Storyteller

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Storyteller Page 4

by Amy Thomson


  " 'Be off with you, before you soil my nice shelves,' the stingy baker said, shaking a broom at the tiny bird. It flew off to the kind baker's shop.

  "The kind baker gave the bird four handfuls of bread crumbs.

  " 'Come live with me,' he told the little bird. 'There's an empty birdhouse under the eaves, and your singing will cheer up the children who live in my house.'

  "And so the little bird went to live under the eaves of the kind baker's roof.

  "That night, when the stingy baker went to check his tubs of dough, he discovered that the dough wouldn't rise. The next morning he had no bread to sell. The shelves in his shop were bare for the first time in decades.

  "Meanwhile, the kind baker came home to find that the women had fixed him a tasty fish stew. He ate so much that he fell sound asleep. When he awoke, the air was filled with the wonderful sweet smell of fresh-baked bread. The shelves of his store were piled high with cooling loaves, light as clouds. There were huge baskets of intricately braided rolls and long, crusty baguettes, and sweet pastries studded with raisins and currants.

  "There was a knock on the door. He opened it. Three green-skinned sea sprites stood there, richly dressed in pearls and coral.

  " 'The King of the Sea smelled your bread and sent us to buy some,' they told him.

  " 'Please, take as much as you need,' the kind baker said, amazed by the miraculous appearance of the lovely bread on his shelves.

  "The sea sprites each took a loaf of bread. They gave the baker a fish-skin pouch filled with pieces of rare black gem-coral. It was a princely sum for three loaves of bread.

  "To celebrate his good fortune, the kind baker gave the rest of the bread to the poor. He sold one piece of the black coral, and used the money to buy the finest flour; the fresh­est yeast; butter as yellow as daffodils; and eggs still warm from the hens' nests. Tonight I will bake the most beautiful bread I've ever made, the kindly baker said to himself as he re­turned from the market with his supplies.

  "Meanwhile, the rich baker's bread still refused to rise. He bought new yeast, changed the flour, and tried adding more sugar and less salt. Nothing seemed to help. The dough lay in the baker's tubs, heavy and lifeless as mud. When dawn came, the rich baker was sitting outside on his stoop despairing over his unrisen dough. The miserly baker saw the richly dressed sea sprites go into the other baker's shop. A few minutes later, they emerged with loaves of bread. Through the shop window, he saw the poor baker staring in amazement at the contents of the pouch the sea sprites had given him.

  "That baker has stolen my luck! He never used to make bread that good, the rich baker said to himself. I'll stay up tonight and find out his secret.

  "So the rich baker watched through the window that night. He saw the baker come in, begin work, and then yawn, sit down on a stool in the corner, and fall soundly asleep. The old lady, the mother, and the orphan child tip­toed into the bakery. The sparrow fluttered down from the rafters, settling on the floor in front of the mother. Then the bird changed into a beautiful young woman, graceful as a

  strand of seaweed waving in the current. She greeted the others warmly, and then set to work. The mother put her baby to sleep in a basket in a warm corner, and began sifting flour. The old woman saw to the proofing of the yeast. The young girl brought firewood for the stove, while the beauti­ful sparrow woman lit the fire in the oven.

  "When the flour was sifted, the mother began to mix and knead masses of white, springy dough. The girl placed her hands on the tubs of kneaded dough. The dough rose under her touch until it was as light as a cloud. Then the grand­mother took the risen dough, punched it down, and shaped it into loaves. After the little girl oversaw its second rising, they put the pale loaves into the oven to bake. The rich baker watched enviously as the three women rolled out pas­try light as air, and filled pies with rich fruit filling. A won­derful smell of baking filled the air.

  "When the baking was done, the young woman turned into a sparrow once more and summoned a huge flock of birds. The birds fluttered their wings, creating a breeze that carried the smell of baking out to sea. The old woman, the mother, and the girl swept up the bakery and tiptoed out. A few minutes later, the kind baker awoke. He stared in won­der at the baked goods surrounding him. The rich baker watched as the sea sprites came and bought two loaves each, paying for them with two small sacks of moon-bright pearls.

