Then it was the carpenters’ turn to begin their labors, with the aid of a score of helpers. The exhausted soldiers were billeted in the church, where they were served hot goat’s milk and dwarven fried root vegetables to sate their hunger. But Fletcher did not join them, for the first trunks were being hewn into what would return their settlement to its former glory.
As he walked from the church to the carpenters, he was amazed at the difference just a day had made. The detritus of the village was all but gone. Brambles had been shorn, vines torn away and moss peeled from the lower stoneworks.
The carpenters were ecstatic when Fletcher arrived, for there were over a dozen logs for them to work upon. He was shown how the cross section of each trunk was made up on a thin ring of lighter brown bark surrounding a heartwood so dark that it verged on black. It was ebony of the highest quality, or so the carpenters told him, fine grained and dense.
They were not alone in their work. Berdon and Millo were melting down the rusted iron that could not be saved, then beating the molten metal into the tools they would need to rebuild—nails, hammers, awls and the steel bracings that would be needed for the wood beams.
Thaissa provided Fletcher with the measurements for the windows around the village, as well as the name of a dwarven glassmaker who would give them a fair price. Janet helped Fletcher work out what other equipment and necessities they lacked: needles, spices, salt and dry foods. Then there were the extras that Fletcher wanted. They needed steel ingots to supplement those left over in the old forge. There were too few goats and chickens, no sheep for wool, nor were there mules to help with the carrying and construction.
With all these in mind, Fletcher made a detailed list of orders and chose ten colonists to take a wagon convoy back to Corcillum to resupply. For the first time, he dug into his bag of gold to pay for it all, sacrificing a portion of the heavy coins. It was an investment.
The trade caravan left in the late afternoon, in the hope that they would reach Corcillum by morning and return at nightfall the next day—the trip would be faster with fewer wagons, not to mention the lighter load and the passage cleared from their previous journey. Fletcher gave them their spare hunting muskets for defense, and hoped that they would not have to use them. Then, at a mental prod from Ignatius, he summoned the Drake to watch over them on their journey, and for the next few hours his consciousness was filled with the demon’s elation at being free to roam the night skies.
Still there was more to do. Under the light of sputtering torches, the carpenters toiled into the night, carving the first dark-wooded planks that looked as smooth and hard as onyx stone beneath the star-filled sky. The water barrels had to be refilled from the well, the meat needed to be rationed out and cooked over their fire. Wild berries had made two colonists sick, and they had to be attended to. So it went, late into the night, until finally, as the first rays of dawn broke over the plains, Fletcher collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.
*
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Berdon’s face swam into view and Fletcher sat up, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Here, eat something,” Berdon said, handing him a slice of cold pork.
Fletcher tore off a mouthful and gulped it down, savoring the gamy taste. He was ravenously hungry, and realized he hadn’t eaten anything the previous night. There had just been too much to do.
“What time is it?” Fletcher asked. He and Berdon were alone in the church, and the sun was glowing strongly through the canvas on the windows.
“It’s almost evening.”
Fletcher groaned and moved to get up, but Berdon laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Slow down. Sir Caulder started training your soldiers this morning, and the other colonists are keeping busy. You don’t need to do everything yourself, you know.”
“We need more timber,” Fletcher said, easing himself into a sitting position.
“There’re some colonists working on it as we speak,” Berdon replied, handing him a cup of water. “There are more logs already on their way. Probably enough to work with over the next few days at that.”
“What about the food?” Fletcher asked, after a long gulp.
“Well, that’s why I woke you. The convoy’s back, and they’ve brought enough for another day. But that’s not all they’ve brought with them.”
“What do you mean?” Fletcher said.
“Let’s just say we have some new guests, and an old friend we haven’t seen in quite some time. They’re in the square.”
Fletcher stood and uttered a low moan. His body ached all over from their work the day before.
“Might as well go see then,” he said, making for the door. A twitch from Ignatius’s consciousness told him the demon was asleep somewhere. No clues there.
As they walked down the street toward the square, Fletcher saw that the repairs on the first houses were already under way. Arched beams were being manhandled through doorways, and rope ladders dangled alongside houses where colonists were beginning to work on the rooftops. Even the bakery was being used to fire roof tiles for waterproofing, using a cart full of red clay from a local watering hole.
Fletcher was so enamored with the sight of their progress that he didn’t notice the newcomers until he had almost walked into them. That and the fact that they were dressed in the same uniform as his soldiers.
Dwarves. There were seven in all, shuffling their feet nervously as he stared disbelievingly at them. Then a familiar voice called out from behind a wagon.
“I hope you’re not angry,” Athol said, his hands raised in surrender. “Othello and Cress heard you only had thirty-odd soldiers. These brave young lads volunteered recently, but they’re not too raw to fit in with recruits who have had a year’s training. So our friends thought you might make use of them.”
Fletcher smiled, happy to see his old friend.
“Why would I be angry?” Fletcher asked, slapping the swarthy dwarf on the back. “They’re most welcome here.”
He turned to the dwarves.
“Welcome to Raleightown, lads. It’s a bit rough and ready at the moment but we’re glad to have you.”
The dwarves smiled, and it felt strange to see the shaggy-bearded young men so worried about his opinion of them.
“Berdon, where are the rest of the soldiers?” Fletcher asked.
“Near the old mansion,” Berdon replied, pointing the way for the dwarven recruits.
“Please send your thanks to Othello, Cress and Atilla.”
“Well, Uhtred thought you might take it as us trying to sneak a few more dwarves to the colony,” Athol said, his face tinging red with embarrassment.
“Now we’ve got rid of the troublemakers, I don’t think it will be a problem if we take on a few more colonists,” Fletcher said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But to be honest, with our food intake, we might not be wanting too many just yet.”