Stonefather

That was apparently the funniest thing of all. But after one bark of laughter, he was back to chiding. “We don’t do our laundry in the filtered water.” He showed Runnel the tap that drew water directly from the cistern without passing through the porous stone first. It flowed much more readily, and the jar was quickly full.

“He’s naked!” said Ebb cheerfully, when Demwor passed him on the way back to the house.

So Runnel had learned something else — people went insane when you took your clothes off. In the village, clothing was for warmth. Only girls worried about modesty, and only when they got near that age. During summer, men often worked naked in the fields. It was part of life; during hot weather, a man would strip himself as surely as he’d shear the sheep. What did they do here in the city? Sweat in their clothing so it would stink? No wonder they had to wash all the time.

He carried the full waterjar back to the laundry. Lark was still scrubbing linens. He tipped all the water out of the tub onto the stone flags of the washing pit. Lark leapt to her feet with a cry, then began picking up linens. “Now I have to wash them again, you fool! You oaf!”

“You felt free to take my water and the washboard from me,” said Runnel. “That’s how I thought things were done.”

“I’m doing the master’s laundry!”

“And I’m doing the laundry that Demwor told me to do,” he said. “You’re the one who decided to be mean. If you want to get along with me, then treat me fairly. I’ll do the same in return. But right now, I’m rinsing my clothes. And washing and rinsing myself. Then you can do what you like.”

Only then did he see that she had already slopped his clothes out of the tub and tossed them, not onto the clean flagstones, but out into the dirt. She saw where he was looking and she blushed. That was all he needed — he knew she was sorry for having caused him extra work.

“Thank you for helping me get this position,” he said. “Even if you punish me the rest of my life for saying one wrong thing without meaning any harm, and for washing clothes the way we do it in the mountains, I’ll still thank you for helping me get a place here. I’m in your debt, and I won’t do anything like pouring out your washwater again. I’m sorry for that. It wasn’t right.”

As he spoke, he went for his clothes and brought them back to the tub. By now she was pouring water in, her lips set and her eyes downcast. He put his clothes back in the tub and knelt to wash them again. But she held on to the washboard and began scrubbing his clothing herself. “I’ll do it,” he said.

But she ignored him and scrubbed.

“I don’t want you serving me,” he said.

“Go stand behind something till I have your clothes clean,” she said irritably. “Pretend to be decent.”

He obeyed and leaned against the stone wall of the garden, with a tree between him and her. He thought of climbing the wall to see what was on the other side, but decided that nude wall-climbing wasn’t in the spirit of decency that she had in mind. He could hear her wringing out his wet clothes and spattering water on the pavement.

After a while she brought his trousers and tunic and, still averting her eyes, offered them to him. He took the shirt and pulled it on over his head. “I’m covered now,” he said.

“Just take your pants,” she said.

He took them, but didn’t fasten them with the cord; they’d stay up well enough, being damp, and it wouldn’t do to tie the cord wet or he’d never get it off. He went back to the washtub as soon as he was dressed.

“Go away,” she said.

“Lark,” he said. “I don’t ask you to be my friend. Just let me help you do your work faster, since I delayed you.”

“I do this job myself.”

“I can wring out the linens,” said Runnel. “I can pour water, even if you don’t let me scrub.”

In reply, she handed him a pair of underdrawers to wring. He did, and draped it where she pointed, on one of several strings between two tree limbs.

After most of the linens were hanging, she finally spoke to him. “It was a waste of time, you know, putting that stupid owl back up on the kitchen roof.”

“Doesn’t it work?”

“The mice live inside the kitchen walls and never see 

the owl,” she said. “And no birds come here.”

“Doesn’t that mean that it does work?”

“It means no birds come over these walls, whether there’s an owl or not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’d expect me to feed them and care for them, and I can’t,” she said. “So I ask them not to come.” She looked up at him defiantly.

He nodded gravely. “You’re a birdfriend, then.”

“I’m no mage of any kind,” she said. “I just get along with birds.”

“Birdfriend,” he said, “but I won’t tell.”

“It’s one of the reasons it’s so hard for them to find servants here. Nobody likes to admit they’ve got no magery, not even a scrap. First thing people do is show off, or brag if they’ve got nought to show. Even though birdmagery has nothing to do with stone, and birdmages aren’t forbidden to enter Mitherhome anyway. Makes no sense and does no harm, but Demwor won’t have a mage of any kind in the household.”