  " 'So the fool doesn't even know what's happening,' the rich baker said to himself. 'Maybe I can get the King of the Sea to come buy my bread!'

  "When the kind baker left to sell the jewels that the sea sprites had given him, the rich baker fell in beside him.

  " 'Congratulations, my friend, on your good fortune!' the selfish baker said.

  "The generous baker thanked him. 'I only wish I knew

  what was happening. Every evening I eat a big dinner, and then I get so sleepy that I fall asleep right after I start work. Every morning when I wake up, my shelves are piled high with the most beautiful baked goods. I wish I could stay awake long enough to find out what is going on,' he said. 'I'd like to thank whoever is doing this.'

  "Well then, the answer is simple. Skip dinner tonight and see if you stay awake.'

  " 'But I wouldn't want to offend the women who fix din­ner for me,' the baker told him. 'They're so kind!"

  " 'Slip your meal under the table to the dog. Then pre­tend to go to sleep, and watch to see who's doing your bak­ing for you.'

  "And so the kind baker did as the stingy baker sug­gested, giving the dog his meal and pretending to fall asleep in the corner of the bakery. Then the three women and the sparrow came in. His eyes widened as the bird transformed into a beautiful young woman. The baker watched through heavy-lidded eyes as the bird woman knelt to tend the fire. He was so fascinated by her beauty that he barely noticed the miracles made of dough that the others were creating. He looked at the sparrow woman, flushed and rosy from the fire's heat and realized that he had fallen in love with her. He watched quietly until the last loaves were out of the oven, and then he stood and took the sparrow woman by the hand.

  " 'Please! Don't fly away just yet. I wanted to thank you for all you've done.'

  " "We wanted to repay your kindness to us,' the beautiful young woman told him.' She was blushing, but she did not take back her hand.

  " 'I know when I was kind to the others,' the baker said. 'But what have I done for you?'

  " 'I was the sparrow you gave bread crumbs to,' she told him. 'I am the Sea King's eldest daughter. My father gave

  me the guise of a sparrow so that I could carry stories back to him of what went on in the world above the water. I saw your kindness to the poor and began to watch you.' She turned her head away shyly but still did not let go of his hand.

  " 'You're the Sea King's daughter?' the baker said in wonder.

  " 'Yes, I am,' she replied.

  " 'That must be why you're as beautiful as the sea itself,' he told her softly. 'I'm in your debt for all that you have done for me.'

  " 'Perhaps she would accept a kiss as payment,' the old woman suggested.

  "The Sea King's daughter blushed crimson with embar­rassment, but still her hand remained in his. She looked up at him and smiled.

  " 'Gladly,' said the baker, and stepped forward.

  "Just then there was a knock on the door. The beautiful maiden's eyes widened. 'My father's servants!' she said. With a whir and a rustle of feathers she was a small brown bird again. She flew out the window and was gone.

  "The grandmother laid a hand on the baker's arm. 'You love her, don't you?'

  "The baker nodded. 'Of course.'

  " 'When my son's servants seek to pay you for the bread they have come to buy, you must refuse whatever they offer you, and demand the Sea King's eldest daughter's hand in marriage.'

  "Then the three women vanished, leaving behind a spot­less bakery filled with fresh-baked bread.

  "There was another knock on the door and the baker opened it. The three
sea sprites were standing there, garbed in pearls and gems.

  " 'We have come to buy your bread,' one of them said.

  " 'Come in, come in,' said the baker.

  "The three sea sprites came in, choosing three loaves apiece. Their leader tried to give the baker three heavy pouches filled with gold.

  " 'No,' the baker said. 'It's not enough.'

  "The sea sprite pulled out another three sacks, and held those out as well.

  " 'No,' the baker said. 'I wish to marry the Sea King's eld­est daughter.'

  "The sea sprites' leader stiffened in anger. His bright red ruff stood out from his head like a huge collar. His huge azure eyes flashed like lightning on a stormy sea. 'You would dare ask such a thing?' he demanded in a harsh and angry voice.

  "The baker trembled with fear but. stood his ground. 'Yes, I do.'

  "The sea sprites threatened and blustered and warned, but the baker refused to change his mind.

