The Surgeon
It dawned a bright day. Brighter far than a drunk man was to tolerate. You could even call it a day of squinting, or a day of hats. Or even a day when every direction shone like the glare of a naked man: a fat man. But then, we must remember the people with ulcers and optimistic views, and just settle on ‘sunny’.
And on this sunny day there was a man who swaggered into town. A young man with hair so black it was blue, although the straw hat he wore did its darnedest to hide the fact. He was a few inches less than six feet, so he wasn’t short, but he wasn’t tall. His clothing was brown and tan and ready to be used in hard labor. And when one looked under the dust cloak, they saw someone lean to the point of reaching underfed, except when they noticed the no-room-for-fat-iron-muscled arms. This was a young man who people avoided despite his winning smile. And it wasn’t his swagger, biceps, smile, or even his hat that the crowd disliked.
It was the sword. The massive five foot long foot wide three inch thick strait one-edge piece of well forged steel so large that there wasn’t a scabbard: no, there was a hook strapped to his shoulders that held the thing ready.
Felix Du’ette arrived in Cairhien with as much flourish as the death of cockroach: i.e., none. Slipping out a piece of paper well crumpled by other times it had been taken out, he studied it again. In general it was the garbled jargon of the uppers, but at the bottom it was a little clearer for practicality’s sake. And the bottom told Felix that he was to arrive the hour after dawn at the White Palace. Of course, this only confused the poor Du’ette. Everything in this city looks like a palace. And, to make matters worse, this city’s favorite color is white. he thought as he shoved the paper none too gently back into his pocket. My plighted peasant brain can’t take much more of this.
Suffice it to say he eventually made his way to a shell of a very large building in much need of repair. And although the adventures and trials he endured to get there were beyond counting, he made it; however, it took two hours, and so he arrived late for his first day on the job.
Yet, before we indulge the reader as to the events of the present, we must first enlighten as to the nature of Felix’s experience in architecture: namely, none. Because, you see, his twin brother, Ambrose, had “other things to do”, and couldn’t make it to the job. But money was needed, so the good brother “volunteered” to take the place of a skilled craftsman.
Returning to were we left off, Felix walked boldly up to the grubby man who looked like he was in charge and thrust out his papers. The old worker scowled took them, looked at them, then changed his scowl to a sneer and thumbed in the general direction of another grubby leader - er, a foreman, not a leader.
This foreman looked like he ate nails for breakfast, and the fact that two were hanging out of his mouth didn’t help. Seeing Felix swaggering towards him, he looked back at a group of men hoisting a support beam via pulley up into the rafters of what looked like a large hall, saying, “You’re late. This will come out of your pay. Now, what I want you to do is come up with a design Madam Sedia can live with. It’s a key arch, and it’ll be on this side of this large room. Unfortunately, it will also have to hold up most of this stone roof, so you better do it right. Right?”
Felix nodded as if he did this as much as a bird sings. Good thing it was already getting hot, so the cold sweat was not noticed. The foreman nodded as well and continued. “Good. That’s the big one. All the others are either minor supports or purely artistic. I’ll expect at least three models for tomorrow on the big one and all the others by the end of the week so that I can show them to Madam Sedia.” At that point he walked away, leaving a stupefied Felix wondering:
What’s an arch?
Gram
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