthy man, if one exists. May your children be struck with skin blight. May my child, Dalit, grow tall and healthy despite your improper care, and may she abandon you to marry a wealthy man, yet may this match bring you no wealth and may her leaving break your evil heart so you die of sorrow. Also may your house burn down, and may your myrmidon be killed in battle.”
Then the crowd said, “May all these things be,” and they swore on the names of their various gods.
Many of them came to me afterwards, saying what a fierce and righteous curse I had made, and those who were going to Stanneck said they would seek out this man Otter for me, and would do mischief to him. So, in the end, I think I was at least partially avenged for his wrongs to me.
I then continued my travels west. (I was now travelling under the name of Yreth again, by the way, for I had become tired of people calling me Glissa.)
A group of merchants who had helped me in the search invited me to join with their company, and I gladly accepted. They were all very kind, and they consoled me as we walked the long road to Uot, saying what a terrible thing it was to lose a child. Of course, I spent much time talking about the raising of children, and how unfortunate it was that my child would not be raised in the way I had wished. Then I told them about the rules which I had written out.
In the evening, when we had made camp, one of my fellow travellers asked if he might see these rules I had talked about. I said yes, and I gave him the paper to peruse—merely so he might satisfy his interest, for I took him to be a merchant, just like the rest.
This man’s name was Lophtha. He had a bald head and a wrinkled brow, and there was a look of great intelligence about him. As he read my words, he nodded and made approving noises, and then, at last, he turned to me and said, “You are truly an exceptional teacher and philosopher. The wisdom of your words is self-evident. If only all parents would raise their children in this way.”
I said, “I believe the importance of these rules can hardly be understated. In our towns and cities today—not just here in America but also in other great kingdoms around the world—we see children running the streets like packs of dogs, shouting and throwing stones and fighting with each other. Who is advanced by these actions? Nobody, to be sure.”
Lophtha asked me then, “Have you ever thought about publishing these words, so people everywhere might gain the benefit of them?”
I admitted I had not thought about it but it was certainly a good idea.
He said, “I own a good printing house. If you will come with me to Belpinian, I will print your wise words, and I dare say you will make a pretty penny from them.”
I said, “That is a tempting offer, but I had thought to go to Uot, for I have heard it is a wealthy city.”
He said, “Peh! Uot is a vile place, full of pestilence and foul smells. No, come with me. It is a long journey, but I promise you will not regret the choice, and perhaps, in some small way, the printing of your excellent treatise will give meaning to the terrible loss of your child.”
Well, this fellow had a convincing tongue, and, since there was nothing specific waiting for me in Uot, I decided to accept his invitation and we travelled past that city, continuing on to the southwest for a good many weeks, and passing uneventfully through the kingdoms of Precia, Dakota, Great Meece, and Havolenko, until we finally came to the city of Belpinian, which does not lie in any kingdom as such, but is, rather, a free city under the immediate protection of the mighty Saskatoon Empire.
A Fifth Section Of The Eleventh Part
In Which I Tell Of The Things I Created In Belpinian
Belpinian is a fine city. Not big, but pretty, with plenty of colours about the houses. The architecture in these parts is closer to the Cypriot style than that of East America and Manitario: tall towers built with plenty of strong cross-bindings. Some of the designs were perhaps a little too ornate for my own tastes, but they were well suited to the warm climate in those parts, and the overall impression upon the eye was one of cleanliness and wealth.
Lophtha’s house was situated in the centre of Belpinian, overlooking the city square. I stayed there as a guest, sharing the place with his wife and his children (who, alas, were all grown up and beyond the useful influence of my four rules) and six slaves.
During the days, I worked with Lophtha in his printing house, helping him to assemble the print for my tract and for other books too. I found the printing machinery fascinating indeed.