  " 'Well then, you will answer to the king for your inso­lence!' They threw a jeweled net over him and carried him off in a swirl of wind and water.

  "When the whirling maelstrom surrounding the baker and his captors vanished, they were in a vast vaulted cham­ber made from a single giant shell. The walls and roof of the cavern were studded with beautiful glowing jewels. Brightly colored fish swam in and out of the line of windows that spiraled across the ceiling. The Sea King was seated on a throne carved from a single pearl, and waited on by dozens of courtiers and attendants. One of the sea sprites swam for­ward and whispered in the ear of a courtier, who whispered in the ear of another more exalted courtier. That grand per­sonage came forward and conferred with the Sea King.

  " 'Bring the man forward!' the Sea King ordered.

  "The baker was untangled from the net and led before the king.

  " 'You asked for my eldest daughter's hand in marriage, in return for a few loaves of bread?' the king asked.

  " 'Y-yes, Your Majesty. If she will have me, that is.'

  " 'Bring my daughter to me!' the king ordered.

  "Amid a flurry of whispers and bows and apologies, the courtiers scattered like a school of startled minnows.

  "When the courtiers were all gone, a small, brightly col­ored fish swam up to the king. In the wink of an eye the fish was gone, and the Sea King's daughter stood before her fa­ther, clad in royal raiment.

  "She bowed gracefully. 'Greetings, Father. I see you have met the man I wish to marry.'

  " 'But daughter, this man is only a common baker.'

  " 'A baker, yes,' his daughter agreed. 'But far from com­mon.' And she told her father of his generosity and kindness.

  "As she spoke, three small fish swam in through the win­dow, and hovered, watching the proceedings. When the princess had finished her story, the fish transformed into the old woman, the mother, and the orphan, now garbed as magnificently as the princess.

  "The grandmother stood forward. 'My son, I was the old woman the baker took in. I agree with my granddaughter; he is a kind and well-spoken young man.'

  "The mother stepped up onto the dais and greeted the Sea King with a formal kiss. Her baby gave a crow of delight and wriggled out of her arms, to swim onto the king's lap.

  " 'Husband, this man fed and sheltered our baby and me, when he thought us no better than beggars. I feel he is wor­thy of our daughter's hand.'

  "The little girl curtsied to the Sea King. 'Father, he was nice to me, and I like him. I think they should get married.'

  " 'I seem to be outnumbered here,' the king told the baker. 'Are you sure you want to belong to a family with so many pushy females?'

  " 'Nothing would give me greater delight.'

  " 'If you feel the same after living with us for a year and a day, then you may marry my daughter,' the Sea King said.

  " 'Father, there is another matter we would speak to you about,' the princess said. 'One of our gifts is being abused.' And she told him of the wealthy, proud baker, who had re­fused to give them so much as a bread crumb.

  " 'I have lifted your blessing from him temporarily,' the Queen of the Sea informed her husband. 'But you must pass final judgment on this man.'

  " 'Your Majesty,' the baker said. 'I have been this man's neighbor for many years. May I speak on his behalf?'

  " 'Go ahead,' the Sea King allowed.

  " 'He has a family: daughters, sons, and a wife. If you withdraw your blessing from him, what will become of them? Perhaps you could give him one last chance. Have your emissaries tell him that he must give a generous tithe of his bread to the poor or lose your gift permanently. It would be a shame to have to take back so fine a gift, once bestowed.'

  "The Sea King looked thoughtful. 'That is a generous and wise suggestion, young man. I see my daughter has be­stowed her love wisely. So it shall be!'

  "And so, after a year and a day, the generous baker mar­ried the Sea King's eldest daughter. And the Sea King came to value his advice so much that he made his son-in-law the Vizier for Matters Above the Sea. As for the stingy baker, he started giving his bread away. And he discovered that the more he gave, the more bread seemed to come out of his ovens. And as far as I know, they are all prospering still."

  Muted chuckles and a spattering of applause passed over the audience when the tale was done. Teller glanced at Perez to see what effect her story had on him. The baker was looking embarrassed and a little angry. She decided that it was time to change the pace. When her bowl had been filled with gifts, Teller told two funny stories before returning to the theme of generosity, until the baker began to look uncom­fortable again. She didn't want to make Perez angry, only prick his conscience into doing the right thing.

