So, Garatt got used to arriving and being sent to whichever Harper looked most in need of a willing assistant that day. He knocked politely and then stuck his head around the door without waiting for a response.Ravelan looked up from the papers he had been in the process of
sorting, blinking owlishly at the candidate who had appeared in the
doorway. Not someone for him to tutor, surely. Ravelan had little
to no patience for actual teaching, something that was well known.
But no, someone would have mentioned something if he'd suddenly been
assigned a student. Which meant that this was a set of spare hands
for the next three hours.
Well, that was no bad thing. Since he had finished sorting this lot
of papers, his next task had been to clean and polish all of the drums
in the drum heights. A very tedious task, but one that was necessary
to maintaining the instruments. And just the sort of thing to set a
would-be apprentice to.
"Right then. You name, please?" Ravelan asked, rising from his seat.
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown
Garatt liked books. And he had decent handwriting, and a decent memory for teaching songs. Harper had therefore seemed to be an easy choice for him as far as crafts went. They, after all, had all the books.
(He might have chosen BeastCrafting had his father not spent the last couple of turns firmly drumming into him that messing around with canines and runners was not a suitable activity for boys who were meant to be studying. He'd been well-trained to chose duty over pleasure by now, well-trained enough that the fact his father had no weight in this particular decision had yet to occur to him.)
What he did not have however was an ear for music. And the HarperCraft, well-used by now to boys who signed up for their three hours a day Crafting and then Impressed and never returned, saw little point trying to make a gifted musician out of a boy who clearly was not that interested but also had decent handwriting and could do basic tasks well if he stopped daydreaming for long enough. Far more sensible to send him to Harpers who could use that and at least get some use out of him.
So, Garatt got used to arriving and being sent to whichever Harper looked most in need of a willing assistant that day. He knocked politely and then stuck his head around the door without waiting for a response.
"'Excuse me. They said to ask if you needed help."
Blackadder: I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants.
Blackadder: No, me; *I'm* the people who do all the work.