Harmindon's Finest

Chapter 4 - Tough Times

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No matter how often I complained, grumbled, and wailed about the sheer monotony of my profession, I always felt a secret comfort in it. I would sometimes wake up early, before even leaving for the market, and feel the soft fabrics and admire their beautiful colours in the soft flickering candlelight.

For hours on end, the rhythmic sound of thread pulling through silk was the only sound in the house when Grandmother was running errands and Miarka was out playing. It was soothing, and the results were always tremendous. Although I had yet to become popular with customers, I felt a surge of pleasure every time I shook out a finished shawl, or tapestry, or even handkerchief.

But I needed to become popular fairly quickly, because summer was fast approaching.

Again.

Summer was quite possibly my least favourite time of the year. The devastatingly scorching sun dipped below the horizon for only an hour or so during the night and then began its rise. It was always so hot, and the sweat would trickle down my neck even as I worked in the relative cool of indoors. The marketplace became a blur of dust and flies flocking for the food stalls. Every time someone walked by, no matter how slowly, an inevitable cloud of the awful sandy dust would swirl up and cause me to choke.

Actually nobody in Harmindon enjoyed high summer very much. The cool of the baths at Na'Man ab Jubayr were a popular relief, night and day alike. It was truly life-giving - if it weren't for the river, the summer would bring many deaths of the heat and exhaustion.

But I would have taken a thousand deaths by choking in sandstorms or exhaustion over a slow death by starvation. When I mentioned devastatingly scorching, I was being in earnest. The usual drowsiness caused by midsummer descended upon Harmindon much more quickly than usual this year, much to everyone's horror.

In the market, I would overhear farmers discussing the possibility of drought, and what would happen if the Golden Serpent wreaked its havoc upon their precious land. It would slowly but surely dry up the earth, usually rich and dark from natural irrigation by the river. But this year, the tide was turning in favour of the sun in the battle of elements. Even the volumes of water from Na'Man ab Jubayr, which of course never dried up completely, were slightly decreasing, and some of the smaller aqueducts and channels had indeed dried up.

We knew well that after a month or two the worst would have passed, like it always did, and the lifesaving river would return to its rightful volumes and restore our lives to normal. But first there was hardship to endure, like there always was.

The other day, when packing up my wares to take home after a long morning having sold nothing, I noticed an empty stall across the square. That was the stall where one of the City's more prosperous farmers always set up shop - not herself, of course, but sent one of her children to mind the stall and deliver fresh food every morning. It was very unusual that it would be empty so I went to investigate.

I heard him before I saw him - the farmer's youngest son, ten years old, crouched behind the counter and sobbing quietly. I knelt down, frowning in consternation.

"Hello, little one. What is the matter?"

It took some sniffling and one of my fine lace handkerchiefs to get him composed. "We looked at one of our far fields this morning- we never bothered to check it much before, because Father had a little channel installed to keep it watered. But the waters are so low, it has completely dried out our field! Mother says we have to water it by hand, and therefore we cannot come to the market," He wailed. I patted his shoulder uncertainly, the weight of his words sinking in.