November 1

Word Count: 2,934

The day couldn't seem to make up its mind whether to be cheerful or gloomy, which suited Mitty quite nicely. She was feeling slightly temperamental herself today. The fog that had set in early that morning was lifting, in patches as the sun tried to push through to the earth. Mitty had swung back and forth between making the grocery list for her current shopping expedition, and a growing sense of discontentment.

Mitty was unhappy. She knew it. There was small stone pressed against her heart that made her cold and lose her breath at times. It was growing slowly larger and soon Mitty knew it would weigh her down and drown her in a pool of self pity and despair. The true problem was that Mitty couldn't really pinpoint the reason she was unhappy. She had a home, and an occupation, if one could call looking after one's father and brother an occupation. It certainly took up enough of her time. If she wasn't cooking or cleaning for them, she was tackling the stack of hems her father brought back from the shop. As the town's one and only tailor, Zaugh had a steady stream of business, and a steady, if not generous income. Nothing about her father could really be called generous, especially after his wife died ten years ago. He gave Mitty only what was barely necessary to pay for the household goods. She never had enough money to buy the truly good pieces of meat, or the sweet things that her brother craved, although her brother more often than not found his own way to purchase his sweets. Today was no exception.

The market was doing a fairly good noon day business. Mitty liked shopping in the market at midday. The venders had been worn down by a morning of more aggressive hagglers and their goods were looking not quite so fresh. They gave way to her price much faster than in the early morning, when all of the serious shoppers bought their goods.

Mitty inhaled deeply as she passed the baker's stall. His breads and baguettes were all proudly on display. His supply was diminished and he was out of the crusty sourdough bread, but that was the chance Mitty took when she shopped late. On Market Day, Mitty always bought two loaves of brown bread, a whole chicken, and two rounds of cheese. Her father liked predictability. He called it stability. Mitty called it boring, but her father always got his way.

"I'll take the usual today," said Kalen to the baker's man. She batted her eyelashes at him. Kalen was one of the prettiest girls in Toumat. There was a bet run through the tavern of which man she would end up with. The odds were currently running with the young noble's son, but it switched every week. Last week, Widow Lisler's grandson and heir was the head of the pack of suitors that plagued her father's house every night of the week. Kalen was taking her time in choosing.

The baker's man stumbled, as he chose the biggest of the loaves and wrapped it carefully. Kalen held her basket out with a smile, and he placed the loaf in her basket as if it were a newborn child. He stood close to her for a long moment, inhaling her perfume before she stepped back and swished her way down the street.

"I'll have the usual today as well," Mitty stated as she held out her basket. The baker's man's eyes were still firmly attached to Kalen's behind as she walked away.

"I'll have the usual," she repeated. She tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped.

"Yes?" He brushed some imaginary crumbs off his shirt.

"I'll have the usual."

"What's that? How am I supposed to remember what my customers order? I'm not a mind reader." Mitty wanted to point out that he'd had no problem remembering Kalen's order, and she was fairly positive that Kalen only did the family shopping once or twice a month.

"Two loaves of brown please." Mitty held out exact change. He pocketed it without so much as looking at her face. He hastily wrapped the first two loaves he grabbed and held them out to her.

"Thank you," Mitty said as she took them and placed them in her basket. The man turned busied himself straightening the loaves. Mitty moved on.

The cheese seller was training a new man to help him sell at the market. It was fairly obvious his new employee was not from Toumat. Mitty arrived just in time to see the cheese man and his man staring after a swishing female rear.

"That, Koutar,was Kalen, but get that look out of your eyes." The cheese man smacked his man on the back of the head. "She's got suitors coming out of her ears. Her father can't beat them away with a stick. You, my poor man, have no chance."

"Kalen. That does have a nice ring to it,. Koutar, and Kalen. Don't you think," Koutar replied, rubbing his head.

"Not a chance, my boy. Not a chance. Besides, you are here to sell cheese, not find a wife."

"One could do both, I suppose."

Koutar turned his attention to Mitty, and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"One round of the Gild, and one of Cast, please." The cheese man watched as Koutar promptly filled her order. He smiled as Mitty turned to continue her shopping. She lingered near the neighboring booth to overhear their conversation.

"Who's that?"

""That's just the tailor's daughter. She's probably the perfect wife for you. No dowry- her father's too cheap to give her one, and she's too ugly to have any suitors. She'd suit you just fine. Would you like me to introduce you to her father?"

