For Love or Money by Lady MSM

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I Learn to Be Practical

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Chapter 4: I Learn to be Practical

 

            I’m lying in bed and I’m planning.

            When I left home originally, I thought maybe I’d just spend one or two nights here and then head home to take whatever’s coming to me. But that was back when I didn’t know I’d be living with Mahtan. Now, I kind of think that it would be wasting an opportunity to leave so soon. If I can keep up this other identity for a little while, I’ll be able to study with Mahtan and stay away from my stepfamily for that much longer. Because I know that if my hosts find out who I really am, the jig will be up. They’ll tell Father where I am and home I’ll have to go.

            Do I feel bad about lying? Not a lot, no. I plan on telling them who I am right before I leave…or maybe even after I leave, in a letter or something. Maybe that would be best. I’d rather not be around when they find out I’ve been lying to them.

            Anyway, that’s my plan. And once I’m done thinking of it, I go right back to sleep.

 

            Like yesterday, I get up early and help Nerdanel with the horses before breakfast. Unlike yesterday, today there’s considerably less joking around and discussing our families. Nerdanel still seems to be sulking from the argument with her parents last night. I’m a bit afraid to ask her about it.

            We finish up, and I’m about to go inside when she says, “Wait. Hold up.”

            “Yes?” I say cautiously, turning around.

            “Yer helping Da out today in the forge, aren’t ye?”

            “Um…yes. Why?”

            “Aye, that’s what I thought. Come on.” She goes into the shed next to the stable and I follow, somewhat mystified.

            “Nerdanel,” I ask, “what exactly is going on?”

            “Here,” she says, pulling a small stool in a corner to the middle of the room. “Sit on that and take yer hair out of that braid.”

            “Why?”

            “Because,” says Nerdanel. “Have ye noticed how me da wears his hair? Short, like. And why does he do that? Because he works in a forge and doesn’t want to set his head on fire, that’s why. It’s not safe to have yer hair all over the place.”

            “Wait,” I say. “You’re going to cut my hair?”

            “Ye came here to learn, didn’t ye? First lesson is that ye’ve got to be practical. It’s not about looks here. Now take yer hair out of the damn braid.”

            Well, I think, if she cuts your hair short, maybe if Father sends someone here looking for you they won’t recognize you.

            “Fine,” I say, unbraiding my hair. “Go crazy. Just don’t cut all of it off.”

            Nerdanel picks up a pair of shears hanging on the wall, and I eye them suspiciously.

            “Aren’t those the things you use on sheep?”

            “Shut up and sit still.”

            I shut up and close my eyes, wincing when I feel the first cut. I know it’s ridiculous, but long hair is somewhat of a status symbol in Tirion, and like most status symbols, it’s hard to part with. Briefly, I think about the absurdity of this situation…I’m a High Prince and yet here I am being sheared like a sheep. What would Indis say?

            “All done! Go have a look at yerself.”

            Nerdanel’s grinning like she’s pretty well pleased with herself. She hands me a bit of polished metal, and I nervously look at my reflection.

            It’s not too bad, actually. My hair looks completely different, though —before it went past my shoulders, whereas now it just goes to my chin and there’s a bit of a fringe in front. Nerdanel’s got a good hand with the shears.

            “Well, aren’t ye the handsome fellow!” says Nerdanel…I think she’s being sarcastic, but I can’t quite tell. “All right, that’s good enough. Let’s go get breakfast, I’m starvin’.”

            It’s no big deal, I think, looking at my reflection again. Like my fake name and my many other lies, this hair thing is just another part of my disguise. And the less I am like Feanor, the more I’ll be able to be Ernil.

            Breakfast is sausage and eggs, and I’m so hungry I eat five helpings and don’t even worry about what’s in the sausage. Harma and Mahtan seem especially pleased with my newly shortened hair and tell Nerdanel repeatedly how clever she is.

            “Sure and it wasn’t like I did much!” Nerdanel keeps saying. “If it had been hair like mine, sure, that’d have been a challenge. His hair’s as straight as a stick.” To demonstrate this, she grabs a handful of my hair and yanks it forward.

            “Ouch!” I yell. “That’s attached to my head, you know, Nerdanel!”

            Harma laughs. “Will ye look at that! Ernil’s barely been here for two days and already he and Nerdanel are like siblings. It’s amazing, that’s what.”

