The Monastery

Chapter 10: A Harsh Lesson

Susant could hear yelling from inside the shop before he even got to the door. As he opened it, he could see a man shaking a boot angrily at his father, who was sitting quietly on one of the benches.

              The man wore a large, plumed hat with a feather sticking out the top. Even from the doorway, Susant could smell the man's lavish perfume and knew that he was undoubtedly a noble from the northern district.

              Susant gritted his teeth and held his tongue as he walked inside. His father noticed him and smiled softly, reassuring him that, regardless of what was happening, he was all right. Susant's eyes quickly glanced back at the noble, who had yet to take notice of him. 

              "Do you think yourself clever, shoemaker?" the noble blurted out, holding up the boot in his hand as if it were made of slime. "This is thievery, if you ask me. You expect me to pay two silver marks for this ragged excuse for a boot? This looks as if you fashioned it from the leftover scraps of an orphan's rags. Under no circumstances will I ever be subject to yours, or anyone else's, burglary."

              Susant watched as the noble dropped the shoe on the bench next to his father. He continued watching as his father said nothing, picked up the shoe as if it were a treasure, and carefully walked over to the shelf and put it back.

              "I'm sorry you find my work so displeasing," said the Cobbler. "Though I do assure you, this shoe was not made from the leftover scraps of an orphan's rags. I only use the best materials—"

              "Six copper links," the noble said firmly. "I refuse to pay anything higher for such a shoe."

              Susant felt the same anger he had for the man who had kicked him well up as he heard the noble's request. He knew exactly what was going on. The noble knew beyond a doubt that, even the King and Queen shopped at his father's shop, and that his work was among the best of the best.

              He's trying to pretend that our work is terrible, that we are some thieves, so he can fetch himself a better price, thought Susant. He smirked an angry smirk. He's out of his mind if he thinks we would subject ourselves to his—

              "Sir, there is really no need to be upset," said the Cobbler. "I can assure you that the price of our boots are fair to everyone in Kingdom and that they are well worth the—"

              "Do you have any idea who you are speaking to peasant?" the noble interrupted. He let his lip curl into an ugly smile. "I suppose someone who spends his time smelling other people's feet for a living would hardly have the time to look up and notice."

              Susant took a step forward, but a sudden look from his father stopped him dead in his tracks.

              "Well," continued the noble, "I think it unnecessary to have to explain, but an uneducated man such as yourself may have need. I will courteously, and ever so kindly, fill you in, shoemaker. Within the northern district. . . ." He paused for a moment. "You've heard of it, I'm sure, though most likely never seen it for yourself. The guards do their best to keep the streets clean of trash."

              "Apparently not," Susant muttered, unable to hold himself back any longer.

              The noble turned, seeing Susant for the first time. He eyed him for a split second before letting out a heavy sigh. "There are two of you working here, and you still cannot muster up enough skill to make a proper boot?"

              Just as Susant was about to open his mouth again, his father stepped in front of him. "Quiet, my son," said the Cobbler, holding up his hand, his back turned to Susant.