Good Samaritan? Nahhh, I just like buildin' stuff! (Solo)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

55th Day of Spring, 512 AV

Minerva was on her way home, her nose buried in a pile of notes, as usual. She wasn't paying any attention to where she was walking, as usual. She wasn't even listening to the noise made by the passerby, as usual. Thus, she was caught completely off guard when she was nearly run over by a passing wagon.

"Look out!" the driver shouted. Minerva didn't bother to look up. People were always shouting things like 'Look out' at her. Usually, it meant that the person shouting wasn't watching where THEY were going, and bumped into her. It was so rude! So she kept walking, keeping her face in her notes, looking over the numbers she was working on.

It wasn't until she heard a loud crash that she looked up.

The wagon was out of control, and had just crashed through a market stall, sending pottery flying everywhere. The driver was desperately trying to rein in his horses, but having no luck at all. And he was about to run over Tock.

"Eeep!" she squealed, leaping out of the way at the last second. She pressed herself against the nearby building, and the wagon rolled past, skidding to a halt just a few feet past her. The driver, stiff with nerves, just sat there for a moment shaking. Then he heaved a sigh of relief.

Minerva looked over, glancing up and down the wagon. It had a loose hub cap on the wagon wheel, and the wheel itself was now broken after the collision. She leaned down and looked underneath, and saw a crack in the axle, too.

"Hmm," she tapped a finger to her lips, studying the damage. She didn't notice the yelling behind her, as the owner of the market stall was stalking over and shouting at the wagon driver. He was waving broken pottery around, and screaming for retribution. Tock tuned it all out, kneeling down and looking more closely under the wagon. The damage was pretty bad, but not completely beyond repair.

She was still under the wagon a few minutes later, when the wagon owner finally finished getting yelled at. "My last mizahs..." he muttered, stepping around the wagon and scowling at the broken wheel. "Stupid, worthless!" he kicked the wheel, then cursed when he hurt his foot.

After a few more minutes of cursing and bemoaning his poor luck, he noticed the redhead under his wagon. She was lying on her back, measuring the axle. "Umm... Miss?" he asked, leaning down to peer under the wagon at her.

She ignored him. She was busy.

"Miss...?" the man asked again, tapping her on the foot. She kicked his hand away, checking the measurements of the axle and adding up some numbers in her head.

Finally, the merchant grew frustrated. He grabbed Minerva's ankles and pulled her out from under his wagon. "Now listen, young lady!" he said in frustration. "That there's my wagon, just what in sam hell are you doing?"

Tock blinked at him, ruler in one hand, hammer in the other, and replied, "Working?"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The merchant stared at Minerva incoherently. "But... what?" he asked, clearly not understanding why some random stranger was trying to fix his wagon without being asked.

Of course, understanding that required understanding how Tock's mind worked.

As soon as she'd seen the broken wagon, she'd started etching blueprints in her mind. She was made for building things. It was in her blood. It was the only thing that occupied her attention. She often didn't care what she was working on, flitting from one random project to another without a care in the world. As long as she had tools in her hand, she was happy.

This was a project. A project that had almost run her over, and thus FORCED its way into her attention. Now that it had her attention, there wasn't much that could break her mind from the project. Not unless, of course, another, more interesting project were to come along.

So Tock just stared at the man as if HE were the stupid one and answered, "Workin'? Fixin' this thing? Oy, whaddya got cotton in yer ears, mate?" She kicked her ankles free of his grip, adjusting her apron and crawling back under the wagon.

The merchant leaned over, peering at her under the wagon. "Umm... Miss?" he asked, having grown more confused. Tock let out a frustrated sigh and looked up at him. "No one asked you to do that..."

Tock laughed out loud. "Oy!" she said. "Bugger, mate! If'n I waited fer folks ta ask me ta get stuff done, I'd never get ANYTHING done!" She shook her head at the man's foolishness, and turned back to the broken axle.

