The Soap-maker

Part 1

Part 1

"Be sure to wait at least an hour for the full effect" said the soap-maker, handing the small parcel to the child.

"Yes Mr. Ivan, thank you!" Said the girl, a prominent grin on her face as she ran off, giggling and dancing as children do. Ivan watched her for a few seconds, content, then closed the door, turning the sign to "closed" as he did so. He then set about making his supper. He ducked as he entered the kitchen, as he was a tall man."The local giant" as people would call him. Despite his gargantuan appearance, people felt a sense of calm when they were near him. As if they knew that he would never hurt them.

"Small dinner again" Ivan mumbled to himself. It was the third time this month the taxes went up. He feared that people would stop buying from him, and he would have to take to the streets like so many others. But despite his prices rising, people kept buying. In fact, Ivan's work was prized across the land. He could create an all manner of concoctions. He had substances to make you sleep, keep you awake, reduce stress, even cure minor illnesses. But the real magic, was in his soap. A single bar of soap from him would allow the user to re experience their best memories. He offered people an escape from the horrors that had come upon the land in recent years. Plague, famine, drought, and most recently, a tyrant. The death of the king brought sorrow across the land. The only thing that made it worse, was the boy that took his place.

The monster would do anything to stay rich, from overtaxing to even downright thievery. No-one had the courage to stop him, not yet. Ivan finished his dinner and went to bed. Tossing and turning under his wool blankets for at least an hour before falling into a deep sleep. The sound of the wind whistling through the streets.

He dreamt of being chased. Men with long spears and swords shouting and running after him between buildings he didn't recognise. The sky was blood red, lightning flashes blinding Ivan. The moon, a terrifying black. Faceless people threw stones at him, the last he remembered was one hitting his head, and he awoke.

There was a loud banging on his door. Hazily, Ivan got up and moved down the stairs. And as he swung the door open, he was greeted with the sound of trumpets. Royal servants forming two lines, each wearing a purple tunic and feathered cap. Between the rows of musicians, two men dressed in decadent clothing. Riding equally decadent horses moved toward. The shorter of the two handed him an envelope and said.

"The king requests your presence at the royal palace, Mr. Ivan Nigellus. I suggest you report there with utmost haste." The two riders then turned and trotted away. Shortly after, the musicians followed, walking in a brisk, orderly march.

Ivan, still in a daze, could only stare as the royal messengers rode down his street. He couldn't believe he had been greeted by those men messy haired, and still in his nightgown. What could this mean?