In case you have never seen such equipment in operation, I will explain it, for such tools are surely among the wonders of our world. The machine is built like a lo
om, but in place of a shuttle, a large mechanism, called the tongue, slides back and forth across the frame. Upon this tongue is placed a strip of wooden blocks, glued at the back upon a loop of canvas, and upon the faces of these blocks are carved the letters which are to be printed. When the tongue dashes across the loom, a cog causes the loop of letters to turn, rubbing each letter block, one after the next, against a piece of inked wool, then against the paper, which is fastened to the frame. Because the blocks are placed in a circle, they can print upon up to five sheets of paper, one after the other, if the sheets are placed in a row upon the frame.
Each pass of the tongue prints a complete line of text, and the operator of the machine has only to pull the tongue across the sheets of paper, and to change the sheets with every pass, to have all his writing done for him quite automatically.
When enough sheets have been printed, the wooden blocks are removed from the tongue and a new loop of blocks, representing the next line of text, is placed inside it, then all the sheets of paper are replaced upon the frame, in lines of five sheets, and the printing continues. After the job is done, and every line has been printed on every sheet, slaves are brought in to glue patches over the edges of the sheets, in order to cover the various rips and snarls that occur during the natural course of the printing process.
The method is calculated to minimize waste. For example, after each loop of blocks is done with, it is soaked in hot water to remove the glue holding the blocks to the canvas, then both blocks and canvas are set out to dry in the sun, whereupon they may be glued together again in some different order and reused for printing a new document.
I was very impressed by this machine, but I quickly realized its efficiency might be improved upon if it printed more than one line with each pass, so I asked Lophtha for his permission to attempt this improvement.
He said, “Ah, three lines with one pass. That is every printer’s dream. But I must say your idea is not a new one. It has been tried by many wise men, but the results are never good, for the letters come out patchy.”
I said, “Let me try it anyway. I am sure I can make it work.”
He said, “Very well, if you wish. But do not work with my good machine. Instead use this old one.” Then he pointed me to an old printing machine, which was a little worn and which he no longer used because it was too small.
Well, I removed the base of the tongue, which is made of wood and resembles a large carpenter’s plane. I set to work with a chisel then and widened the gap in the middle of the tongue so it would allow not one, but three loops of blocks to pass through at one go. I also placed a wider strip of inked wool inside the tongue, with two extra ink-droppers above it. Then I cut a good wide strip of canvas, and glued three lines of text to it. We gave it a go, and it did not work too well at first, for the printing was patchy, just as he had said.
I did not give up, though, but instead gave the matter some thought. I soon realized the patchy printing was because the pressure upon the letters was too light.
“A little extra weight will remedy that,” I thought to myself. Then I took several pounds of ordinary oven lead and attached it to the top of the tongue. The modification worked perfectly, printing three clear lines of text with each pass, where it had formerly printed only one. Better still, because the strip of text was now wider, it seemed to tear the paper less with each pass than before, so there was less repair work for the slaves to do.
Lophtha was astounded that I had so quickly solved this problem which had vexed all others who had tackled it. He was delighted too, as you might well imagine, and he asked me to make the same changes to his large printing machine, which I did, and it worked just as well.
He said to me, “I should pay you for this work, for it will surely mean money in my pocket.”
I said, “No no, I am your house guest, and that is payment enough. Besides, I take the greatest pleasure from solving problems of this sort.”
Then he said, “How I wish I had your keen mind and skilful fingers! You are truly one of the most accomplished men of the modern age, and perhaps the most accomplished.”
I shook my head in modesty at these words, but as I did, I heard the cooing of a dove up in the rafters.
Lophtha heard it too, and said, “You see? The dove, which is a holy bird, agrees with me.”
I said then, “We shall see.” Then I picked up a nail, and I said, “I will throw this into the rafters. If the bird is lying, may the nail pierce its heart, and may it fall to the ground dead. If the bird is telling the truth, may it be protected from the nail.”
Then I threw the nail, good and hard, up into the rafters. A moment later, I heard it strike the ground again with a tinkle. I could see the bird was still up there, for its nose stuck out beyond the beam, so I was compelled—though unwillingly—to accept Lophtha’s words as entirely true.