The merchant stared at her for a long moment, then stood back up. He looked back over at the pottery merchant, who had just taken his last mizahs as compensation for the damage to the stall. The wagon owner was flat broke. He couldn't afford to hire a professional to repair his wagon. He leaned back over and looked at the girl under his wagon again, who was humming softly to herself as she made her measurements.

"You're... gonna fix it for free?" he asked, still uncertain.

"Aye," Minerva replied distractedly. "If'n ya stop bloody botherin' me, ya bludger!"

The merchant stood up, scratching his head. Then he shrugged. "Uhh... thanks?" he said. He absolutely couldn't believe his luck. But he wasn't about to turn the girl down!

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The wagon eventually had to be moved off the street, after numerous complaints that it was blocking traffic. Minerva grumbled at first about wasted time, but then decided to put it to productive use. While the merchant got a group of what she assumed to be friends and relatives (various strapping young lads who tried, unsuccessfully, to hit on her) to move the broken wagon out of the way, Minerva started working on blueprints.

She didn't need much for a simple repair job, but a good set of plans was still an important part of any professional job. She had all her measurements from the wagon, and set to work on drawing up repair plans.

The cause of the failure had been a weak axle. A rough guess of the weight of the merchant's cargo told her that it was exceeding the weight limit, and thus adding too much stress to the wagon's frame. The axle had to spin with the wheels while supporting that weight. When it cracked, it had thrown the wheel off-center, which had been what sent the wagon off course and crashing into the pottery stand. The collision with the stand had further damaged the wheel and hub cap.

Minerva sat off to the side while the men were wresting the broken wagon off the main road, working out the numbers on the stress factors. She estimated the weight of the cargo, and added a bit extra to make sure the new axle would be spec'd for a much higher weight load. She then spent some time working out the math to figure out how thick the new axle would need to be.

Measurements done and numbers calculated, she sketched a rough blueprint of the new design. She would need to widen the guide hole that the axle was fed through, to make room for the wider axle. She would also need to replace both hub caps with bigger ones. She calculated the radius of the new axle, and jotted down the new numbers for the other adjustments she had to make.

With the drawings and calculations complete, she could figure out how much new wood was needed. She'd salvage what she could from the old pieces, but the axle and wheel for sure needed complete replacing.

With the list of parts she needed, mostly wood and nails, she went up to the merchant. He was busy yelling at his workers not to damage the wagon any more. "Oy," she said, smacking him on the shoulder with the sheaf of paper. "'Ere's what I need."

The merchant looked at the parts list and frowned. "I thought you said you were fixing it for free?" he asked in a confused tone.

"Aye," Tock said, grumbling in frustration. "Free labor. Parts? I ain't got the parts. Ya need fresh stuff ta get a good repair done..."

The merchant looked over the list, wiping a hand across his sweaty face. Tock snatched the papers back before he got his sweaty hands all over her drawings and numbers. "Can't you just fix what's there?" he asked.

Tock crossed her arms and stared the man down. "Aye, sure," she said, but then cut the man off before he could look too relieved, "if'n ya want 'er ta break down again next week. Ya need a stronger axle, new 'ubs, and a replacement wheel. Oh, sure," she said sarcastically, "I could just nail 'em down and get 'er rollin' again all slip shod like, but ya want 'er done right, 'at's what I need..."

The merchant shook his head and protested, "But I'm penniless! I can't even afford parts right now!"

"Ain't my problem, guv," Tock said, staring him down at tapping her foot. She was getting annoyed... she could be back to WORKING by now if the man stopped arguing. "Ya need this job done right. It ain't much parts. Sell some o' 'at stuff there fer the cash," she gestured to the goods on the back of the wagon.

He turned and looked at his merchandise. "That's all meant for clients I can't reach until the repairs are done..." he said.

