Rook
Winter 45, 517
Ravok- Docks District
The sun blazed down on the docks, scouring the wood and the water with its harsh glare. Ravokians rushed about in their usual tireless and insistent way, shoving past slaves and noblemen alike with hardly more than a glance. Rook glanced drearily at the sky and felt the sun scorch his cheeks. He’d been out here for three bells already, three miserable, sweltering, sweaty bells. Absentmindedly, he pulled a lock of hair off of his forehead and brought it in front of his eyes. He was relieved to see his hair was still ginger. He’d half expected it to have been scorched black.
On reflex, Rook ducked under the carelessly cast out hand of a rushing merchant, narrowly managing to avoid being clothes lined and dropped into the drink. He glared at the man’s fast retreating back, but the merchant was far too occupied in his task to pay attention to the annoyed kelvic slave. Rook sighed. He was hot, miserable, tired, and no closer to achieving his goal than he was when he had set out hours earlier.
Ruby’s scale had broken. This was a major cause for concern, as Ruby used the scale in order to measure quantities of herbs and spices for her customers. Without an assurance on the weight of materials, they could wind up shorting a customer on product, or giving more to a customer than they had paid for. The delima was, at least, not desperately urgent. The most popular of products sold were pre packaged into bags already measured and ready for sale, and Ruby had enough to last through the rest of the day. However, Ruby had made it very clear that a replacement scale needed to be found before the end of the day. Rook had not yet proven himself trustworthy enough with customers to mind the shop by himself, and, so said Ruby, what was the point of having two people in a shop if you couldn’t send one of them to run errands? So Ruby had bundled Rook off with enough coins for a scale, as well as a little something extra for Rook to have lunch with along the way.
Except Rook had made a grave error. He’d had perhaps a bit too hardy of a lunch, and had spent much of his money on a pound of fresh raw fish. Ruby wasn’t a bad cook or anything, and she fed Rook well enough, but he didn’t have a lot of opportunities to make his own decisions in regards to what went into his stomach, and he had charged the opportunity with a ravenous ferocity. He had swallowed the fish in a few bites, bones and all, with an intensity that had shocked and horrified the poor fisherman selling to him. Rook had happily paid the two golden mizas for his treat. After all, how much could a scale possibly cost?
Well, as it turned out, more than two gold mizas. He couldn’t find a single person who would sell a scale to him with the money he had left. And he’d been trying, through three heat stroked, miserable bells.
Rook