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"Blessed?" Peter jerked his hand; the pamphlet dropped. He stood and pushed the chair away. "This is no art. Who is the scribe here, you or I?" He shook his head. "I am a master of this art, as you well know. I have a trade, a life."
"You've had your wander years." His father's voice was curt. "They've gone on long enough. I need you here." His feet were planted and his look severe.
"You'd keep me here?" It came out as a bleat.
"I shouldn't even have to ask."
Peter felt his face flame up. And still he twisted, scrabbling for a handhold. "I never heard of any Elder lifting up a tool. What proof have you that this man Gutenberg has even made this in the way you say?"
The thing could easily have been a carved wood plate, as crude as any made to crank out images of saints and the few letters of their names.
"I am told that a goldsmith does the carving and the casting of the metal shapes."
"A smith." The very word was leaden. Fust had tried once already to make a smith of him, a goldsmith like his uncle Jakob, and their father before thatand when that didn't take, a merchant or a lawyer. But Peter had found a trade all his own and had excelled. Must Fust now snatch it all away?
His father had lent this man vast sums. Now he would lend him his own son. Not his only begotten, though, Peter thought, the anger surging. He was no longer that.
"Do it," his father said. "For me."
Peter heard the words of Jesus, on that dreadful eve. Do this, in memory of me.
"It is a shock, I know." Fust's voice was gruff. "But at least try to see. This is the change for which I've prayed."
A man would leave a legacy, Peter heard him say. The feeling that his sojourn on this earth was not for naught. The words, however well meant, rose and circled like a noose around his throat.
"Will you not let me choose?" he whispered, already knowing.
Fust held his eyes for a long moment. "I think that God has long since chosen for us both."
Excerpted from Gutenberg's Apprentice by Alix Christie. Copyright © 2014 by Alix Christie. Excerpted by permission of Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
The silence between the notes is as important as the notes themselves.
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