Tock growled, getting tired of the man's excuses. She waved a finger in his face and said, "Look, guv, ya don't get these 'ere repairs done, ain't none o' ya clients gonna get their goods. 'Sides, yer haulin' too much stuff 'round as it is. 'At's why she broke down in the first place. Now quitcha whinin', sell off what ya need ta get 'er fixed, and we'll getcha back on the road, aye? Aye."

The merchant finally nodded his consent. It was clear he really didn't have another option. He just wanted everything to work out perfectly, and had needed someone to convince him that it was too late for perfect. He had to settle for the best compromise.

"All right," he said. "It won't fetch as much locally as it would have where I'm headed, but I suppose that's better than losing all my clients if I don't get back on the road." Tock rolled her eyes. She really didn't CARE about this man's problems or his profits. She just wanted to get back to work!

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva wondered how long it would take her to build a whole wagon from scratch. It was probably beyond her current skill level. Repairing one wheel and an axle was one thing; making an entire wagon with fully functional wheels, harness attachments for the horses, and ensuring the whole thing was stable, functional, and wouldn't break down...

Well, one thing at a time. She could help fix this one, THEN maybe she could look into building her own, once she'd had a bit more practice.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard the merchant yell, "You want HOW much for the wood?" She had followed him to the lumber yard, unwilling to let him pick out the pieces himself. One of the first things her grandfather had taught her was you had to examine each and every piece of wood before you used it. A knot, crack, or split in the wrong place would ruin the entire project. Most lumber yards charged primarily by quantity, not quality (unless of course you were looking for REALLY fine quality woods, but you didn't need that sort of quality for a wagon). So Tock had dug through the wood piles until she found some pieces that met her standards.

The merchant's assistants (whom she had learned were his sons, Will, Tuck, and Kain) were holding the lumber for her. They has protested a bit, but she had just dumped the wood into their arms and told them, "Yer standin' 'ere, ain'tcha? Make yerselves useful!" They didn't look happy about being used as manual labor, but Minerva didn't care. Her grandfather had had a rule in his workshop: any hands inside his shop were hands that he'd put to productive use. It had certainly discouraged people from getting in his way, unless they wanted to be out to work.

Tock had ALWAYS wanted to be put to work.

"There's been a shortage of building materials in the city since the storm," the lumber seller was explaining. "Demand has gone up. Prices have..."

"But this is highway robbery!" he merchant protested, quite loudly. "I could almost buy a new wagon for that amount!" Tock looked at the price the salesman had written down. The merchant was exaggerating when he said he could almost buy a new wagon at that price, but not by much. It was a ridiculous sum.

"Oy," she said, pushing the merchant back and taking his place. He apparently sold sea spices, and thus would know NOTHING about haggling over building materials. "Lemme handle this bloke..." The salesman stared her down with a stubborn expression. As if he could out-stubborn HER.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Twenty-five mizahs for that much wood is bloody RIDICULOUS!" Minerva shouted in the salesman's face. "Two, maybe three TOPS!" Her grandfather would roll over in his grave at seeing such a price for common oak.

"Not around here, Miss," the salesman said. "Not much forest land 'round these parts. Have to import it all..."

"Aye, aye, aye," Tock waved her hands in the man's face to shut him up. "Import costs put 'er at, what, five mizahs tops." If there was one thing she hated, it was greedy suppliers.

The man shook his head, "Like I said, Miss, there's a shortage. I could maybe go as low as twenty..."

"Yer mother's arse, twenty!" Tock shouted. "I wouldn't pay twenty mizahs for yer termite infested crud if'n ye cut it straight from the Gods' great throbbin' groin!"

The man's face turned red. "I assure you, MISS, there are no termites in my stock..."

Tock smirked and leaned forward on the counter, staring right in the man's eyes. "Fer wood what costs, eh, ten mizahs, aye there ain't no termites. But anythin' more'n 'at, an' I dunno..."

His eyes narrowed and he hissed, "Just what are you saying?"

