“We are! Shopping for stones, and, um, mastic, and”—if only I could stop babbling—“and, uh, resin! Those things.”
“Funny, I’m going, too! Am I…allowed to join you?” he asks cautiously.
Oh, the delightful sickness pressing in my chest! I open my mouth to reply, but Alice cuts me off.
“We appreciate the escort,” says Alice. “Don’t we, Edyth?”
“We do.” My cheeks burn. We all turn toward town, and Mason falls in step next to me.
“Cold today,” he says.
If only he knew how not cold I felt just now. “It’ll be warm soon enough.”
“So what do they have you doing for work? I hope it’s not too awful.”
“I’m working in the scriptorium, as a matter of fact. Grinding pigments. Did you know there are colors inside rocks?” I squeeze my eyes shut. God, I sound like a child.
Mason doesn’t seem fazed at all. “Who would’ve guessed we’d both be working with stone?” he chuckles. “You were always more of a wool girl.”
Alice lets us talk—occasionally giving me a sly nudge. It’s so good to speak freely, away from the eyes and ears at the priory.
We enter the town gates, and instantly all of my senses war. I’ve never seen so many people. The buildings look like tumbled boats in a moat of dreck, their second stories leaning toward each other, blocking out the sun. Children and animals are running, hawkers shouting, customers haggling. Beggars huddle in ragged, shapeless bundles; coughing and sneezing are everywhere. I’m reeling from the dissonant smells—incense and various animal excrements and baking bread and strong cheese. Shards of dark metallic hues clash and burn with smothering billows of green, and I can barely see, barely hear for the ringing in my ears.
Alice has been here before—Thornchester is her family’s nearest town—and she weaves through the crowd, leading us, and thank God for that, or I’d fall in a faint, and I don’t want to do that in front of Mason. Then I’d have to tell him about the colors—and maybe he’d think that I had a demon.
But I feel him close behind me. Then beside me. He slips a hand into my cloak and brushes mine.
Our fingers touch. Our hands clasp.
And we make it through the chaos, to the other end of the high street.
We separate to do our various errands, and Mason meets us at last outside the jeweler’s. It’s a good thing he came: as we head back through the crowd, I feel a thousand eyes searching for my purse, heavy with precious stones, waiting to pounce on a girl who’s half blinded by conflicting, hurtling colors. Bristling with fright, I feel a hand on the small of my back and brace myself for a thief to make a grab.
It’s Mason, thank goodness. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It’s—it’s time to start back to the priory,” I stammer.
“We can take our time,” he says softly. “The day’s not half spent.”
* * *
It was two years ago at Michaelmas when I first saw Mason.
Services had ended and the congregation filed into Saint Andrew’s churchyard, the little ones playing hide-and-seek among the tombs and trees, and the old ones gathering to gossip and talk harvest. Da was about to lead us in a paternoster at the graves of Mam’s parents when Lord Geoffrey Caxton took him aside and made him an offer.
“We’re starting a cloth trade right here in town, Edgar. We’ll need weavers, fullers, dyers. And all those workers will need a manager. Your name was put forward as reeve.”
Reeve? That was almost like being in charge of the whole town! Was this really happening? To us?
“You’re the man for the job,” said Lord Geoffrey, playfully slapping Da’s chest. They laughed and shook on it robustly. “It will mean being away sometimes…Flanders and such…but you’ll be given a wage. Your wife will be happy about that, won’t she?”
A wage! Mam and I grinned.
“We’ll be rich,” I whispered, grabbing her by the elbow. Mam and I were on our toes with anticipation. Da turned to us with a new straightness of spine, his red beard swinging.
Henry and I followed Mam and Da home along the copper-green river, gathering the last of the fallen walnuts. The larder was already full, because Da had a knack for getting to the walnuts first. That is, unless Old John Mason beat him to it.
“Looks like Old John’s been here and about cleaned us out,” said Henry, cracking a nut against the stone river wall.
“Oooh,” I replied with a shudder. “Don’t say his name, Henry!”
“How can he eat all them nuts with no teeth?” He mimicked the gumming mouth of an old man. We laughed and I hopped up onto the wall and balance-walked, leaping across each gap. My cheeks were flushed despite a bit of chill in the air, and my lungs felt pained, but I was having too much fun to care.
Old John wasn’t really that old, and I felt guilty for poking fun. He was only about the same age as Da. When he’d reach up to shake the thick branch of the walnut tree, the lines in his forearms would carve the story of decades of stone pushing and sledgehammer swinging. But the stone dust got into his chest and threw his humors off balance; his twisting cough, huge hunched shoulders and gray skin made him a living gargoyle.
“Boo!” Henry suddenly jumped up in my way just as I was about to leap across to the next wall. I stopped short and wobbled, falling onto the soft, grassy bank, my ankle twisting as I rolled. I rubbed it—it wasn’t sprained—and I heard Henry laughing at me, but further down the bank, someone else was looking our way.
A wooden punt was tied to the landing, and a boy was helping load it with baskets of river clay. His shaggy, dark blond hair waved out under his cap. He smiled at me, and I tasted honey.
“Boy!” a gruff voice threatened. “Boy, get these baskets loaded, or by ’is bones I’ll give ye such a thrash—” It was Old John himself down in the boat, his menace dissolving into an awful cough.
Henry helped me up and left me, running over to the boat landing. “Mason!” he called to Old John’s son. “Where have you been?”
“Henry, old friend!” The two clasped hands. “I had an apprenticeship, building the new spire at Christchurch. I’m glad to be home! At least until the next job.”
“Well, come by for a bite later,” said Henry. “We’ve got the goose roasted, and my father’s just been named reeve! Things are looking up, I guess!”
Mason shot another look at me. “Looks that way.” He smiled, and I felt the river flow right through me. “I’ll see you around vespers.”