[Flashback] A Love For Tools (Solo)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

45th Day of Summer, 503 AV There was a new apprentice working in Granddad's shop today. Minerva didn't like him. She never liked any of them. None of them tended to stick around very long. Sometimes she thought maybe Granddad fired them because she didn't want them around. He'd never said as much, but she liked to pretend that was the reason why. It wasn't very fair to her when Granddad had another apprentice. SHE was supposed to be his apprentice. Except he always told her she was more than an apprentice, she was family. The boy's name was Romney. He was fourteen, and kinda cute (she supposed), except that he stared at her in ways she didn't like. Ever since she started growing into a woman, men of all ages tended to look at her in ways she didn't like. She'd heard comments, when they didn't think she could hear them, that made her uncomfortable. Things like, 'She's gonna be a real looker in a few years,' or, 'I'd like to teach her how to please a man...' It bothered her, but the only thing she could do was ignore them. She tended not to hang around any men when she could avoid it. Most times it was her father's friends that came over to drink, and she'd spend that time hiding in her room to avoid the unwanted attention. Romney hadn't made any such comments, and he was likely too young to know what such things meant, any more than Minerva herself knew (nor did she want to find out). But he still looked at her, and she didn't like him. She didn't talk to him unless she had to. Granddad had them working on assembling a wagon. One of the merchants in the city had hired him to build it. Minerva hadn't helped him build something this big very often, and he usually just gave her small tasks to help out in the overall construction. For the moment he just had her cutting boards. He lined up a stack of them on a workbench and led her over, showing her the measurements on the first one. "Gotta keep 'em all the same, right dear?" he said, marking on the board where he needed her to cut. "The 'ole set's gonna line up good, y'see? Otherwise the side o' the wagon'll be all lopsided, an' 'at ain't the sign of a proper craftsman, aye?" She nodded and grabbed the wood saw off the rack. She knew better than to touch Granddad's personal tools, and just took one of the regular ones. His tools were just for him to use. They were of exceptional quality, and Granddad was very protective of them. Minerva and any of Granddad's apprentices were only allowed to use the ordinary tools. "Ya all set, dear?" Granddad asked her, watching as she lined up the cut. "Aye," she replied, keeping her eyes on the thin line etched across the wood. "I done got 'er, Granddad..." She didn't like it when he wouldn't let her do it herself. She braced her left hand on the board, the right side being clamped firmly to the table, and started to cut. Holding the board steady helped make sure the cut would be clean. That was one of the first things Granddad had taught her. She kept focused on her cut while Granddad went over to show Romney how to work the lathe. She quietly grinned when she heard him having to go through the process step by step. Minerva had started working the lathe when she was ten. She knew how to do it by herself. But the new apprentice didn't seem like he'd ever held a tool before in his life.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