Tock lowered her eyes and began very deliberately examining her fingernails. "Jus' may be what I knows a lot o' carpenters 'n such what need wood..." she said. "'N word o' termite ridden stock sure do travel quick 'round tradesmen. Imagine how much business a bloke could lose..."

"You wouldn't..."

"Try me, bludger," Tock said with a grin.

"Fifteen..." the salesman said through clenched teeth.

"Twelve," Tock said, staring him down. Even with import mark-ups, twelve was a rip off, but a tolerable one during a supply shortage.

The man ground his teeth and finally said, "Fine." Tock looked at the merchant. He sighed, and dug twelve gold mizahs out of his pocket.

"Pleasure doin' business witcha," Tock said over her shoulder to the fuming salesman, a smug grin on her face.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva arrived back at the broken wagon, the merchant's sons in tow, carrying her lumber for her. "Set 'er down right there, boys," she told them, gesturing to an open space off to the side of the wagon. The boys set the wood down, sighing in relief, and turned to leave. She snapped her fingers at them, "Hey hey hey hey hey," she called out, "git back 'ere."

"But Pa said..." the youngest, Will, said in protest. He looked about thirteen.

"Yer Pa said 'e wants this 'ere wagon fixed," Minerva said, planting her hands on her hips. "Whatcha, gonna make a lil girl like me lift this big ol' heavy thing?" She pointed at the wagon, which was sitting lop-sided thanks to the broken wheel. She needed it lifted and braced so that she could get underneath and start working.

The three boys exchanged a guilty look. "Come on," Minerva said, "'elp a girl out, aye? Big strong lads like y'all'll 'ave it done in no time..." With sheepish grins and nods, they stepped forward to help.

Minerva moved over to the wheel and unscrewed the wooden hub cap. She then moved around to the good wheel and took the cap off that one, too. "Okay, on three," she said, waving the boys over to get them into position. "One... Two... THREE!" The boys worked together to lift the front end of the wagon, the rear wheels (which were undamaged) now supporting most of the weight. The cargo crates had already been unloaded and stacked to the side, keeping them out of the way. "Okay, 'old 'er jus' a minute..." she said.

"Hurry, Miss," the oldest boy, Kain, said. He looked about seventeen, and was quite muscular. "It's pretty heavy."

"Keep yer panties on..." Tock said, pulling off the front wheels, then crawling under the wagon. She gave the cracked portion of the axle a few good hits with her hatchet to finish breaking it apart, then yanked the broken piece out of the wagon. The one side slid out easily, but the second half was jammed in and wouldn't budge.

"One sec," she said, crawling back out and pulling the mallet from her belt. She smacked the outer protrusion of the axle with a few quick, hard strokes until it came free. Then she pulled the two broken halves out and set them aside. "Okay, set 'er down easy like." The boys lowered the front end of the wagon down, setting it on the ground. With the front wheels removed, the wagon was tilted downwards, the rear end still supported by the back wheels.

The boys obviously thought they were done, and were about to leave. Tock prodded one of them in the ribs with her mallet. "Oy, ya lazy dodgers," she said, "I need ta make a brace, then ya gotta lift 'er back up again!" The boys sighed and groaned. Tock rolled her eyes and shook her head at them. Lazy layabouts. How was she supposed to get anything done?

They sat around and goofed off while she set to work. She took the broken axle pieces and cut off the frayed, jagged ends. She then nailed the two pieces together in a V and sawed off a flat cut across the tip. After the boys lifted the front end of the wagon again, she was able to use the V-shaped brace to hold it up. It supported the weight just fine, and she used some of the merchant's crates to brace it and make sure it stayed upright.

"Are we done, Miss?" Kain asked.

"Oy, tch, fine, shoo, ya lazy bums," she said, waving her hands at them to move them off. "SHOO! Go on, git! I got work ta do! An' tell yer Pa that the lot o' ya are worthless, lazy dodgers!"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Stupid, worthless, broken, dag nabbed, filthy, useless, piece o' bloody OX TURD!" Tock shouted, banging repeatedly on the broken wheel with her mallet and then kicking it HARD. "Shoddy piece o' no good, poorly made CRUD!" A second swift kick finally knocked the broken wheel rim free of the spokes, and it clattered on the ground. The spokes themselves were mostly undamaged and could be salvaged, but the wheel was a total loss.