  It was easy to affect a crowd of people with a story. Once you got part of an audience on your side, most of the others usually followed. Influencing a single person was much harder. But she seemed to have Perez where she wanted him, on the uneasy edge of self-examination. She began . telling more gentle stories now: "The Three Oranges," "The Lovers of San Vitale," "The Virgin's Robe." They were tales of understanding, forgiveness, and repentance. Glancing over at the baker, Teller saw his face had become thoughtful and sad.

  By noon, Perez's shelves were nearly bare. Teller decided it was time to bring the storytelling session to a close. As the audience filed past to fill her bowl again, she saw a girl dressed in threadbare clothes creep timidly up to the baker's stall and ask for something. The baker hesitated, glancing at Teller. Then he smiled at the girl and handed her a round brown loaf. The girl thanked him with a curtsy and darted away again, shy as a wild bird. Perez smiled after her.

  Like all Thalassans, Perez had been raised on stories. Sto­ries had made him laugh and cry, and stories had taught him the proper road for a person to walk. A lifetime of sto­ries had made it possible for the storyteller's tales to remind him of the importance of giving. Teller smiled to herself as she bent to roll up her mat.

  Perez came up to Teller and Samad as the crowd dispersed.

  "Thank you, Guildmaster, for telling your stories by my stall today."

  "You did well then?"

  Perez nodded. "I normally have twice this much bread left at the end of the day, and here it's only noon! I think I'll give what's left away, and spend the afternoon with my family."

  "I did well, too," Teller said. "Would you mind if I came by tomorrow and told some more stories?"

  "I would be honored," he said. He held out two loaves of bread wrapped in a beautifully embroidered cotton cloth. "This is my gift for the stories. I baked the bread, and my daughter embroidered the towel."

  "Then I am doubly thanked," she told him.

  Perez turned to Samad. "This is for you," he said, holding out a small, paper-wrapped parcel. "Without you, Sera Teller would never have come by today."

  "Thank you, ser," Samad said. His voice was stiff with pride, but he managed to be gracious.

  "Go ahead, open it!" Perez urged.

  Inside was a set of eight beautifully carved green
wood buttons, each in the shape of a different fish, each kind clearly recognizable.

  "They're beautiful," Samad said quietly, running his fin­gers over the carefully carved wood. "Thank you, Ser Perez."

  The baker shrugged, embarrassed by the fineness of his gift. "De nada," he demurred in Spanish. "My brother carves, now and then."

  They had done well today, Teller thought as they walked off. She was pleased by Perez's apparent change of heart and by his invitation to tell stories there again tomorrow. It was a good spot. And a repeat visit might help set Perez's change more firmly in his heart.

  Samad watched Teller warily as she ate. He had finished his meal several minutes before, and it lay solid and comfort­able in his stomach. Though he'd already spent two full days with Teller, being warm and fed was still a novel sensa­tion. He liked it, and that worried him. Sooner or later, the bill was going to come due on all this kindness, and he only hoped he'd be able to pay it. He watched Teller lift her fork from her plate to her mouth. Occasionally her gaze flickered over him, but mostly she kept to herself. He liked her si­lence, but he worried about what lay behind it.

  A gale had blown in from the Sea of Storms. Samad looked out the window at the silver sheets of rain driven by the wind. He wondered where he was going to sleep to­night. He had been so busy with Teller over the last couple of days that he hadn't swept the stable yard for the innkeeper who let him sleep in his hayloft. He knew of a sheltered doorway south of the market. It was close to the Street of the Smiths, so he ran the risk of being rousted by the Guardia, but it was deep enough to be out of the storm.

  "Samad," Teller said, interrupting his worries. "It's a wild night out there. You'd be welcome to curl up in a cor­ner of my room."

  Samad tensed. Was he finally being expected to pay for all the meals that Teller had fed him?

  "I'll be all right, sera," he insisted. Fear had turned the food in his belly into a stone.

  "As you wish, Samad. But if you change your mind later on, you'll be welcome to as much of the floor as you need."

 

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