A Fool's Goddess - Chapter Twenty
“Good morning, Master Lior,” said a man of unequivocal evenness. “May I be allowed to provide you with the results of our latest visit to Quatrot?”
“Morning, Niv,” I replied, still half-asleep. “And sure, how’d things go?”
“Thank you,” Niv bowed. “We were able to sell almost our entire stock of pottery, though, if you would permit my presumption, demand has not increased enough that I would recommend increasing production. In addition, we were able to sell three of your sculptures and seven of Hed’s. Our total return for this venture was two gold, seven silver, two copper. I have put your share in your personal lockbox.”
Honestly, I didn’t hear even half of that.
I had only gotten out of bed two minutes ago. I was far from interested in listening to business and numbers. However, Niv was too diligent to let even a second go to waste. He wasn’t the sort to beat around the bush, even when the bird wasn’t trying to escape. Instead, he would jump into the shrubbery and have his prey on the spit roast by the time the other guys showed up with their clubs.
But as obnoxious as starting the day with merchantry was, I was glad to have him as my second apprentice.
“Thanks. How do our materials look?”
“We have sufficient amounts of marble and cement mix, as well as plaster mix. However, we are running rather low on clay once again. I had asked Hed to gather more, but it seems he did not follow through.”
“Four years and he’s still a little shit… Tell him to get off his ass today or he’s on cleaning duty for the next month.”
“Understood. I will reissue my request with him.”
Despite his stuffy attitude, Niv was only five years younger than me. He said he was from Dostyn, but his appearance was very average, almost ridiculously so. His brown hair was cut in an unassuming style, his height and weight led to a completely uninteresting shape, and his face almost seemed fabricated for how normal it was. If it wasn’t for his sharp glasses, he wouldn’t stand out at all.
However, Niv’s persona wasn’t nearly as standard. If anything, it bordered on ludicrous. He was worryingly polite, absurdly respectful, and he seemed to have only one expression: neutral. He never cursed, he never jested, and he never laughed. But he was also an amazingly hard worker who was always finding new ways to improve our operations.
And even though he was more stony than any rock in our studio, he still had a passion he wished to share.
Niv came to me because he was entranced by the patterns that adorned our pottery. He had been fascinated by the swirls and geometric shapes he had seen in art since he was a child, but despite his desires, he couldn’t afford to attend a college. So, when he learned I was operating a small, local studio, Niv was more than eager to find out if I would teach him how to create such pieces. After a demonstration of his own designs, I allowed him to join us three years ago.
He nearly cracked his skull on the ground bowing his head in thanks.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit I partially took him on because I wanted a dedicated potter for our studio. My first apprentice was making most of our pottery by that point, but Hed wanted to move on to sculpting. Niv, however, wanted to do pottery and nothing else. We were all too happy to grant his wish.
“If he tries to ignore you again, let me know and I’ll take care of it,” I yawned. “On that note, where’s everyone right now?”
“Hed is still asleep, as far as I am aware, and Libi is practicing in the studio.”
“Same as always then. I take it you’re planning to start work yourself?”
“Yes, Master Lior. I currently have two of the kilns warming up for later use. I will be using the large pottery wheel until then, per usual, unless you require it.”
“No, I’m fine. Besides, pottery is pretty much your domain now. I’m too busy with my mountain to make pots anymore.”
“You are far too gracious, Master Lior. I appreciate the faith you place within me, but I will move aside the moment you desire any of the equipment for your own purposes. As you are the Master, everything within this studio is yours and under your authority, so-”
“I know, I know,” I cut in. “I’ll come join you guys in the studio in a minute, once I wake up a bit more.”
“Understood, Master Lior. Then I shall begin my work immediately. Please let me know if you would like assistance in any matters, relating to the studio or otherwise.”
Niv bowed again, then turned and left my bedroom. If he wasn’t such a diligent worker, I might have regretted giving him that spare key to my studio.
