Nano 5

It was a small place, as Art speedily found out within a week of living with Christopher and Ellen’s family. The inhabitants in the village (population 100, covering a wide area without proper boundaries, since it was mostly flatlands and plains around here) were involved in agriculture, as the main economy of the plains had traditionally been the grains and fruits grown in the fields surrounding the village. There were very few roads running through or past the village to the Big City in the Far East, where the grains and fruits went on the carts of middlemen and merchants. The village was an isolated little world of its own, with its small town council and guilds. Within a week of living with the family, Art had been introduced to most of the youth and nearly all the families in the village. They, on their part, had taken warmly to him, and some kind parents had even been so generous as to encourage him to visit them and their young daughters in the evening. No one seemed to mind that Art was a stranger in the place, and that he knew practically nothing about the customs and traditions in their village.

Christopher – whom Art had taken to calling Mr. Lefroy out of courtesy, because he felt that calling the good man “Christopher” was too much of a trespass on his hospitality and kindness – had told him, time and again, that Art was welcomed to stay as long as he liked. He didn’t mind having the boy around, he said, and Art’s help in the fields was gladly received. Ellen was motherly towards him, treating Art like the son she never had. Art was secretly relieved that both Mr. Lefroy and Ellen did not question him too much on the mystery of his arrival in this place, because if they had, he would have packed up and left pronto. There were still too many things for him to figure out right now – the strange manners in the village, the customs and unspoken rules of the society, and even the food and clothing were strange to him.

The girls, Laurel and Vivien, had both taken to him in their own ways. Laurel often pestered him with all her “nonsense scientific babble”, as Ellen usually said whenever Laurel talked too much and too incomprehensibly, but Art didn’t mind this. There was something very young and yet oddly old about this seven-year-old girl, who had the pronounced cynicism of a forty-year-old woman who lived alone with cats. She had, however, a decided dislike of vegetables and anything “which could be good for her, but of course she doesn’t want it!” as Ellen told him vehemently after a messy episode in which Laurel had flung her food across the room in a tantrum. Vivien kept out of his way most of the time, she being a shy girl with a suspicious nature towards all strangers in general.

All in all, Art had to admit that he was settling in pretty well. Laurel confirmed the fact at the end of the week, while they were both out in the grain field harvesting the golden grains. (The harvest from the fields was usually just called “grains and fruits”. These had many varieties, naturally, but the people here were content to classify them by their color and texture and leave it at that. Scientific names were for those who wanted to show off their “higher learning”, or for those freaks who insisted that everything in existence had to have a name and group – not to mention genus and species – of its own, e.g. Laurel.)

‘You’re doing very well here,’ Laurel said, as she bent over to pull the heavy stalks of golden grain. ‘Even the young ladies in the village said they wouldn’t mind having you as a friend.’

‘Er – haha,’ Art said. He was on his knees, his trousers turning damp in the wet soil. ‘I guess that’s a good thing, but it’s not the young ladies I’m worried about...not exactly anyway.’

‘You’re worried that you’ve been staying too long with us,’ Laurel said. ‘I know. I’ve caught you looking worried, you see, especially when Mum and Papa mention that the harvest would be ruined because of the rain coming unexpectedly.’

‘Yeah, that.’ Art stretched his arms above his head and sighed. They had been here since the break of dawn, and it felt like it was eleven by now. He couldn’t know for sure, being rubbish with telling the time from shadows. Everyone in the village could – even the smallest toddler, even Vivien – knew just how to look at the shadows and tell the time right down to the quarter.

‘It’s only nine,’ Laurel said, plopping on the ground beside him. ‘In the first quarter of the hour. You feeling thirsty?’

‘Yeah, but we’ve still got about – oh say – ten more rows to go?’ Art flapped a hand at his face to cool himself. The air was still and heavy, baking slowly in the heat from the cloudless sky.

‘Fancy a drink?’

They both jumped up, surprised. It sounded like a man, someone with an odd accent not from these parts.

‘I’m here.’

They turned to look over the tall stalks. A man in a straw hat was waving to them along the row, while holding a bottle above his head. Laurel exchanged a look with Art, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

‘Saw you kids plucking the grains. You look tired.’ The man came up the row and took off his hat when he reached them. ‘I’ve some water with me. Want to share?’

‘It’s all right. Thanks for your offer, but we have our own water,’ Laurel replied primly. ‘Are you lost? These are my father’s fields.’

‘Are they?’ The man laughed sheepishly. ‘Oh dearie me, I was supposed to visit someone in the village. I must have lost my way. Can you point out the directions for me, little girl?’

