F³ An Idea

            Working for Evelyn the broommaker was not glamorous, but at least it didn’t involve the harsh chemicals of the tanner or the messy powders of Ernst the apothecary. Most of what was involved was simply holding things in place while Evelyn tied the straw, which I found out was not actually straw but just random grasses from outside of town.

            I couldn’t help but think that the old-fashioned witch brooms—as I thought of them—were wildly inefficient. The broom bristles would have been much better lined up in a flat row like what I could pick up from any home goods store or bodega. Only, I knew injection-molded plastic frames and machine inserted synthetic bristles were not possible. Still, I remembered the old-fashioned bristle brooms from growing up, and thought there could be a way to make it happen.

            I offered to pick up lunch for the two of us, and went back to the bazaar with Ranger. On the way, I stopped by a carpenter’s shop, and described what I wanted, gesturing the dimensions with my hands. He nodded and said it wouldn’t take but a few minutes, and I gave him a few coppers.

At the bazaar, my sausages were still not ready, but I was able to pick up some salted meats. I picked up some cheese, some fruit, and fresh-baked bread from Marion, who gave me an odd smile—I was going to have to deal with the rumors of me and Caitlyn, soon.

By the time I had the food, the carpenter had finished the tall, open rectangle frame.

This ought to do the trick.

F³ Career Choices

            I rode back to town, looking for the brushmaker. The tanner had been very unhelpful, not knowing exactly where her shop was as the brushmaker apparently made the trip to him to pick up big bags of shaved hair. So Ranger tramped through the streets, hooves occasionally clopping on a paved surface. Randomly, I would ask directions, and usually got waved over to “thataway,” without much of a landmark.

            Finally, I found it, a little shack of a home with a broom for a sign. Inside, a woman sat in a rocking chair tying a bundle of straw to a tree branch. “Just a moment, Good Master,” she said without looking up. If I don’t get the tie right now, I’ll lose the whole bundle and have an awful mess.”

            I nodded, then walked over to her.

            Every time she had the bundle right, she had to loop the rope around, but the bundle was just big enough that her small hand couldn’t hold it in place easily, so it shifted. I took hold of the bundle, freeing her to loop the rope around quickly, then cinching it down with a knot.

            “Oh, thank you, Good Master. If only you were around to help me make the rest of them.”

            “You need an apprentice,” I smiled.

            “Oh, would that were so, but not many want to become a broommaker, not when sewing, tying lace, and even shoemaking are so much better for young girls.”

            I hadn’t thought of any of that. Broommakers were probably only a step up from sanitation engineers in the hierarchy of things. Except the Realms didn’t do trash pickup. Oddly, the streets of the little town were clean.

            How do they keep things so clean, then?

            Most likely there was some fairy tale rule in place; I’d figure that out later, though.

            “Would you like an apprentice for a day or two?” I asked. “I need some specialized brushes and am willing to help out and learn.”

            Her smile was answer enough.

F³ The Brush Off

            The tanner’s little establishment was well outside the town because of the distinctive sewer smell that wafted a good way out from it. No one wanted that smell nearby, much less inside the town walls. No doubt the smell came from some of the large wooden vats dotted around the place. Rope lines held skins in various states of drying and bleaching.

            The tanner’s assistants pointed me to inside the large building, which, fortunately, didn’t stink as much of urine and other chemicals as the outside. Inside, a man stood next to a large table with piles of leather skins. A pair of round spectacles perched on his nose, but it looked like he inspected the skins as much with his hands as his eyes. Deep lines in his face and darkened skin made his face look like leather, too.

            “What do you want?” He asked, not looking up at me.

            “Well, I might could use a new leather pouch, and—”

            “I tan, ‘em, I don’t craft ‘em,” he cut me off.

            “Right,” I said slowly. The only reason I had come up with the pouch was to try and ease into the hairs. “Well, in that case, I see you cut all the hairs off before you tan the hides. You mind if I take some of the hair off your hands?”

            Now he did look up. “What for?”

            “I need to make some brushes.”

            “I already deal with a brushmaker. She buys all my hair.”

            I sighed. A brushmaker. Sure, there would be a brushmaker. I likely had some of her offerings to brush Ranger. “Where can I find her?”