"I'll find my own wife, thank you very much."

The cheese man and Koutar laughed loudly together. They were already on to their next customer by the time Mitty left.

It wasn't as if the man was lying. It was all true. Her father had no intention of providing her with a dowry. He'd probably be quite content to let her cook and clean his house until he died. And Mitty had no suitors. Not one of the Toumat's bachelor's had come to visit the house. They didn't say hello or take off their hat when she passed them in the street. Most of the time they didn't even spare her a glance.

By the time she arrived at her father's shop, she was thoroughly depressed. She could feel the stone inside her pushing towards her heart, throbbing in time with her pulse.

The doorway to her father's shop was low. Most men had to stoop to avoid hitting their head on the wooden sill. The windows were small, and let in very little natural light… as sunlight added time onto fabric like nothing else. The shop was small… crowded really except for the workspace around the hemming stool. Her father's prize, a large full length mirror stood proudly against the wall, waiting for customers to check her father's work. Bolts of fabric were stacked everywhere like books in a disorganized library. Her father had them all cataloged in his head. He knew where each length of cloth had come from and how much it had cost him. Most of them were hardy, solid colors. The people of Toumat had very little time or money for frivolous patterns.

She used to love being in the shop when the cloth merchants came in, selling their fine silks and magnificent brocades. Her father worked them through their paces, making them struggle to sell their wares. Watching one particularly large and bald merchant repeatedly take out his ivory handkerchief and blot his forehead, she knew her father was only interested in the plain more serviceable fabrics. The merchant always left feeling lucky to have sold him their bolts at a discounted price. Mitty had always stared longingly at the more beautiful shimmering fabrics. She'd even run her hand down the grain of the fabric.

"Don't be an idiot," her father said after he slapped her hand. "No one in this town wants that fabric. And never touch what you don't intend to buy."

"But it's so pretty." It was silver blue like the snow that covered the rooftops on crisp January mornings. The merchant's face lit up, knowing the father might bend and buy his daughter something pretty. But her father's eyes were as cold as the ice fabric. Mitty had blown the deal. She'd shown vulnerability in front of the merchant. Her father would not purchase any fabric that day. Mitty would pay for it later in her father's contempt.

From that day, she'd been barred from the shop for any reason other than making a delivery or running an errand. These days, she spent about ten minutes a day in her father's shop while delivering their noonday meal and collecting a stack of clothing that required the menial stitching any simpleton could complete.

Her brother, Pader, looked up from his stitching.

"Thank goodness you're here. I was going cross eyed. Widow Gentlen is a cranky old bat who complains if you can see so much as one stitch on her hem. Now why should it matter. It's a petty coat! They'd have to lift her skirts to see them. I should take a poll of the gentlemen of Toumat and ask them if they had any desire to get under her skirts. I'm sure it would be a resounding no. Any man that said yes should be rounded up and quickly put out of his misery."

Pader grabbed Mitty's basket and began to unwrap some bread and cheese. He continued to talk while fetching the knife and cutting heartily into the cheese.

"One of these days you should just ignore father and buy a different cheese. And some white bread would be nice. A crusty one. It's always the same two cheeses and same bread every day. One would think he'd get tired of it. He went down to see Jeckap. He'll probably mooch a meal off of him today. All the more for me, unless you want to eat here too. Yes, keep me company."

Mitty wasted no time in sitting down next to her brother. Pader cut another piece of cheese and tore off a hunk of bread.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. Father can be somewhat bothersome at times. He treats me like a child." Mitty smiled. Her brother was right in a way. Her father was stingy in his control of the business. He still treated Pader as if he knew nothing of the intricate workings of the shop. Pader had been working in the shop as soon as he was old enough to hold a needle and thread.

Of course Pader still had a few boyish qualities. He spent a lot of time with what their father called the town wastrels - the young men of the society who spent most of their day in the taverns gambling their wages. Without their father's tight leash, Pader would be happy to spend his time ogling bar girls and drinking himself silly.

"If he found out that I did something stupid, he'd chain me to this table until he was dead, and he'd still send his spirit to haunt me." Pader wasn't looking at Mitty. He was inspecting his cheese carefully. He hesitated, and Mitty knew at once that they were not talking in hypotheticals. Pader had done something stupid.

"What did you do, Pader?" she asked quietly. He sighed.

