Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 8
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For the first time, Rogier was on shopping detail, which meant he would be joining several other students and the cook on a trip to the market. The cook, of course, visited the fish market down by the seadocks, and the meat and produce market where Rogier had once roamed, every day. Many vendors brought their foods directly to the school, providing regular deliveries at reduced prices in return for stable revenue, but the cook made a point to visit the markets and select fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, and fish herself as often as possible.
Poietria Martine had deliberately kept Rogier restricted to the school until she felt sure he could restrain himself from stealing.
There had been a few strange incidents lately which he might have been involved with, but children were always getting into trouble, and it was impossible to tell just who the culprit might be in many cases.
That bag of apples, for example… Martine wondered yet again whether Tonya or Rogier was lying. Had she rewarded Rogier for the theft, in a way, by punishing only Tonya? But to be honest he had so much more potential than Tonya, who would never be more than an average dancer.
Rogier was… exceptional. In many ways. In addition to his superior balance and acrobatic skills, he also had an astounding memory, including scenes and faces, and a phenomenal facility with numbers: he could sketch a room that he had seen only once, with incredible accuracy and skill, from memory, and could calculate complex sums and multiplications almost instantly in his head.
In spite of all those gifts, he could not read or write even the simplest words. He could write letters, but only as meaningless shapes.
She wasn’t too worried about letting him visit the marketplace after all this time, because Rogier didn’t even look like the same person anymore. He had grown a little bit, and his shoulders were broader, but a clean face, shorter hair, and decent clothes—she’d thrown away that hideous dhoti the first day—made him look like a completely different person.
If he could just keep his mouth shut there should be no problems, she thought.
* * *
Mistress Kileesh, the head cook, led the way, head high and back straight in spite of her advanced age. She was only a few centimeters taller than Rogier, and although he was growing fast thanks to her cooking, he was still only a young boy. Accompanying them were an assistant cook—Britta—and two other students, Ri Torshell from the first level, and Opal from the second.
Britta and all three students had packs, and would be expected to carry back whatever the head cook purchased. Their opinions and desires were not needed, only their muscles.
Their first stop was the fish market, where the head cook quickly snapped up two dozen fresh-caught mackerel packed with roe, the treat of the season, along with a bushel of mussels (which was to be delivered). She walked past the fishmongers, ignoring their boasts and pleas as she sniffed in disdain at their offerings or prodded a scaly carcass to judge its freshness.
Everyone knew her, of course; she’d been visiting the fish market longer than most of them had.
The next stop was the market where the local farming community sold its wares: meat, fruit, and vegetables, mostly. Meat and vegetables were already delivered on almost a daily basis, but Mistress Kileesh preferred to choose her own fruit… and today, in addition to a fresh shipment of small, reddish oranges, she discovered a bushel of snailberries—bright red, the berries usually had a slight spiral shape, earning them their name. They had a sweet, slightly metallic flavor.
They were still on the horse-drawn cart, fresh from the field and not yet even for sale.
“Whose cart is this?” she demanded in her abrasive squall, and a dark, turbaned man popped out of a nearby shop.
“Mistress Kileesh, and how are you this fine morning! So good to see you looking so well!”
She scowled him into silence.
“How much for the berries, Gil’kalocken?”
“For you, Mistress Kileesh, only twelve coppers.”
“I don’t want the cart, you thief, only the berries!”
“Ten, then, special for you.”
“Five, or I go elsewhere.”
“Nine. Less and my children would go hungry!”
“A thief and a liar. Seven,” she snapped, holding out her palm with seven coins on it. She hadn’t taken them from her wallet, and must have decided what she would pay in advance.
“Seven, then. You drive a hard bargain,” he said, but did not seem overly upset at the discount.
“And you’ll deliver them, of course.”
He sighed.
“Of course, Mistress Kileesh… I always do. I always do.”
Without another word she turned back to the street and began walking again, eyes flicking to other shops to check their wares. Her train followed, dripping mackerel-scented water as they went.
* * *
After they finished at the vegetable market, their packs significantly heavier and Mistress Kileesh’s wallet somewhat lighter, than began the trudge back to the school. The mackerels had grown quite a bit heavier than when they’d started, and the smell had permeated everything quite thoroughly.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Roach,” came a laugh. “You’ve grown a bit, I see.”
It was Jay, the constable.
Roach turned to face the man, his own expression blank.
“Were you talking to me? I think you must have me confused with someone else.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Roach. I never forget a face, or a thief.”
Mistress Kileesh stepped in between them.
“We’re in a hurry,” she stated. “Can’t you see the fish is spoiling?”
“This is the little thief we caught, Roach, right?”
“No, this is a student at the school. His name’s Rogier.”
The constable turned to Rogier. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Rogier.”
“That’s ‘Rogier, sir,’ boy.”
“Rogier, sir.”
“You remember me, Roach?”
“No, sir. This is the first time Mistress Kileesh has brought me to the market.”
“You’re Roach, aren’t you?”
“I’m a boy, sir, not a roach.”
“Hmph,” broke in Mistress Kileesh. “Time to go, Rogier. Good day.”
Jay stood and watched them walk away.
He had little doubt it was the same boy, and when he flashed the same insult behind his back with his fingers, he knew it.
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Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 9