I appreciated that he never woke me up, but I still wished he’d at least wait for me to get dressed before discussing operations. Talking shop while I was half-naked and sitting on the edge of my bed was awkward, to say the least. So, before anyone else walked in, I threw some clothes on and headed for the pantry.
Walking into the studio, I could see a young girl working on a wad of clay at one of the workbenches. She looked up at me as I passed her.
“Morning, Libi,” I greeted.
“Ah… good morning, Master,” she said softly.
Thankfully, our exchanges were the opposite of any conversation with Niv. She returned to her work while I grabbed some bread and jam for breakfast and sat at our sole table. I certainly enjoyed chatting with my apprentices, just not first thing in the morning. Though, the fact that I even learned that about myself was proof of how different my studio was these days.
But, then again, a lot of things had changed in the last four years.
Four years ago, I had made a deal with Tzofiya, the mayor of Tresety village, to supply her village with pottery. Four days later, I made another deal to accept her son, Hed, as my apprentice in sculpting. And six days after that, I made a third deal with her, though it was more of a gambit than anything. I wanted to try and bring commerce to her village in exchange for the rights to carve the side of a mountain.
And with a lot of effort and even more luck, everything had worked out, more or less.
It took me four months to supply Tresety with pottery. Every household now had at least half a dozen pots for storing food, fulfilling my end of the agreement. After that, Tzofiya and I went over how much debt I had built up in the meantime, a cruel reminder that the costs of property, even in a backwater, were not to be underestimated. It was a good thing I had already given up on leaving Tresety.
But with my first job completed, I was then able to focus on crafting pieces for the market. By then, Hed’s skills had grown enough that I was confident his own pottery might be worth selling, and after a surprisingly heated discussion, I agreed to give him a cut of the sales. Of course, I wasn’t trying to cheat him out of his fair share or anything, I just thought he might take pity on his poor master and be satisfied with just getting his works out there.
Or something like that.
So, that’s all my apprentice and I did for a time. Sculpt, sculpt, sculpt, sell, sell, sell. A week in the studio, then a week in the neighboring port city of Quatrot, repeat ad nauseum. Jonathan, who had since become Hed’s step father, was kind enough to let us sleep in his home during our stays there. It was especially fortunate since I had miscalculated how harsh a port city’s market could be. If we had to pay for lodgings back then, we would have come back in the red more often.
Trying to stand out in a place where merchants from all over the world gathered was the biggest kick in the head. Dostyn was nothing by comparison. The sales we made typically went to common folk who simply needed a pot and seldom had any interest in one of our sculptures. My figures of Tornara were largely ignored and Hed’s fledgling attempts at mythical creatures interested fewer still. In a word, it was disheartening. Sometimes, I was left wondering if I was doing something wrong or had set my goals too high.
But we kept at it, chipping away as if spurring a business was no different than carving a block of stone. And thankfully, after more than a year of barely staying above water, we found the stroke of luck we so desperately needed.
A travelling merchant came by and asked about our wares. He claimed to have walked across deserts to sell pottery, and that ours seemed worth investing in. I eagerly gave him the schtick about the special properties of Tresety clay and how it was only available from our village. He nodded along as I spoke, listening but clearly not interested. It was plain he saw through my bullshit, and I could feel myself growing nervous as another failure drew near.
As such, I nearly wept with joy when the merchant reached for his wallet.
He ended up buying our entire stock of pottery right then, along with a few small statuettes. I stared at the merchant with slack-faced awe as he handed me the coin. He asked when we would be back, so I told him in two or three weeks as long as there weren’t any difficulties. A self-important grin crossed his face and he said he might be interested in buying more or even setting up an agreement.
Curiously, we never saw him again, but it would soon be clear we didn’t need to. The outcome of that serendipitous exchange rippled out, making the sort of waves we needed in Quatrot.
