“Now, I wantcha ta clean all da dust off da merchandise,” the man explained as Maren walked into the shop. It was a small business with two large shelves that created three rows running from the front to the back of the store. Near the street entrance, there was a modest counter where Kugun stood to take payments for his wares. Behind it was a chair where he sat when things were slow. “My cousin is a blacksmith, and he makes all dese tools,” he added.
The girl surveyed the shelves from where she stood, noticing that every bit of space on them was taken up by axes, hammers, augers, and gimlets. There were tools for holding, cutting, and hammering. Some she recognized from Gale Hill Farm, and others she had never seen before. They were poorly displayed, haphazardly strewn across the shelves, and covered in a layer of dust and dirt. “Like a tomb,” she whispered to herself.
“What’s dat?” Kugun asked.
“Nothing,” she answered at a volume barely above the previous whisper.
“Well, take dis rag,” the man instructed. “Dere’s a big brouhaha comin’ ta dis part of da city in a few days and I want dis place lookin’ spiffy. Start in da front and make yer way toward da back.”
Maren nodded in compliance but was unsure of the instructions and didn’t want to ask for clarification because she feared stirring the man’s anger. As he walked away, she murmured quietly, “Which front? The front of the apartment or the front by the street? There are three rows. Do I start at the front of one row and work my way back around of the other? Or do I get to the end of one, then walk back to the front of the next and continue there?” She was paralyzed with all of the ways she could get it wrong and incur the man’s wrath so she stood with her hand on her ear talking out her quandary.
“Clean those blasted tools!” Kugun shouted from his chair behind the counter.
The girl startled to attention and grabbed the nearest tool, disregarding any instructions to begin at the front and work her way back. She worked quickly at first, but her pace slowed as the shape of each tool reminded her of something different and amusing. Some became swords and exotic weapons in her imagination, while others were assembled together to form fantastic machinations. Remembering her angry boss, she glanced over at the front of the store and saw him restlessly snoozing. “Psssh, ahhh!” she quietly breathed as she caused one of the tools to crash into another. “We need to clean the body,” she muttered, then wiped the implement down with the cloth she was given.
Noticing that Kugun was now snoring, and the noise she was making didn’t seem to disturb him at all, she allowed herself to become a little more lively with her play. “Look out for the metal pirates!” she said dramatically, yet in a quiet voice. Raising an unfamiliar object above her head, she declared, “The iron guard will stop them!”
When a customer came into the store, Kugun woke with a snort. Standing up immediately, he almost lost his balance from being jolted from asleep to awake so quickly. “What can I help ye find?” he blurted out.
Maren instantly stopped her make-believe and went to the back of the store where she tried to look busy cleaning tools. She spent the remainder of the morning cleaning, imagining, and doing her best to stay out of the shopkeeper’s line of sight.
“I heard you like blackberry pie,” Kugun said as he slid a piece over to Maren on an old tin plate. They sat at the table in the apartment at the back of the shop.
“Yes,” the girl said, looking at the plate, then back toward the man’s face. She didn’t like the look of this pie. What she had at the festival in Laor was bright and full and smelled of fresh cream and berries. This piece was flat, the cream was runny, and it smelled as if the berries were beginning to turn. “Most of the time,” she added, as she reached to massage her ear.
“Stop playin’ wit yer damn ear!” he yelled as he slapped a fork down next to the plate.
Maren startled and let go of her ear. She sat up straight and swallowed as she slowly reached for the fork. The unexpected shout caused her hand to tremble.
“Why is yer hand shakin’?” the man asked with annoyance in his voice.
The girl wanted to say that it was because the man scared her, but she felt that would be risky so she answered, “I don’t know.”
“Well, yer a strange one,” he replied. “Yer the worst worker I ever ’ad.”
Maren swallowed again and took a bite of the pie. It was flavorless and felt like paste in her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said as she forced the bite down.
Kugun got up from his chair, turned toward the counter, and sliced a piece of pie for himself. Sitting down, he took a hefty forkful of it and shoveled it into his mouth. While still chewing, he said, “You’ve three days ta improve er I’m takin’ ya back ta da camp. You hear me?”
The girl heard none of the man’s threats. Instead, she was fixated on a thin line of blackberry juice that ran from the corner of his mouth to the end of his whiskery chin. Pretending the escaping stream to be alive, she thought to herself, Let’s get out of this hole. It stinks in here! and a smile escaped from the corner of her mouth.
Her boss’s forehead pushed down into a chubby pile on his brow. “What er ya smilin’ fer?” he demanded. “Do ye think this is a joke?” As he spoke, more juice came from his mouth and his exposed teeth revealed blackberry stains and pulp wedged between them.
The sight made Maren’s earlier thought seem even
