The Peasant Queen

A world wrecking crash threatened to buckle the shacks only door. “Temmi Rae Bry! Get your lazy sack of bones up off of that pad,” came the weathered and tired voice of a woman long on years, most of which were spent in the dusty confines of a quarry storehouse. “You’ll not be sleepin this day away, no matter your fancy! Not by the blood of the First Dame!” “Shut it, you broody old hag,” Temmi roared back, her voice thick with sleep. She tried to bury herself deeper into her nest of roofing thatch and scraps of burlap. The pitiful mattress sat in the darkest corner of the dusty old shack, which wasn't saying much. The thatch roof had so many holes that even a slight drizzle felt like a downpour. “That's no way to be speakin` to your Dame,” retorted the old woman. “You are not my Dame, Malia!” Temmi shouted, jumping up and running for the door on legs that were trying to move in two different directions. She barely felt the rocks strewn about the stone and dirt floor. Sliding the latch and pulling the door open, she felt the wooden hinges give and nearly snap. They would have to be replaced. The old womans ash-grey hair and matching tunic ruffled and shifted from the force of the doors violent opening. Her clothes were of a quality uncommon to the High Shanties, the grey of the tunic being offset by the vibrant purple of her neck scarf and leggings. Her bare feet were the only thing at odds with her otherwise flawlessly middle-class appearance. But even they were well kept though quite dusty. As always her face beamed with a wide, gracious smile that could disarm an invading army. Though the toll of years showed clearly through the weathered and tanned skin, her eyes somehow maintained the youthful sparkle of an excited child exploring an ancient ruin for the first time. And as always she carried a woven grass basket covered with a purple handkerchief and stuffed with enough food to feed the whole of the palace guards. “Well, dont you just look a fright to terrify children,” exclaimed the woman as she pushed her way past Temmi to the small table in the center of the room. Malia never waited for an invitation. The table had a thick, over-built top and spindly little legs which groaned in protest under the weight of the basket. “I’d’ve thought your hair a prairie spider atop a stack of flour sacks,were it not for the face between them.” With a sigh of resignation Temmi closed the door and made her way to the pile of logs against the stone of the east wall that served as the shacks stove as well as the heater and the shacks only source of light… other than the disintegrating ceiling. Taking the ember stones from the hearth she worked a fire to life and threw a pot of water on the grate for her morning tea. Tea didn’t used to be a necessity for Temmi. In fact, in the eight years since she had made the three week handcart journey to the mountain-born city of Marwon she had hardly needed more than a good nights rest to get in a good day's work. But then again her definition of a good day's work was quite a bit different back then. Malia took her usual perch at the shacks lone and precariously top-heavy table and waited for the tea to finnish. Temmi could feel the old woman's eyes on her as she worked. “So,” said Malia, as Temmi placed a steaming cup before her. “What carries this day for you?” Temmi remained silent a moment too long as she tried to come up with a good enough excuse to relieve herself of Malias company. “Ah,” Malia began again, this time pursing her lips as though staring at a strange insect, “you have no plans. Well, this is wonderful news! Ive been waiting for you to have a day to yourself for an age!” She slapped the table which, once again, groaned in protest. Temmi looked up in both surprise and fear. It was not that she didn’t have plans-- she had been planning this day for nearly a year-- she just didn’t want to listen to Malia lecture her about how she was wasting the day wandering about the market district. Especially since she wasn’t, at least as far as Malia knows, supposed to have enough money to do any shopping. She bwgan to protest, “So have I–” “It’s unhealthy for you to be stuck in this shack all day,” Malia inturupted tersley, then wrinkled her nose as though she had smelled something foul, “or behind some cart at Market East watching everyone else buy what they want!” Malia leaped to her feet and strode around the table. She gripped Temmi’s shoulders with such ferocity that the girl actually flinched. “It’s been far too long since you last got to enjoy a day entirely your own. And I plan to make sure it is one youll remember for ages!” Its not really my own then is it? Temmi thought, wiping the last bits of tart from her lips. This was not the first time that Malia had tried to take her to the Market District. In fact it was more like the thirtieth. Malia had been trying to take her on a shopping spree for months, but Temmi was not going to go for it. Not after the fiasco of the first time she had accepted. But, as usual, Malia would not be easily refused. “I appreciate the offer, Malia,” Temmi began, sounding as graceful as possible, “but I really