Hark what is this before me? Is it light at the end of the week? I see it approaching, slowly but soon. This has been a busy week for me and I am glad to make it to Thursday. I think I have almost managed to catch up on things and today might actually be less crazy than the first half of the week. Today feels less like I am trying to sprint to a finish line and more like ambling down a country lane. I am not quite ready for the weekend as there is still too much to do, but I am happy to amble for a little bit. And maybe catch my breath. So why don’t we amble into the morning writing prompt and get this less than speedy day started.
I have to admit, I fumbled with this quite a bit before I hooked it into a story. I wasn’t entirely certain where it was going until the last few paragraphs. But sometimes writing the prompts is like that. You just flail around with words until something catches.
Thursday, August 5th: The market was crowded.
The market was crowded. Anyone who had anything to sell anything arrived early. They showed up with their carts and baskets. Some had packs heaped high on their backs as well as their ponies and donkeys. Many of them resembled nothing more than small moving mountains. The shopes were filled and wares arranged.
Once the heavier carts were through, the smaller ones rolled in. These goods didn’t go into the shops or produce stands. They were laid out on smaller tables arranged in corners and along the blank faces of buildings off to the side. Then those with baskets of smaller goods, trinkets, small bundles of flowers or herbs, homemade tinctures, arrived. Some of these went to the stalls and shops and sold their wares to established owners, others circled through the square as those who came to buy finally arrived to see what was on offer.
Some came with lists, eager to stock up at the once a month market. Others came to look, to simply enjoy the market as though it were some sort of fair. These people had the money to buy things other than necessities. They sent their servants on ahead with lists of needed goods. They were here to see what was on offer and to purchase anything that caught their eye.
While some focused on supplying the necessities, anyone with anything out of the ordinary focused on these market visitors. Many hoped for a sale, some hoped their wares would be liked well enough to make it onto the list of repeat purchases and necessities they passed to their underlings.
The market was noisy and full of scents. The goods and the people all crammed into a smaller space. Jan had not been prepared for it. He had lived most of his life on the farm. He vaguely recalled a time when his family lived in the city, but then his father had died and he and his mother went off to live with an uncle in the countryside. His mother kept the house as his uncle was a widower and Jan was raised with his cousins. If he received a little less than the other children it was because he was only a nephew and not a son. He understood that his place in the house was temporary.
He was there as a courtesy. He knew it would reflect poorly upon his uncle if he and his mother were not cared for by the family. It was why they were taken in and why they publicly offered thankls for his uncle’s generosity each week at church. This way all knew of his uncle’s good deeds and all were reminded that he was not a son of the house.
At least that is how it had been until last week. The week prior his uncle called him into his study and informed him that a place had been found for him. It was a good position and would, in time, provide him with a craft of his own so that he could make his own way in the world and no longer be a burden upon the family.
His meager belongings had been packed and travel rations were provided for him. The journey would take a week and as one of the men from the near by village was going into the city, he had been commissioned to take Jan with him. Before Jan had time to contemplate the changes, he was handed his pack and sent to the cart. He had no time for questions, not time to even say goodbye to his mother before he was rolling away from the farmstead.
On the journey however there was nothing but time to think.
Ten til Midnight 