~*~
The door of the cobbler’s shop stood open to the afternoon breeze. The heavy smell of leather reached Muce before he entered. A man working at a bench inside looked up at the sound of his prospective customer’s boot clomping on the wood floor.
“Good afternoon, sir. Something we can do for you? Some boots perhaps? Maybe a fine new traveling pack?” Two other workers at benches farther back in the shop briefly lifted their eyes from their labors to peek at him with mild interest, one a man, the other a woman, both at least ten years younger than the man who greeted Muce.
A new pack might be a good idea for a rough road, too. The scuffs and scratches on his old one presented no problem, but one of the straps seemed a bit loose. Well, maybe, he thought. Boots first, though.
“Yes, thank you. Actually, I was considering a new pair of boots.”
“Any particular type?” He placed a piece of partially sewn leather on the workbench and rose to his feet.
“Something comfortable and good for hard travel. Kind of like what I’ve got on.” Muce glanced at his feet.
The cobbler approached the notso and looked down at his boots. They were sturdy traveling boots made of softened but durable gond leather, a bit scuffed, though, with tattered laces and worn soles. “Those look like pretty good boots you have there. Would you be trading them in?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Would you mind taking them off so I can get a closer look?”
“No, sure.” Muce sat on one of the simple three-legged wooden stools scattered haphazardly in the shop and removed his boots.
The man examined the footwear with the critical eye of an expert. “Yes, fine quality,” he commented after a few minutes. “Where did you have these made?”
“Dolphin Point.”
“Hmmm. I like the sheath for the hunting knife on the right boot. Nice needle work too. Let’s see. I could probably make you a pair much like these for about twelve gold-trees. Less the four I’d give you for the trade, that would be eight gold-trees out-of-pocket for you. I could have them ready in about three weeks.”
“Gee, I’m not sure I have that much time.” He also did not want to spend so much money. Twelve gold-trees amounted to close to two month’s normal pay as a caravan guard. Still, he had been saving, and he would be willing to spend some of it for an excellent pair of boots. His old ones lasted at least four years, and they felt very comfortable. Good boots are a good investment. A customer at the Lucky Lady told him this once and he considered it true.
“Good work takes time.” The boot maker gave him a knowing eye. “And you get what you pay for.”
“There’s no way I could get them any quicker?”
“How much quicker did you have in mind?”
“Well, like in the next day or two?” he suggested sheepishly.
“Hah!” the cobbler exclaimed. “Impossible at any price! I’m not sure I could even recondition those you have in that amount of time.”
Muce had not considered this option before. He did so now. Maybe he could have his old boots repaired. “Could you do that? Fix the boots I have, I mean?”
“Sure. I could fix them up almost as good as new.”
“Could you do it in two days?”
The cobbler paused, considering. “Well, I don’t know. I’d have to rearrange a few things, but I could probably give you new soles, laces and fix up the stitching where it needs it in two days.” He paused again and raised his head pensively to stare at a vacant patch of air before continuing. “Yes, I could do it. It’ll cost you two gold and five silver. One gold-tree now and the rest when you pick them up. Just leave them with me and come back day after tomorrow a couple hours past noon and I’ll have them ready for you. Would that do for you?”
“Yes. Thanks. I think that would be fine.” Muce began digging for his purse.
“Do you need some loaners?” the cobbler asked.
“What?”
“I have some loaner shoes we make out of bits of scrap. Nothing fancy, and they have soft soles, but I can loan you some until your boots are done, if you need them. I’m sure I have a pair that will fit you. Better than going barefoot.”
“Yes, thanks. That would be swell.” A rare moment of suspicion arose. He gave the man a skeptical look and asked, “What do you charge for them?”
The cobbler smiled. “Nothing. It’s part of the service. Just return them in good order when you pick up your boots.”
Muce smiled back. “Thanks!” He reached in his cloak, retrieved his purse, and handed the man a gold coin.
