Scream of Stone

17

14 Tarsakh, the Year of the Unstrung Harp (1371 DR) The Canal Site

"Excuse me, sir,” the stout Innarlan man with the mud-hardened trousers said, his tattered wool cap in his hands.

Surero looked up and scratched his beard. He’d had it for months, but still wasn’t used to it.

“Sir?” the man repeated.

Surero nudged Ivar Devorast with an elbow to the ribs and whispered, “He means you, Lord Ditchdigger.”

Devorast stopped his steady rhythmic shoveling and looked up at the man, twelve feet up the side of the trench from him. He squinted into the sun and blinked a few times, but otherwise waited to hear what the man had to say.

The man cleared his throat and looked both ways as though afraid of passing carts. He opened his mouth to speak then seemed to think better of it. He set his cap on the edge of the trench and climbed down to the level where Surero and Devorast dug.

“You’re him, all right,” the man said in a voice that made it plain he was holding back a laugh or some other expression of joy. Surero stood, leaning on his shovel, also working to keep a smile off his face. “They said not to say anything, and I swear by whatever god looks after people who dig holes in the ground that no one will hear your name from these lips.”

Devorast nodded and said, “Thank you, Mister…?”

“No mister, anyway, sir,” the man replied, embarrassed. “My name is Fador, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“What can we do for you?” Surero asked, startling Fador, who looked at him as though just then noticing someone else was there.

“Um, well…” he started, forcing his attention back to Devorast. “Little Lord H”as the men had come to call Horemkensi”he’s told us to use four inches of sand instead of eight from now on as it’s takin’ too long using eight inches and he wants us to build faster.”

Devorast shook his head, and Surero smiled when he saw no anger or even frustration there. It was as though Devorast had already fixed the problem that had been brought to him.

“It has to be eight inches,” he told Fador. “Tell everyone I said so.”

“But Little Lord H, sir…” Fador mumbled.

“He’ll never know,” Surero assured the man. “Likely as not he’s already forgotten the order.”

Fador smiled at that, still embarrassed. “But if we don’t build faster?”

Devorast started digging again and Surero realized that for him, at least, the conversation was over.

“The horses had to be reshod this month,” Surero said the first thing that came to mind. Fador answered with a confused look. “If the horses all have to be reshod the work will slow, even if you used less sand.”

“But the horses are fine, Master…”

“Call me Orerus,” Surero replied. “Don’t actually reshod them, Fador, but your Little Lord H won’t know you didn’t, will he?”

Fador smiled and nodded. He looked back at Devorast and seemed anxious to say something else, but Devorast just went on digging.

“Thank you, Fador,” Surero said.

Fador nodded and scurried back up the trench wall, laughing.

“Well,” Surero said to Devorast when Fador was finally out of earshot, “I guess the word is spreading.”

Devorast, seeming to reply to an entirely different question, said, “The zombies won’t lie about horseshoes.”

Surero stood staring at Devorast, who went on digging for some time.

“The zombies…” the alchemist finally said, lifting his shovel to dig. “I’ve been thinking about that.”