by Lea Carter
Making History
(2014)
Rolf watched in disbelief as the other scribes quietly ducked out of the room through a low window. For the second day in a row! Granted, the airball championships could be very exciting, but they had not been given permission to leave their work anymore than he had! He frowned at himself, wondering if he was being overly conscientious because of his recent appointment. Though he officially held the rank of Historian, he had eagerly entered the School of Scribes at the suggestion of his aunt, the Queen of the Silver Fairy tribe.
Still wrestling with the decision, he stared at the report he had been assigned.
“The result of the trading negotiations between the Plant Fairy and Sky Fairy tribes was as follows. For the months of February, March, and April, the Sky Fairy Tribes will see that cloud cover is at a minimum. For the months of May through July…”
His mind droned off. In return for the excellent weather, the Plant Fairy tribe had committed to provide the first picking of this crop, and the best of the last picking of that crop, to the Sky Fairy tribe. He could find interesting points to the report, thanks to his background, but this was somehow not what he had had in mind when he dreamed of becoming a Historian.
Suddenly he realized that he had unconsciously picked up a new quill and begun copying again. With a sigh, he put thoughts of the airball championship games out of his mind. He had been given a task. He would complete that task. Begin today to do those things you so admire in others. His father’s advice echoed in his mind, unquestionably an influence on the integrity of his choice. Also, Rolf could hardly imagine Historian Janet leaving a task incomplete. She had lasted the longest of any Historian ever sent to the distant Sky Fairy capital, Regalis.
He froze, his quill posed above the parchment. He had been about to write “Janet!” An error like that would have meant needing to start the copy from the beginning – and finding a way to discreetly dispose of the evidence of his thoughts wandering. Carefully redirecting his mind, he began reviewing the reasons why Historians were required to first complete a ten-year apprenticeship as scribes. Copying the reports ensured that they were schooled in proper formatting and given the opportunity to practice their penmanship. They also got see a variety of reporting styles.
Personally, Rolf preferred Historian Jan…that was, he preferred a straight-forward accounting of the events, free from the use of personal pronouns such as “I” and “my” over the lengthy, self-aggrandizing reports that some Historians were fond of writing.
Diligently Rolf wrote on, preparing letter-perfect copies for the libraries in each of the Silver Fairy tribe’s eight major cities, and finally switching to the fine linen paper for the last five copies. Historians were certainly thorough. Pausing, he flexed his right hand and inspected his quill. Finding the nub worn nearly down, he reached for his penknife. His already hopelessly inked fingers moved nimbly through the process of removing the weakened barrel and shaping a fresh section into the delicate nib he would need.
“Well, young Rolf,” a warm hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder. Its owner restricted himself to a faint smile as he perceived that he had accidentally startled the scribe. “Forgive me,” he glanced at the scrap of once-blank paper, now marked by a heavy streak of ink, on which Rolf had been about to test his new nib. Withdrawing his hand from Rolf’s shoulder, he reached down to pick up one of the drying reports. “What do you think, Janet?” asked Master Historian Elric, offering it to her.
Janet accepted the document and pretended to look at it for the sake of appearances. More than a scribe who could spell she needed one that was dependable, which this lad obviously was. Unless he just hated airball.
“You write a fine hand, scribe,” she acknowledged. She was irked to hear some of her surprise manifest itself in her voice. She did not mean to be insulting, but he was a bit young to have such flawless penmanship. She looked up from the document and found herself again surprised. She was not so very far from her own time as a scribe, near enough certainly to remember the slope-shouldered scribes with scraggly hair who wiped their noses on their sleeve cuffs. This lad was quite different, from his clear, direct gaze to his perfectly creased shirt collar.
“My thanks, Historian,” Rolf managed to say at last. He felt dozens of other things crowding at his lips – questions about her assignments, observations about how his sisters would love to be old enough to get their hair up in that kind of a bun, a compliment about how the bun suited her oblong face…he clamped his lips tightly shut to keep from embarrassing himself.
