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Description
--42--

By night Nathaniel was so exhausted that Behn had to keep prodding him so that he would not fall asleep in his stew, though falling in face-first might have made eating easier. Apparently woodsmen did not have horses or sleds to carry their logs--they dragged the small ones by hand and carried the large ones in groups. His hands, blistered and sore from the axes, rubbed raw from slipping over lumpy bark and spiky branches, ached every time he tried to take his spoon or his mug in hand.

The axes were a whole day's lesson of themselves, crammed into about two minutes and repeated in harried voices whenever he got it wrong. Nathaniel had always thought that an axe was an axe was an axe, but Behn had been quick to show him the differences before the yellow-haired man could come over and cuff them for laziness. There were the large felling axes, like those he had used in the morning, special sharp axes that made cutting across the grain easier for anyone who actually knew how to do it in the first place. There were short hatchets like those Nathaniel had used at the inn for knocking off small branches (all of which went in the pile--no, that pile!--for use in the bunk house), splitting axes that did just what they said but had to be used in pairs, and chisel-like broad axes that made neater, more precise cuts. In addition to the basic axes, there were a few of each type made specifically for certain kinds of trees, four or five for each variety, which were used for the special orders that, Nathaniel assumed from their lack of use, came only from the richest of nobles.

Then there were the saws: small hand-helds for removing thick branches and larger hand-helds for removing even thicker ones, further divided into rippers for cutting with the grain and crossers for cutting across it. The most frightening by far were those used for splitting the thickest tree trunks lengthwise, which were half again as long as Nathaniel was tall, had teeth as long as nails, and could only be used by pairs of men at the pits. Nathaniel had already had to deal with the pits, because even though the yellow-haired man had wanted him working firewood with Behn, another man had been injured and they had to move. Behn took the top, clambering onto the log to take the saw handle in both hands, then kicking in the direction of the pit below, indicating that Nathaniel was supposed to jump in. The pit was dark, the tree trunk and the top of the soil a good foot above his head, but he was not given time to consider how he would get out again before Behn was hissing for him to grab the lower handle of the saw. Then he had to push the saw up, over his head, and pull it back down, but the wood resisted so much that he ended up hanging by the handle to get it to move at all.

Then there were all the different cuts of wood to worry about. Firewood was in high demand in the plains, in Jarris, and at the royal residences, but most of the wood the men cut was meant for building and repairing houses. Short, fat logs became stacks of thin, slightly wedge-shaped shingles, while long, straight logs became boards and planks. Trickiest by far (or so Nathaniel supposed) were the oddly shaped branches and twisted trunks, all of which were used as they were felled, once they had been stripped of their bark. The buildings' frames were actually assembled there in the forest and, Nathaniel guessed, marked in some way to indicate how the pieces fit together. It was odd to see them, twisted skeletons of buildings rising from between the stump-riddled forest floor, somehow the same height and shape as they would be in a town or city. Of course, looking sideways at these structures long enough to figure out how the men coordinated everything only earned Nathaniel a stumble for forgetting to watch his feet and a boxed ear from the yellow-haired man for failing to concentrate on his own work.

Nathaniel jerked his head upright as Behn prodded his arm yet again. He wondered how long he had left before he could sleep at last, but he could not ask because the room was so silent that the still unnamed yellow-haired man would hear. He dearly hoped that they would not go back out into the night to work even more, or that the yellow-haired man would invent a chore for him to keep him up longer than the others.

He stared down at his gleaming golden-grained trencher, which was somehow empty even though he could not remember enough stinging in his raw hands to have eaten it all. He wondered vaguely if Behn and the other men around him had stolen bites when he was nodding off, and thought it likely considering the small portions. He was beginning to question whether he was hungry or full when the yellow-haired man pushed back his chair from his private table and stood up with his hands on his hips to survey the men.

"Stop eating," he barked. As one, the men placed their spoons onto their empty trenchers--none had eaten slowly enough to be caught with food left on their plate--and passed them sideways to the end of the table, where the men on the end stacked them into two neat piles, spoons collected onto the top trencher.

"Rise."

