"You said Ruel expectshim to come here."
"Yes."
"Then why did you agreeto come to Cinnidar?"
"Many reasons."
"Such as?"
He stood up and strolled tothe stove across the room, where a small pot of liquid was boiling. "Ihave no time for questions. Fetch me that long-haired brush from the cabinet,apprentice."
She moved toward the cabinet."You pose enough questions of your own when it suits you."
"But you have no darksecrets to hide. Everything about you is as clear as a mountain stream."
"You make me sound veryshallow."
He carefully poured theboiling plaster of Paris over the wax, painstakingly guiding it into theinterstices of the wax with the brush she handed him. "Not shallow. Justclear and unpolluted. I doubt if your depths have ever been plumbed."
She made a face. "You'vedone your share of plumbing."
He raised his head and lookedat her. "I've tested the waters," he said softly. "I've not evenbegun to go beyond the surface. I assure you that you would know it if I had.I'm very good at…plumbing."
She felt a strange heat, abreathlessness like the one she had first experienced in the stable atGlenclaren. She hurriedly looked down at the relief. "What do you… "Her voice was trembling and she paused to steady it. "What's the nextstep?"
He didn't answer, and sheforced herself to raise her gaze to his face and saw power, strength,intensity, and something else she couldn't identify. "To which step areyou referring?" he asked.
She frowned. "Don't playyour word games with me. You know I'm talking about the seal."
"Ah yes, the seal."He sat down on his stool. "After the plaster is set I will remove it fromthe wax, clean out the matrix with a knife, and polish it up."
"Then you're ready tocast it?"
"Yes, I'll give it twelvehours to set and start the furnace heating tonight." He raised his brow."Your interest warms my heart. Tell me, apprentice, do you fancy makingyour own seal?"
"Of course not," shesaid curtly. "I have no such pretensions of grandeur."
"We all have ourpretensions and self-deceptions. It just makes the 'plumbing' moreinteresting."
She quickly changed thesubject. "To whom did you apprentice as a boy?"
"My father. He was a fineartist, the best goldsmith in all Istanbul. He did much work for the members ofthe court and the sultan himself. He taught me well. But when I was thirteen hetold me to leave his home and his shop."
"Why?"
"Jealousy. Even as a ladI was showing great promise and a piece of my work had caught the eye of the sultan."
"And he cast you off forso little reason?" she asked, shocked.
"It was not little tohim." He shrugged. "I knew it would happen sometime. He was a finecraftsman, but I had the spark."
"Spark?"
"Genius," he saidsimply. "Michelangelo had it and so did Cellini in lesser measure. I knewalmost at once that it was mine also. I did not blame my father. It is not easyto live with such a gift if you do not have it yourself. It would have beentorture for me under the same circumstances."
"But you would not havecast him off."
He smiled. "How do youknow?"