It took us only a few weeks to print my tract. I had made a few changes here and there, expanding my argument in certain places, and adding examples, so, instead of being one page in length, my manuscript now totalled around thirty pages, but the basic four rules were the same. We printed two hundred copies, all told, and the finished tracts, bound in pigskin, were given into the hands of Lophtha’s merchant friends, who carried them to the various cities of the region in order to sell them. The work was titled On the Proper Training of Infants, but do not bother searching for it, for it has never been printed in Europe, and no library here holds it.
The sales of my tract were spectacular. In fact, Lophtha said he had seldom printed a book that sold so well, and, before the month was out, we were once again gluing blocks to canvas in order to print several hundred more copies. This gave me the opportunity to make further changes to the tract, for I had discovered parts where the arguments were not so clear as they might have been. We added pictures too (these were printed by hand using an ordinary hammer block, inked with a brush) so the length of the book increased a little more, to a total of sixty-seven pages.
I would say I earned an arran each week from my book, which is very good, when you consider it was just the result of setting down a few commonsense rules. The book also brought me much fame locally, which I found flattering, and there was hardly a place I would go without being pointed out by the citizens of Belpinian.
“There he goes,” they would say, “the wise philosopher Yreth who taught us how to raise our children properly.”
Often they would offer me gifts or food, so my expenses during my stay in the city were very small indeed.
I was in Belpinian for some months. When I was not working at Lophtha’s fascinating machine, I spent many hours doing my own work in his dining hall, where I laid plans for a number of great buildings, including detailed plans for the cathedral in the shape of a pointing hand.
After a while, though, I began to find the dining hall dingy for my drawings and plans, and I started to become distracted by the bright sunlight and clear skies outside. I said to myself, “What I truly want is an outdoor workplace, for the weather here is certainly sweet enough to permit it.”
I went for a few walks around the city, to see what places I might find. At last I came across an old house which seemed to be empty, together with a garden. The moment I laid eyes on it, I thought, “That would make a pretty spot for an ornamental garden, together with a table for my work, and a sliding roof, so I can continue my work even when it is raining.”
I knocked on the door of the neighbours and asked them, “Who lives in that house?”
They said, “It belongs to a rich baker, but he has gone travelling for a time.”
I said, “Is he a good man or a villain?”
They said, “Oh, he is a villain, everybody agrees with that, for how else could a baker win himself such riches? Moreover, why should an honest baker go travelling the land, unless it is to go thieving as a bandit?”
“In that case,” I said, �
�I trust you will have no objection if I, an honest stonemage and philosopher, appropriate his land and put it to good use.”
They said they certainly would have no objection to my plan. In fact, they said they would be honoured to have such a famous man as their neighbour, and said, indeed, if I wished, they would even lend me slaves to assist me in my work—an offer which I gratefully accepted.
With the help of two of these slaves, I spent the afternoon placing a fence around the house and garden, in order to claim it for myself, then I went home and sketched out a few plans.
I decided the theme of my ornamental garden should be “water and land,” and it should have fish, waterfalls, and towers too. I sketched out a few plans that night, and the next day I went back to the site and removed all the furniture, pots and other belongings from the house. I gave these items to the neighbours as a gift for their kindness.
Then I set to work removing the bindings. I began at the roof, taking the point bindings off the shingles, and I worked my way steadily down, until by the end of the day the entire house was just a mass of rubble upon the ground. I had the slaves collect the stones together and place them in a neat pile, for I planned to use some of it for my ornamental garden. As Gibo says, “Waste nothing and you shall never be left wanting.”
Over the course of the next week, I set the slaves to digging holes where I planned to place the rivers and pools which would make up this garden. When the holes were dug, I lined them with the stones from the house and fused them into smooth sheets, so the water would not escape when it was poured in. In colour, these channels were a deep blue, so the natural colour of the water would be enhanced.
I took the water from a nearby river. It was a little brown, though, so before I poured it in, I strained it through sheets of sacking cloth, using a large wooden funnel. This took some time, and required frequent scraping of the cloth, but the results were most satisfactory, and all the dirt and small creatures were very effectively removed from the water.
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 23
