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Harve N Pockets
Bags had declared the next day to be a holiday. In doing so, nothing really changed. Merchants still sold their goods to whom ever was buying, Bakers still rose before anyone else, and children continued to play as if the world was theirs to command.
The ring of water did recede just a bit, but not as much as Pockets had predicted. It stabilized with a depth around three feet and was perfect for afternoon wading, splashing and the occasional bath. Oddly, it did not affect the amount or flow of water that came out of the villager's pumps.
A side effect of the water was the green that had started to sprout on it's banks. Shoots of grass were peeking shyly around to see if they had been noticed or if this was just a trick played on them.
"Eventually, the trees will come back." Pockets said.
"How do you know?" he was asked.
"They are lying dormant, just a bit below the surface. Just wait and see, Griz. It'll seem like magic."
The Tree in the center of the Mansion dropped seed pods from its limbs that day. One of the games Capitani had the children do was to gather up the seed pods and at her starting command, run, run out into the desert, but not to far, dig a hole and run back as fast as they could. There was no prize, it was just the game that mattered.
She was doing remarkably well, healing from her performance. The Everlight tea that Grizelda brewed brought a shine back to her eyes and a rose bloom back to her cheeks. She puttered around the garden, fussing over plants and clucking her tongue at the errant insect or slug that had decided to make whatever plant they were on their dinner.
Bren and Thom had gone to explore their new village. Capitani had cautioned them not to be late, as she was preparing stew. The two men, mouth watering, promised to be back as quickly as possible. Thom wanted to see what sort of medical facilities were in the kingdom and Bren... well, he just wanted to see everything. Capitani kissed both of them and then shooed them away for fun and adventure.
Bags and Grizelda spent the day lazily sitting at their little beach. Bags had ordered that Damien provided refreshment, and so Damien had set up a small bar outside the gates. Some of the long tables had been planted and quite a number of the chairs. It wasn't a booming business, but every so often some of the village folk would wander out and wonder at the water and buy something to drink, to eat, just to sit and talk. Many of them had never talked to their king or queen, and found the two to be just folks. The people of Tears would come away feeling assured that Bags and Grizelda were something a bit different than they were used to, and in a good way.
Pockets twiddled away in his Blacksmith's shop, making diagrams and drawings. He decided that the one thing that this place needed was a fridgerator. It would keep things cooler and preserve their freshness. He was devising a way to extrude copper pipe when he heard the voice.
"How come you don't have any books around, Mister Not Pockets?"
Pockets jumped up from where he was bent over the forge and hit his head on the flue. This shook down years of accumulated soot. The soot rained over the top of his head and produced a cloud that obscured his vision briefly.
"Well," he said, "it probably needed cleaning anyway." When the soot cloud cleared, and he blinked his eyes free of the dust, he saw Journiey, standing at his door. "Maybe I should install a bell at the door. People keep sneaking up on me."
She laughed and entered. Journiey was wearing green, unsurprisingly, and her hair was ringed with a tiara of flowers. Her feet were unshod, and as she moved, they didn't leave any marks on the floor. She moved with the grace of a dancer, and when she stopped little sparkles seemed to flow around her briefly before settling. She chose an old workbench as her throne, flowed onto it with beauty and looked around the shop.
"I see no books, Pockets. Why is that?" she asked. "I see pens and pencils and paper and parchment and not one single bit of writing. Why is that? I thought all humans wrote."
Pockets said, quite tersely, "I never learned how to read, so that means I probably don't know how to write." He moved about his forge, twiddling a poker and continued, "Doesn't seem to matter, though. I do all right. Anything I need to know, I just ask."
"Ah." Journiey said simply. "Did you know that there are over two hundred different combinations that would make harder steel? Did you know that if you inflate a bag with hot air, it rises? Did you know that your friend Davinci wrote volumes on the human anatomy as well as extreme descriptions on machines he had invented but never built? Did you know any of this?"
"No, I didn't. I knew he was writing and his drawings were interesting, but what of it. They were his, not mine." Pockets replied.
"Pockets, the world of writing is so that things can be shared. The world of books is so that the sharing can be between people that have never met." She thought a moment. "Right now, in a land not to terribly far away, there is a man, who is writing a book about adventure, and fighting and war. These are terrible things, to be sure, but he's also writing about love, and loss, and finding oneself."
"So...," Pockets mused, "if you fill a bag with hot air, it will rise."
