Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 9
curses and threats. That had all changed upon his seventeenth
birthday. Jordan’s father was the hereditary master mason of
the estate, his title extending even to the family name. Jordan
had spent his youth helping his father work, and now he was in
charge.
For the first four days, Father had hung about, watching
his son critically, but not interfering. Today, for the first time,
he had stayed home. Jordan was on his own. He wasn’t all
together happy about that, because he hadn’t slept well.
Nightmares had prowled his mind.
"The stones around the breach are loose. We’ll need to
widen the hole before we can patch it. Ryman, Chester, move
the scaffold over two meters and then haul a bag of tools up
there. We’ll start removing the stones around the hole."
"Yes sir, oh of course, mighty sir," exclaimed Ryman
sarcastically. A week ago the bald and sunburnt laborer had
been happy to order Jordan around. Now the tables were
turned, but Ryman kept making it clear that he didn’t approve.
Jordan wasn’t quite sure what he’d do if Ryman balked at
something. One more thing to worry about.
The other men variously grinned, grunted or spat. They
didn’t care who gave them their orders. Jordan clambered back
up the scaffold and started hammering at the mortar around the
hole with a spike. It was flaky, as he’d suspected--but not
flaky enough to account for the sudden outward collapse of
stones on both sides of the wall. It was almost as if something
had dug its way through here.
That raised dire possibilities. He flipped black hair back
from his eyes and looked through the hole at the vista of
treetops beyond. The mansion perched on the highest ground
for miles around and butted right up against the forest. Jordan
didn’t like to spend too much time on the forest-side of the