A Cast of Stones Read Online Free PDF Page B

of dirt or blood showed on his skin. His confusion must have shown on his face.
    â€œThese lots are as perfect as I can make them, Errol. The balance and shape is so wrought that if you were to place one on a perfectly flat, clean floor and nudge it, it would roll for hundreds of paces before it stopped. The slightest bit of dirt or grease from your hands would change its balance.”
    Luis came forward, reached into a small cranny within the same cupboard, and produced a pair of gloves made from the same midnight wool whereon the stones rested.
    He held the gloves by a loop attached to the wrist opening and offered them to Errol. “Here. Make sure you don’t touch the fingers or the palms of the glove. Use the loops to pull them on.”
    Errol did so, and at a nod from Luis and Martin, he selected one of the white spheres and examined it. He’d heard of lots but had never seen one. The stone was indeed as perfectly round as Luis claimed. More, its whiteness was uniform beyond imagining. If he had not felt his hands turning the stone he wouldn’t have known it had changed position.
    He shrugged. “It’s perfect. But what’s it for?”
    Martin and Luis exchanged a glance that filled the space of a dozen heartbeats. In the intervening silence, Errol found his gaze drawn back to the pristine sphere nestled in his palm. What purpose or power had Luis crafted into the stone? He held it to the light, turning it in idle curiosity. And then he stopped. Letters. He blinked and looked up at Martin and Luis. Had he imagined them, or had he seen letters reflected in the stone’s glistening surface?
    Slowly now, so that he wouldn’t miss them, he held the stone against the flickering lamplight, searching for whatever lay written there. Twice the letters flickered against his vision and were lost and he had to try again. On the third time he held the image.
    Writing wrapped itself against the surface of the sphere, smalland the merest shade of white different than the background. Errol looked toward Luis. “There’s writing here. What’s it say?” Having never learned to read, he held it toward Martin’s servant without thinking. “See? There are letters right there.”
    Luis just stared at him.
    Curious to see what images or writing might show on the other stones, Errol moved to exchange the orb he held and draw another.
    Luis came around the table, his movements, slow, deliberate. “Tell me, Errol, do you remember your testing day?”
    Errol shook his head. “No.” He reached for another stone.
    Martin’s hand covered his. “Let’s wait for another time, Errol. Luis gets nervous when people handle his best work too much. Besides, I think you should eat. You’ve had a long day.”
    Errol shrugged his disappointment and snaked first one hand and then the other out of the black wool gloves and, holding them by their loops, replaced them in their nook.
    But when he turned, Luis’s expression bore little resemblance to nervousness. He stood, eyeing Errol in shock as though he’d become a puzzle to solve. After meeting Errol’s gaze for a split second, he jerked away, turned his attention back to their meal. The knife resumed its work, though less rhythmically.
    Their dinner bore testimony that Luis’s skill extended to more than stonework. The rabbit stew, mixed with vegetables and delicately seasoned, might have been the best meal Errol had ever eaten. Martin took one taste and then, without looking, thrust out a hand, grabbed a spice jar, and proceeded to lace his stew with a generous amount of black pepper.
    That earned him a glare from Luis. “Well, at least you tried it first. Why I ever agreed to cook for a fat priest from Ostliche is beyond me.”
    Martin grunted without raising his gaze from his bowl. “You didn’t agree. You undertook the culinary duties by proclamation, exclaiming you’d rather