“Where’s the step ladder?” Mado jumped down from the wagon and walked over to the stall. “You did pack it, right?”
Arms piled high with produce, Kjara shrugged. The step ladder remained exactly where it needed to be, shoved in the back corner of the barn at home. And for good reason, she’d left it there on purpose.
Mado sighed, taking the cheese from her, and stacking it on the counter, “Kjara, it’s important to meet the customers at eye level. If you let them look down on you, they will think that they can take advantage of you.”
“Well, that works for the mohras and the faeduin,” Kjara said smartly. “But then we end up looking down on other haffelins.”
“That’s not the…” Mado pinched the broad bridge of his nose and took a breath. Reaching into his vest, he pulled out a pocket watch. “I’ll see if someone has a few harvest crates we can borrow. Should be time enough before the rush. If anyone comes make sure to―”
“Count the coin carefully,” Kjara finished. “I know my numbers.”
“I should hope so,” Mado tidied her messy, brunette bob cut. “Remember to smile.”
“Yes, Dad. I know.”
“I’m trustin’ you,” parental pride glimmered in his eyes. “I love you.”
Kjara winced in mock agony, “Go get your crates, then.”
Mado strode across the market square, disappearing beneath the bustling, largely Mohra, crowd. Kjara leant on the counter of their stall, watching the bluster of the townsfolk. Little Mohra children played run-around between the streetlamps, fisherfolk shucked oysters while farmers shook the dirt from their carrots. The local Garnisaire rolled out her latest wallpaper patterns to the appreciation of gathered nobles while the Lanthornist peddled his latest lantern-oil blends. Some burnt green, others burnt blue, though she was particularly taken by a vibrant purple. Aromas of fried fish and saltwater wafted in on the breeze from the harbour, mixing with the rich, earthy scent of freshly dug vegetables.
“It is considered courteous, haffelin girl, to respond when one is spoken to.”
The harsh voice brought Kjara out of her thoughts. In front of the stall loomed a large, unpleasant woman. Make-up clumped on the folds of her swollen eyelids and smeared her jaundiced, buttery-white skin. Overstated fabric in a clash of green and pink stretched to breaking point across her body. Hanging by her hip was a chubby, sweaty boy with chocolate-stained fingers and the air of a child mistaking arrogance for confidence.
Kjara straightened up, “How can I help you, miss―”
“Thairis Pedigray,” the woman corrected, “of the Pedigray estates and holdings. I am hosting a banquet in a few days, and I require cheese. Provide me with samples of your wares. If it is to our tastes, we shall discuss the price of a bulk discount.”
“As you like, thairis,” Kjara responded.
“It is not ‘thairis’, girl. It is my thairis.” Pedigray scoffed. “That is the correct way to address one’s superior. Surely, a farmer must know that, even if they know little of anything else. The samples, girl.”
Pedigray snapped her fingers.
Kjara stiffened, “Kjara.”
“What?”
“Kjara Chedderheart,” she puffed up, “of the Chedderheart farm.”
Thairis Pedigray narrowed her eyes, “Are you being deliberately facetious?”
Kjara tugged on the bottom of her vest and cleared her throat. The woman used foreign words. Or as good enough to a farmer’s daughter.
“No,” she answered with an uncertain shrug.
Thairis Pedigray’s face burned a light shade of red, “Then do as I say and do it with alacrity. That means swiftly.”
“Swiftly!” the boy echoed. “Now, now!”
Kjara swallowed her irritation, “Certainly, my thairis.”
Preparing two samples of an ashed goat’s cheese―one of their most popular―Kjara held them out on two flat sticks. The boy snatched one from her hand and shoved it into his mouth. His lips smacked together with a loud, wet slap before he whipped the stick out and tossed it to the ground.
Thairis Pedigray held the cheese up to her nose and took a long, deep sniff. She squinted her eyes in deliberation, before slapping the stick, cheese side down, on her tongue. After a few muffled grunts of embellished consideration, she opened her eyes with a facade of indifference, “How much for twenty wedges?”
“It is one silver per wedge. So, one gold and eight.”
“What?” the woman’s double chin jiggled with outrage. “Surely you are mistaken.”
“I’m quite sure, my thairis. Twelve silver to a gold means one gold and eight.”
“I know the exchange rate, child!” Thairis Pedigray huffed. “I am not innumerate. There is no discount to be had if I am to pay one gold and eight. Have you no business savvy?”
“Stupid haffelin, yes?” the boy jabbered, seeking approval from his mother.
She responded by handing him a boiled lolly. He tore the paper from it and crammed it into his mouth, gnawing and drooling. It would be so easy to decline the woman’s custom. Even easier to call her out on her pettiness. But Kjara didn’t.
“Twenty wedges are of no less quality than one, my thairis,” Kjara stated. “And so, the price stands to reason as it is.”
Thairis Pedigray snorted, “I’ll not spend such outrageous coin on so bland a product. I offer you one gold or nothing.”
She snapped open her purse and carelessly flung a single gold piece onto the counter. It rolled to a stop by her hand.
Bland.
A greater insult than any other. Bland, the opposite of flavour, good or bad. Kjara curled her hand into a fist to distract her growing anger, “If you are unhappy with our prices, my thairis, I can return your coin and wish you a good day.”
“Fine,” Thairis Pedigray grumbled, shrugging the purse off her shoulder. “But I expect free delivery. I shall not be fleeced of extra coin for that.”
The woman dug about and threw down the remaining coin. She removed a pencil and a small, gilded book, scrawled a few notes, tore out the page and slapped it on the counter.
“Instructions, child. When and where to deliver. Assuming you can read?”
Heat prickled Kjara’s neck. Squiggles and lines covered the paper. Crosses, dots, familiar shapes in unfamiliar patterns. Numbers, she knew. Writing, she did not.
“Cheese girl, you’ve gone silent. And quite red.” Thairis Pedigray leant in, pausing for a moment, before erupting into laughter. A hideous bray that battered Kjara’s ears. The little boy parroted his mother, burbling out a shrill, slimy cackle.
“Mercy me. I’ve been bartering with a simpleton!” Pedigray wiped a tear from her magenta eyelid. “Of course, it all makes sense now! Shall I have my son draw you a picture instead? He’s become quite competent with his crayons,” her amusement lulled.
Again, she reached into her purse and tossed a handful of coins onto the counter.
“Here, you’ve earned it. I haven’t had a decent laugh in an age. Oh, maybe you could purchase a book with it. A book on how to read!” she exploded with another burst of derisive giggling, slapping the counter with her pudgy hand.
Enough was enough. Kjara boiled over. She snatched up the coins and flung them back. They bounced off the woman’s belly and fell to the ground. The laughter stopped.
“Keep it,” Kjara curled her lip. “Maybe you could buy a salad.”
Pedigray’s face turned to stone, “Careful, girl. You risk losing my patronage.”
“I feed pigs at the farm, not in the city,” Kjara snapped. “Take your coin elsewhere.”
“How… dare you!” Thairis Pedigray bellowed.
“Kjara! Wagon. Now!” Mado’s voice cut through the market bustle, louder and angrier than it had ever been.
This excerpt is from author Kel White’s debut YA fantasy novel, ‘A Curiosity of Consequence’. The book is available for pre-order right here; amzn.asia/d/anoDZxe
The book launch for ‘A Curiosity of Consequence’ will be held at Belgrave Library, 11AM – Noon, Saturday 24 June 2023! To attend, please call 03 9800 6489 or register online, here; https://events.yourlibrary.com.au/event?id=42688