Master Elric was a keen judge of character and had marked Rolf as one of the few scribes who would be suitable for any number of assignments. Rolf’s royal training gave him the advantage of choosing his words carefully, even when upset, something that many fairies never learned. It also meant that he understood the importance of tedious things like trade negotiations and military supply reports. And then, there was the fact that Rolf did not just accept guidelines for his life from others, he tested them for himself or watched others disregard them, and then pay for it in one way or another. Elric had even discussed a new rule for the scribes with Rolf before implementing an adjusted version of it. Somehow Elric had been certain they would find him here, hard at work, while other scribes were playing truant.
Janet’s eyes suddenly narrowed as she spied the family crest on the scribe’s jacket shoulder. There were many from titled families who entered the School of Scribes in the hopes of becoming Historians someday, so at first she had taken no notice of it.
“Rolf Wagner?”
Rolf almost cringed away from the disbelief in her tone. Of all the reactions to his identity outside of his role as a scribe, this was his least favorite. He could hardly interrupt everyone he met and explain he was the Queen’s nephew. Surely the Historian could appreciate that. What, then, had been done to make her feel so deceived?
“Leave those copies, Rolf,” Master Elric interrupted the thoughts that he could see moving furiously across both Janet’s and Rolf’s faces. “I want you to accompany Historian Janet to the archives and assist her with some research.”
“As you say, Master Elric,” Rolf agreed, though he would rather have copied a thousand reports of trade negotiations than have to go with her while she was still angry. Wiping his fingers on a dry rag to remove any excess ink, he swiftly gathered up his things and snapped his case shut. Rising, he bowed. “I am at your service, Historian Janet.”
She turned silently away, without looking at Master Elric. “Can you fly?” she asked the lad.
“I have not yet begun my lessons,” Rolf answered honestly. It was simpler than explaining his mother’s fears and the doctor’s restrictions. Besides, Historian Janet assuredly knew the details of his aunt’s accidental death.
“Then let us walk.” Feeling ashamed with herself for misdirecting her shock towards the lad, who could not help having been born into the royal family, she resolved to take a softer approach. Thankfully she had at least remembered the tragedy before lifting off.
“As you say, Historian.”
“You do not need to address me so formally,” Janet said after a moment. “We are both Historians, after all.”
Rolf considered the statement before responding slowly, “I am only an appointed Historian. You have earned your title.”
Surprised and impressed, Janet said nothing further until they arrived at the archives.
“I need to find records from your great-grandfather’s reign,” she told him. “Regarding an agreement negotiated with the Sky Fairy tribe.”
He felt his heart beginning to pound as they walked deeper and deeper into the archives, passing ceiling-high shelves that sagged under the weight of old-fashioned volumes. His black jacket brushed one of the shelves as they walked but came away dust-free.
At last they came to a stop before a wall covered with doors. She knew most of the compartments had neve
r been used, for there were few secrets in Fairydom that needed such cooperation between tribes or this level of protection.
“Wait here,” she instructed him. She paused. “Master Elric chose you, Rolf, because you are one who understands what confidential means.”
Though puzzled as to what might need to be kept secret from so long ago as King Anthony’s reign, Rolf nodded.
Lifting off, she flew nearly to the ceiling. Locating the correctly dated door, Janet withdrew two small keys from an inner pocket. One was made of finely chiseled crystal and the other of steel-cored silver. The secret of the keys lay in not turning the delicate crystal key, which was designed to shatter at the least application of torsional pressure. Once she had inserted it as far as it would go, she carefully inserted and turned the silver key. The door swung open.
Removing the small box that she found inside, Janet closed the door and returned the keys to her pocket. Gradually she let herself descend until her feet were again on the floor. Looking Rolf in the eyes, she made her decision.
“I have an assignment for you, scribe. You will accompany me to the Sky Fairy tribe and help me record events that will change things for all of Fairydom.”