Macurdy tried to share with Talbott, who would not accept it. “You need it. You’re a much larger man,” Talbott said, “and you work harder. But I appreciate your generosity. In a place like this, it’s good to have a friend.” On the other hand, Talbott insisted that Macurdy share the herb tea he made, with water heated in the small kettle.
Talbott had shared the hut for several years, but recently the other man had become unable to work, and died. Talbott wouldn’t say of what. Macurdy guessed he’d been taken out and put down, like a crippled horse.
A man always worked with the man he lived with, Talbott went on. When larger crews worked together, only those who lived together were allowed to talk to each other. He assumed it was to prevent escapes or uprisings being planned. That fitted with the spearman and dog who circulated at night, looking into slave huts. No one was allowed in any but their own. And the guard at the single large slave latrine, who allowed no talking.
For his first months in Oz, Talbott had shared the hut with the young man he’d arrived with. Charles Hauser had been a doctoral candidate in physics, an ex‑farmboy from up north in Marion County. Charles had learned the language here quite quickly, and that, along with his energy on the job, had impressed the Oz tribesmen. He learned fast and worked fast, and his practicality had resulted in job improvements. The Ozmen weren’t generally open to suggestions from slaves, but they’d become receptive to Hauser’s.
“Then,” Talbott said, “he somehow became assigned to the local—uh—call him a shaman. Who . . .”
“What’s a shaman?”
“He’s a medicine man and magician, influential in local politics. Charles collects herbs for him and does routine chores. He also blows glass for him, not only bottles but crude lenses; he even made him a crude, low-powered microscope. And a simple, treadle-powered lathe, drill, grinder and tool sharpener, all in one, with hand-carved pulleys.
“They moved him in with the shaman. He sleeps in the workshop he built, and is allowed to do errands around the village. Charles comes to see me rather often. Usually he brings meat, especially fat pork in winter to help me through the cold weather. And the herbs I dutifully use to retain my health. He even got the shaman to see me one evening; the man actually helped me. Markedly. My arthritis had been severe enough then, that I felt in imminent danger of being done away with as useless.”
He gestured at the kettle and its accessories. “Charles gave me those, to make the herb tea with. He also tried to get me easier work, but my particular talents aren’t valuable here. And Charles is still a slave himself. He has no influence except through the shaman.”
That night, Macurdy lay thinking he needed to get a special assignment like Hauser’s. Not that he disliked physical labor; he enjoyed exerting his strength. But it seemed to him that working and living with Talbott, he’d learn little more than the language.
A few evenings later, Hauser came to visit, bringing a new supply of herbs. He was able to stay only minutes, and Macurdy, who’d gone to the latrine, missed him. Three days later at muster, instead of being sent to work with Talbott, he was turned over to a spearman who’d come to take him somewhere. They arrived at a long low house stuccoed with some sort of clay, and whitewashed. Moss and grass grew on its steep roof, and there were rather numerous windows, their shutters closed against the early morning chill, for they had no panes. Four chimneys marked four fireplaces, suggesting at least four rooms. It was one of the two or three most imposing structures in the village of Wolf Springs. The spearman knocked firmly but politely with his shaft.
The door opened almost at once, and Charles Hauser looked out. The spearman left Macurdy with him, and Hauser shook Macurdy’s hand, then led him into an end room. The shaman looked up from his work table to gaze long and intently at his visitor before speaking at some length to Hauser. Hauser, in turn, spoke to Macurdy.