The Hiring Fair

[The Curious Orange]

Another sample from my fantasy epic. This is the first time we meet my "principal male protagonist", and while he is a farmer's boy, please rest assured that there are no magic swords, ancient prophesies or mysterious birthrights, and he doesn't end up as rightful king of anything. I've had a few problems trying to get this to space / paragraph properly, so please ignore any formatting errors. Any other feedback more than welcome - Hope you enjoy!


Jathe


“Twenty bronze coins! Do I hear twenty-two?”
A shout rang out from the rear. “Aye, twenty-two!”
“Twenty-three!”
The hireling flexed his muscles and pushed out his chest to appear stronger than he was. He was a young fellow, no more than fifteen, and his body was yet to fully develop a man’s bulk. Jathe doubted the lad had worked more than a few days in his life, let alone a full season. The lad turned side-on and clenched his arms together, grinning at the price he commanded. The Fairmaster flourished his cane over the heads of the gathered crowd.
“Look at this fellow,” he shouted. “Surely to have such a chap labour for a full season is worth at least twenty-five coins?”
“Twenty-four!” Way too high for such a young and inexperienced boy.
“Twenty-five.” The voice cut through the noise of the auction like a knife. Jathe cast a sideways glance at his father. Tom sat stone-faced on the bench. It was a serious offer. That was far more than they could afford. What was he playing at?
The hireling clenched his fists in joy, and the Fairmaster stepped forwards to take Tom’s coin.
“Twenty-five bronze pieces,” he announced for the entire fair to hear. “A fine bargain, Sir, young Niall is an excellent worker, and you will not regret this!”
A voice rang out from the rear of the auction. “Wait.”
Jathe turned to see who had spoken. Squire Keyone sat in his chair and wheezed like a man who had just run a mile, his russet cheeks shining with perspiration. “The bidding is not yet finished,” he said. “Twenty-eight bronze coins.”
The Fairmaster turned to Tom. “The bid is twenty-eight, can you match that?” Tom gazed at the small pile of coins in his hand and shook his head.The Fairmaster banged his staff on the platform. “Sold to the Good Squire for twenty-eight bronze pieces!” A ripple of applause washed around the audience and Niall the hireling waved proudly as he was led off the platform.
Mopping his brow, the Fairmaster signalled for the next hireling, a skinny boy even younger than the last. The Fairmaster started his patter. “Perhaps you will have better luck with our next worker, a young lad of exceptional ability and strength! Now, who will start the bidding?”
Jathe leaned over and hissed in Tom’s ear. “What are you playing at? He wasn’t worth ten, let alone twenty-five!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Tom’s face was drawn with anxiety. “We need to employ someone, and the morning session is nearly over. Whoever we buy is going to cost more than we intended to pay.” Tom pointed to the lad on the platform. “What do you think of him?”
He was a scrawny fellow and looked fit for nothing, but Jathe didn’t say that. He saw the wisdom in Tom’s words – they needed help on the farm, if that help came at a price, then so be it.
The bidding continued. “Twenty-four!”
“Twenty-five!”
“Twenty-six,” Tom cried. Someone called thirty, then thirty-one.
Tom shrugged. “Thirty-two,” he shouted. Jathe nodded his reluctant approval.
“Thirty-five!”
Tom shook his head to drop out of the bidding. “That’s just too high, we need enough coin for a second man. I guess you and I are going to have to put in another summer of early mornings and late nights.”
Jathe’s heart sank at the prospect. “That is alright with you, isn’t it son?”
“Aye, Father, of course it is,” Jathe said. The Fairmaster banged his staff. “Sold, for thirty-eight pieces!”

