"You lazy flock of black birds! The brick kilns are already lit, so all of you sleep on top of them and watch them properly! The warriors in the county are all waiting for bricks. If the bricks come out ruined, I'll pluck every feather off you birds and hang you naked from the trees!"
Outside Apa County, in the newly built brickyard, charcoal kilns for burning charcoal stretched in a row, sending up blue smoke like grave mounds. Dozens of tall kilns stood lined up, great swaths of unfired bricks drying in the shade beneath grass sheds, while piles of charcoal were stacked in the corners. A sturdy middle-aged chief, dressed in short clothes, stood in the center with a club in hand. In front of him were more than four hundred bare-chested artisans and apprentices, drenched in sweat, heads lowered as they busied themselves.
Before the kilns, Construction Department chief Coskachi glared, his voice hoarse and loud. His face was sunburned as black as charcoal as he roared at the dark-skinned kiln workers under him, looking exactly like the king among crows! He was powerfully built, carrying a bronze club in his hand, swinging it with a tiger's roaring might, like a fierce and capable warrior. When his stern gaze swept over everyone present, several hundred strong men all lowered their heads, too afraid to meet his eyes.
Coskachi looked around once and was satisfied with his own authority. In his view, artisans in a workshop were different from farmers in the fields; the most important thing was that they follow the rules and obey!
How to make bricks, how to build kilns, how to kindle the fire, how to read the smoke—all of it had to be done according to the old artisans' instructions, with not the