            It’s depressing, that’s what. Did I seriously escape from my annoying brothers only to find an annoying sister?

            “Well, Ernil,” says Mahtan. “If yer all done eating we’d best get going. Got a lot of work to do.”

            I nod, take one last bit of sausage (Varda, that’s good sausage—I wonder where they get it) and follow him out to the forge.

            “All right, lad, we’ve got a couple of rules in here,” Mahtan tells me. “First, don’t talk too much. Second, watch what yer doing…I don’t want to be responsible for ye getting set on fire. And third, if ye’ve got any questions, ye can ask me. Now, what we’re doin’ today is, ye remember Regiel? The landlady? She’s in need of a new fryin’ pan for the inn, and so we’ve got to make one.”

            “A master smith like you making frying pans for a country inn?” I say. “Seems a bit below you.”

            Mahtan frowns. “Work is work, Ernil. It doesn’t matter who it’s for. Me job is to make things for people who’ll use ‘em.”

            “Well, I suppose you are the only smith in the village,” I say diplomatically. “Things are a bit different in the cities.”

            “Aye, that they are,” says Mahtan with a bit of a sigh. “All right, we’d best get started. Pay attention. We’re goin’ to have to use iron for this, since it’s going to be used a lot and it needs to be sturdy. Have ye ever had any of the bacon they make at the inn?”

            “No,” I say. “I’ve only been in the inn once and that was for about five minutes.”

            “Well, trust me, they give ye so much that we’re goin’ to have to make a very large fryin’ pan indeed!” He laughs. “Aye, but it’s delicious bacon. Anyway, watch closely.”

            I do so, fascinated. I’ve seen some of Mahtan’s work back in Tirion—he made half of Indis’ jewelry—but it’s amazing to actually see him work close up, even if it is on something as ordinary as a frying pan. Everything he does is so precise. No wonder he’s so successful…he’s got a brilliant eye to detail. Lucky Nerdanel, getting to grow up in this house. I would kill to be able to be related to Mahtan.

            Almost as soon as we’re done (ok, not we, exactly, since I mostly just watched), there’s a knock on the door and Mahtan grins.

            “That’ll be Regiel already, that will. Sure and the woman always arrives exactly at the time I tell her something’ll be ready. Never gives me a margin of error at all.” He shakes his head and lets her in. “Afternoon, Regiel! Right on time as always, I see. Come in, come in, yer pan’s all ready.”

            “Thank ye, Mahtan,” says Regiel briskly. “Ah, if it isn’t the young wanderer! I don’t think we were ever properly introduced, lad. I’m Regiel.”

            “Ernil,” I reply. “A pleasure to meet you.”

            “Aren’t ye polite, then. Has he been behaving himself, Mahtan?”

            “Oh, aye, he’s been a real help. He’s been helping Nerdanel out with the horses and he’s giving me a hand in the forge, and all in all it’s a real pleasure havin’ him here.”

            “Ah, that’s nice,” Regiel beams. “Well, I must be off. What do I owe ye, Mahtan?”

            “That’ll be seven pennies, and a pint of ale,” says Mahtan. “And I’m givin’ ye a bargain, I hope ye know. I could have asked for a plate of bacon, too.”

            “Ah, ye’ll probably get one anyway. Well, goodbye, Mahtan, and it was nice to meet ye properly, Ernil. If yer ever in need of a better meal than yer likely to get in this house, drop by!”

            “Goodbye, Regiel, and don’t ye insult me wife’s cooking!” He winks at me once Regiel’s gone. “Harma and Regiel have a bit of a rivalry going on as far as food goes. I pretend to take sides, but frankly, I have no idea which one’s better.”

            “You’d almost think you were family, the way she was talking to you,” I muse.

            “Well, that’s another way a small town like this is different from the big city,” agrees Mahtan. “Everyone in Fana’s Crossing is related, in spirit if not by blood. Everything is everyone else’s business.”

            “It must be hard to keep a secret here.”

            “That it is,” says Mahtan. “Sooner or later, everyone finds out what yer hiding.” He laughs. “So it’s a good incentive to be honest! Well, I don’t know about you, but I could use some dinner. Let’s head on inside.”

            I follow him into the house with something brand-new to worry about.

            Sooner or later, everyone finds out what you’re hiding.

            So what does that mean for me?