The Scribe

Chapter One

The Merchant Girl

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Ma, I’m leaving now!

Ok, darling. I’ll bring your shawl. Ma emerged from the dark hallway, holding a ragged shawl in her gnarled hands. She gripped it tightly, fingers bent at the knuckles as if still holding her ever-present sewing needle. Mother was an expert seamstress, she had to be, because we sold her scarves and things at the market for fair coin. We weren’t hungry, but we needed every copper we earned. Thankfully, winter would be here soon, so Ma was swimming in requests.

I don’t need my shawl anymore, I said, pushing it away.

She frowned. Why not? 

I’m old enough to work, which means I don’t have to cover up anymore. She regarded me in silence, taking in my bare shoulders and slender legs in one aversive tick. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I mumbled one last, pitiful argument. It’s not even cold yet. 

She harrumphed. I know you’re sixteen now, but you’re still my baby. Ma kissed my forehead as she wrapped the shawl around my shoulders. "And it is very cold out there."

I pulled away. Do you think Father is getting better? 

Not better—but not any worse, either; so that’s a good sign.

I chewed my lip, mentally rearranging my schedule for the day. If I finished early at the market, I could run up the road and see if Mr. Hemmindale needed a hand. Sometimes the old farmer would offer coin for help. Just a few hours up there and I’d be back by dinner.

Ma poked me in the chest. Don’t worry about your father. I know you’ve been selling goods for Mr. Hemmindale, and I’m proud of you for that, but we have enough to make it through winter.

Mama—

That means I want you home early today. She crossed her arms, thick arms with dark brown skin stretched over them. Mama was what they called a big country woman. Heavy in the hips, strong legs, and thick shoulders with meaty arms, like she could punch you to death.

I took a breath. I’ll try, Mama. But what if it snows too much and I can’t get to the market, or what if you get too tired to sew? Let me work a little more. She looked about ready to ball up those big fists of hers, so I grabbed her hands and held them in mine. If I work more, you can take some time off or at least spend Christmas Day without a needle in your hand.

She nodded. Fine, but at least be home for dinner. I hate eating alone every night.

Yes! I squealed. I hugged her tightly and swung my satchel over my shoulder. I’ll see you at dinner!

You be careful out there in the market, Amana. She was walking behind me, flat feet taking steps so big she nearly scratched my heals with her toes.

I know, Ma. Be careful and be home by dinner.

She sighed. "The market is no place for a young girl. You shouldn’t be working; my baby should be getting ready for marriage."

Why would I marry right now? I’m at the peak of my career. Peak was a stretch; Ma was overworked, Dad was sick, and I was hustling so hard my bunions had bunions. But, for a poor girl from the sticks, I wasn’t doing so bad.

Mama grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. What career is that, young lady? 

You already know I’m gonna be a Scribe.

Absolutely not.

But, Mama—

Favian Amana Hart! She crossed her arms, rolling her neck like she was ready to fight me. That is the end of this conversation. Now hurry along before you lose your spot at the market.

I wanted to argue more but I wasn’t stupid. I kissed her on the cheek and turned to leave. Bye, Mama.

Back by dinner! She was yelling from the porch now, her voice louder than the stirring wind.

I rolled my eyes as I pulled the ragged shawl tighter around me. She was right, it was cold out.

On my donkey, I rode down to the market with my cart full of Ma’s things; blankets, bags, scarves, and shirts. The dirt roads were still damp from the morning rain which made it tough for Ruby to trudge along. Eventually, I hopped off and walked beside her. I didn’t mind the stroll, walking kept me warm.

When we finally arrived, I tied Ruby to her usual post and started setting up.

Good morning, Amana. How’s your father? a voice asked over my shoulder.

Morning, Mr. Castillo, he’s hanging in there. To be honest, I’m more worried about the weather. We had frost this morning.

That means winter is gonna be harsh. You guys sure you’ll be fine?

I shrugged a bony shoulder. I’m working extra.

Smart girl. He nodded, rubbing his leathery chin. You know I’m only two shacks down, just come on over and my family will help if you need it.

I didn’t want his help, but I also didn’t want to be rude, so I said, Thanks, and turned away.

Mr. Castillo went on. You should be enjoying your life, Amana, not working all day. But don’t worry, God’s looking out for you.