"Miss, is this your wagon?" a voice asked from behind her.

"NO it bloody well ain't!" she shouted without turning around. "I'd never drive a rotten, shoddy, worthless pile o' scrap wood like 'is around!" She kicked the wheel rim again for good measure, sending it clattering into the nearby building. She had been struggling with that rim for a good twenty minutes, and had to vent her frustrations before she broke something that she'd have to fix later.

"Well, whoever's it is, it's gotta move," the voice said. Tock turned around and planted her fists on her hips, staring down the source of the voice. It was the same guard from the statue the other day.

"Oh, aye mate," she growled, "I'll jus' 'aul 'er off wit' my bare 'ands I will! Or maybe ya didn't notice she ain't got no wheels in front, aye?"

"It's blocking the street," the guard said, pointing to the narrow space alongside the wagon. There was room for passerby, but no room for another wagon or cart to roll by. A few had already had to detour around other routes.

"Oy, we moved 'er off the main street," Tock shouted, throwing her arms up in the air. "Ain't 'ardly no traffic on 'is side road. S'the best we could do, aye? 'Less you's volunteerin' ta 'elp me drag 'er back 'ome ta work on, eh?" She planted her fists on her hips again, glaring at the man who was wasting her time with trivial things like keeping the streets clear.

The argument was starting to draw a crowd. The guard was looking around at all the spectators nervously, just like almost anyone would when they were in the middle of such a scene. Tock didn't give a damn. People staring at her never bothered her. As long as they weren't directly interfering in her work, she couldn't give a damn.

"Look, Miss..." the guard said, scratching his head.

"No, YOU look!" Tock shouted. She started shaking her hand in his face, having forgotten she still had her mallet in her hand. The guard flinched back from the heavy tool. "I can't move 'er without wheels, aye? An' if'n ya mean ta arrest a poor girl on charges o' 'wagon repair,' then she's gonna sit 'ere even longer. OR, ya can quit bellyachin', an' lemme get back ta work. The sooner I get 'er fixed, the sooner she's off the streets, aye?"

She leaned up, pushing up on her toes to stare the guard down, nose to nose. He cleared his throat, licking his lips as he searched for what to say. It wasn't as if he COULD get her to move the wagon with no wheels on it, and insisting on it would just make him look more the fool.

He raised his voice in a vain attempt to act like he was still in control of the situation, and told her, "Get that wagon fixed and off the streets as soon as possible!"

"OY! 'At's what I was doin' 'fore ya interrupted me!" she shouted, turning back to her work as the guard turned away to disperse the crowd and clear the streets.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva pulled one of the spokes gently from the wheel, laying down across the back of the wagon, which she was using as a table. Two of the spokes were broken and needed replacing. She needed to make them identical to the old ones. She started by measuring the dimension, jotting down numbers as she went. Then she carefully measured the lumber she would cut from, marking on the wood where to make her cuts. After the pieces were sawed off to the right dimensions, she took our her chisels and started carving and shaping the wood. It was simple work, absent of any frills or fancy designs. Just straight, round lengths of wood, tapered at each end to fit into the holes in the center piece and outer rim.

She finished up the carving and tested the fit, then made some minor adjustments when it turned out to be too snug. The final result could have been a little straighter, but it would hold the wheel in place.

Now came the hard part.

The outer rim of the wheel had to be made from a four pieces of wood, cut out in quarter-circle segments and then and shaped and assembled until they came together in a perfect circle. This required some detailed measurements of the other wheel, and then some careful calculations. She calculated the circumference of the whole wheel, the width of the rim, and the angles needed to get four semi-circle pieces cut. She checked and re-checked the numbers, since once she started cutting, it was too late to go back and see where she had gone wrong. Once she was confident in the numbers, she cut one of the pieces of lumber into four sections. Then she made angular cuts down the corners, so that each piece was shaped in a way that they would fit together in an octogon. From there it was chisels and sanding to smooth out the angles into rounded off curves.