While Minerva was cutting the fourth board, and carefully lining each one up to make sure the cuts were all the same length, there was a knock at the door. Granddad sighed and led Romney away from the lathe for a moment and set him to work at one of the workbenches. He handed him a chisel and said, "Work on the wheel, 'ere, 'til I get back." Granddad had already cut out the main pieces for the wheels, though they needed to be chiseled and then filed down in order to get a nice, round shape. Granddad would likely do the finer detailed work himself, but the apprentice could start off chiseling down the biggest parts of the excess wood. Granddad headed outside, greeting a client that Minerva recognized as a regular. He shut the door, and she could barely make out the sound of their voices discussing some project or another. Minerva was working on the fifth board when she heard a curse from Romney behind her. She glanced over and saw him sucking on his thumb. She laughed. The idiot had bashed his thumb with the mallet when he was pounding on the chisel. He cast a glare at her and said, "Shut yer hole." She responded with a rude hand gesture she'd seen her father use, though she didn't really know what it meant. Romney had dropped the chisel somewhere when he injured himself, and looked around for a moment, but couldn't find it. It must have bounced under the workbench. He gave up searching for it and grabbed another chisel off the tool rack. One of Granddad's chisels. "Ya ain't 'llowed ta use 'at one," Minerva said, glaring at him. If she wasn't allowed to touch Granddad's tools, this boy certainly wasn't going to! "Mind yer business," Romney said. Minerva frowned and stalked over to him, snatching the chisel from his hands. "'At's Granddad's!" she said, staring up at the taller boy. He reached for it, and she stepped back, holding it out of his reach. He huffed at her and tried to snatch it from her, and she held her arm as far back as she could to keep it from his reach. He needed to learn the rules, and as far as she was concerned, part of that was listening to her, because this was her Granddad's shop. "Gimme that, ya little brat!" he growled, grabbing her arm and roughly yanking on it until he could reach the chisel and pry it from her grip. She yelped in pain and kicked him in the shin, then he shoved her away. "Fine!" Minerva shouted, stomping her foot. "Yer gonna get fired, an' 'en I's gonna laugh, stupid!" She stomped back to her workbench and started cutting again, just waiting for Granddad to come in and catch Romney using his chisel. She saw out of the corner of her eye as Romney grabbed a hammer off the rack, and stepped back over to the wheel. She bit the inside of her cheek for a moment, then said, "'At's the wrong one!" He ignored her, and started pounding on the back of the chisel with the hammer. She frowned and him and shouted, "Oy, I done said 'at's the wrong one! Yer s'posed ta use the wooden one! Yer gonna crack the 'andle wit' 'at one!" Romney just ignored her and kept pounding at the chisel, rapping the metal hammerhead against the handle to dig the chisel into the wood. You weren't ever supposed to use the metal hammer on the chisel. Granddad said it was disrespectful to the tools, and could damage them. She protested once more, but Romney continued to ignore her. When he still didn't listen Minerva called out, "Granddad!" He didn't seem to hear her through the closed door, so she stepped closer and shouted, "GRANDDAD!" Then she heard a crack and a curse from behind her. She turned to look, and just as expected, found that Romney had hit the chisel too hard and cracked the wooden handle. There was a big, thick split down it. He cursed again, then glared at Minerva. She shook her saw at him and said, "Oy! I done told ya... Granddad!" She turned back to the door as it opened, then felt something being pressed into her hand. She turned back and saw Romney had shoved the tool in her hand, then crouched down to retrieve the other chisel from under the workbench. When Granddad stepped back into the shop, the broken chisel was in Minerva's grip, and Romney had his back to her, trying to make it seem like he'd been working the whole time.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"I tried to tell her not to, Master Zipporah," Romney quickly said as Minerva's Granddad came back into the room. Minerva scowled at him. He was trying to blame her!? "Oy, ya lousy, no good, lyin' petcher!" Minerva shouted, throwing the chisel at him. It pegged Romney in the shoulder and he cried out in pain. A small dab of red appeared through his shirt; the sharp wood cutting tool had broken his skin, though it was really not much more than a nick. "Granddad, 'e's lyin'!" she protested, shaking her saw at Romney. "I done told 'im 'ose 's yer tools, an' not ta use the 'ammer! Stupid bludger didn't listen!" Granddad stepped forward and placed his hands on Minerva's shoulders, pulling the young girl back. He patted her shoulders, and she calmed. Romney pointed at her accusingly and said, "She's lying, sir. I didn't--" "My granddaughter ain't a liar," Granddad said, stepping forward and leaning down to retrieve the chisel from the ground. "Last time she broke one o' my tools, she done came up ta me in tears, an' showed it right to me. I don't reckon she'd be fool 'nough ta do 'at again... girl learns 'er lesson the first time." Minerva raised her chin and stared Romney down. She'd never lied to Granddad in her life. About the only thing she ever even hid from him were her bruises from Da's temper. "But sir..." Romney protested, starting to sweat. Granddad just took the tools from his hands and set them aside, then grabbed the boy by his shirtsleeve and dragged him towards the door. "If'n ye'd told the truth, 'at'd be different," Granddad told him. "But I don't take kindly ta lyin', aye? Go find someplace else ta train..." He opened the door and threw the boy out onto the street, slamming the door shut behind him. "I done told 'im not ta!" Minerva said. Granddad just nodded, looking the chisel over with a sad sigh. He set it aside and said, "S'awright, dear." He patted her on the shoulder, and picked up the other chisel to carry on with the work. "Weren't yer fault..." Minerva went back to work sawing boards, but her eyes roamed to the broken chisel. She felt bad. Sure, Granddad said it wasn't her fault, but maybe she could have tried harder. She knew how much Granddad loved his tools...