He sure is, I agreed, hammering a peg for my tent. I’ll come by soon as I can, how’s that sound?

That sounds perfect.

I waved to the older man and he tipped his hat at me. As I started on the next peg, I heard a voice cackling behind me.

Why do they let hags into the market?

I kept hammering, happy to hit something.

I’m talking to you! the voice shouted. When I didn’t turn around, he kept on picking fun. You’ll never find a proper husband working out here. You’ll always be a hag. 

Well, let me be a hag in peace, then. He stopped his cackling, but I still didn’t face him; I just gripped my hammer tighter as I heard him move closer.

He crouched behind me, his rank breath rolling up my neck as he said, Since no one’s gonna have you, at least I will.

I clutched my hammer as he leaned forward but everything stopped when Mrs. Castillo yelled, Henry, you better leave that girl alone or else I’m telling your mother!

Henry huffed but straightened up without a word. His family sold fish here in the market, they needed to be here as badly as I did, so if he got caught acting out, they’d probably get banned from doing business. This wasn’t his first time picking on me, but I hoped it would be his last.

You alright? Mrs. Castillo asked. She marched over and offered a bowl of water which I guzzled so fast I nearly choked. She leaned in real close, so no one else could hear. If something like that happens again, you tell my husband.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I was scared.

I know. She hugged me tight. Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll send my boy, Ray, over to help.

Thanks, Mrs. Castillo, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

It’s no bother. She shook her head, thick lips spreading in a wide smile. Ray loves helping out. Especially since my husband is good friends with your father.

I nodded, trying not to think of my dad. My face must have given me away because Mrs. Castillo touched my arm and said, I should go now, sweetie. Then she turned and went back to her tent, her honey toned skin glowing in the sunlight.

With my tent up and the market open, I got busy shouting sales to the folk walking through. Ma’s stuff was good, but I wasn’t getting many biters, so after an hour I took a break just to rest my voice. As if on cue, Ray ambled over when I was petting Ruby, wearing a shy smile and giving me a little wave.

He fed her a carrot stick and said, Sorry I didn’t come over earlier.

Don’t worry about it.

Is your mother making new products for the winter already?

I nodded, watching him stare at her fabric. We’re starting early since Ma thinks winter will be bad this year.

Ray rubbed his tan hand along the pale woolen quilt. I watched his dark eyes rove over my mother’s work. He seemed intrigued when he said, Your mom’s gonna make a fortune with this. Look at those details in the stitching. She gets better and better.

She does, I said plainly. Heavy brows furrowed at me which made me nervous. What?

You’re worried about her, aren’t you?

I’m worried about everything, Ray. I did not want to have this conversation right now, but he kept going. It’s not like you to avoid praising your mother’s work. I remember the first day we met, you were so adamant about the quality of her work, you wouldn’t let anyone buy it for less than a dozen pisces. We both laughed at the same time, and all at once I remembered why he was my best friend. Ray, with his long legs and lanky arms, his shy smile and gentle stubbornness. He always made me forget all the bad parts of my life.

You’re right, I exhaled. I’m really worried about Ma. It’s been a year and eight months since my dad got sick. She’s working every day, exhausting herself. I help out where I can, but I don’t know the craft the way she does. I’m only good for selling.

Well, Ray looked around nervously and then moved closer. Are you still trying to become a Scribe?

Of course. But I’ve got no clue how.

He leaned away, eyebrow raised, doubt disfiguring his otherwise handsome face. I thought Scribes were called from birth. Magically knew how to do all the reading and writing and speaking languages.

I crossed my arms. What are you saying?

If you were really meant to be a Scribe, you’d know how to become one.

Maybe I’ll figure it out later. Or maybe that part of the legend is just a myth. He gave me the side eye, which made me want to hit him. "C’mon, Ray, you know I’m meant to be a Scribe."

"Or you’re meant to be a normal girl. He grinned. Whose sixteen now. And should be getting married. Right?"

"Shouldn’t you be getting married? I countered. You’re a little old to be single, even for a boy. Two more years and you’ll be a drunkard known in every brothel."

Shut up, Ray grumbled. I’ve been waiting for someone, that’s all.

Do I know her?

