Tuesday Tidbit: Trouble and Trouble

If it’s not one thing for Harald Halfpaw, its another …

Harald made his way to The Empty Barrel. He hefted his purse with one hand, then eased in the half-open door. “If you’re with the watch, we’re closed,” a smoke-roughened woman’s voice called from the semi-darkness.

“Nah. I have money,” Harald called back.

“That’s different, then.” Mistress Goda limped a little as she eased around two tables and came to where he stood. Half of her face smiled as she recognized him. “If you’re lookin’ for a missin’ ‘prentice, I already swept under the benches.”

He chuckled and handed her twenty vlaat in town silver. “If you find one, he’s not mine.”

She counted the coins and rings, then nodded. “Fair dealin’. Radmar’s Wheel in your favor.”

“Gember bless and prosper you.”

He’d barely taken three steps toward the far gate when a nasal voice declared, “Master Harald, a word.” Several passers-by sped their steps, and a ragged individual in a patched cloak scuttled into the alley as one of the town watch marched up to him. Harald patted his belt pouches, as he always did after seeing Sal the Rat.

“Yes, sir?” Ulfa was the only Scavenger-born watchman Harald had ever crossed paths with, and once more he wondered how the man had ended up in such an odd trade. He shrugged to himself yet again. The gods had their ways, and men had theirs.

Ulfa glanced around, then leaned on his catch pole. “Where were you yester afternoon and evenin’?”

“I swear by Radmar’s Wheel, I was at the mill site, working, then at Skelly’s farm where I have a room. I spoke with a passing trader about delivery of the mill stones, two hands by sun before dark.” He relaxed.

Ulfa’s shoulders also shed some tension. “Thank ye, Master Harald. The head of the watch asked us to ask you.” The wiry man frowned mightily, his entire face sagging. “Kal Yarfeld is sayin’ that he saw you speakin’ with his wife, Juma, yesterday.”

Harald caught himself before he growled. “Nae. Ain’t seen her since the last market day, when I bought two pfund-weight dried great-hauler meat sticks from her stall. She declared fair dealin’ but we didn’t touch palms. The fair-haired journeyman blacksmith and the market-boy, the tall, skinny one, heard and witnessed the trade.” Mistress Juma’s husband would beat her if any man touched palms with her, no matter how many witnesses to the trade, according to market rumor. Given how she twitched away from everyone around her, and the way she glanced over her shoulder with every other breath, Harald believed the rumor.

“Thank ye, Master Harald,” Ulfa said, loud enough to be heard by several passing matrons and apprentices. He put one pointer finger beside his nose and winked, “I’ll remind the chief of the watch that some people do work for their livin’.”

“Instead of takin’ our tax silver and sleepin’ all day?” a brightly-bedecked woman asked. Her skirt stopped just below her calf, and her collar stopped just above her ample chest. Ulfa leered at her, she made a rude sign back, and went on her way. Ulfa pretended to be disappointed.

On his way back to the mill site, Harald found a small stream cobble. He picked it up, tossed the chilly rock from hand to hand, then threw it at a stone wall as hard as he could. Thunk! and a few chips of stone flew from the wall. He made certain that he’d not truly damaged the enclosure, then continued on his way, temper settled.

#

The summer passed swiftly, and the mill took shape. “Korvaal my witness, I wish somethin’ would happen,” Ceol declared one evening as he and Harald walked back from meeting with the town council about the mill. “I fear the next turn of the Wheel.”

“You and all wise men,” Harald said, then made the Wheel. His patron delighted in surprises, usually unhappy ones. “We’ll probably have a big storm just before harvest, with a flood, and the wagons with the grind stones will bog up to the beds, and we’ll find knee-deep flowing water in the mill house.”

“And a dead schaef will float into the wheel and foul it.” Ceol made the Horns.

And Kal Yarfeld would appear at the work site and demand satisfaction for his honor. Why had the jealous fool decided that he, Harald, was trying to seduce Juma? He stayed as far from that part of town as possible, had since the first time Kal threatened him, just after Gember’s spring feast. “He needs to roll in snow,” Harald muttered.

“Who? The mayor?”

“Him too. Does he think eich trees roll themselves to the work site and peel off their own bark and branches?” Harald snorted, then lowered his voice a little. “Kal Yarfeld.”

Ceol stopped long enough to cast the Horns back toward town. “Aye to that. If a mill-stone drops onto him in the middle of the market square at noon, half the town won’t be at all surprised, and the other half will give thanks.”

Harald shivered despite the warm, sticky evening. For a man to attract that sort of attention from the gods, especially from the Scavenger …

“Different topic. Jormund found a site on Count Ealdred’s lands for a mill.”

Ceol blinked a few times. “So soon?”

“Not that soon. I sent word an eight day after I signed the contract.”

“Ah. Does Ealdred know?”

Harald shook his head.

Two days later, cold, steady rain began, just enough to make every bone ache and slow work, but not sufficient to accomplish anything useful. The next day, Rella’s Dancers appeared in Harald’s vision at the very moment the carpenters prepared to mount the millwheel. He spent the next two days and nights sick and weeping with pain. It was Eighth Day eve before he could return to work. “The Wheel turned,” Ceol said. He sported bandages on both hands. “Rope burn. Pulley cracked while we were liftin’ the millwheel. Burned through my gloves and the skin both.”

“It turned indeed.” Harald studied the task list, then blinked. “The gears?”

A deep sigh. “The wood hadn’t been seasoned long enough and swelled in the wet. Only one ruined but that’s the imperial gear.” The master carpenter sounded more resigned than angry. “But it was off one tooth as made, so perhaps the gain balances the loss.”