Small holes were drilled into the long ends of each piece. Into these, wooden pegs were hammered to hold the quarter-circles together. The pegs were intentionally a tight fit, and each segment had to be tapped with a mallet until they were in firmly. More holes in the inner rim were fitted into the spokes.

Getting the fourth and final piece on was the hardest. The first three were already fit onto the spokes and attached to each other. The last one required some careful wiggling to get all the spokes and pegs lined up right. After a bit of frustrated struggling, cursing, and one incident of hitting her own thumb with the mallet (luckily her thick leather gloves made it not hurt QUITE as much), she finally managed to get the piece in place.

It took a little extra work with the mallet to make sure everything was nice and tight. Then she held the new wheel up to the old one to check for differences in size. A few spots on the outer curve needed to be smoothed out more, so she brought out the chisels again. Eventually she got it as close as a novice could. The ride probably wouldn't be perfectly smooth, but at least the wheel wasn't going to fall apart. She wasn't getting paid anyway; the merchant could deal with a slightly bumpy ride.

The last step of the wheel work was the metal strip around the rim, which helped with durability. She salvaged the strip from the broken wheel, and hammered out the dents as best she could. Then it was nailed down around the outer rim of the wheel, which also helped hold the whole thing together.

She set the completed wheel aside with the other one. It wasn't perfect, but it was adequate. Now she needed to work on the axle.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

After making some measurements of the width of the wagon, and adjusting for the extra length needed to attach the wheels, Minerva set to work cutting the new axle. It was one, long piece of wood that just needed to be cut to length, rounded, then have the end pieces modified to fit the wheels on the end.

She measured and cut the lumber to the same length as the old axle, then got to work on the shaping. This was a long and tedious process. Six feet of wood took awhile to chisel and scrape off the corners and hard angles. It had to be as round and smooth as possible in order for the wheels to rotate smoothly.

She was trimming off the excess with a scraping plane, a hand tool that was scraped down the length of the wood to shave off strips, when she heard a voice call out to her, "Whatcha doin?"

She ignored the noise, as usual. She was too busy trying to keep straight lines with the scraping plane. A moment later, she felt a tug on her leather apron. That finally drew her attention, and she looked down.

There was a child there, looking up at her.

"Whatcha doin' lady?" he asked. He didn't even come up to her waist. There was no way a child this young should be out anyplace alone.

"Shoo," she told him, "go find your mother." She turned back to her work, figuring that was that. She felt the tug again, and turned back to the kid with a frown.

"I said, whatcha doin?" he repeated firmly. Tock frowned, looking around to see if she could spot anyone that looked like the kid's parents. There were people walking by the street, but none of them were paying any attention to the kid.

"I'm workin'," she told him impatiently. "Where's yer Ma? Go find 'er. I'm busy..."

The kid turned and looked around, then looked back up at Tock. "She's not here. Whatcha workin' on?" he asked.

"I'm fixin' a wagon," she said. "It broke. Where's yer Ma? Why ain't she 'ere witcha? Huh? Ya lost or somethin?" The kid looked around, seeming confused.

"I dunno..." he said. His eyes were starting to get wide and moist. Great, Tock thought. Little biter was totally calm 'til I pointed out 'e was lost. Good job, Minerva, good job... The kid started calling for his Mom, but no one answered. Tock was about to have a royal case of bawling brat on her hands, unless she did something.

"Oy, s'okay, right, eh?" she smiled at the kid, lifting him up and setting him on the back of the wagon. "She'll be right back, aye?" The kid looked uncertain, but reassurance from a grown up was always a good way to stave off tears. He still looked on the border of a nice tantrum, though, and Tock knew her productivity would be shot to ALL hell if she had to console the twerp while he cried his eyes out. She didn't know how to handle kids, though, so she did what her Grandfather always did when she was getting underfoot.