cant afford a shopping da–” “Well who says you have to buy anything,” she asked, indignation filling every word. “What do you take me for? A good for nothing fripsy, holding her value over the peasants beneath her?” “Of course no–” “Do you think I would force you to march along behind me as my little pack goat? Making you carry every lace and every taffy that I may hap to whimsy?” “No, but–” “Then what is your objection, young lady? Why would you reject spending a day with your Dame?” “You are not my Dame!” Temmi screamed, striking the brittle table with both fists. But as soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. She knew that Malia meant well. She also knew that the old woman looked at her as an adopted daughter of sorts and could not help but feel remorse for speaking to her in such a way. Malia really was like a second mother to her. And Temmi could not deny she needed that, even if she didn’t want it. “I know I am not,”Malia interjected into Temmis thoughts, slumping back into her chair. “Nor do I intend to replace your actual Dame. But I can not and will not sit by while you waste yourself away as though youve no dealings with the rest of the world.” She sat up straiter, an aire of pride flowing over her weathered form, “And so I will continue to heft my old bones up this infernal mountain each day to achieve that which is so dear to my heart.” Temmi stared at the floor. This was not the first time she had heard words such as these. For the last two years, since the miracle of her getting this one room shack, Temmi had rarely left it unless she was to go work for Francor in the market. Only twice before had she gone to the market to purchase something other than food, and those were to replace the clothing that had gotten to thread-bared for her to repair and she was unable to pilfer the goods she needed to make her own. The thought of stealing mad Temmi visibly cringe It was not until she had moved to Marwon that Temmi became a thief. She found no joy in stealing, only anxiety and guilt, so she only took things that she needed, and even then only from shops wealthy enough that it would not hurt their business. While Francor was generous in what he paid her, it was still nowhere near enough for her to rise above her current station. “I’m sorry,” Temmi said, almost too quiet to hear. “I just don’t want to end up someones charity case.” Malia was quiet for several minutes. While it was never her intention to make Temmi feel such a way, she could not fault the younger woman for feeling it. And given that was the case she had to be cautious in how she proceded. She could not risk pushing Temmi too far and alienating herself. Losing her friendshop, if it could be called that, would be a tregedy. Then an idea struck her. “Temmi, dear,” she began sweetly. “When is your birthday?” It was two weeks ago,” she replied grumpily. “No one had ever asked her that. And she wasnt too keen on tellng the older woman, though she was certain she already knew. “And did I get anything for you? “Why ask such a stupid question? If ou had you wouldnt be asking when it was,” Temmi replied with indignation and sarcasm. Then she realized what was happening. Crafty old witch, Temmi thought. “True,” Malia replied, keeping her voice soft and agreeable, “a stupid question it was. Be that as it may, in light of me being such a terrible friend as to not inquire earlier, would you allow me to dote upon you this once?” Temmi did not miss the stress on the word friend. Malia knew she was on a straw bridge and was doing all she could to not blow it down. And, oh, how Temmi was in the mood to get the winds blowing. But, though she hated the idea of letting anyone take her on such an outing, she could not do such a thing to such a kind person and look herself in the eye the next morning. And so she conceded. “Oh, bless you for cheering an old womans heart!” Malia exclaimed jumping to her feet again. The sudden motion upset the pathetic little table for the last time and, with a crash that seemed far to great for its size, it fell. The ground beneath their feet shook slightly with the impact and they tried vainly to fan away the cloud of splinters and wood dust. “Curses and steer dung, woman! What is that table made of? Bricks?” Temmi blew off the sarcasm and got back to the point. “I will allow this just this once! And only because youve been so good to me. But don’t go makin’ this into some make-over, trying to make me look like some toddled fripsy!” “Of course not, dear,” the old woman replied, looking slightly abashed. “Wouldn’t think of it.” “And I’ll have to make a stop,” Temmi declared. When she saw Malia open her mouth to inquire, she added, “In private.” Temmi stared hard at Malia. Malia did not back down, though. “Anything you like, dear. But what in the world are you trying to get that would require such… privacy?” Temmi did not answer the query. She only stared and thought to herself, A fighting chance. “Fine, keep your tongue in its ivory prison,” Malia said indignantly. “So, are you going to change into a dress thats a bit more presentable, or are we just going to pick the straw out of that one?”