PART TWENTY-ONE Cont'd:
One good turn....:
The older man rubbed on his aching knees. Breathing through his mouth, he managed to steady his breath and heaving chest. These episodes were now becoming more frequent than he would have liked or expected, if at all. It was either that, or he had forgotten to slow down as the years came and went. He wanted so much to reassure the young woman bending over him, that he was feeling much better at the moment. But with her face scrunched up in genuine concern and rapt observation. He did not think he would do a convincing job of it. How kind and sweet of her, to care that much for a complete stranger. The older man thought to himself. He had never seen her around these parts of town before. But then again, who was he to think that he could possibly have seen every person from around his province. Moreover, she did not look or speak like the average native.
"Are you feeling much better now?" Asked the young woman, still watching his face keenly and studiously. Unaware that she had just roused him from a deep state of pondering and daydreaming.
"I believe so, thank you very much." Replied the man, still rubbing his knees with both hands as he spoke. "I don't know what might have happened or caused me to trip over. I suddenly felt dizzy, and then my aging knees gave up on me." He finished with a good humored chortle.
"Would you like some water to drink?" Asked the lady, while turning to look around them. Searching for any evidence of a nearby place. From which the offered item might be fetched, should the answer be an anticipated and affirmative one.
"No, not all." Lightly protested the older gentleman. "You have been very kind and helpful so far. I would not want to burden you any further, or impose on your time any longer. I will just have to sit and wait here, in front of this very stall. Until my son comes to pick me up."
"Does he know to find you here?"
"Yes he should know. I had told him, that I wanted to get some more dried spices for an ointment I had been mixing. It was not supposed to have taken a long time. Being that we both buy from here quite frequently. But then I guess the heat and the elevated climb in front of the market square, finally got to me. Now here we are." He attempted another chuckle, smiling broadly. He was really glad and thankful for the young woman's help.
"Mixing ointments, you said. How come? Are you a 'concoctionist'?" The young woman was curiously intrigued.
"I am a healer, who also studied the mixtures. Some years ago, I had to do everything by myself. Some of the herbal mixtures and ointments out there, were not good enough." He shook his head disappointedly for emphasis and then continued. "So I studied to produce medications, for use in our practice. Now my son who is also a healer, has followed the same path. And our patients are the thankful for it."
"Aaah... How interesting. Your son is a healer too." Exclaimed the young woman seemingly impressed.
"Yes he is. But definitely a more energetic and inventive one than I am." Declared the older man sheepishly. "And you young kind lady," he stopped grinning to ask. "What do you do? When you are not helping tired old men to catch their fading breath." The lady laughed before responding.
"I deliver babies. Whom hopefully would some day grow to be old and successful and maybe trip once in a while." They both laughed.
"A mid-wife. How wonderful." Now it was the older man's turn to seem impressed. "Now do you work with the general and central infirmary?"
"Not really, not anymore. I am private in my practice."
"Hmmm...." Responded the older man, listening thoughtfully. "Is that by choice or happenstance?"
"I am sorry," started the lady appearing confused. "Is what by happenstance?"
"You working privately." The healer started to explain. "And probably rarely as a young woman. Is it a choice you made willingly, or did circumstance push you into that?'
"Oh I understand. I guess you could say both." The young woman answered honestly, feeling comfortable and safe to speak with the healer. "Mostly, it was a series of circumstances that were at the most quite cruel."
"Yes indeed," nodded the healer in understanding. "Life does often do that to you."
They both stayed quiet for a moment. Each one lost in their own thoughts, probably triggered by the recent conversation. The healer was feeling better and refreshed, while the young woman had retreated into a pensive mood.
"Would you mind working for someone else at this point?" Asked the healer gently and with compassion in his eyes.
"Would I what? Sorry I did not get your question. Was lost in my thoughts. Happens a lot these days." Explained the now flustered young woman.
"Would you mind working for someone else? My son and I own a private practice with our own facility. Or should I say I own a practice, that my son might sooner than later have to take over. The evidence of which is beginning to unfold and which you just witnessed." The healer began to laugh again, as the young woman joined in. "Seriously." The healer began, straightening up as he spoke. "I know we would sure need an extra experienced hand. A mid-wife nonetheless. And don't you worry, we have a number of deliveries lined and coming up. We do plan on keeping you busy, if you do not mind." The healer paused for a few seconds before continuing.
"There is actually the royal one included in that mix, if you can believe it. And judging from this moment with you, you strike me as a well-mannered and responsible young lady. I think you might just be, with our grooming of course. The perfect candidate for that job!" The young woman thought her heart may have skipped a beat or two. But since she was still standing-up and alive, she would attempt to speak. "What? Oh my...." Was all she managed to utter past her lips, as her eyes glistened with tears. A flow that was threatening to spill over any second. A flow whose source was ambiguous. A flow of tears, unattributed to neither shock nor joy.
"Oh good. Here comes my son now." Announced the older gentleman gladly. Looking as he did, into the distance and future with great and welcoming anticipation.