She laughed. "Oh yes. That and so much more. It's all contained in books, Pockets. I would hate to see you knowledge pass away into dust and memory. Dust has no mind, and memory... fades."
Pockets came closer and climbed onto the workbench to sit next to Journiey. "I've heard all this before, Journiey. Bags and Grizelda have been after me for years to learn to read. The nuns all gave up on me, deeming me unteachable. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I can't."
"Oh, piffle!" Journiey put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. "Maybe it was all in the way you were being taught." She floated back down to the ground, turned back to him and said, "You know... there is a library in this kingdom. Not terribly well used and a lot of the books have gone to mold. There are some interesting volumes there. Some dealing with mechanics, some dealing with philosophy, some dealing with the wonders of the stars themselves." She turned toward the door and made her majestic way there. At the door, she turned and spoke again. "You might be surprised to find a book there about you, and Bags."
Pockets jumped down from the bench, saying with surprise "About me and Bags? How? Why?"
Journiey smiled and said "It was written by a man that had heard tales of two men, who seemed to find trouble wherever they went. He became determined to track down their tales and capture them in books for all to see. It is through books, you see, that things are not forgotten. I'll be there if you decide to learn again."
"You'll teach me?" Pockets said, with tears in his eyes.
"I wouldn't trust it to anyone else. Oh, I might look a tiny bit different." she cautioned. We wouldn't want people to know that a tree spirit was among them." She winked and said "Come up and see me some time." She was gone.
Pockets wiped his eyes. He didn't know why he had shed them, only that they had come unbidden. He looked around at his shop, feeling it was cramped and closed in. He decided he needed to get out of the cave and find a broader perspective. He closed down the forge, set his drawings under a stone for safekeeping, and left.
The day passed in loud and boisterous merriment. As promised, all the people that had worked hard to make this an event had been paid from the old treasury. Their pockets jingled as they went home that night, smiling as they had not in a very long time.
The Bangalarians showed remarkable skill in drinking, and Damien was hard pressed to keep up with them. At one point he turned to Bags and said "I'm glad you're footing the bill for this!" before hurrying off to fill another order.
Damien had to hire extra help and one, a woman named Marie, broad faced, reddish hair, and easy laugh, quickly became a favorite. Damien watched her handle a rough table, full of men with groping hands and leering drunken smiles. She did it with ease, shushing rude comments and artfully dodging hands aimed where they shouldn't be.
He called her over when she was done. "Where did you learn to take care of yourself like that?"
"Oh, it's easy, sir. I grew up with eleven brothers." she replied.
Damien nodded and said "Don't call me sir. I expect you to be punctual, handle the orders just like you did at that table, and treat all customers with respect and ... and... ", he had run out of steam because Marie was looking up at him with her twinkling green eyes and smiling.
"Of course... Damien." she said, before running off to take another order. Damien felt like his whole world had shifted. And it was a good thing.
The sun moved through it courses, and the stars came out. Bags and Grizelda were walking back to the Mansion when a thought suddenly occurred to Grizelda. "Bags," she said, "have you seen Pockets at all today?"
Bags thought briefly and said "Nope. I know he was down at his shop. Maybe he's working on something that will surprise and amaze us."
Grizelda looked in the direction of the Blacksmith's shop, dark and a bit gloomy. "I hope he's all right."
Bags put an arm around Grizelda and said "Griz, if there's one thing I know about Pockets, it's that he's all right. He does some stupid things on occasion, and I mean really, really stupid things. Sometimes what he does makes no sense to me at all. It may take some time for him to figure it all out, but when he does, he is always all right."
"I know." she said. "But it's part of my job in this family to worry."
A light was shining from one of the high windows in the Keep.
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I *adore* what you just did with Journiey. *Beautiful*
And Marie! YAY!!
And.... and.... my appetite is whetted! More! More!! YAY!!!!!
And... thank you. For sharing that which is in you with us. ((Hug))
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Bags and Grizelda spent the day lazily sitting at their little beach. Bags had ordered that Damien provided refreshment, and so Damien had set up a small bar outside the gates. Some of the long tables had been planted ((i do not understand planted tables??)) and quite a number of the chairs.
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Good job!
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"A side effect of the water was the green that had started to sprout on it's (its) banks" and the next sentence seems a bit awkward but I'll re-read it tomorrow.
The two men, mouth(s) watering,
I would hate to see you(r) knowledge pass away into dust and memory.
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