At noon, the sharp clang of hammer on metal rang through the crowded market square. Clint's blacksmith shop stood at the square's edge, smoke drifting from its chimney, the steady rhythm of labor spilling out. Clint, a broad man with a thick beard, bent over his forge, striking a glowing iron strip into form.
Alan drew near, a heavy basket of beetroots propped against his hip. He adjusted its weight and shouted, "Mr. Clint!" Clint stopped, looked up, and grinned when he spotted Alan. "Well, if it isn't the town's hardest worker! What brings you here, lad?"
Alan dropped the basket onto the counter with a solid thud. "I've brought your beetroots. Fresh from the farm." Clint wiped his hands on his apron and peered into the basket. "Ah, just right! These'll do fine. Thank you, Alan."
As he moved the basket aside, Clint gave Alan a broad smile. "You've come a long way these past years, haven't you? Since your parents passed, you've shouldered so much—running that farm, minding your brother. It's no small feat. I'm proud of you, lad."
Alan felt a flicker of warmth at Clint's praise. "Thank you, Mr. Clint. That means much. And thank you for always helping us." Before more could pass between them, a voice cut through. "Clint!"
They turned to see Mayor Lewis at the shop's entrance. The mayor stood tall, clad in sharp attire, his presence kind yet firm. "Mayor," Clint said, wiping his hands once more. "What can I do for you?"
"I need a word," Lewis replied, stepping closer. "It's about that matter we discussed." Clint nodded and reached to untie his apron, but Lewis's eyes shifted to Alan. His stern look eased into a smile. "Alan, good to see you. How's the farm faring?"
Alan stood straighter. "Well enough, sir. The harvest keeps me on my feet."
"And your brother? Always tinkering with something, isn't he?" the mayor asked with a laugh. Alan grinned. "Aye, he's at one of his experiments now. Busy as me, just in his own way."
Lewis chuckled. "Good to know. You're doing well, Alan. Keep it up." Clint pulled on his coat and stepped out from behind the counter. "Ready, Mayor?"
Lewis gave Alan a last nod before walking off with Clint. As the pair vanished into the noisy market, Alan hefted the empty basket. He glanced at the sun dipping low, knowing the farm awaited—and hoping Theo hadn't stirred up trouble.
AFTER A WHILE
The market hummed with the clamor of voices and clinking coin as Alan threaded his way through the throng, his empty basket swaying at his hip. Stalls flanked the worn cobblestone path, heaped with ripe vegetables, warm loaves, and gleaming baubles. His gaze flicked to a vendor hawking roasted meat pies, and he considered buying one for supper. But as he turned toward the stall, a voice rang out, sharp and known to him. "Alan!"
He halted, foot half-raised, his pulse quickening. His eyes darted through the crowd, seeking the speaker, until they settled on her. Mrs. Natelen—called Mrs. Nat by most, though simply Nat to him—strode his way. She taught Theo the art of alchemy, her keen wit and gentle nature marking her as a master of the craft. To Alan, she was also the one soul in the village who left his tongue knotted and useless. They were near in years, and each glimpse of her set his gut twisting. As Nat drew near, his thoughts tumbled. What do I say? How do I stand? A smile—nay, too forced. Is my tunic stained? Gods help me.
She stopped before him, and he was still floundering when she spoke again. "Alan?" Her voice cut through his panic. He blinked, rubbed the back of his neck, and forced a grin. "Oh, hullo, Nat! Er… greetings!"
Nat's lips curved in a courteous smile. "I sought Theo earlier. He missed his alchemy lesson at midday, and I feared something amiss."
Alan coughed, steadying his tone. "Theo's well enough. He went to the quarry this morn to fetch minerals for his work. He's home now, likely scrubbing the chaos he's wrought." Nat dipped her head, her face easing. "That's Theo, aye. My thanks, Alan."
He opened his mouth, grasping for words to hold her there, but she offered a kind smile. "Fare thee well, Alan. Until next we meet."
"Aye, until then!" he replied, voice cracking on the last. He grimaced as she melted into the crowd. When she was out of sight, Alan loosed a heavy breath and dragged a hand through his hair. "Why must I be thus?" he muttered under his breath.
With a shake of his head, he stepped to the stall, bought two meat pies for the evening meal, and started homeward. Yet as he walked, a faint smile tugged at his lips.