Published by Nathan Thompson at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Nathan Thompson
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If you were to walk down the main street in New Haven, you would see a great many wondrous sights. From open air markets to lively taverns and on again to street performers and brothels, and the mighty throne of Sir Brian III, soon King, housed deep in a castle of stone. If you were to place your hand on the stone that had roughened and crumbled from time and weather, and follow the castle wall towards the rising sun, you would eventually find your way to a small alleyway heading deeper into the city. A few steps away from the wall would lead you to the beaten and termite eaten door of an old man and his apprentice.
The apprentice would doubtlessly be copying one of hundreds of pictures, diagrams, or formulae housed in one of hundreds of the books and parchments housed tightly in the bookshelves that line the wall. The old man would either be busy making the meals, grinding herbs, or locked behind the door that lead to the cellar. Currently, this was where he was, causing a great number of strange and foreign noises to filter through the keyhole. The apprentice frowned and focused on his writing. The quill pen made quiet scratching noises as it flew across the paper, carving black strokes into the dry white paper. His mind returned, unbidden to the chickens and geese at his fathers farm, the chickens making loud scratching noises as they carved food from the ground. The apprentice paused and allowed himself to smile at the memory as he dipped his quill into the small ink hole on the table. He returned to the book he was copying and fed his brain once more on the black inked drawings, remembering each bit as he wrote, sometimes turning to the small collection of bottles and herbs on his desk to test a recipe.