#

The auction took a break for lunch and settling-up, and Tom returned to the cart to sell what produce he could. Jathe headed for the ironmongers, but took a wide detour around the common, in order to see if there was anyone worth bidding on among the hirelings that competed there in a variety of contests designed to catch the attention of prospective employers. Jathe’s first thought was that he had come to the wrong place. The number of people watching outnumbered the hirelings by about four to one. Two large men hammered stakes into the ground while others carried stones and tree trunks around, desperate to prove their strength and stamina. The remainder were young lads, children, and old men. The stronger would fetch more than they could afford, the rest did not look up to the task of a summer’s labour. He stopped to watch a small group of younger lads struggle to carry heavy millstones back and forth across the green. They held them too low, backs bent, knees twisted in a strange gait. None of them looked as if they had done any heavy lifting before in their lives, and none of them were strong enough to keep up this level of exertion for long. There was not a single suitable farm hand here.At the end of the run the hirelings lifted their millstones onto a high water barrel, and then took another stone to lug back across the green, before swapping it for yet another. He stood and watched one young boy, the smallest of the lot, strain under the weight. The lad was short, his frame thin and wiry, his arms and legs as slender as reeds. His face was lost to sight beneath a mop of curly brown hair. He needed a good meal inside him. Jathe could almost hear the boy’s under-developed muscles strain as he rocked the stone back and forth, desperately struggling to get the lift he needed to heave it on to the barrel. Unlike most of the others, the boy knew enough to keep his back straight and lift with his knees. It was only his strength that let him down. He would have done all right with a lighter load; the millstone was just too heavy.
“Jathe!” A tall figure ran across the common, white cape flowing behind him. It took a moment for Jathe to recognise the man beneath the strange attire and curly beard.
“Briggs!” Jathe grabbed him in a hug and slapped his back, receiving a hearty punch to his stomach in return.
“That’s Constable Briggs, to you!”
“Constable?”
Briggs pulled his white cloak over his shoulder and carefully folded it along the pleats. “I work for the squire now – my labouring days are behind me!” He looked as proud as a man who had just won a ribbon for his prize hog.
“You seemed grateful for the work at the time,” Jathe said. “I don’t suppose we can talk you into one more summer?”
Briggs laughed. “I don’t think so -- this job is so much easier! I walk around all day, making sure that no one does anything they shouldn’t, and get paid one gold coin a week into the bargain!”
“But aren’t you worried about Gruke?”
“Gruke is not going to attack here. Once word reaches him that the Watchguard defends the Farthings, he’ll leave us alone.”
“You think Gruke will be scared of a few dozen men?”
“Not now, no, but there are more of us each day. People are scared, and they’re queuing up to join. A gold coin is good money for a week’s work, and it’s better than toiling fields from dawn to dusk, no offence. That’s why there’s such a shortage of labour at Hiring Fair this year.”
“But who’s going to get the harvest in?” It was a serious concern, without the harvest it wasn’t just the farmers who would go hungry over winter.
“Typical Jathe – always thinking so small! If Gruke isn’t stopped, there’ll be no more harvests!”
“If the crops aren’t raised, there’ll be no more food,” Jathe said. “Then what happens?”
Briggs didn’t answer, he just stared at his boots and tapped a heel on the ground in an absent-minded way. “You should join, you know,” he said at last.
“I can’t.”
“Why not? It’ll be just like old times, the two of us together! You can’t spend all your life on that farm!.”
“I don’t intend to stay there all my life, but I’m needed, especially this year, with no labour around. Somebody has to do the work.”
“Think about it,” Briggs said. “Look at me, I’ve made something of myself - who’d have thought it of an old reprobate like me? I’ve got money and respect now, just because I wear this cape! Not to mention the girls -- they love a man in uniform! This time last year I was a humble farm hand, today I’ve got a pocket full of gold coins and a girl on each arm! Ask yourself – what do you want, eh?”
The question was one he had asked himself on many occasions. The daily routine of his chores changed with the seasons; lambing in spring, sowing in summer, harvesting in autumn, indoor work in winter, caring for livestock all year round. After a while it became repetitive. The only friends his own age he ever had were the farmhands who descended for the summer months; once the harvest was in he only had Tom for company through the winter.
Joining the Watchguard was a way out for Briggs, but things were different for him. The farm needed him, Tom needed him.
Briggs turned to watch the hirelings. “My, my,” he said. “What a rum lot. Hope you can afford better than this, or the harvest will still be in the fields next year!” He laughed sourly.
Jathe felt a knot of worry. These lads were likely to be the best they could afford. He doubted any of them would last long. Briggs pointed to the curly-haired scrawny one. “Especially him – what a sight!”
The lad still struggled with the millstone. “He’ll be lucky to lift himself out of bed in the morning!”
The boy dropped the stone and jumped clear in the nick of time. A moment later and it would have crushed his bare feet. Briggs laughed, and the lad turned to face them. He was younger than he looked, and his face was still covered with freckles. He glowered from behind his mop of hair with eyes as sharp as steel, and for a split second their gazes locked, before the boy snapped his attention back to the millstone at his feet. He found purchase with his fingers, and struggled to lift the weight off the ground.
“Hardly worth recruiting this lot,” Briggs said. “Let’s try the other end. Are you coming?”
Jathe snapped out of his trance. “I can’t, I have to get on. Father will be wondering where I am. See you at the auction later?”
“I’ll be there.” Briggs said, and set off across the common. Jathe turned and headed back towards the ironmongers, unable to shake the burning sensation he had felt from the boy’s stare.



