Claudette sashayed in place while keeping the tray balanced.
“Can I get my break now?”
“Ask your father,” Laura said.
Claudette went to the counter, laying the tray down on top of it. Samuel knew her father was a skilled laborer. His experiences with antique technology were enough to earn himself a job for the mayor. He was the personal handyman for the estate, whose main job was to help keep the electricity running smoothly. The man rubbed his hairless chin as his daughter made her request, his nose wrinkling as she spoke. He nodded, reached into his pocket, and retrieved a handful of silver coins. The amount seemed larger than Samuel’s weekly allowance.
“Don’t spend it all on candy.”
“I’m not a child, Dad.”
“Harold,” Laura said in a low voice. “We have to be frugal. The shop isn’t taking in the profit it should and … ”
“Forget the shop, Laura. The mayor gave me another bonus for my hard work. I told you that overtime would pay off.”
“You didn’t tell me this.”
“Sorry,” he stammered out. His face reddened. “I’ve been busy. Working. Providing for my family. And now, I’m trying to do something nice for my daughter, if you don’t mind.”
Laura frowned but kept silent.
Claudette bent her head and took the money.
“Thanks, Father.”
Her father forced a grin, his teeth showing a bit of yellow.
“Go on. Buy yourself something pretty.”
Claudette took hold of Samuel’s arm and pulled him outside.
“Sorry about that,” she said as she guided them away from the shop. “He’s been acting weird lately. Now he and my mom argue all the time about money.”
“Please. Don’t apologize.” He paused. “I know what it’s like to have no money and a weird dad.”
Claudette smiled.
First, they went to one of the boutique booths. Claudette bought a fancy lace hairband and several hairpins. After, they visited the candy station and purchased a packet of licorice. Once they’d eaten their fill of sweets, they made their way to the center of the square and watched the greenlands band perform more songs. Claudette didn’t seem to have any shyness around him and kept the conversation going by talking about the weather and funny stories about things that had happened at the shop. She also asked him a lot of questions. That was something Samuel wasn’t used to. What was his favorite color? Did he like living in Haid? What did he like to do for fun? He had to lie a bit when she asked him what he did as a patrolman.
“I just guard the jailhouse. That and watch the sheriff drink.”
He somehow found the courage to ask her about her hair braids.
“How did you do that? It looks pretty. Complicated, I mean.”
Claudette smiled. She turned her back toward him.
“Want me to show you how I do it?”
Before he could answer, Claudette undid the hair ties and pulled out the braids with her fingers. Once she’d straightened out the hair, she sectioned off two pieces near the top of her head. Several people pushed by them, but she worked as if the masses didn’t bother her. Her fingers moved quickly yet delicately as she folded strips of hair in and out of each other.
“I work on this right section first. When I get about halfway, I stop and move to the left side. Like this. Then, I bring them together. After a while, my fingers memorize the pattern. I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Samuel watched her movements intently, and he was so close to her he could smell the sweetness of her hair. It made him wish he could grow his hair as long. He found himself grinning. He felt like she liked him, and the thought of her being attracted to him made his mouth go dry. A few months prior, he was resigned to a life of isolation and celibacy. But now, if the mayor stayed happy with his handlings of Zei, perhaps he really could live a normal life.
Claudette fastened her hair back and smiled.
Samuel clutched his coat shyly, pulling it tighter around his ribs. He wished it was a bit slimmer so it would feel more natural.
“Get away from me!” a stranger’s voice screamed from behind them.
“It’s your fault I lost my job! All because you’re a lazy piece of deershit, and our whole crew had to pay the price for missing quota. Six guys with no job, Berkley! Six fucking guys!”
The crowd around Samuel and Claudette spread out, clearing out of range from the impending skirmish. The shifting bodies allowed Samuel to see where the commotion was coming from. A tall, middle-aged man with large muscles and a neck like a pine trunk cornered one young man who couldn’t have been much older than he was. The young man was dressed in thick winter boots and a flannel shirt similar to what most of the loggers wore on a daily basis. His hands were raised up to his shoulders.
“Don’t be stupid. You think I wanted this to happen?”
Samuel’s muscles tightened. He remembered the sheriff’s words and scanned around the perimeter, looking to see if he could spot any patrolmen. They were supposed to be scattered around the square. He saw none.
Claudette wrapped her arm around his, her face showing concern.
“Shouldn’t you do something?”
Whispers and concerned chatter erupted around him, but no one seemed like they were going to make any sort of intervention. He didn’t want to make himself a fool in front of Claudette, or anyone for that matter. But maybe he could stall until the other patrolmen arrived.
“Get the sheriff,” he told Claudette. “Or another patrolman. Anyone else. Tell them to hurry.”
Claudette squeezed his arm before moving around the large crowd forming. She ran in the direction of the tavern. Samuel took a long breath before stepping forward, his feet feeling like lead. His shoulder bumped into person after person as he forced his way closer and closer to the two men. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his hunting knife.
“Hey.”
Samuel knew his voice wasn’t loud enough. He had to try harder.
“Hey!”
The young man in duress backed himself into one of the game booths, his eyes frantically searching for the new voice. The angry attacker shifted his enormous body, his words mushed together and slurred. He squinted in Samuel’s direction.
“Who are you?”
Samuel fought to keep his legs from shaking as he anchored the blade near his thigh. “I’m a patrolman. I am a patrolman commissioned by the mayor and the sheriff. I am ordering this fight to stop.”
“You’re doing what?”
Samuel paused. “Others will be coming.”
The attacker reached a hand out and grabbed onto the young man’s shirt, pointing the other at Samuel.
“Wait a minute. I know you. You’re the cleric’s bastard, aren’t you? He’s not a patrolman. He’s a cleric. Look at him, boys! Not wearing a uniform either. What is that, a suit? The cleric’s bastard is wearing a suit? He looks like a little bitch if you ask me.”
Samuel swallowed. “Sir. I’m asking you to stop—”