The shoemaker took it, walked over to a rack filled with moccasin-like shoes and poked through them, eventually selecting a pair for his customer and handing them to him. “Here, these should fit you. The apprentices make them from bits of scrap leather as part of their training. But they should do you well for a couple of days.”
Muce sat on the stool to put on the soft-soled shoes. They seemed to be lined with gond calf vellum. A nice touch. It should make them warmer and more comfortable. From the faded color, he suspected the apprentices made the soft lining from very old material, but gond skin lasts virtually forever. Oddly, it appeared to have writing on it.
He left the shop, heading back toward the marketplace. He last ate at least three hours ago, and the memory of the barbequed chicken stand called to him.
The loaner shoes he wore would have been comfortable enough on grass, but on the village’s paved streets, every uneven cobblestone made him miss his old boots. I’ve gotten spoiled, he thought to himself. A pair of shoes like those he wore now would have felt like luxury on his childhood feet. Now he took his expensive boots for granted. He could almost hear his mother saying, ‘Stop whining! Think about all the kids who don’t have any shoes at all.’ And, of course, she would have been right. Muce knew he should never forget his good fortune—good boots, plenty of food, nice companions, and now a pleasant day at a clamoring market full of interesting sights, sounds, and smells. Could life get much better?
He answered the call of the market’s aromas and followed them to a white haired man with a striped apron and a mound of spicy-smelling, steaming barbequed chickens. Muce bought a few pieces for a mid afternoon snack. As he left with his purchase, he noticed a small girl, about eight years old, looking up at his face. He smiled at her and she smiled back.
“You’ve got blue eyes,” she observed.
“Yes, I do. You have brown eyes.”
“Uh huh. I’ve never seen blue eyes before. They look kind of funny, but pretty too.”
“Thank you. I think your eyes are very pretty too.”
“Are they?”
“Sure.”
“I can’t see them.”
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
She paused for a thoughtful moment. “Do you live near here?”
“No. My home is pretty far away.”
“I thought so. People from far away look different.”
“You’re a very smart girl. There are lots of people. They are all different in some ways and all the same in others.”
“I suppose.”
Such a nice child, he thought. Her blatant curiosity reminded him a little of his cousin Amy. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you.” He started walking again.
She matched his pace, staying beside him.
“What’s your name?”
“Muce. What’s yours?”
“Angela.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“I know. It was my grandmother’s name too, but she used to call me String-bean. She used to tell me stories when I was little. She knew lots of stories. She’s dead now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
They walked together a few more steps, and Muce reached for a piece of chicken. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Kind of.”
“I have some chicken here. You can have some if you’d like.”
&n
bsp; “Are you sure?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks!”
Muce handed her a drumstick from his pack of chicken and took a piece for himself.
“This is great!” she exclaimed on her second bite. “I’ve never had anything so good!”
“I’m glad you like it. You’ve never had chicken before?”
“Not like this. My mom usually puts it in soup. It goes farther that way, she says.”
“Oh, I see.” Muce’s almost perpetual smile slipped a bit. “Do you have a lot of brothers and sisters?”
“No, not really. Just three.”
“Brothers or sisters?”
“Three of each.”
“That’s a pretty big family.”
“I suppose. Then there’s my mom and dad, and my grandfather, and Aunt Jo.”
“Tell you what,” Muce said. “I just had an idea. I bet all of them would like some chicken, too, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’m sure they would. It’s great. I wish I could bring them some.”
“Well, you know, I think you can. Let’s go see if the man with all the chickens has a few for you to bring home.”
“Oh.” A sad realization replaced the previous enthusiasm in her voice. “I don’t have any money.”
“That’s all right. I think I have some.”
Ten minutes later, Muce handed Angela a package of coarse brown paper wrapped in string containing four barbequed chickens. “Do you think you can carry this by yourself?”
“Sure; I’m strong.”
“And pretty and smart too, don’t forget that. Now hurry home before that gets cold, and surprise your family.”
“I will. Thank you. You’re very nice.”
“So are you. Bye now.”
She gave him one last smile and hurried off on bare feet with a meal for her family she undoubtedly thought fit for royalty.