“Just figured it needed doing,” said Alvin. If Horace wasn’t going to ask about how he did it, Alvin was just as happy not to explain.
“I didn’t reckon to have it done so fast,” said Horace. “Nor to have so much done. The lock looks to be an expensive one, and the stove-I hope I don’t have to pay for all at once.”
Alvin almost said, You don’t have to pay for any of it, but of course that wouldn’t do. It was up to Makepeace Smith to decide things like that.
But when Horace turned around, looking for an answer, he didn’t face Makepeace Smith, he stood square on to Alvin. “Makepeace Smith here’s been charging full price for your work, so I reckon I shouldn’t pay you any less.”
Only then did Alvin realize that he made a mistake when he said he did the work in his free time, since work a prentice did in his official free time was paid for direct to the prentice, and not the master. Makepeace Smith never gave Alvin free time—whatever work anyone wanted done, Makepeace would hire Alvin out to do, which was his right under the prentice contract. By calling it free time, Alvin seemed to be saying that Makepeace had given him time off to earn money for himself.
“Sir, I—”
Makepeace spoke up before Alvin could explain the mistake. “Full price wouldn’t be right,” said Makepeace. “Alvin getting so close to the end of his contract, I thought he should start trying things on his own, see how to handle money. But even though the work looks right to you, to me it definitely looks second rate. So half price is right. I figure it took at least twenty hours to do all this—right, Alvin?”
It was more like ten, but Alvin just nodded. He didn’t know what to say, anyway, since his master was obviously not committed to telling the plain truth about this job. And the job he did would have been at least twenty hours—two full days’ iabor—for a smith without Alvin’s knack.
“So,” said Makepeace, “between Al’s labor at half price and the cost of the stove and the iron and all, it comes to fifteen dollars.”
Horace whistled and rocked back on his heels.
“You can have my labor free, for the experience,” Alvin said.
Makepeace glared at him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Horace. “The Savior said the laborer is worthy of his hire. It’s the sudden high price of iron I’m a little skeptical about.”
“It’s a .stove,” said Makepeace Smith.
Wasn’t till I fixed it, Alvin said silently.
“You bought it as scrap iron,” said Horace. “As you said about Al’s labor, full price wouldn’t be right.”
Makepeace sighed. “For old times’ sake, Horace, cause you brought me here and helped set me up on my own when I came west eighteen years ago. Nine dollars.”
Horace didn’t smile, but he nodded. “Fair enough. And since you usually charge four dollars a day for Alvin’s hire, I guess his twenty hours at half price comes to four bucks. You come by the house this afternoon, Alvin, I’ll have it for you. And Makepeace, I’ll pay you the rest when the inn fills up at harvest time.”
“Fair enough,” said Makepeace.
“Glad to see that you’re giving Alvin free time now,” said Horace. “There’s been a lot of folks criticizing you for being so tight with a good prentice, but I always told them, Makepeace is just biding his time, you’ll see.”
“That’s right,” said Makepeace. “I was biding my time.”
“You don’t mind if I tell other folks that the biding’s done?”
“Alvin still has to do his work for me,” said Makepeace.
Horace nodded wisely. “Reckon so,” he said. “He works for you mornings, for himself afternoons—is that right? That’s the way most fair-minded masters do it, when a prentice gets so near to journeyman.”
Makepeace began to turn a little red. Alvin wasn’t surprised. He could see what was happening—Horace Guester was being like a lawyer for him, seizing on this chance to shame Makepeace into treating Alvin fair for the first time in more than six years of prenticing. When Makepeace decided to pretend that Alvin really did have free time, why, that was a crack in the door, and Horace was muscling his way through by main force. Pushing Makepeace to give Alvin half days, no less! That was surely too much for Makepeace to swallow.
But Makepeace swallowed. “Half days is fine with me. Been meaning to do that for some time.”
“So you’ll be working afternoons yourself now, right, Makepeace?”
Oh, Alvin had to gaze at Horace with pure admiration. He wasn’t going to let Makepeace get away with lazing around and forcing Alvin to do all the work at the smithy.
“When I work’s my own business, Horace.”