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Now keep 'em lined up nice an' straight, dear." "I know, Granddad," Minerva said, climbing up onto the wagon frame and lining up the boards. She knelt on one of the cross beams of the main body frame, so she could nail the boards in place. Granddad left her be once he was sure the boards were lined up right. He was really quiet today. When he was extra quiet, she knew that meant he was upset about something. It was the exact opposite of her Da; when HE was upset, he made it quite well known with loud words and heavy fists. Minerva much preferred Granddad's quiet ways. As she hammered the boards in place, she glanced at the broken chisel. She knew that was part of it, but not all of it. Romney hadn't just broken the chisel. He had also lied about it. Granddad didn't just pick someone to be his apprentice at random. He turned away most of the lads that came looking for work. Once Minerva had asked him why. In response, Granddad had taken her over to the workbench and handed her a piece of hard wood. "Which chisel would ya use ta carve 'at?" he'd asked. Without hesitation she'd grabbed one of the thicker, heavier chisels. "Why 'at one?" he'd asked her. She had frowned, not sure why he'd ask. When he'd just waited for her response she'd simply said, "'At's the right one, Granddad..." "Why?" he'd asked again. "Why not 'at one, o' 'at one," he'd pointed to two others on the rack. She'd frowned again, wondering if he was trying to trick her. "'At one is only fer soft woods," she'd said, pointing at the first one, "an' 'at one's only fer more detailed work. Ya done gotta start wit' 'is one..." she'd lifted the one in her hand, wondering if he was somehow going to try to tell her she was wrong. Instead he'd simply nodded and said, "Ya always need the right tool fer the right job. Same wit' people. Ya can't 'ave someone doin' the 'ard work if'n 'ey're only meant for soft work. An' ya can't 'ave someone what ain't ready tryin' ta do detail work, aye?" She'd nodded in understanding. "Aye." She thought about Romney. He'd been a dense fool. Not fit for this kind of work. But Granddad had chosen him, thinking that he was the right one for the job. He'd chosen wrong. And now he must be blaming himself for the mistake.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

As she continued nailing boards down to form the floor of the wagon, Minerva found herself wondering... Did Granddad ever think she wasn't right for this work? It was the only thing she knew. She'd been helping him build stuff since she was old enough to lift a saw. She didn't know anything else she could do with her life. She didn't want to get married and have babies, or be a whore walking the streets and doing... whatever it was that whores did. She didn't want to one day have to trade a life living in fear of her Da's fists to just be supported by some man and live in fear of him, knowing she always had to give herself over to his desires. What if she wasn't good enough to make it on her own? "I's done, Granddad," she said, nailing the last board in place and climbing down off the back of the half-finished wagon. The sides still needed to be raised, but it was getting late, and they'd probably work on those tomorrow. Granddad came over to check her work, giving a small nod. He ran his hands down the side of the wagon floor, then waved her over. She stepped over and he took her hand, sliding it down the edges of the boards. "Whatcha feel 'ere, dear?" he asked softly. She frowned when she felt one of the boards in the middle was slightly out of alignment with the others. It wasn't noticeable to the naked eye, but she could feel it. The client who had ordered the wagon would probably never notice, but Granddad was a perfectionist. Minerva frowned, disappointed in herself. "I'll fix 'er," she said. Granddad shook his head and slipped an arm around her shoulders to lead her away. "Tomorrow," he said.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

