The Moth and The Flame

Eventually getting me into the workshop of Dr.John Dee was a major triumph for the laboratory team. Getting me back again in the same shape was a significant achievement for me as well!
For reasons I still don't understand, departure took three attempts and when I did finally go, I found myself in some ill-defined green-lit fog of a space. Through the green fog I could make out perhaps eighteen feet away from me two men, one in late middle-age, and the other younger. The older one ordered me to state my name and given the circumstances I wasn't about to identify myself, so blurted out "Podhoffinog". Armed with this information, the older man spoke an incantation in a language I had never heard before, including the name I gave, and I found myself back in the laboratory with a shocking headache.
After that attempt there was a debriefing at which I agreed to be sent to alternative coordinates in the village of Shene in Surrey, to the west of London. The assignment started with more of a bump than usual, and perhaps I should have taken the hint; in the event, it proved more difficult than ever before to inveigle myself into the household of my subject. It didn't occur to me until some time after my return and debrief that Dr.Dee's protective wards must have been both effectual, and powerful.
My first opportunity in the village came in the misfortune of Willy Barlowe, no longer able to work with the village wheelwright as a result of a severe scald from the steam chest. The job is ideal for me since it involves working with wood and occasional visits to the smithy for tires to be fitted, and while Master Garrett, the wheelwright, and his apprentice do most of the work, I act as the extra pair of hands, helping to carry the baulks of elm for the nave (hub) of a new wheel, sweeping the floor, and after poor Willy's example, I approach the steam chest with a good measure of caution when refilling the cauldron or stoking the fire.
To watch Master Garrett work, holding a spoke on the shaving horse, shaping each part with a razor-edged drawknife to match its sisters perfectly, or mortising the nave to receive the spokes is delightful but I can't spend as much time as I would like watching; Master Garrett expects work from his employees and his tongue is as sharp as his spokeshave! The good part is that he whistles habitually as he works, and this little delight is one of the songs I learned while working around him:

References

Check out this site for some pictures of a modern wheelwrighting workshop.
                    

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