Word had spread that someone came by and purchased all of our wares, bringing a sudden interest in our studio and its pottery. People started actually listening when I advertised our work, and from there, sales slowly climbed. Our statues and figures even started to sell regularly. And finally, one day, we left the city with nothing more than a heavy sack of cash.
Of course, while making money was a wonderful change of pace, it also wasn’t exactly my goal. To earn my mountain, I needed people to take a greater interest in Tresety itself. To that end, I started lining my advertising spiels with bits about the wonderful people, unique culture, and cheap property to be found in my new home. At every chance I was given, I talked up Tresety like it was an untapped goldmine of economic potential.
Somehow, some of them actually believed me.
It wouldn’t be for another few months that travelers would start appearing in Tresety, journeying across the coastal plains to make their way to the little backwater. Since there was no highway in, visitors had to follow small roads that were barely marked. But as more and more came to see the home a suddenly-notorious sculptor kept bragging about, the paths to the village became increasingly worn and known.
And one day, Tzofiya informed me that a foreign woman had petitioned her to open a general store in the village, the first such request in years. It could have been merely a coincidence, but I took that request as a sign that all of my work might have actually paid off. Even if it was arrogant, I felt a bit of pride.
After that, traffic to Tresety steadily rose and a few more people moved in, creating an unexpected demand for housing. Fisherman, loggers, farmers, carpenters, merchants, and, ironically, even a baker all came to fulfill the village’s growing needs and desires.
In fact, if things continue at this rate, we probably won’t be able to call Tresety a village for much longer.
Just as I was finishing my breakfast, the door to the studio opened up. In walked Hed, dragging his feet like a sleepwalker. He flopped down at the table and reached for the bread and jam. I pulled it away from him.
“Greet your master before you take his food,” I scolded.
“Ugh… morning, Master.”
“Hello, my little drunkard.” I pushed the bread back into his arm’s reach. “Did you enjoy your time at the bar last night?”
“Yeah, up until I woke up.”
“You know, if Niv wasn’t around to balance things out, I’d be a lot more concerned for the future of this studio. Libi’s already more responsible than you.”
“Libi ain’t old enough to drink either. And didn’t you tell me stories about you showing up to your own master’s studio hungover? I thought it was a tradition.”
“Oh, you want to imitate those days? Then go sit your ass at the workbench while I start chiseling next to you.”
“Please no…”
I sighed. “Look, I know having our own bar in town makes it convenient, and maybe I am one to talk about working through a hangover, but try not to make a habit of this, alright? My first master banned drinking and it was boring. Let’s not make me copy him.”
“Understood…”
“Good. Now go drink some water, and consider taking a bath. You reek.”
He groaned in return.
Even after four years, the only thing that changed about Hed was his height and his home. He was now taller than me, but he was still a little shit inside. The fact that he thought my own mistakes were a good enough excuse to drink before a workday was proof of that.
As far as his home went, he now lived with Niv. He supposedly had done so out of a desire for greater independence, but I was pretty sure he left the nest due to his mother’s intensifying relationship with Jonathan. I could easily see him feeling out of place after Tzofiya remarried, but he refused to admit as much.
Maybe I could wrestle the truth out of him if I went to the bar with him next time.
I got up from the table and stepped outside, a final bit of routine before I got to work. Years ago, I’d be doing rounds to check the kilns or run inventory, but Niv did all of that now. To some extent, it left me feeling a bit superfluous, but then again, it now meant I was free to check on my own project: the mountainside.
I had to circle to the back of the studio, but I could just see the side of the cliff from here. I couldn’t make out any details at this distance, mind you, but I knew it had changed with everything else as the years passed. Large amounts of stone were now missing and the faintest shape of Tornara was taking form. Granted, my own efforts there had only just begun, with most of the current work having been done by an expert on large-scale excavation, but I was still proud to see my project progressing.
It felt like it was only a matter of time until I fulfilled my promise to my beloved Goddess.
Enjoyed the chapter and want to support the author? Check out the full novel, available now on Amazon and Smashwords!