Next bit to follow...

[The Curious Orange]

The next hireling was a different story, a large, muscular man, seven feet in height, with a beard as thick as a hearthrug. He flexed his muscle-bound arms until the seams of his leather jerkin started to pop. A silent awe fell over the fair as one by one the assembled bidders noticed his presence.
“Ah, I see you approve of The Bear!” The Fairmaster spread his arms wide to introduce the giant man. “Those of you fortunate enough to have seen him in the testing ring already know what a prize he is! The Bear possesses the strength of four ordinary men, but it remains to be seen whether he will attain four times the price!” A wave of laughter rippled through those who were not bidding. Down at the front, the auction had just become serious.
Tom hissed at Jathe. “Well?”
“He’s certainly strong,” he replied. “How high do you want to go?”
“I say we bid whatever it takes. We need someone, and even if he’s the only pair of hands we can afford, I say he’s worth it. I know we need two people, but with him, we might just get by with one. I say we go as high as forty.”
Forty? Jathe could hardly believe his ears; no one had ever fetched that much before. Someone shouted twenty-five; the bidding had started.
“Thirty!”
“Thirty-two!” That last was Squire Keyone.
“Do I hear thirty-three?”
Tom raised his hand. “Aye, thirty-three.”
“Thirty-five,” cried someone at the back.
“Thirty-eight!”
“Thirty-eight bronze pieces,” the Fairmaster said. “A good price for such a fine specimen!”
Squire Keyone’s voice boomed across the auction. “Forty.” The air hissed with gasps of surprise.
The Fairmaster tapped his feet in delight. “Forty bronze pieces,” he declared. “And worth every penny!”
Tom looked at Jathe, a steely determination in his eye. He raised a hand to attract the Fairmaster’s attention. “Forty-one,” he shouted.
The crowd fell silent and the Fairmaster turned to face Keyone. “The price is forty-one – do I hear forty-two?”
Keyone nodded. “Aye, forty-two.”
Tom rose to his feet. “Forty-two bronze pieces,” he said, “and the remaining stock on my cart. That’s all I have.”
The crowd roared with laughter. “Aye, go on then,” Keyone snorted, “I can’t beat that! If you want him so badly, he’s yours!”
“Sold!” The Fairmaster’s staff hit the platform with a deafening clang. “Congratulations, You have just bought the services of The Bear for the duration of the summer!”
Tom laughed, satisfied with the deal, and slapped Jathe on the shoulder. With The Bear on board, they had the help they needed, and the farm might just turn a profit at Harvest-tide.

#

After the auction, Tom agreed to meet Jathe outside the tavern and then went to pay the Fairmaster. Jathe took the long way, via the paddock, so that he could check on Blue, the old shire horse, feed him some oats and re-fill his water trough.
He walked round the rear of the Fairmaster’s yellow striped tent and found a large wagon with a small figure busily loading bundles that were too bulky to lift easily. Jathe recognised the curly brown hair and thin limbs of the young boy he had seen struggling with the millstone earlier.
“Do you need a hand there, son? Those sacks are no easier than the millstones, eh?” Grabbing a sack, Jathe bent down to help. The boy sharply snatched it away from him.
“By the flame, I’m only trying to lend a hand. Don’t get angry with me because you haven’t found work.” Jathe reached for the sack again. “Perhaps in a year or two…”
The boy spun round to face him and Jathe found himself gazing into an explosion of red hot, searing anger that sent him reeling. He struggled to keep his balance.
This was no boy – it was a girl. Thin and scrawny, clad only in rags and covered in grime, it was no wonder he had mistaken her for a boy. She pulled the sack from his grasp with a grunt. “I can manage.”
“You’re a girl.”
“Very observant.” She struggled beneath the weight of the bundle, and finally heaved it onto the wagon. “And close your mouth,” she said. “You look like a fool.”
Taken aback, Jathe struggled to speak. “You’re the one who looks like a fool,” he said at last. “A girl, trying to do a man’s work! Did you think someone would mistake you for a boy and offer you a job? That’s what I call foolish!”
She dropped the sacks, drew her hair back from her face and turned to face him. A layer of dirt and grime covered her face, but he could see that she was quite pretty beneath. “I may be a fool,” she said, “but I haven’t just paid the Fairmaster forty-two coins to employ Bear.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s sold him to six other people today. And eight in the last town. Bear rides out with the Fairmaster tonight, to be sold all over again in the next place we visit. You’ll never see him again.” What was she talking about?
The girl tilted her head to one side as if explaining something to an infant. “Wake up, farmboy,” she said. “It’s a scam, people fall for it all the time. Sell off a few kids for inflated prices and people start to worry they won’t be able to afford any labour at all, then bring out the Bear – he seems too good to be true, and folk will pay anything out of desperation. Hiring Fair works on trust -- no one believes anyone could contract for work and go back on their word.”
The penny dropped. He ran to find his father as fast as he could, and hoped that money hadn’t already changed hands.
“Wait for me,” the girl cried, running after him.

#

“What is the meaning of this?”
Tom shook the Fairmaster by his tunic. He slammed him against a tent-pole, and a shower of spittle flew from his mouth as the air left his lungs. Jathe had never seen his father this angry.
The Fairmaster spluttered for breath and tried to push Tom away, his face bright red. “Unhand me, you ruffian! Of what do you speak?”
Tom shook him again, more roughly this time. “You sold me the services of the Bear. Now I hear you have been taking money from all and sundry for him! Tell me -- is he to return to my farm and work for the summer, or do you intend to take him with you tonight and sell his labour to some other unsuspecting farmer in the next town you visit?”
A small crowd had gathered to watch the commotion. “I do not know what you mean,” the Fairmaster said, pleading his innocence more to the assembled crowd than to Tom. “A bear, you say?”
Tom pointed across the green to where the man called Bear stood talking to several others. “That man,” he said. “The one with the beard. You sold me his services!”
“I assure you sir, I am a respectable Fairmaster! I know nothing of such a scheme! If you have been taken in by this brute, then it is naught to do with me!”
“Return my money!”
“I owe you no money, sir!”
There had been more than enough witnesses to the auction, and various voices among the crowd rose in angry protest. Strengthened by this support, Tom threatened the man again, his voice rising to a shout. “I paid you money for his services, and you will return it!”
“Very well,” the Fairmaster said, grabbing a stout wooden stick from beneath his table. “I have your money here.” Before Jathe could utter a warning, the man swung the club at Tom. There was a loud cracking noise as it connected with his head, and Tom fell to the ground like a crumpled sack.
Jathe lunged at the Fairmaster in a blur of fury.
A heavy arm restrained him. He turned sharply, and found himself staring into Briggs’ face. “Let me go!”
“Leave it Jathe,” Briggs said. “He’s twice your size.”
“Listen to your friend,” said the Fairmaster. “He gives good advice.”
“Go,” Briggs said to the Fairmaster. “Now, before this crowd turns violent. We don’t take kindly to thieves and oath breakers in these parts.”
Shouts of assent rose up from the crowd. The Fairmaster shot out an arm and grabbed the girl by her tangled hair and shook her harshly. “I don’t suppose I need look far to find out who told them,” he said.
“Let me go!” The girl screamed. She struggled to escape his grip, but he held her at arms length so that she could not land a kick or punch.
“This is how you re-pay me? I should have left you where I found you,” he said, “or sold you to the whore-pits -- not that anyone would pay good money for a scrawny arse like yours.”
“That’s enough,” Briggs said.
The Fairmaster punched the girl in the face. She screamed and fell to the ground. “Useless bitch.” He turned to Jathe. “More trouble than she’s worth,” he said. “I guess she’s your problem now.” He turned his back and calmly walked away.
Jathe ran to where Tom lay face down in the dirt and rolled him onto his back. “Father, are you alright?”
Tom made a groaning sound as he came to. “Jathe?” He opened his eyes and squinted against the light.
“Hey, he’s alright,” Briggs said.
“Takes more than that to do for me,” Tom said, rubbing his head. “What happened?”
Jathe explained as well as he could. Tom lifted himself to his elbows, but struggled to get much further. They helped him to his feet.
“Come on Briggs,” Jathe said. “Let’s get to the tavern and pour some ale inside him.”
“Good thinking,” Briggs said. “But what about her?” He pointed at the girl, who lay on the ground sobbing, her hand held to her face where the Fairmaster had struck her.
Tom knelt down next to her. “Are you alright?”
She gave the slightest of nods and sniffed, a trickle of blood ran from her nose and down her upper lip. Tom tried to examine the bruise taking shape around her eye, but she flinched from his touch. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you have anywhere to go?” She shook her head, shivering in fear.
Tom smiled. “Do you have a name?”
She slowly nodded her head. “M-Molly,” she said, her voice little more than a whimper.
“Well, Molly,” Tom said, “I guess I owe you something for your help. The least I can do is put a roof over your head for the summer. And as I’ve already paid for a strong pair of hands, I guess that means you’re helping out around the farm. Are you any good with cattle and chickens?”
“I-I don’t know,” Molly said.
“Well, there’s a lot to be done around the house too,” Tom said. “What do you say? Fancy working on a farm for your food and board?”
She smiled, her eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun. “I guess so,” she said.
He stood up and extended his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it and he pulled her to her feet. “I’m Tom,” he said, and then pointed at Jathe. “And this is my son, Jathe. Now, what do you say we go get that ale and then try to find you some more suitable clothes?”
Molly smiled, and lowered her head so that her hair fell back over her face. Tom took her by the arm and led her towards the tavern.
Jathe followed dumbly. He was at a loss for words.





Thanks for reading this far. Spacing issues seem to have resolved themselves in the 2nd half...

[chopper]

wow, a very long piece, but worth reading so far. a nicely set up scenario and no glaring errors that i could make out. i do think that Briggs would come in on Jathe's side more vigorously, as he is an old friend and maybe doesn't like to see people he knows cheated - perhaps in that case the squire (sounds like a bit of a villain) is in cahoots with the Fairmaster, taking a cut, and forces Briggs off the case........

but good, nonetheless!

[Purdy Bear]

Sorry I couldn't get through the whole piece, my xp shrinks the text and I find it hard to read a lot (note to self to get magnifing glasses next time).

The only fault I can see, which may have been intential here (or my xp layout), is the spacing between each paragraph, and speech section. It sort of of merges into one, without a line/s clear between. Other then that, I loved everything I read.

[Jerico]

An excellent piece(s) of work there. I loved it and thought it was a great beginning to an interesting tale. I'd like to see more of it!!

I couldn't find fault with it, though I'm with Chopper on the Briggs scene, I definately think he would of reacted slightly more to the insult and deception of Tom and Jathe.

Post some MORE!!