The Alchemist's Other Apprentice
Chapter III
In which Peter Earns an
Apple and Loses a Race
Peter came to the end of the street. He edged himself back on the sidewalk to avoid being trampled by the dozens of oblivious citizens, bustling about, intent only on their own business. With the stone wall at his back he rested. The shop on the corner across the street was the last one in this district. He had been in every single place except that one and had not received a single shred of hope. How could things have gone so poorly after such a good start this morning?
He had been on the streets less than half an hour when he had been offered a small job. A shop keeper had said that he could come by and sweep the place every morning for his breakfast. The wonderful opportunity had filled him with hope. With it he could earn breakfast every morning, ensuring that he would never starve, and still have the entire day to find work that would earn him pay that could eventually buy him a degree of freedom..
He fingered the apple in his pocket that he had saved, glad now that he had kept it. When he had left the place that morning, with his belly full and an apple in his pocket, the whole world had seemed full of hope. Now, after exhausting an entire district of stores and shops the world was again becoming a disappointing place. Perhaps he would not starve, but if he didn’t find some real work he was doomed to poverty.
He took a deep breath and stepped out to cross the street. The shop there appeared to be that of a leather worker. The open shutters were hung with belts and bridles, scabbards and boots. As Peter reached the door he could smell the strong aroma of cured leather. The front of the shop was filled with racks of leather goods. He saw no one at first but could hear activity at the back of the shop. As he walked in he stopped to admire some of the leather worker's craft. There on a rack near the door was a pair of fine high boots. The leather was thick and heavy yet supple and pliable. They were very close to his size and would have reached half way to his knee. The sole was heavy and firm and looking at them he realized that if he had decent boots he would not have come so close to skidding into that apple cart yesterday. His own tattered remnants of shoes had almost caused him to be caught by the guards. He placed the fine new boots back on the rack. Perhaps, if he were to find work here, those boots should be his first investment. It was getting more and more difficult each morning to bind together his old shoes with bits of cloth and twine. Walking further back, beyond the racks, he saw a wooden counter and beyond that four men at low benches hammering and sewing at bits of leather. That would be nice work he thought. It would be nice to be able to make solid useful items like that. Things that everyone needed.
“What are you doing in here!” a voice roared. Peter looked to see a fat bald man that he hadn’t noticed before, sitting behind the counter, leaning back against the wall on a tall but overburdened chair. “Out! Out of my shop! I’ve no time for the likes of you!”
“Excuse me sir,” Peter stammered, taken aback. “I just stopped by looking for work. I wondered if there might be any job that I could do for you. I ...”
“Out! The man shouted again, rising from his seat but not moving from behind the counter.”
“But sir, I meant no harm, I just...”
“Out!” the man shouted again, obviously not willing to listen to anything Peter had to say.
Peter turned and started for the door. What an evil, obnoxious old goat Peter thought. I certainly would never want to work for that crabby old fart.”
“And don’t come back in here!” the man shouted from the back of the store.
Peter turned and looked back toward the voice, concealed now by the racks. He didn’t even know what I wanted, Peter thought. What if I had come to buy a hundred boots for some rich master. He didn’t even listen. He just didn’t like my looks.
I hate people like that Peter thought as he turned to walk out the door, and then, on impulse, he reached out and picked up the obnoxious mans fine boots, the ones that were just his size. That would teach the old fart a lesson Peter thought. Then, passing through the door, he noticed the mirror mounted high on the wall.
Peter started to run the moment he was outside.
“Melvin!” He heard the man shout from inside the shop, “a runner!”
Peter ran hard and fast straight across the street between the carts and horses, as he banked sharply around the corner he glanced back to the store front. There he saw a tall thin redheaded boy pour so smoothly through the shop door that he might have been liquid. He might have been mercury. He was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, a few years older than Peter, and at least a head taller. His lips were spread wide in a toothy grin that told how much he liked this. He was very fast and he knew it.
Peter faced forward and turned on the speed. But Peter was doomed, and he knew it.
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