“Huh.” Harald shrugged and left the men to their work. He could turn his hand to a carpenter’s trade, but not easily or well. All millwrights had to be able to do at least senior apprentice grade work in all the trades save stone cutting and blacksmithing. He could even grade flour, but not easily, and only wheat. A little breeze touched the back of his neck, chilling him. Thanks be that tomorrow was the Eighth Day, and all could rest. They’d passed the steps that could not be delayed, and without the gears and millstones, it was better to work on smaller tasks. They’d need to turn water into the millrace soon, Donwah and Radmar willing. He made Donwah’s Wave.

The next day, heavy clouds masked Rella’s Lamp as Harald walked to town. The air tasted drier despite the dark sky. He and Ceol walked in silence, trailed by a few journeymen. The apprentices visited a temple of Korvaal or Donwah’s out-wall chapel, at the request of the watch. “The men aren’t happy with the watch,” Ceol observed.

“Is anyone? Besides the vintner,” he added.

“It is, and no. Half town says they came down too strong, and t’ other half says they should ‘ave stopped it ‘afore it started.” The tall carpenter looked up at the sky. “I incline toward the second half.”

“Aye.” They kept their boys on a short lead rope for that reason. “Don’ wan’ another Innisvale.” He made the Horns toward the east.

Ceol did likewise, then spat. “Nae. One’s enough for a lifetime.”

[SNIP]

As they crossed through the second town gate, someone waved from a group of watchmen. Harald slowed his steps as Ulfa bustled over. “None of mine were in it,” Harald began, hands raised and empty, staff leaning on his shoulder.

“Nae, ’tis not that, Master Harald, least wise not yet.” Ulfa glanced back at his fellows, and lowered his voice, “Kal’s makin’ more noise, claimin’ you’re not doin’ good work as well as that you’re chasin’ his wife. ‘E’s been cautioned by the temples and us both. Keep clear o’ th’ beast market, aye?”

“Aye.” Harald rolled his eyes. Loud enough to be heard by the watching townsfolk, he declared, “An’ at’s why ey’s not here, not ’till council gives leave. All mine are outside the walls this day, and will stay there.”

“Don’ raise yer’ hand again’ me, Master Harald. I’m just th’ messenger, not the council.”

A stocky man wearing the stains of a tanner on his hands and lower arms snorted, “For which we give thanks to all the gods, Ulfa. Ye’d make all beer free to the watch and add taxes on tavern fights.”

Harald hurried out of the way, shaking his head as he dodged a puddle in the street. [SNIP] He took the long way to Radmar’s chapel. The door stood open, so he removed his hat and stepped inside.

A few places, most on trade routes, had full temples to the Lord of the Wheel. Here he found only a small chapel with three priests, as was common. Very few were born to Radmar or took Him as a patron, fewer even than those of the Scavenger. “Hail Radmar, Lord of Change, Lord of the Wheel,” he murmured, bowing to the figure at the end of the room. The cloaked god stood beside his Wheel, one hand resting on the rim as He turned it. The spokes had been carved to show people and beasts, rising and falling. Over a brown shirt and trews, Radmar wore a cream and black cloak decorated with wheels, flowers, fruit, grain, and snowflakes, showing that He controlled the changes of the year and pattern of the seasons. All things in due time, for good and for ill, as the Lord of the Wheel determined.

“Blessed be Radmar, Lord of Change,” a brown and black-clad woman replied. Harald bowed to the priestess as she came toward him. “Do you seek to honor our Lord, or to petition for ease and surcease?”

“To honor my co-patron, ma’am, and give thanks. I accept the turning of the Wheel.” He lived by wheels, did he not?

She smiled. “All wise men do, Harald called Halfpaw.” Her voice deepened, and she said, “Be blessed in your work, and may the Lord of Changes protect you.”

Had he more hair, it would have stood on end. Harald bowed lower. “Thanks be to the Lord of the Wheel, and may it be as you have said.” When he stood, he was alone in the chapel. He went to his knees and gave thanks, then stood, bowed once more, and left a larger offering in the box for such things.

Next he went to Donwah’s temple. The air inside smelled damp, as always, and he fancied he could hear a faint trickle of water. The goddess looked down at her worshippers from behind a veil. No man could know truly what lie in the depths of the deep. “Hail Donwah Lady of Waters,” Harald murmured as he bowed. “Blessed is she, Lady of the Waves. Thanks, great Lady, for water and wave, thanks for power to turn the mills, thanks for life and health.” He knelt, then stood and departed after leaving his gift. Something in the temple’s air made him restless, for lack of a better word, and he preferred not to attend worship here.

Two of the Gember-born bakers had set up small stalls before the goddess’ temple. Harald bought some meat-filled buns, and one fruit-filled, along with a loaf of bread with cheese inside. For once no one joked about the meat in the sausage buns. Gember frowned on such accusations on Her grounds, even in jest. Especially this close to harvest, no man dared risk Her disfavor.

Harald considered stopping by The Empty Barrel, then shook his head. He’d have to go past the beast market. No. [snip]

A commotion boiled up from an alley off to his left, and he stopped and ducked into a doorway as a journeyman sprinted past. “Hey! Watch yerself,” an angry matron called.

” ‘E is, Goodwife,” a man hollered back. “Goodman Yarfeld saw him in the beast market and threatened him with a beatin’.”

“I wouldn’ wait either,” a farmer declared from beside a one-bird cart. “Yarfeld’s goin’ t’ threaten the wrong man some day, mark my words, an’ the watch won’ hurry to help.”

Trrrrrhssss, the bird called as it bobbed its head, as if agreeing.

Harald wasted no time leaving town. He did not care to be anywhere near Kal Yarfeld when Radmar turned His Wheel to justice.

As he reached the farm gate, a harsh voice grunted, ” ‘Bout time ye came.”

(C) 2024 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved