Tea Time - but first we need a kettle! (Daedelus)

[Ealisaid]

Winter 8, 513

”It’s broken, for sure. See?” Ealisaid held the old rusted kettle up close to the old woman’s weak eyes. That one peered short-sightedly at the vessel that had served her so well for a decade or more. Her head bobbed slightly, but Eali knew it was her old age shaking sickness that caused it to do so. A little bit louder, she repeated, ”It’s cracked – here.” She drew a finger in a line over the crooked wet patch. ”It’s leaking. You need a new one.” Waiting patiently for some kind of response – any kind – she surveyed the leathery, wrinkled visage, trying to gage how much, if at all, the pensioner was taking in.

”I’ll fetch a new one for you, all right?” she said at last, placing a gentle hand on the boney knee.

Finally there came a more sure nod of those wispy white tednrils. ”Aye, lass, that’d be wondrous. A new one. Then my tea won’t taste of rust. That’d be splendid, that would.” A kind, affectionate gleam lit the misty cataracts for a moment, and the thin lips gave way to a toothy smile. ”That’s my girl. That’s my Tessy. Always was such a good girl. Always….” The croaking voice drifted away into an unintelligible mumble, as the woman recalled a daughter long since passed, of a fever, many years ago. Ealisaid had encountered the creaky old thing when she’d moved into the room next door – hearing her calling out for water one morning, and going in to see the pitiful creature laid out in a threadbare gown under an almost translucent blanket which had to have been every bit as old as the body it covered. The woman had no-one, and could barely hobble to her own door. So Ealisaid had taken to taking care of her, checking on her morning and night, making sure she had a bit of fire, and a bit of food. Now the kettle had sprung a leak, and Eali knew there was no money left in the little earthen jar hidden under some burlap sacks. But that was no matter. She had enough – enough to spare for this at any rate.

”Don’t you worry, love,” she said in a warm, soft voice, with a pat on the gnarled hand. What did it matter who the woman thought she was? Let her take some comfort in the foggy nostalgia of a past she could barely recall. ”I’ll be right back.” Rising, she threw her cloak about her shoulders, as the old one rocked back and forth, staring into the tiny fire in the grate. With a glance back over her shoulder, Ealisaid paused, and then returned, removing the cloak and wrapping it securely about the crone’s skeletal frame. She then stepped to the door and began her trip in search of a good bargain.

A half hour later saw her at a nondescript door of a nondescript metalworking shop. A friend at the tavern had told her some time back that the family that ran the place were skilled metalsmiths. As it was a business, she did not knock but went through the plain wooden door, closing it behind her against the blustering breeze that tugged at her skirt. On her journey here, the sky had been the color of slate, and she feared that rain would be upon them before her business was transacted.

Rubbing her arms against the chill of the air, she called out, ”Hello? Is there someone here?”