The Pale Locksmith

CHAPTER 36: THE RAIN FALLS

Wet shoes, cold socks, numb toes. Adiniah was doing her best to avoid the many puddles that the rain had left behind, but there were some occasions when splashing could not be avoided. At least the rest of her was dry – her coat may have been heavy, but it kept the water out. She quickly checked that her head was still completely covered. Moisture tended to do unfortunate things to her hair, making it curl even tighter. Fortunately, it was still dry. She knew that once she got to the mill, she could dry her socks as she warmed her feet by the fire.

Elizur, on the other hand, seemed hardly bothered by the rain. Of course, his feet were most probably dry, up there on the cart. Whenever Adiniah turned around to see how he was faring, he smiled at her contentedly, oblivious to her stumbling along in sodden footwear. Sometimes she heard him talking to Gershon's horse, soothing her while Adiniah tried to get her and the cart safely around all the street corners as they slowly made their way up the hill. At least, Adiniah reminded herself, Elizur would be the one loading up all the sacks of flour while she was making herself comfortable and drying off.

She had never been fond of this journey, but it was one of the chores of having a Bakery. Still, it got her out into the open air, and it was always fun to look out over the city. And it was an escape from their home. Recently, her mother's behaviour had changed, she was more on edge. She was also more attentive to Adiniah's father, a fact that was making Adiniah nervous. People did not change for no reason, and she could not help but wonder what it meant for the future. At least out there in the rain, it was easier not to think about that.

They were nearing the top now, and where at the point where Adiniah would usually turn around to look out over the city she had lived in her whole life. On a clear day she could see the mountains of Walden. Today, unfortunately for her, was not one of those days. The strangling mist that hung over the city made it impossible to even see the edge of the city, let alone what lay beyond it. Adiniah remembered the times when her father used to bring her up the hill, with him guiding the horse and her sitting on the cart, listening to him in rapt attention as he would tell her tales he knew. Some came from Salathal, stories such as Kitai the cat and how he began to grow whiskers. Some came from Antolund, such as the birth of the first Fairies and how some of them were later cursed to forever desire human blood above all else, a desire that took away their beauty and left only ugliness. There were many more tales that he told, to try to keep a little girl from getting too restless on the way to the Miller.

They finally arrived at the mill. This one, like every other on the island, sat squarely alongside a stream. Attached to it was a wheel which sat partially submerged in the water, slowly and continually turning. Within its grounds stood one of the few remaining trees in that part of the city. An elm, much like the one that had used to flourish back in the square where they lived. The storm that had toppled that one had been before Adiniah's time, and she wondered how different the market would be if the tree was still there, bringing a stroke of colour to all that stone. And probably bringing complaints from people about piles of dead leaves each autumn – often things are not missed until they are no more. But the tree in front of her was very much alive, and as she did each time she visited, she reached out to it, rubbing her hands over the grey-brown bark, feeling the grooves and bumps underneath her fingertips.

Today she did not linger as she often did, for her shoes were not getting any drier. At that moment, she just wanted to get inside to tend to her poor feet. As she sat down by the fire, a steaming cup appearing alongside her as if by magic. Adiniah turned and smiled in gratitude at the Miller, before he hobbled off to watch Elizur load up and tell him off for letting his sister get so bedraggled. As she sat, she strained to listen for the splashes of the ever-flowing stream, picking out the sound over the crackling of the flames and the grumble of the millstones. She was at rest.