“Just want to tell folks when they can be sure to find the master in, and when the prentice.”
“I’ll be in all day.”
“Why, glad to hear it,” said Horace. “Well, fine work, I must say, Alvin. Your master done a good job teaching you, and you been carefuler than I ever seen before. You make sure to come by this evening for your four dollars.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll just let you two get back to work now,” said Horace. “Are these the only two keys to the door?”
“Yes sir,” said Alvin. “I oiled them up so they won’t rust.”
“I’ll keep them oiled myself. Thanks for the reminder.”
Horace opened the door and pointedly held it open till Makepeace and Alvin came on out. Horace carefully locked the door, as they watched. He turned and grinned at Alvin. “Maybe first thing I’ll have you do is make a lock this fine for my front door.” Then he laughed out loud and shook his head. “No, I reckon not. I’m an innkeeper. My business is to let people in, not lock them out. But there’s others in town who’ll like the look of this lock.”
“Hope so, sir. Thank you.”
Horace nodded again, then took a cool gaze at Makepeace as if to say, Don’t forget all you promised to do here today. Then he ambled off up the path to the roadhouse.
Alvin started down the hill to the smithy. He could hear Makepeace following him, but Alvin wasn’t exactly hoping for a conversation with his master just now. As long as Makepeace said nothing, that was good enough for Alvin.
That lasted only till they were both inside the smithy.
“That stove was broke to hell and back,” said Makepeace.
That was the last thing Alvin expected to hear, and the most fearful. No chewing-out for claiming free time; no attempt to take back what he’d promised in the way of work schedule. Makepeace Smith had remembered that stove better than Alvin expected.
“Looked real bad, all right,” said Alvin.
“No way to fix it without recasting,” said Makepeace. “If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would’ve fixed it myself.”
“I thought so, too,” said Alvin. “But when I looked it over—”
The look on Makepeace Smith’s face silenced him. He knew. There was no doubt in Alvin’s mind. The master knew what his prentice boy could do. Alvin felt the fear of being found out right down to his bones; it felt just like hide-and-go-find with his brothers and sisters when he was little, back in Vigor Church. The worst was when you were the last one still hid and unfound, all the waiting and waiting, and then you hear the footsteps coming, and you tingle all over, you feel it in every part of your body, like as if your whole self was awake and itching to move. It gets so bad you want to jump out and scream, “Here I am! I’m here!” and then run like a rabbit, not to the haven tree, but just anywhere, just run full out until every muscle of your body was wore out and you fell down on the earth. It was crazy—no good came of such craziness. But that’s how it felt playing with his brothers and sisters, and that’s how it felt now on the verge of being found out.
To Alvin’s surprise, a slow smile spread across his master’s face. “So that’s it,” said Makepeace. “That’s it. Ain’t you full of surprises. I see it now. Your pa said when you was born, he’s the seventh son of a seventh son. Your way with horses, sure, I
knew about that. And what you done finding that well, sense like a doodlebug. I could see that, too. But now.” Makepeace grinned. “Here I thought you were a smith like never was born, and all the time you was fiddling with it like an alchemist.”
“No sir,” said Alvin.
“Oh, I’ll keep your secret,” said Makepeace. “I won’t tell a soul.” But he was laughing in the way he had. and Alvin knew that while Makepeace wouldn’t tell straight out, he’d be dropping hints from here to the Hio. But that wasn’t what bothered Alvin most.
“Sir,” said Alvin, “all the work I ever done for you, I done honest, with my own arms and skill.”
Makepeace nodded wisely., like he understood some secret meaning in Alvin’s words. “I get it,” he said. “Secret’s safe with me. But I knew it all along. Knew you couldn’t be as good a smith as you seemed.”
