Fiction: "The Shopkeeper's Maidservant," (Full story)
It was only then that I realized I was not afraid; I was terribly distressed, but I had no fear, only desire: desire to arrive at the place where Estebelle was before her departure.
If you’ve read the first two installments, skip straight to “Part 3: Serving Estebelle in her need.”
Enjoy!!
"Better to be a poor but wise lad than an old and foolish king who no longer knows how to receive advice."
-Ecclesiastes
Part 1: Serving Desrek of the Upper Vale from my youth.
To see where I come from, you must journey east from here through the dark forest, to the shoals of the Swift River. Then you follow the Swift for about a day upstream, climbing the hills when you are near the waterfall. Then turn at the in-going of the next tributary--Rill Creek. Though it be narrow, the Rill is long, and unspools its silver skein over a dozen fallings of the thickly-forested hills. Along the Rill, the road is well-packed and wide enough for two horses. Take it through those hills until you leave the woods and find a valley of golden fields: that is my home. Our town sits within the arms of two hillocks, and is simply called "Upper Vale."
In Upper Vale, we have a saying: "One's the parentage, two's the upbringing, and three's the desiring--tell me these three, and I can tell you the road your steps shall see." I could wish that it were the desiring alone that accounted for aught. Even still, the effect of desiring is far greater than people think to weigh it.
I was an orphaned child, and have been a servant from my childhood years, so as you see I have no great claims of parentage. Nor can I point boldly to an upbringing full with intentionally-gifted graces. But there are graces not gifted by a father's will nor a mother's planning, and at least one was mine: quickness in learning my letters. That I have to thank for my first unexpected responsibility--one beyond the dullness of the stirring of a pot of soup, or the beating-out of rugs, or the scrubbing of latrines.
I overheard the father of the family, Master Desrek, declare me "quick enough" with my letters. I was listening near the rail of the stairs, childishly wondering, but well-enough pleased by his comment. I didn't know what trouble that assessment would buy me. Master Desrek himself then called me down: "Marna! I have a task for you." Then he told me I was to see to the schooling of his eldest son, Sharneth--I, a thin sapling of a girl--barely older than my pupil!
By the third lesson, Sharneth's eyes were hot with concealed violence. I say concealed, but it was only concealed to those who did not and would not look for it. I flipped open the dusty primer and started reading, pointing out the symbols of the sounds as I went. He looked away from his book, talking of the horse his father would soon give him. I told him he needed to shepherd his attention and lead it back to our task. He snapped, "I wasn't doing anything wrong."
Here, I took time to weigh my words and consider: if I contradicted him, I could face a whipping on his say-so alone. But if I agreed, I would most likely fail at teaching him, and be in trouble that way. I looked first at the wall, and then at his face, as I wondered how to answer. But he took this silence as my response, and found it uncomfortable. "Well, I wasn't doing anything!" Encouraged by this slipping of his certainty, I kept up my end: I spoke no word. As I waited, I cast my eyes demurely at the table, then snatched a glance at his face, then turned them to the open page of the lettered-book. If this worked, I vowed, I would let no unnecessary words slip from me in the future. And work it did. "What?" was all he said, turning his head down as he sought refuge in the printed page.
After, I thought of the way that they say great queens and noble ladies in stories can silence you with a glance. Here, I mean human women of great status--not of the nobles and rulers of Faery-kind; even from childhood I knew that one should speak of them seldom if at all. But, as I say, I wondered: Is the power in the status of their position? Is it their "look"? Or does the very silence of the glance silence the one they look upon?
I was relieved to have weathered that lesson with Sharneth. For I then had the power to turn his attention to work--wonder of wonders! He even grew to enjoy our lessons and reading, in time. And as Desrek had hoped--and every father hopes, I suppose--in time, too, Sharneth laid up a good supply of maturity and wisdom.
It was perhaps good that I only had my mind on succeeding in the task at hand--not in weighing its value to the future nor in questioning what had happened in the past: I would have been scared indeed if I knew then what I now know--that the past, two reading-tutors Desrek had commissioned had each left in a fury, refusing to teach Sharneth. Yet he learned from me, a girl, though my only desires were to keep myself out of trouble, to have a bit of work that was not so dull, and perhaps to be well-regarded by my masters.
"...whereas [the King] could give only a Yes or a No to some neighbouring king or dangerous noble, the Fox [his Slave] could pare the Yes to the very quick and sweeten the No till it went down like wine.
He could make your weak enemy believe you were his best friend and your strong enemy believe you were twice as strong as you really were."
