The White Order

XI

A soft breeze brushed across the porch, carrying the scent of late apple blossoms, the turned earth of the garden to the southwest of the house, and the less welcome odor of the horse manure Cerryl had spent the day cleaning out of the stable.

Cerryl sat on the edge of the porch, his boots on the top stone step, looking eastward, supposedly toward Lydiar. The more distant hills were fading into the early twilight.

“What do you do at the mill, Cerryl?” asked Erhana from the bench behind him.

“Whatever they need me to do. You saw me with the shovel and manure.” Cerryl’s hair was still damp, plastered against his skull, and his forearms itched, despite his washing in cold water before dinner. Without the nightly washing before dinner, he had discovered, his arms became covered with an ugly red rash, and after dealing with the stable, he’d definitely needed to wash up, almost all over.

“Da-Father-Siglinda says that I should say ‘Father.’ Father doesn’t let me in the mill. He let Brental in there when he was smaller than I am.”

“Brental will have to run the mill.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” Erhana lifted her head slightly-Cerryl could tell that without turning. “I’m going to have a wealthy consort and live in a fine house in Lydiar.” Her voice dropped slightly. “You didn’t say what you really do in the mill.”

“I sweep floors, stack the timbers, move things, clean the sawpit. Brental’s beginning to teach me about the oxen.” He paused, then asked, turning finally to look at the dark-haired girl, “What do you do with that lady in the parlor?”

“She be-she is not a lady. She’s Siglinda, and she gives me my lessons.” Erhana cocked her head and offered a superior smile. “I’m learning my letters.”

“Oh?”

“Letters are important for a lady.”

“I’d wager you don’t know them well enough to teach me.

“Why would you want to know letters? You’re always going to be working in the mill.”

“See?” Cerryl said with a grin. “You can’t do it.”

“I can, too.”

“You’ll have to prove it.” Cerryl looked disbelieving.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.” Erhana sniffed.

“You don’t. That be right,” Cerryl said, grinning again.

“You couldn’t learn letters, anyway.”

“You don’t know that, not until you try and I can’t learn.” Cerryl smiled. “Of course, that might mean you couldn’t teach me, either. Your da, he says. .” Cerryl let the words trail off.

“He says what?” Erhana’s voice sharpened.

“Nothing. . nothing.”

“You’re. . nothing but a mill rat, Cerryl.”

Cerryl forced a shrug, intent on keeping any concern from his face. “If you really knew your letters, you could teach them to a mill rat. You’re just calling me names ’cause you can’t.”

“Cerryl. . you are. .” Erhana paused. “You are. .”

He stood. “If you’re that good, you can teach me letters. I be here every night after supper.”

“I don’t have to teach you anything.”

Cerryl forced a smile, then grinned before turning and walking down toward his cubby room.

“Cerryl. .”

He forced himself to keep walking.