Makepeace Smith had no idea how close he was to death. Alvin wasn’t a murderous soul—any lust for blood that might have been born in him was driven out of him on a certain day inside Eight-Face Mound near seven years ago. But during all the years of his prenticeship, he had never heard one word of praise from this man, nothing but complaints about how lazy Alvin was, and how second-rate his work was, and all the time Makepeace Smith was lying, all the time he knew Alvin was good. Not till Makepeace was convinced Alvin had used hidden knackery to do his smithwork, not till now did Makepeace ever let Alvin know that he was, in fact, a good smith. Better than good. Alvin knew it, of course, knew he was a natural smith, but never having it said out loud hurt him deeper than he guessed. Didn’t his master know how much a word might have meant, even half an hour ago, just a word like, “You’ve got some skill at this, boy,” or, “You have a right good hand with that sort of work”? But Makepeace couldn’t do it, had to lie and pretend Alvin had no skill until now, when Makepeace believed that he didn’t have a smith’s skill after all.
Alvin wanted to reach out and take hold of Makepeace’s head and ram it into the anvil, ram it so hard that the truth would be driven right through Makepeace’s skull and into his brain. I never used my Maker’s knack in any of my smithwork, not since I got strong enough to do it with my own strength and skill, so don’t smirk at me like I’m just a trickster, and no real smith. Besides, even if I used my Maker’s art, do you think that’s easy, either? Do you think I haven’t paid a price for that as well?
All the fury of Alvin’s life, all these years of slavery, all these years of rage at the unfairness of his master, all these years of secrecy and disguise, all his desperate longing to know what to do with his life and having no one in the world to ask, all this was burning inside Alvin hotter than the forge fire. Now the itching and tingling inside him wasn’t a longing to run. No, it was a longing to do violence, to stop that smile on Makepeace Smith’s face, to stop it forever against the anvil’s beak.
But somehow Alvin held himself motionless, speechless, as still as an animal trying to be invisible, trying not to be where he is. And in that stillness Alvin heard the greensong all around him, and he let the life of the woodland come into him, fill his heart, bring him peace. The greensong wasn’t loud as it used to be, farther west in wilder times, when the Red man still sang along with the greenwood music. It was weak. and sometimes got near drowned out by the unharmonious noise of town life or the monotones of well-tended fields. But Alvin could still find the song at need, and sing silently along with it, and let it take over and calm his heart.
Did Makepeace Smith know how close he came to death? For it was sure he’d be no match for Alvin rassling. not with A1 so young and tall and so much terrible righteous fire in his heart. Whether he guessed or not. the smile faded from Makepeace Smith’s face, and he nodded solemnly. “I’ll keep all I said, up there, when Horace pushed me so hard. I know you probably put him up to it. but I’m a fair man. so I’ll forgive you. long as you still pull some weight here for me, till your contract’s up.”
Makepeace’s accusation that Alvin conspired with Horace should have made Alvin angrier, but by now the greensong owned him, and Alvin wasn’t hardly even in the smithy. He was in the kind of trance he learned when he ran with Ta-Kumsaw’s Reds, where you forget who and where you are. and your body’s just a far-off creature running through the woods.
Makepeace waited for an answer, but it didn’t come. So he just nodded wisely and turned to leave. “I got business in town.” he said. “Keep at it.” He stopped at the wide doorway and turned back into the smithy. “While you’re at it, you might as well fix those other brokedown stoves in the shed.”
Then he was gone.
Alvin stood there a long time, not moving, not hardly even knowing he had a body to move. It was full noon before he came to himself and took a step. His heart was utterly at peace then, with not a spot of rage left in it. If he’d thought about it, he probably would’ve knowed that the anger was sure to come back. that he wasn’t so much healed as soothed. But soothing was enough for now, it’d do. His contract would be up this spring, and then he’d be out of this place, a free man at last.
One thing, though. It never did occur to him to do what Makepeace Smith asked, and fix those other brokedown stoves. And as for Makepeace, he never brought it up again, neither. Alvin’s knack wasn’t a part of his prenticeship, and Makepeace Smith must’ve knowed that, deep down, must’ve knowed he didn’t have the right to tell young Al what to do when he was a-Making.
A few days later Alvin was one of the men who helped lay the new floor in the springhouse. Horace took him aside and asked him why he never came by for his four dollars.
Alvin couldn’t very well tell him the truth, that he’d never take money for work he did as a Maker. “Call it my share of the teacher’s salary,” said Alvin.
“You got no property to pay tax on,” said Horace, “nor any children to go to the school, neither.”