-C.S. Lewis
Part 2: Serving Sharneth in the face of Lord Bolvedere
Sharneth's growth in wisdom has great bearing upon my story, for as Desrek aged, he put Sharneth in charge of his shop. It was a shop such as the large towns have, though not approaching the manner of the shops of the cities! It was the place where a goodwife may buy salt and flour for her baking, and cloth and thread for her sewing. When Sharneth's work led him to trade in another town, he set me the task of keeping shop in his absence.
These circumstances led to the dreadful day when I faced a neighboring noble, Lord Bolvedere. I still remember his red face, and his heavy form, which he lugged up to the counter. I remember the cringing and the bowing and scraping of his two footmen--one carried his coat, and the other supported his arm. Bolvedere informed me he was there to buy a plot of my master's land, a goodly stretch of meadow that lay between two parts of Bolvedere’s fields and had a fresh spring. I said, “My master is traveling.”
This local lordling insisted it was urgent, and that my master would certainly want me to agree to the sale. Bolvedere added that once satisfied with this purchase of land, he would have many orders for Sharneth's shop in the future. “Can you not see that a prestigious customer would be invaluable to the health of my master's ventures?” he asked. Never trust a one who assures you of many future dealings you will have together when you first meet. Any gain that such a man speaks of should be accounted as loss. Great promises of future purchases will always set all my alarm-signals crying.
If I were free to do so, I would have spat on his boots right then. Better not to come into the shop than to come bringing those assurances to me. However, I was not free. Disrespect offered to a personage such as Lord Bolvedere by a servant such as myself could be punished harshly. Images of cold irons round my ankles and dust-dry bread in a mildewy dungeon displayed themselves to my mind’s eye.
Fear rattled at my spine. I pressed my heels hard against the floor, breathed in deeply, and stood firm behind the wooden counter, as though it were my shield. “Listen,” I counseled myself silently. “What is he telling me?” He was telling me that what he needed me to do was really quite simple. “All I need,” he was saying, “is for you to ratify the sale of the plot of land by writing your name on the document.”
I said nothing, and so Lord Bolvedere kept talking. A second cold shiver washed over me as I listened to this smarmy fat fool pile word upon word and build phrase upon phrase, to lay a trap for the vulnerable. When the lord finally stopped speaking, he pressed plume and parchment against my hand.
I often wondered afterward what would have happened if Sharneth himself stood where I did that day. The false sweetness of the Lord's promises might have lured him in quickly. One poorly-managed deal, one display of weakness, and Bolvedere would be back again and again, like a vulture coming back to the same carcass.
I could not tell the man that he was wrong, nor could I bring a show of strength to bear--I had none. Only weakness could be brought in to play. Fortunately, I had that. I heard my own voice begin speaking almost before my ears caught up with me: "I am not sure I am permitted to do this." And when I saw the lord’s face, I knew I had spoken a truth that was even truer than I even knew. In my haste, and in my fear, and in my anger, I had forgotten that it was the very law of the land: Manservants and maidservants cannot ratify sales of land.
This knowledge of that law now returned to my mind, quick as a bird in flight. I would not ratify the sale because I could not. If I had affixed my name to it--law or no law--I am certain that Bolvedere would have quickly taken it over, settling peasants to farm the plot of land, and guards to watch it. A greater authority could be petitioned to reverse the consequences, but the dispute would likely wear out my master’s patience. And what if those efforts were of no avail? In that case, servants of Bolvedere would be stationed as our neighbors!
Fortunately, there was the law and the law was good. Now that I had that certain knowledge, my master’s possession was as safe and secure as a landlocked bay. I could not help with the sale, I said, but offered bread and cheese and ale to Lord Bolvedere and his servants. (The footmen accepted; he did not.) I answered a few questions, and I did not fail to load them up with gifts before they left.
That evening, in the quiet candlelight of the house, I recorded the details of that day in a note for my master, along with my suggestions. I wrote and re-wrote that note, for proffering advice--even to Sharneth who had known me so long--was near to overstepping my authority. But I needn't have worried. By the time Sharneth returned three days later, the gossip against Lord Bolvedere's arrogance was so condemning that from pride alone, Sharneth would have refused.
So I could almost say the village gossips finally did something well. Unfortunately, the story was told and retold so many times that it began to change. The people of the village were very proud of my strong backbone to stand against Bolvedere, for even free men and women feared to cross his will. But in some tellings of that story, it was not Lord Bolvedere who was rejected, but a Lord of Faery, thrown out on his ear by a town guard. “Lords and Kings bow down to Marna, why not Lords and Kings of Faery?” sang the children. Better to not say such things, I thought. I had only taken my actions because I desired to escape one man’s traps--not to gain this name for myself.
“A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a
King, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm."