He smiled a big, goofy smile that made me grin back. I always liked when Ray was happy like this. He was handsome with a smile on his face, and even though he was getting older, age had been kind to him. Women crowded his parents’ tent whenever he was there; they were glancing at us now, undoubtedly wondering what we were talking about.

I’m sure you know her, he said. She’s a bit lost right now, though. When she comes back, I’ll introduce you guys. He waved a hand and left my tent for his, but I didn’t get to watch him go because a cheery voice shouted beside me, Morning, Amana!

Morning, Mr. Tosh. I turned to greet him. How can I help you today?

I’d like to place an order. I hear there’s been frost in some parts.

There has, I nodded. Are you trying to beat the winter rush?

Of course! How far out is your mother booked?

"Until winter’s normal first frost."

He rubbed his chin. Can you get me in that six-week window if I pay a little extra for a rush order?

I smiled and snuck a glance over at Ray. He was entertaining a customer, but he finally looked up and noticed me when she stepped away. A smile instantly split his face. It was Ray who taught me how to hustle better than anyone.

I leaned closer to Mr. Tosh, just like Ray taught me, and asked, How much extra are you talking? Smiling makes the whole thing seem like a negotiation, so I grinned real big. But I already had a price in my head; Mr. Tosh was falling right into my favorite game.

Well, I can offer you three extra pisces and a copper piece.

I raised an eyebrow. It’s been a while since I’ve gone home with a copper piece. I’m kinda hoping to stay away from those copper days.

Well, maybe not a copper piece. Maybe five extra pisces.

Five extra is only worth a small quilt. I blew a heavy sigh, like I was disappointed in him. I’m gonna need more than that if you really want to get that six-week timeframe.

Mr. Tosh swallowed, staring at the fabric longingly. He looked like he was ready to change his mind, so I added, That frost will be snow pretty soon. Better make a decision quick.

His shoulders slumped and I knew I’d won. Mr. Tosh shook his head, his pudgy chin wobbled with the motion, and straightened his back. He looked confident, for the first time ever. I can offer you one extra silver callios.

I smiled. Now we’re talking.

Mr. Tosh pulled out his coin purse. I could practically smell the gold and silver and copper coins all mixed up in there, waiting for me to claim them.

Let me make an even better offer, I said, leaning close again. "One silver callios and two pisces and you’ll be in the three-week window."

Sweat broke out on his pale nose. Three-week window?

Now, now, I help up my hands to calm him down. Winter could hit at any moment, so that’s not a guarantee—but it does mean you’ll get your order before anyone else once the weather settles.

Ray had taught me a lot, but I taught him how to gauge. He’d always said you could tell who’d give in to your offers, but he didn’t know there was extra money to be made. Having Mr. Tosh pay the extra two pisces wasn’t just extra money, it was payment on two more items at my shop. That way, I’d be making double profit off those items.

Mr. Tosh thought a hard moment, his chin quivering in anxiety. Just two more pisces?

Just two.

He extended his hand. Deal.

Perfect! I said, shaking his sweaty palm. Today you’ll owe the extra pisces and pay the rest on pickup.

You need the extra today?

This is time sensitive; I need to show something to Ma to make this rush order worth it.

He nodded, probably thinking about Ma’s meaty arms and wild temper. I guess you’re right. He dug into his purse and passed me two square coins.

Thank you, Mr. Tosh. Now, what’s the order?

As Mr. Tosh rambled off his order, I jotted it down using words and numbers known to all the common folk. He left with a nervous smile and another handshake, leaving room for more customers to pile into the small tent. I worked hard to keep all the orders straight, but when it became overwhelming, Ray came by and helped out for a bit until his parents needed him back. I loved every second he helped; Ray was good at getting the lady clients to agree to unbelievable prices. With him stopping in, I could nearly double my weekly profit. He never asked for any money in return and always turned down my offer to pay for his help. Instead, he liked to drag me down to the farm to grab peaches and vegetables to sell. Every now and then, he’d let me buy him a bushel of corn.

As the market closed and I began to take down my tent, I heard Ray call over to me, Are you going to the farm later?

I told Ma I’d be home by dinner, but ... if you’re going, I’m going.

He snorted and turned back to his tent. I’ve gotta help my dad pack up first, so don’t leave without me.

As I waited on my donkey for Murray—he hated his real name—I thought about what it would be like to really be a Scribe. To be rich, to