"'Ere," she said, handing the kid a foot long piece of scrap she'd cut off the end of the axle. "Gimme a 'and, aye? I could use ya 'elp." The kid looked at the wood uncertainly, probably never having built anything in his life. She clamped the wood in place on the edge of the wagon, and handed the kid the scraping plane.

"Get the edges off, like this..." she said, showing him how to hold it. Using both hands, she guided him to scrape the wood, the simple motions easy enough for the child to figure out (not that she'd let him do anything on the axle itself). "I need it round, like this, aye?" she showed him how she had been smoothing the corners of the axle. The kid nodded, suddenly well occupied now that he had something to do and felt important and useful.

Tock went back to work, taking out her chisels and working on the endcap of the axle, since the kid had the scraping plane. While she worked on shaping the axle so that the wheel would fit, she kept adjusting the kid's position, shifting the length of wood around when he finished one side and needed a new part to work on.

By the time Tock was finished working on the end of the axle, the kid had (crudely and poorly) scraped the piece of wood into a more or less rounded shape. She needed something else for him to do with it, and quick, before the tears started up again.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Okay, 'ere's what's next," Minerva said, glancing around again and wondering where in the blazes the brat's mother was. "Yer gonna cut 'er right 'ere..." she took out her saw and lined it up on the wood. The kid was too little to really do sawing by himself without risk of cutting himself, so she had to hold the saw for him. She placed his hands on the handle so he could pull back and forth, performing the sawing motion while she held it in place. When his arms got tired, she took over for a bit, cutting off bits and pieces until the wood was shaped with a tip at one end, and a sweeping curve across the back. With the rounded bottom, it had the very crude form of something like a boat.

"Gotta cut 'is part 'ere out," she said, handing him a chisel. She helped hold it in the right position while the kid hammered on the end of it, digging the chisel into the wood to cut out a chunk. They continued like this for awhile until the top had been dug out sufficiently. Now it was a bit more obviously a boat, the pointed tip forming the shape of the prow, the chiseled out area forming the interior. Tock doubted it would really float upright, but that wasn't the point. It was keeping the kid busy.

"'Ere, smooth 'er out now, aye?" she said, handing the kid some sanding leather. That kept the kid busy a bit longer while Tock went back to shaping the axle.

Where was the kid's mother?

Eventually, she heard a voice calling out, "Jeffery? JEFFERY!?"

Tock looked up at the kid and asked, "Izzat you?" The boy nodded, calling out to his mother. Thank the Gods, Tock thought. A frantic woman came rushing over, her face stained with tears. She had obviously been searching for the boy the entire time, just in all the wrong places.

"'E's fine," Tock said, lifting the kid up and handing him to his mother. She then tuned the woman's babbling out, having no interest in hearing the stream of thank-you's and is-he-all-right and blah blah blah.

"Mommy look what I made!" the boy said proudly, holding up the crudely shaped boat. It almost actually looked like a boat. Sort of. Well, it was good for a six year old, or however young the little biter was.

"Aye," Tock said. "Ya got yerself a lil carpenter, ya do." She turned back to her work, wishing the woman would take her kid and just leave now. But no. It was another five minutes of thanks and how can i repay you and you're so kind...

"Oy, lady?" Tock turned and gave the woman a forced smile. She was starting to lose her patience. "Yer kid's fine. I betcha 'e's 'ungry or somethin', aye? 'Sides, I gotta get 'is 'ere work finished 'fore I lose the rest o' the light, aye?"

"All right," the woman said with a slight frown. "Well, you have my thanks." Aye, ya told me 'at like nine times already, yeesh! Tock thought. The woman and her kid finally left, and Tock was finally able to get back to work.

"Dang kids..." she muttered.