"Sir Dunlap came in today. He wanted some work done on his cloak. I told him that we were going to be a bit busy because of the upcoming Light Festival. He became very huffy, and irate. I swear he was going to explode into a thousand pieces. Imagine what a mess that would make… pieces of that windbag all over the shop. We'd be scrubbing for weeks. Just rewashing the fabrics alone would take-"

"Pader," Mitty reminded gently.

"Oh, yeah… right. Well, I lost it and gave him something to shut up." Mitty winced. Her father would be furious at the thought of giving something away. Pader could find ways to fix his mistake though. He could save up his spending money for a week and buy a replacement, hopefully before their father noticed.

"I just grabbed the first thing I saw. It was from father's private stock." Pader stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth as if to rid himself of the taste of his words. Mitty stared down at her food and suddenly felt nauseous at the thought of another bite.

Father's private stock was sacred. Neither one of them ever dared to touch it. He knew every inch of the fabric and checked on it at least once a day. He never told his children the value of his collection, but they both knew that his private stock was the only thing he spent money on freely and willingly.

When Mitty was younger, her mother had told her that his collection would one day be her dowry. Mitty gave up on that idea, the first time her father backhanded her for taking a look at the fabrics he stored away. When her mother died, Mitty knew that the only things her father really loved were stored away in the cupboard.

"I didn't know you had a key," Mitty stated quietly.

"I don't. He was assessing it when the messenger interrupted him. He forgot to put it back and has been gone all day. He'll kill me. It wasn't as if it looked special. I mean it was just plain gray fabric. I thought it was some cheap thing I was giving to Dunlap. We have to get it back."

"Perhaps if you just go and explain what you did, Sir Dunlap will give it back."

"Oh, you didn't see him. His eyes lit up. He knew exactly what I'd given him. He couldn't hurry out of here fast enough. You know him, Mitty… he's just as stingy as father. Except he's rich. He won't give it back. We'll have to take it back somehow… but he'll be expecting me."

Mitty stared at him for a moment. His eyes were wide and desperate. It was suddenly dawning on her that he meant for her to be the one to pull him out of his jumble. "And what am I supposed to do about it?" Mitty asked. Pader jumped up at her words. He'd apparently been waiting for them. He had a plan. From under the desk and Widow Gentlen's petticoats, he pulled a black dress with atrocious gray and white strips. She recognized it at once. It was a servant uniform for Sir Dunlap. He had designed them himself. Most of the town relied on the theory that he made them as ugly as possible so he had yet another reason to torment his poor servants.

"Pader!"

"You don't have to put it on now. Wait until tonight. He's having a party tonight. They'll be so many people coming and going that no one will notice you. It will be simple. You go in, grab, and leave. No problems… and I think I can keep father distracted until tomorrow… he'll never know it was missing."

"Where did you get this," she asked as she held it out in front of her.

"It'll fit. I altered it. The girl that ran off with Vanden left it here. What would she want with this ugly thing. She found herself a husband. She doesn't need to work."

"You want me to steal from him." Mitty turned away, the pit in her stomach growing larger.

"You're just returning it to Father. Dunlap had no right to take it. He confused me and stole it from us. Think of what Father will be like if he finds out." Mitty knew. He'd scream and yell for three hours. Then he'd start throwing things. He would finally storm out and remain silent for days, shunning the rest of his family. He would be unbearable.

"I don't know if I could do this. What if someone recognizes me?"

"They won't. No one ever looks twice at you Mitty. I'd stand out like a sore thumb. No one knows you. Even Aunt Omal can't remember your name. She calls you deary. Once you put the dress on, no one will think twice about letting you go anywhere on the estate. I've even got Welop to loan you a horse. Of course… he thinks I'm using it to go to some secret rendezvous to meet my lover, but the horse is gentle. You won't have any problems with him.

"You've thought this through," Mitty stated calmly. It still seemed quite early in the day for Pader to have done so much planning. Something still wasn't adding up, but her brother needed her.

"I swear. There will be no problems. In and out. If you do this for me… I'll do anything you want."

"Anything?" Mitty's mind pondered the possibilities. There was a long list of possibilities: having him clean up after himself for a week, buying her a new hat or some sweets. No, she was thinking too small for this favor. Maybe he could convince father to give her a dowry. That seemed like a fair exchange.

"Okay. I'll get it back." Pader's smile brightened the room.

"After all, how hard can it be?"