Chapter 29: Can't read
After a week of working in the shop, William has a pretty good idea of how things run around the place. More importantly, he learns two things.
The first is that the real boss isn't Trojjan—it’s Betty. Betty is a beautiful white mare with an almost obsessive hatred of dirt. Leave as much as a handful of soiled straw in her stall, and she stamps her hooves against the wooden boards until he cleans it out. Before long, he has her routine memorized. The stall has to be mucked out three times a day—once in the morning, again in the afternoon, and one last time before evening.
Then comes the brushing. He runs a stiff brush through her white coat until it shines. If he tries to stop before Betty decides she's finished, she gives his shoulder an impatient nudge with her nose until he sighs and starts brushing again.
The second thing William discovers is that Trojjan can't clean anything without somehow making a bigger mess. The only time the man tries to help, he knocks over a stack of crates, smashes two empty jars, and stirs up enough dust to leave them both coughing for the better part of an hour. After that, Trojjan wisely abandons all thoughts of sweeping or scrubbing and leaves the chores to William.
Betty, it seems, reaches the same conclusion long before William. Whenever Trojjan wanders into the stable with a handful of grain, she flattens her ears and snaps at his sleeve until he retreats back into the yard. As far as she's concerned, he simply isn't allowed inside her spotless stable.
That next morning starts no differently. After choking down a quick bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, William spends his first hour cleaning the stable. Once he finishes, his handiwork undergoes its usual strict judgment from Betty, who finally approves with a quiet, dignified nod of her head. The moment he steps out of the yard and enters the main shop, a grumpy voice calls out to him from behind the counter.
“Lad! Come over here and help me sort these herbs.”
He hurries over to the counter and finds Trojjan scowling down at several massive, tangled sacks.
“These people can't even do the simplest of things,” Trojjan mutters, throwing his hands up in frustration. “How hard is it to just separate the individual herbs?”
“What happened?” William asks, peering over the edge of the counter.
“Some useless fool divided the entire shipment by dried and fresh, rather than sorting them by what they actually are,” Trojjan grumbles, pulling out a tangled mess of green stalks. “'Too much work,' they told me. Lazy bastards.”
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William nods and gets to work, pulling apart the tangled mess. He carefully separates the leaves, roots, stems, and flowers into individual piles, prudently pushing the ones he can't identify over to Trojjan's side of the counter. After half an hour of focused, quiet sorting, they finally manage to divide the chaotic shipment into neat, distinct bundles.
Trojjan wipes his hands on his apron, staring down at the organized piles with a nod of approval. “Good. Lad, go to the back shelves and bring me the jars labeled mirflower, oak sap, and eildenberry.”
William doesn't move. He stands still, his face freezing into an awkward expression as he stares back at Trojjan.
Trojjan turns, noticing the silence, and looks down at him with a flicker of annoyance. “What?”
William drops his gaze, staring intently at his own feet. “I don't... I don't know how to read,” he mutters. Before Trojjan can even open his mouth, William quickly looks up, his words rushing out defensively. “But back in Ashbrook, nobody knew how to read either! Except John, and he could barely do it.”
Trojjan blinks, looking genuinely stunned. “I forgot you aren't from the city.”
“Can everyone in the city read and write?” William asks.
“Not many people can write, though most can read at least a little,” Trojjan says, scratching his chin. “Still... it’s a problem if you can't read at all.”
William's chest tightens. ‘I never thought about that’, he thinks, a wave of panic washing over him. ‘Is he going to kick me out? What will I do if he does? Maybe John can— ‘
“Lad.”
Trojjan’s voice cuts straight through William's wild thoughts. The man walks past him toward the back shelves to grab the earthen jars himself. “After you finish mucking out the stable this afternoon, meet me out here in the shop. I will teach you how to read.”
William releases his breath in relief, his anxiety instantly vanishing. “Okay!” he says, unable to hide the massive, excited grin spreading across his face.
After finishing up with the herb separation and sweeping the main floor of the shop, William checks the position of the sun outside. He notices he still has an hour left before it's time for Betty’s routine afternoon cleaning.
’Maybe I should go and see how John is doing,’ he thinks to himself, dusting off his hands. ‘He told me a few days ago that he was visiting someone who wants to sell their house. Maybe he actually bought it by now. I just hope it isn't too far from here.’
With an hour of free time to kill, William slips out of the shop to hunt down his blacksmith friend.
When William enters Mark’s shop, he finds the main room completely empty. The usual quiet is replaced by loud thumping and shouting coming from the back, out toward the stables. He walks slowly toward the rear exit. As he nears the yard, he hears Mark's unmistakable, annoyed voice:
“How long is this going to take?”
“At least another four days,” an unfamiliar voice grunts back over the sound of hammering.
“Well, hurry it up,” Mark snaps. “I’m already losing money over here.”
William steps out into the yard and peers inside the old structure. Sure enough, four workmen are sweating away inside what used to be the stables, tearing the space apart to convert it into a forge. Mark catches sight of William standing in the doorway and grins.
“Hey, kid! If you’re looking for John, he’s upstairs packing his stuff to move. Apparently, city property prices opened his head a lot better than I ever could.” He crosses his arms, a thoroughly triumphant look plastered across his face.