“Then say I’m paying you for my share of the land my brother’s body sleeps in up behind the roadhouse,” said Alvin.
Horace nodded solemnly. “That debt, if there was a debt, was paid in full by your father’s and brothers’ labor seventeen year gone, young Alvin, but I respect your wish to pay your share. So this time I’ll consider you paid in full. But any other work you do for me, you take full wages, you hear me?”
“I will, sir,” said Alvin. “Thank you sir.”
“Call me Horace, boy. When a growed man calls me sir it just makes me feel old.”
They went back to work then, and said nary another word about Alvin’s work on the springhouse. But something stuck in Alvin’s mind all the same: what Horace said when Alvin offered to let his wages be a share of the teacher’s salary. “You got no property, nor any children to go to the school.” There it was, right there, in just a few words. That was why even though Alvin had his full growth on him, even though Horace called him a growed man, he wasn’t really a man yet, not even in his own eyes. Because he had no family. Because he had no property. Till he had those, he was just a big old boy. Just a child like Arthur Stuart, only taller, with some beard showing when he didn’t shave.
And just like Arthur Stuart, he had no share in the school. He was too old. It wasn’t built for the likes of him. So why did he wait so anxious for the schoolmistress to come? Why did he think of her with so all-fired much hope? She wasn’t coming here for him, and yet he knew that he had done his work on the springhouse for her, as if to put her in his debt, or perhaps to thank her in advance for what he wanted her, so desperately, to do for him.
Teach me, he said silently. I got a Work to do in this world, but nobody knows what it is or how it’s done. Teach me. That’s what I want from you. Lady, to help me find my way to the root of the world or the root of myself or the throne of God or the Unmaker’s heart, wherever the secret of Making lies, so that I can build against the snow of winter, or make a light to shine against the fall of night.
14
River Rat
ALVIN WAS IN Hatrack Mouth the afternoon the teacher came.
Makepeace had sent him with the wagon, to fetch a load of new iron that come down the Hio. Hatrack Mouth used to be just a single wharf, a stop for riverboats unloading stuff for the town of Hatrack River. Now, though, as river traffic got thicker and more folks were settling out in the western lands on both sides of the Hio, there was a need for a couple of inns and shops, where farmers could sell provender to passing boats, and river travelers could stay the night. Hatrack Mouth and the town of Hatrack River were getting more important all the time, since this was the last place where the Hio was close to the great Wobbish Road—the very road that Al’s own father and brothers cut through the wilderness west to Vigor Church. Folks would come downriver and unship their wagons and horses here, and then move west overland.
There was also things that folks wouldn’t tolerate in Hatrack River itself: gaming houses, where poker and other games got played and money changed hands, the law not being inclined to venture much into the dens of river rats and other such scum. And upstairs of such houses. it was said there was women who wasn’t ladies, plying a trade that decent folks scarcely whispered about and boys of Alvin’s age talked of in low voices with lots of nervous laughter.
It wasn’t the thought of raised skirts and naked thighs that made Alvin look forward to his trips to Hatrack Mouth. Alvin scarce noticed those buildings, knowing he had no business there. It was the wharf that drew him. and the porthouse, and the river itself, with boats and rafts going by all the time. ten going downstream for every one coming up. His favorite boats were the steamboats, whistling and spitting their way along at unnatural speeds. With heavy engines built in Irrakwa, these riverboats were wide and long, and yet they moved upstream against the current faster than rafts could float downstream. There was eight of them on the Hio now. going from Dekane down to Sphinx and back again. No farther than Sphinx, though, since the Mizzipy was thick with fog, and nary a boat dared navigate there.
Someday. thought Alvin, someday a body could get on such a boat as Pride of the Hio and just float away. Out to the West, to the wild lands, and maybe catch a glimpse of the place where Ta-Kumsaw and Tenskwa-Tawa live now. Or upriver to Dekane, and thence by the new steam train that rode on rails up to Irrakwa and the canal. From there a body could travel the whole world, oceans across. Or maybe he could stand on this bank and the whole world would someday pass him by.
Prentice Alvin: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume III Page 19