After Granddad went to bed, Minerva's Da pulled her into the den. He yanked on her arm and dragged her across the room, then threw her into a chair. "What's 'is I 'ear from Nate 'bout ya gettin' 'is boy fired?" he demanded. He wasn't screaming, which was a good thing. Maybe this would be a more civilized beating. She stared at him for a moment, trying to think what to say. Protesting her innocence would only make him angrier. Trying to wake Granddad up to defend her or protect her wouldn't help; Da would just wait until the next time he had her alone and beat her twice as hard. She'd learned a long time ago that even though Granddad would want to protect her, he couldn't be there all the time, and Da would make sure to beat silence into her to stop her from snitching again. When she didn't respond he gave her a quick whack upside her head and yelled, "I done owes 'is Da twenty mizahs! An' 'at job were s'posed ta square us! Now what's I s'posed ta do?" "Well maybe if'n ya weren't always gamblin', ya'd..." Minerva caught herself before she could finish the angry retort, but it was too late. She saw the look in her Da's eyes, and just lowered her head. Luckily he didn't seem too drunk tonight. Instead of swinging a fist, he took off his belt. Sniffling, Minerva silently stood up and obediently turned around. If she screamed and woke up Granddad, she'd get it worse later on. So she just closed her eyes and leaned forward on the chair, biting the inside of her cheek to keep as quiet as possible as the belt descended onto her rump. She preferred it this way. A black eye was hard to hide from Granddad, but as long as she didn't sit down for the next few days, she could make believe that this beating hadn't happened. The lashings from the belt was better than Da's fists. Awhile later she lay in bed, facedown to ease her sore behind. She buried her face in her pillow to hide the sound of her sobs. She wasn't even crying because of the beating. The belt had hurt, but her pride hurt more. She couldn't help thinking that she was destined for a life like this, because she wasn't good enough to make it on her own.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva couldn't sleep that night. She couldn't get her head clear of thoughts of her own inadequacies, her own failures. What if Granddad only kept her around the shop because he felt sorry for her? What would she do when she was on her own? Stay with Da forever and take his temper and his beatings? Or give herself to some man she didn't love so that her body could pay for her meals and her shelter? Far before dawn she rose from bed and headed downstairs to Granddad's shop. She lit s lamp and kept the flame low, not wanting anyone to know she was up. She made her way over to the incomplete wagon and grabbed a crowbar. She pried up the offensive board with wistful grunts and a stern set to her jaw. She set it aside and started on a new one, double and triple checking the measurement this time. She worked as quietly as she could, cutting a new board and carefully nailing it in place. When she ran her fingers down the edge this time, it lined up clean and smooth. She could see the pre-dawn light creeping into the sky through the windows. There was no point in going back to bed now; even if she could sleep, she'd be up again before she knew it. Her rear was still burning, and she had worked up a sweat fixing the wagon. She might as well find something else to work on. One if the half-finished wheels was still clamped to the workbench. She headed over to it and picked up the chisel. It was the poorer quality chisel; Granddad had been forced to use the older, more worn out tool thanks to Romney's idiocy. Minerva had gotten a beating because of Romney's idiocy. She looked over at the chisel, its cracked handle staring back at her, taunting her. She grit her teeth and snatched it up, taking it over to the workbench. She carefully pried the handle off and grabbed a ruler. She pushed the cracked pieces together so she could carefully measure it, then found a piece of wood from the racks that was close to the right size. She clamped it down and cut it to length, then shifted it longways so she could trim the sharp edges off. She cut each edge until the long, squared piece of wood was a rough octagon rod. Then she picked up the older chisel and started using it to trim the handle for the finer one. An old tool shaping a new one. She tapped carefully, using a wooden mallet so she wouldn't damage the handle, chipping away at the wood until it started to take on the finer shape. Then she filed it down carefully, shaping the wood to make a good grip, working very carefully to match the exact shape to the old handle. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers down both the old and new handle, making sure the curve was just right. She spent extra time carefully sanding out every rough spot. She knew Granddad's gentle hands would pick out any flaw. Only after the handle was perfectly smooth and free of any flaws she could find did she fit the blade into it. Then she set the completed tool back on the rack right where it belonged. Right where Granddad liked it.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

When Granddad came downstairs, Minerva was still working on the unfinished wagon wheel. She was using the old chisel. Even though she'd just repaired Granddad's chisel, she knew she shouldn't use it. It was his. "Yer up early, dear," Granddad said. She just nodded in reply. She hoped he wouldn't notice how stiffly she was moving. Her backside was still burning. Granddad stepped over to the wagon and ran his hand along it. He paused at the new board and ran his fingers across that spot again. Then he looked up at Minerva and smiled. "Good job, m'dear," he said. She kept her head down, but smiled. He stepped up behind her and patted her shoulder. She kept working on carving out the wheel, but she felt a swell of pride in her chest. She lived for the moments when Granddad told her she'd done good. He looked over the wheel she was working on, and gave an approving nod. He left her to work on it, and lifted one of the other unfinished wheels into the clamp. It was already cut into a rough, angular shape, and the edges needed to be trimmed down and rounded off. He reached for one of the chisels on the rack, and his hand paused when he noticed the repaired chisel. He lifted it and turned it sideways in his hand, examining it with a small smile. Minerva held her breath, and kept working on her wheel, carefully chipping away at the wood. Granddad made an approving, "Hmm," and glanced over at her. She kept her eyes down. He reached over and gently took the old chisel from her hand. She looked up at him wide eyed, holding the mallet in her other hand. He took the mallet from her as well. Her throat tightened; it had been a long time since he'd taken tools away from her. But a moment later he handed her the chisel, his chisel. Then he handed her his mallet, the good one. She looked down at the tools, then up at Granddad. He just smiled at her, and took the older tools for himself, setting to work on the wheel. She went back to work on hers, with tears in her eyes. Happy tears this time, not the tears of shame from last night. She set Granddad's chisel against the wheel, tapping gently on the handle with his mallet, the rhythmic tapping falling in sync with Granddad's work on the other wheel, side by side, without a word passing between them.

[Liar]

EXPERIENCE AWARD Minerva Agatha Zipporah Skill Points Carving 3 Construction 2 Carpentry 2 Observation 2 Persuasion 1 Lore The Sign of a Proper Craftsman The Right Tool for the Job When Grandad’s Quiet The Feel of Aligned Wood Picking Battles Grandad’s Tools Notes I love that this was a story first, and training second. Well done. Please let me know if I missed anything.