The man clambered backward over the heavy benches, trying to move them as little as possible, and stood in front of their places. Nathaniel, not used to the tight spaces, was the last to straighten up.
"You completed your work today," the yellow-haired man said, and Nathaniel thought he sounded disappointed. "We've had no new orders this week, but don't think that means you'll work any less." At that, Nathaniel guessed that this speech was for his benefit, since the men showed no emotion and had probably known that they would have to work just as hard the next day. "You've still got to finish those houses for Jarris, and with the winter coming up--" Nathaniel tried not to frown at this, since summer had not even set in "--you'll need to cut your cords of firewood, plus I expect that we'll have a record pile of planks now that we've cleared that tight stretch of trees. Any less than I require and you'll regret it, and no muttering that it's impossible to keep up with what's-'is-name dead, 'cause now you've got little Gnat to help you.

"Balance," he said, "is the core requirement of this Mill. One man dies just as another comes. Trees fall but the wood keeps selling. The better you work, the more I earn, the more you eat. Doesn't matter what your crime was, you'll all work just as hard as the rest and you'll all suffer the same for laziness and insubordination. Challenge me and you'll swing from your last tree.

"Well boys, anything else little Gnat should know? I know you're muttering to keep him in line anyway, so keep at it, don't let me hear ya, and don't let it interfere with your work. I don't tolerate delays, I don't care why.

"Now get out of here," he said as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

The men did not make for the stairs in a crowd. Instead, they turned toward the gap between the tables and filed out in one line. They went up the same way they had come down, broke apart in the same pattern to enter the same rooms and climb into the same bunks. Nathaniel winced when he tried to grip the ladder, and ended up hauling himself up by his elbows before scrambling into his bunk. He had learned the night before that the bunkhouse was cold and no one had blankets, so he did not remove his coat, and he was so exhausted that he did not even bother to take off his boots.

His eyes slid shut right away, but it took a quarter of an hour for his aching back and shoulders to adjust to the hard wood beneath him, and another hour after that before his Innkeeper's mind could reconcile sharing a room with so many men who slept without a sound. With that last, strange contradiction sorted out, Nathaniel finally sank into the liberating darkness.

Description
--42--

By night Nathaniel was so exhausted that Behn had to keep prodding him so that he would not fall asleep in his stew, though falling in face-first might have made eating easier. Apparently woodsmen did not have horses or sleds to carry their logs--they dragged the small ones by hand and carried the large ones in groups. His hands, blistered and sore from the axes, rubbed raw from slipping over lumpy bark and spiky branches, ached every time he tried to take his spoon or his mug in hand.

The axes were a whole day's lesson of themselves, crammed into about two minutes and repeated in harried voices whenever he got it wrong. Nathaniel had always thought that an axe was an axe was an axe, but Behn had been quick to show him the differences before the yellow-haired man could come over and cuff them for laziness. There were the large felling axes, like those he had used in the morning, special sharp axes that made cutting across the grain easier for anyone who actually knew how to do it in the first place. There were short hatchets like those Nathaniel had used at the inn for knocking off small branches (all of which went in the pile--no, that pile!--for use in the bunk house), splitting axes that did just what they said but had to be used in pairs, and chisel-like broad axes that made neater, more precise cuts. In addition to the basic axes, there were a few of each type made specifically for certain kinds of trees, four or five for each variety, which were used for the special orders that, Nathaniel assumed from their lack of use, came only from the richest of nobles.

Then there were the saws: small hand-helds for removing thick branches and larger hand-helds for removing even thicker ones, further divided into rippers for cutting with the grain and crossers for cutting across it. The most frightening by far were those used for splitting the thickest tree trunks lengthwise, which were half again as long as Nathaniel was tall, had teeth as long as nails, and could only be used by pairs of men at the pits. Nathaniel had already had to deal with the pits, because even though the yellow-haired man had wanted him working firewood with Behn, another man had been injured and they had to move. Behn took the top, clambering onto the log to take the saw handle in both hands, then kicking in the direction of the pit below, indicating that Nathaniel was supposed to jump in. The pit was dark, the tree trunk and the top of the soil a good foot above his head, but he was not given time to consider how he would get out again before Behn was hissing for him to grab the lower handle of the saw. Then he had to push the saw up, over his head, and pull it back down, but the wood resisted so much that he ended up hanging by the handle to get it to move at all.