-Shakespeare
Part 3: Serving Estebelle in her need
However, for a long time, no harm seemed to come from that talk. Indeed, Sharneth's reputation was grown due to this circumstance--not only in our town but well beyond it. So he soon married, and in just a year, his wife Vivinnen brought forth their firstborn child, a daughter. The child was given the name Estebelle. Those were days full of joy and wonder for me. I was helping to raise a baby before I'd even any children of my own!
I can scarce remember those years without seeing the face of Estebelle. My mind flashes through the decades. I see her as infant, child, and then a young woman. I loved her dearly, and twenty years and more passed like a single day.
By the time Estebelle was full-grown, I had had my freedom for a dozen years. By the time she was wedded and with child, I dwelt an hour's walk away down a quiet path. So I didn’t expect the servant boy who she sent to fetch me in the thick of a snowstorm. His banging on the door startled me, my husband, and our children. I lit a candle, opened the door, and ushered him inside. My husband unbanked the fire. We gave the boy hot tea, and wrapped him in a blanket so his teeth would stop chattering enough to tell me why he had come.
He said Estebelle's baby had come early and the labor pains were terrible. That was all I needed to hear: I was warmly-clad and walking to town through the snow before I even thought for an instant. In my distress, I walked as one asleep. The wood about me took on a dreamlike air, and it seemed that I had been walking through it for a dozen years--but that all the seasons of all those years were always winter.
You can imagine my startlement when I perceived another presence in that winter night. I wondered how long I had been with this fellow traveler--but not why I had at first failed to notice--he matched my footfalls crunching through the snow step for step. When I slowed and then stopped, a playful, mocking voice called out to me, "You will lose your mistress this day." I glanced at the speaker sidelong, for all things seemed weird at that moment. In my sleepy state, I thought it best not to look the Fae in the eye--if Fae this person was. I saw a fair-looking young man with a child-like face, and wearing only a light short-sleeved tunic, green and gold in the winter storm.
One of the few things we know about talking with the Fae is that--if one must talk with them--it is best to only ask them questions. Fortunately, I was long-practiced in asking questions, rather than in stating my own thoughts. Even so, I was weak from sleeplessness and cold and with the grief of his portent.
"You will lose your mistress to-day," he repeated.
"What can I do of that?" I wondered.
"Nothing; it is already decided: you will surely lose her," declared my companion.
"Can you help me?" I queried.
"Rather, you ought to ask," he replied, "Can I hinder you less?"
"Have you been sent to hinder me?"
"Why do you need to know?"
There he was; on my third question, he answered with a question and not a statement.
"What do you want?" I asked.
“I come not for my own wants, but for what I am commissioned to obtain.”
“What do you need to obtain?” I now tried.
"I need to obtain the taste of your fear before I may go."
It was only then that I realized I was not afraid; I was terribly distressed, but I had no fear, only desire: desire to arrive at the place where Estebelle was before her departure.
"If you taste my fear, will I get to my destination quickly?"
"I give you my word," he said, and bowed to me, mock-courtly in his manners.
"Will you taste my fear quickly then, and bring me to the home of my mistress?"
"I know not how to make you afraid."
Then I slipped, and didn't ask a question, but instead shouted at him:
"You know not how to make me afraid? You don’t care what happens to me, nor to the girl who is a-childbed in the throes of her labor! You are of the Faery people--you can do anything! You chase me, and threaten me-- you may break my leg with a word as we walk alone in this wilderness!"
And immediately, he did just that. After ten seconds' terror and despair, I was given immediate safe passage to the home of Estebelle, though I scarce know how. I lay on the ground, but no matter: the stone of that familiar doorstep was there to meet me. I dragged myself to the door and knocked. That is how I arrived with one leg broken to say goodbye. Her young husband appeared, his face a veil of tears. Perhaps he knew what I knew--but Estebelle was not yet gone.
Both healer and midwife were already within the house. The local healer sought to bind my leg, while Estebelle sought to bind my promise to raise her forthcoming child. I clasped her about the shoulders while she wept. "My dear girl,” I told her, “I cannot promise that I shall live and do this thing. But I CAN promise that for as long as I DO live I shall care for your child." My keenest desire was to keep that promise.
And for more than thirteen years, I have kept it. Perhaps you did not need an explanation why a weary crone like me--who you see is maidservant only--is an escort to that gangling lad drowsing upon the bench over yonder. But I felt I must explain. When people see the child of a prosperous family chaperoned by only a shopkeeper’s guardsman and myself, a maidservant, they must wonder if we are stealing him away. But no, we only accompany Esteben, the son of my promise, as he travels to begin his formal schooling. You see, this is his first journey beyond Upper Vale.