Laurel threw him – in all honesty – a really dirty look. The girl could have insulted you just by looking if she wanted to, as Art had found out on his first day. Laurel tossed her head sharply – a sure sign that she was annoyed and was about to launch into a long, wordy insult, as Art also came to know in the preceding days – but he stopped her in time by tugging lightly on the end of her plait. Laurel drew in a deep breath and turned her back on the man.

‘I’ll take you to the village, if you like. I’m sure someone will be glad to help you find your friend, sir,’ Art said politely.

‘That – that would be nice, young man,’ the man said. He blinked rapidly and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. ‘Nice place you have here though. Your father must be pretty well off.’

‘He is,’ Art said. He pushed aside the stalks gently, so as not to damage them, and picked up the basket of harvested grains. Laurel’s lay untouched on the ground, but it held more stalks than his. Art turned to look at the girl, who was resolutely keeping her back to both of them. ‘I’ll be off now, Laurel. Go find your dad or mum, will you? It’s not safe for you out here alone.’

Laurel replied with a shrug which clearly indicated her disapproval. Art turned to the man and smiled. ‘If you would follow me, sir.’

‘Your sister’s a feisty little young lady eh?’ the man remarked as they left the fields.

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Art said. He stopped by the house and dropped the basket on the kitchen floor. ‘She’s not a bad sort though.’

‘I warrant,’ the man said, chuckling nervously. ‘This place gives me the creeps, to tell the truth. Too much empty space.’

‘I like it here.’ Art pointed down the road leading from the fields to the village. ‘See this road? It’s one of the main roads around here, and you can follow this road for days and weeks and maybe even months, because it’ll lead you all the way to the Big City. People who visit these parts often think that this road is just another dirt road like any other – you know, those that lead you to nowhere – but this one leads all the way to the Big City.’

‘You mean the city of Elysia,’ the man said. ‘Yeah, that’s the biggest city in the world, I reckon.’

‘Have you been there?’

‘Never,’ the man replied cheerfully. ‘I’ve heard so many stories of it though, because I travel so much. I wouldn’t mind visiting it once in my life. It’s dangerous, I heard, but it’s also very…exciting.’

‘I wouldn’t mind seeing the place myself,’ Art said. ‘Oh here we are.’

The man came to a stop outside the village, which was really nothing more than small houses clustered together without large fields in between. Streets were short here – the longest ran from the mayor’s house to the bakery, with only five medium-sized fields between the houses. Carts were few here, as most villagers usually depended on middlemen to bring their grains and fields to the cities to be sold. Art waited for the man to speak, sensing his hesitancy.

‘Do you know Mr. Bunbury? He’s my brother-in-law, keeps a small inn…’

‘Yeah, I know him. I’ll show you the place; it’s not far from here.’ Art did not move, as the man remained rooted to the spot. The man’s knuckles were white as he clutched at his straw hat.

‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘I’m fine.’ The man wiped more perspiration from his face. ‘I’m going to tell Mr. Bunbury that I want to marry his sister.’

‘I see. Well if you would follow me sir, I can bring you to him immediately.’

‘Not – not – that I don’t want to see him, but Bunbury’s threatened to cut off my – my – wossname – if I ever talked to his sister again.’ The man was actually trembling where he stood.

‘Er. Well. It would be better if he knew that you intend to marry his sister, maybe you could both work out an agreement – ‘

‘But I’m already married to his sister!’

Art was almost tempted to say, ‘So?’ and run off. This was no business of his. He knew Mr. Bunbury, he liked him, and Mr. Bunbury had told him that he was welcome to work in the inn if ever Art wanted extra pocket money. The man clutched at his arm, shaking worse than ever.

‘Sir, sir, I can show you the place, but I really don’t think I can help you with your problem.’ Art pulled his arm out of the man’s tight grip and stepped back hastily.

‘Need any help, gentlemen?’

There was another man behind them, an elderly gentleman in a long coat, despite the hot day. The first man grabbed his arm and began gabbling about his predicament, nearly weeping in his terror. The elderly man listened attentively, and nodded after a pause for thought.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said. ‘I’m going to the inn myself.’ He turned to look at Art, who stared back wordlessly. ‘Thank you for your help, young man.’

Art nodded stupidly and shrugged. The older man had an extraordinary gaze, intense and piercing. Those eyes were worse than Laurel’s, and he had thought that Laurel was the worst gazer he had met. Those eyes! Like gimlets! He waited for the two men to enter the village, and then sprinted home across the fields.