Then there were all the different cuts of wood to worry about. Firewood was in high demand in the plains, in Jarris, and at the royal residences, but most of the wood the men cut was meant for building and repairing houses. Short, fat logs became stacks of thin, slightly wedge-shaped shingles, while long, straight logs became boards and planks. Trickiest by far (or so Nathaniel supposed) were the oddly shaped branches and twisted trunks, all of which were used as they were felled, once they had been stripped of their bark. The buildings' frames were actually assembled there in the forest and, Nathaniel guessed, marked in some way to indicate how the pieces fit together. It was odd to see them, twisted skeletons of buildings rising from between the stump-riddled forest floor, somehow the same height and shape as they would be in a town or city. Of course, looking sideways at these structures long enough to figure out how the men coordinated everything only earned Nathaniel a stumble for forgetting to watch his feet and a boxed ear from the yellow-haired man for failing to concentrate on his own work.

Nathaniel jerked his head upright as Behn prodded his arm yet again. He wondered how long he had left before he could sleep at last, but he could not ask because the room was so silent that the still unnamed yellow-haired man would hear. He dearly hoped that they would not go back out into the night to work even more, or that the yellow-haired man would invent a chore for him to keep him up longer than the others.

He stared down at his gleaming golden-grained trencher, which was somehow empty even though he could not remember enough stinging in his raw hands to have eaten it all. He wondered vaguely if Behn and the other men around him had stolen bites when he was nodding off, and thought it likely considering the small portions. He was beginning to question whether he was hungry or full when the yellow-haired man pushed back his chair from his private table and stood up with his hands on his hips to survey the men.

"Stop eating," he barked. As one, the men placed their spoons onto their empty trenchers--none had eaten slowly enough to be caught with food left on their plate--and passed them sideways to the end of the table, where the men on the end stacked them into two neat piles, spoons collected onto the top trencher.

"Rise."

The man clambered backward over the heavy benches, trying to move them as little as possible, and stood in front of their places. Nathaniel, not used to the tight spaces, was the last to straighten up.
"You completed your work today," the yellow-haired man said, and Nathaniel thought he sounded disappointed. "We've had no new orders this week, but don't think that means you'll work any less." At that, Nathaniel guessed that this speech was for his benefit, since the men showed no emotion and had probably known that they would have to work just as hard the next day. "You've still got to finish those houses for Jarris, and with the winter coming up--" Nathaniel tried not to frown at this, since summer had not even set in "--you'll need to cut your cords of firewood, plus I expect that we'll have a record pile of planks now that we've cleared that tight stretch of trees. Any less than I require and you'll regret it, and no muttering that it's impossible to keep up with what's-'is-name dead, 'cause now you've got little Gnat to help you.

"Balance," he said, "is the core requirement of this Mill. One man dies just as another comes. Trees fall but the wood keeps selling. The better you work, the more I earn, the more you eat. Doesn't matter what your crime was, you'll all work just as hard as the rest and you'll all suffer the same for laziness and insubordination. Challenge me and you'll swing from your last tree.

"Well boys, anything else little Gnat should know? I know you're muttering to keep him in line anyway, so keep at it, don't let me hear ya, and don't let it interfere with your work. I don't tolerate delays, I don't care why.

"Now get out of here," he said as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

The men did not make for the stairs in a crowd. Instead, they turned toward the gap between the tables and filed out in one line. They went up the same way they had come down, broke apart in the same pattern to enter the same rooms and climb into the same bunks. Nathaniel winced when he tried to grip the ladder, and ended up hauling himself up by his elbows before scrambling into his bunk. He had learned the night before that the bunkhouse was cold and no one had blankets, so he did not remove his coat, and he was so exhausted that he did not even bother to take off his boots.

His eyes slid shut right away, but it took a quarter of an hour for his aching back and shoulders to adjust to the hard wood beneath him, and another hour after that before his Innkeeper's mind could reconcile sharing a room with so many men who slept without a sound. With that last, strange contradiction sorted out, Nathaniel finally sank into the liberating darkness.