02-22-2012, 07:42 AM
“Stay here and keep workin’,” Master Fulcher had instructed when word of a riot in the village square had reached them. That had been hours ago.
Toby had kept quiet about his disappointment. Since the murders had started, their orders had almost tripled, and that meant longer shifts for master and apprentice fletcher. More to the point, he dared not say any word of disagreement in front of the mistress. Especially since she had begun threatening to kick the orphan out when he had started eating more.
Thus the scrawny teenager had remained in the workroom without protest, bent over the jig, attaching feathers he had trimmed earlier to shaft after slender shaft before setting them on the drying rack. His hand hovered over the glue pot when he finally heard the main house’s heavy door groan open.
“-- shame strikin’ a respectable ol’ man like he was the one as caused all those crimes!”
Anna Fulcher was in a rage about whatever she had seen in town. Toby could hear her wrathful grumblings as she stomped across the room to the hearth. Toby decided to stay in the workroom till he was summoned instead of risking his own neck by asking what was the matter. After a few minutes of soothing murmurs with intermittent trills of discontent, the door connecting the house and workroom finally creaked open.
“Tobias,” Stephan Fulcher began wearily as he closed the door behind him. “Be a good lad an’ fetch the ale.”
Toby brought out a clay jug from behind a crate in the back corner or the room and poured a healthy measure into a leather jack. Mistress Fulcher was also not fond of the boy because to her mind having a helper had made her husband lazy. Husband and wife had fought about the issue on occasion, but even Master Fulcher could hardly deny how his girth had expanded after taking in the hapless orphan.
As his master settled onto a stool by the worktable, Toby handed over the drink and went back to his work. When the man simply mulled over his cup, Toby lost his patience. “What was that mess in town?” he asked bluntly.
The man paused before answering. “They found Matilda Bottom dead in her home an’ her trinket box smashed an’ robbed.”
Stunned, Toby set down his work. That old widow had always had a bit of stew or a kind word for him after his parents had died four years ago. She had even talked over Master Fulcher to let Toby stay on with him as his apprentice so the boy could grow up knowing an honest craft. She was that nice to every soul she met. Who could have harmed that woman?
Stephan patted the boy’s shoulder and continued. “When they was wrappin’ her up, that Jamie you run about with tried to strike Elder Guillermo. Some folk took offense. Mistress Fulcher included.”
Toby grimaced. He knew his friend cared not a whit for the Elder Council. And he did not appreciate that attitude setting off his mistress, as if she couldn’t find cause enough.
“Tha’s when the fights started. It was a long time afore they settled down, too, but by the end folk was callin’ for a huntin’ party to track down the murderers. The Council started takin’ down the names of volunteers.”
Fulcher stopped to drain the jack, and Toby looked down at his hands. The skin was scarred on the backs and up the forearms where the fire had burned him. With his parents and their house gone, he had been left with naught but memories and the clothes on his back. He did not feel much love for the townspeople, who had shooed him away when they saw him eye their trenchers and soup pots. But he turned cold over the thought of old Matilda, beaten and knifed for sommat pretty she had managed to save away despite her own hard lot. That wasn’t right.
Toby raised his eyes to the fletcher, who was now watching him expectantly. “I want to volunteer, as well,” he stated determinedly.
Master Fulcher gave the boy a rare patronly smile and ruffled his dirty blonde hair. “Good lad,” he said warmly. “Let’s get you outfitted.”
Toby had kept quiet about his disappointment. Since the murders had started, their orders had almost tripled, and that meant longer shifts for master and apprentice fletcher. More to the point, he dared not say any word of disagreement in front of the mistress. Especially since she had begun threatening to kick the orphan out when he had started eating more.
Thus the scrawny teenager had remained in the workroom without protest, bent over the jig, attaching feathers he had trimmed earlier to shaft after slender shaft before setting them on the drying rack. His hand hovered over the glue pot when he finally heard the main house’s heavy door groan open.
“-- shame strikin’ a respectable ol’ man like he was the one as caused all those crimes!”
Anna Fulcher was in a rage about whatever she had seen in town. Toby could hear her wrathful grumblings as she stomped across the room to the hearth. Toby decided to stay in the workroom till he was summoned instead of risking his own neck by asking what was the matter. After a few minutes of soothing murmurs with intermittent trills of discontent, the door connecting the house and workroom finally creaked open.
“Tobias,” Stephan Fulcher began wearily as he closed the door behind him. “Be a good lad an’ fetch the ale.”
Toby brought out a clay jug from behind a crate in the back corner or the room and poured a healthy measure into a leather jack. Mistress Fulcher was also not fond of the boy because to her mind having a helper had made her husband lazy. Husband and wife had fought about the issue on occasion, but even Master Fulcher could hardly deny how his girth had expanded after taking in the hapless orphan.
As his master settled onto a stool by the worktable, Toby handed over the drink and went back to his work. When the man simply mulled over his cup, Toby lost his patience. “What was that mess in town?” he asked bluntly.
The man paused before answering. “They found Matilda Bottom dead in her home an’ her trinket box smashed an’ robbed.”
Stunned, Toby set down his work. That old widow had always had a bit of stew or a kind word for him after his parents had died four years ago. She had even talked over Master Fulcher to let Toby stay on with him as his apprentice so the boy could grow up knowing an honest craft. She was that nice to every soul she met. Who could have harmed that woman?
Stephan patted the boy’s shoulder and continued. “When they was wrappin’ her up, that Jamie you run about with tried to strike Elder Guillermo. Some folk took offense. Mistress Fulcher included.”
Toby grimaced. He knew his friend cared not a whit for the Elder Council. And he did not appreciate that attitude setting off his mistress, as if she couldn’t find cause enough.
“Tha’s when the fights started. It was a long time afore they settled down, too, but by the end folk was callin’ for a huntin’ party to track down the murderers. The Council started takin’ down the names of volunteers.”
Fulcher stopped to drain the jack, and Toby looked down at his hands. The skin was scarred on the backs and up the forearms where the fire had burned him. With his parents and their house gone, he had been left with naught but memories and the clothes on his back. He did not feel much love for the townspeople, who had shooed him away when they saw him eye their trenchers and soup pots. But he turned cold over the thought of old Matilda, beaten and knifed for sommat pretty she had managed to save away despite her own hard lot. That wasn’t right.
Toby raised his eyes to the fletcher, who was now watching him expectantly. “I want to volunteer, as well,” he stated determinedly.
Master Fulcher gave the boy a rare patronly smile and ruffled his dirty blonde hair. “Good lad,” he said warmly. “Let’s get you outfitted.”
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]