The early bird gets the blackmail:
Tufad the fourth magistrate’s wife sneered and muttered to herself. All the while fidgeting with the custom and uniform bow on the maid’s shirt apron. The subject of adjustment cringed and gently protested at every nudge and pull. She had just arrived early to prepare herself for the usual business of cleaning the king’s study. There were usually three of them at a time, with a presiding supervisor. That supervisor had often been Methus in the past. The now deceased housekeeper had preferred to see to his majesty’s book chambers himself. However, these days they all wondered if the new and temporary housekeeper knew to fill those shoes or appoint someone else in his stead.
The result of negligence was slowly and brazenly manifesting itself. More so, with her very present predicament. She wished this one day, she had waited for the others at the servants quarters. She liked being very early. And her former boss who had trained her, had also encouraged that. 'The earlier the better', was his known mantra. Now she was being heckled by this deranged woman, with no one else around to interfere. Even the guards, were in the process of changing their shifts. Though she was a little earlier, the others she knew were definitely on their way.
How quickly it seemed things were changing these days. The cornered maid sighed deeply to herself, as she turned her face away. Wriggling, under the desperate but firm grip of the magistrate's wife’s hand. “Will you be still?” Scolded Tufad’s wife, as she viciously tugged at the bow one more time. Eyeing the maid with an oppressive look of contempt as she did. “I am just trying to fix your uniform. Should someone assigned to the vicinity of the throne, be so poorly and raggedly clothed?” The maid stood still and with her eyes lowered, replied. “Ma’am, my uniform is fixed nice and good. I only wish now to commence with my waiting and assigned task, before my time is up.”
“Your time will be up, exactly when I say so.” Snapped the angry woman. “You will do what I say, or rather help me out with my mission. And should you decide not to work with me, then I will decide to tell your employers about your brother. Surely his vices must run in the family."
The maid froze. Not before stepping back and away from the woman. Recoiling, like she had been stung grievously. Her brother? How did this woman know about her brother? Was no problem private anymore, nor issues sacred? Her brother had been put away by the law, about a month ago. He was accused of stealing nine of the neighbour’s hens. Apparently, he had often helped himself to the eggs laid by the hens. Until he wanted the birds to himself. Times had been hard for their family lately, since their father the sole provider died. And with all hands on deck. They were all doing the best they could, to help out their mother with a family of nine. They were barely making ends meet. She was fortunate enough, to have gotten this job through a dear friend of the family’s referral. A background check had revealed no scandals of such capacity. So now that she had excelled in her period of probation, with flying colors. Her brother had decided to drain those colors with his conduct, howbeit unintentionally.
Her mother had tried her best to squelch any rumors that might arise about the situation. Her chosen explanation for her son’s sudden disappearance, was that he had moved to another province in search of special work. Now this woman knew about her family. Of all the damning people that could have.
“I know not of what you speak ma’am,” the maid retorted defiantly.
“Well, I know of what I speak. I speak of your brother the thief.” Tufad’s wife attacked.
“What do you want from me?” The maid cowered in frustration and helplessness.
“Aha, finally we understand each other.” Stated the magistrate’s wife, smacking her lips in relish before continuing.
“I need something very important, from the king’s study.”
“You want me to steal from his majesty the king?” The maid’s eyes widened in horror and bewilderment.
“Why do you act like that is a strange suggestion to you?” Asked the woman condescendingly.
“I am no thief ma’am,” declared the maid defensively.
“Well who said anything about stealing. You will merely be getting something out for me to look at, then returning it after I am done looking. How is that stealing?” She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.
“Ma’am, we would be trespassing in sacred royal territory. And further more tampering with his majesty's private belongings. That would not only be stealing, that would be treason." The maid felt emboldened, howbeit for a fleeting moment.
"Of course you would know what was stealing and what was not. Your incarcerated brother was an expert. It obviously runs in your veins." The sarcasm was undeniable. But it was the vilification that caused the maid to flinch as if she had just been slapped. The magistrate's wife was still not done with her denigrating blackmail. "How dare you rebuke me with those imaginary 'goody-two-shoes' of yours. I am the wife of a magistrate. How can you claim that I am trespassing? I belong right here. You however are a displaced and stealing slave."
"You accuse me of stealing. I have stolen nothing ma'am. Please let me go."
"You will go, only when I release you. And you must do as I say or you can bid your occupation here farewell." Snarled the woman, gritting her teeth as she did.
The harried and disturbed maid lowered her head, her chest pounding in bursts of panic. And for the first time since she came to the palace to work, she regretted being so punctual and diligent. For if the other allotted workers were here, this woman would not be making these erroneous demands. As the woman continued to bark more commands and threats at her, she saw two figures approaching from a distance behind her oppressor. Her fellow maids were now themselves, reporting for duty. They could not have chosen a better time thought the relieved worker.
"I am sorry ma'am," interrupted the maid. "Can you repeat what you wanted me to do for you again." The magistrate's wife stopped rambling immediately. On her face was registered a shocked and insulted glare. A look with an intensity capable of melting stone.
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