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smackenzieThe only thing Lowe didn't like about being essentially Alex's kept man was that Alex was very good at telling him no. No, Lowe, I can't go with you to look at teasets in the silversmiths' quarter. No, Lowe, I can't stay in bed and listen to you read your latest poems, I have to go into the shop and work on a binding. No, Lowe, I don't have the time to take for a picnic lunch, even if you were kind enough to bring it to me. No, Lowe, we can't afford a hand-knotted rug - it's bigger than the floor. No, Lowe, we are not going to wear skirts to watch the fireworks over the river.
It was, Lowe thought, almost like he'd never left the royal nursery. Although Alex never turned Lowe over his knee and spanked him, as Lowe's nursemaids and governesses had. No, Derek, you cannot slide around the Great Hall in your sock feet. No, Derek, you may not drag someone out of the stables to fence with you. No, Derek, you cannot chew on your pen. No, Derek, you may not spend the banquet in the library.
Lowe could occupy himself perfectly well during the day if he had no copying to do. He had learned quickly not to spend much of Alex's money, because even though Alex never yelled at him, because Alex never really raised his voice, he always gave Lowe a very stern, very serious talk, glared a lot, and made Lowe sleep in the other room. Lowe hated sleeping alone, now that he'd gotten used to sleeping with someone else. Besides, the floor was hard, even with blankets and spare pillows piled on it, and in the winter there was a draft from the downstairs apartment. He didn't like it when Alex was mad at him, partly because he was always a little afraid that Alex would dissolve the relationship and he'd be on his own again. That and Lowe genuinely liked Alex, and he never really wanted to piss off someone he actually liked.
So he looked in a lot of windows in his wanderings around the city, even though sometimes he couldn't resist small interesting things or baked goods or the weird fruit that sometimes appeared in the markets. It was hard for Alex to get mad at a strawberry pie or a quill pen made from a peacock feather or three glazed tiles painted with pictures of chickens, or shaped like fish.
It had never occurred to Lowe that someone might recognize him as he walked around, even though he covered a lot of city streets and found himself in a lot of different neighborhoods. He hadn't left the castle complex very much when he was still a prince, and most of the people he'd come in contact with there were highly unlikely to take the afternoon off to sit in the People's Park and throw crumbs at the pigeons. He'd found an alchemist his second day away from the royal grounds, and had traded some spoons he'd stolen from the palace for a foul-tasting charm that would, or so the alchemist claimed, make him hard to recognize. The alchemist said it worked on the principal that a person who did not want to be found could hide easier than someone who did want to be found, and it meant Lowe could essentially hide in plain sight and not have to worry about someone finding him and dragging him back to his father. But just in case, the alchemist said, you might want to get a haircut. (He'd only told the alchemist he'd run away from home and did not want to go back. He'd never told anyone, not even Alex, exactly what home he'd run away from.)
Lowe had worn his hair long as a prince, since it was fashionable for noblemen, but after the alchemist's advice he'd taken himself off to a barber and had it cut off. It took him a while before he could look at his reflection in a window or a mirror and not wonder who that was, but once he'd gotten used to it, he kind of liked it. Shorter hair was flattering to his face, he decided, and anything that would keep him hidden was a good thing.
Alex had long hair, which was odd for a craftsman, but there were no hard and fast rules for what people were or were not allowed to wear, and he was in a profession where long hair wasn't dangerous. You never saw a blacksmith with his hair pulled back in a tail, or a glassmaker. Printers rarely wore their hair long either, since it could get caught in the presses, and you could generally tell which women in a crowd were printers or smiths, because they were the ones with the short hair. Professional swordsmen, soldiers and king's guards, always kept their hair short, which was a combination of practicality, soldier fashion, and a fairly obscure law enacted by a long-dead queen that all her guards should keep their hair short because she thought they looked better that way.
Alex wore his hair pulled back and Lowe could always tell when it had been an especially long or difficult day, because Alex would come home with his hair in his face. Sometimes he chewed on it when he was distracted, which Lowe thought was really cute. Lowe sometimes chewed the ends of his pens, which Alex didn't think was so cute because half the time Lowe got quill splinters in his tongue, and they were a bitch to get out and very painful, and then Lowe complained that his tongue hurt too much to eat.
Today in fact he needed some new pens - the ones he had were either worn down or chewed to pieces, but he thought they might have a mouse that was eating some of them - and he decided while he was out that he'd get Alex something nice, because he'd just gotten paid for a particularly taxing job, and for a week Alex had kindly listened to him whine about how difficult it was to finish.
Alex had tried to impress upon Lowe that he could trim his pens down himself and he didn't need to keep buying new ones, but Lowe always said he'd buy the cheap ones and if he tried to trim the points himself he'd probably just cut his finger off. Alex had to admit that was probably true. Besides, they knew him at the shop he liked, and if he caught the assistant in the right mood she'd sell him his ink at a slightly lower price, because she liked him. He didn't really need ink, at least not black ink, but if they had a nice color maybe he'd buy that for Alex, and a good heavy pen. Alex didn't write much, mostly letters to his brother, but he liked the all the writerly trappings, ink pots of different colors and fancy pens and good heavy paper and sealing wax with interesting seals. Lowe imagined it came from training as a bookbinder and being around that kind of thing all day, because usually Alex was fairly practical with his home furnishings.
There weren't separate guilds for pencutters and people who made ink and sealing wax and all the other various things you needed to write letters and poetry and contracts and university papers. There wasn't much of a trick to cutting pens, and the recipe for ink was pretty basic, but it took some skill and a good eye to blend nice colors for sealing wax and ink that wasn't black, and the shops needed to be monitored and regulated and protected like any other trade, so they were all part of the stationers guild. Once upon a time the stationers guild had included papermakers and copyists, but with the invention of the printing press and the increased need for paper, the papermakers had split into their own organization, soon to be followed by the copyists. Stationers were a bit of a joke to some of the trades, and people laughed that the stationers guild was the guild of last resort and filled with men and women who couldn't make it in a more respected craft. Lowe had never understood what was wrong with being a stationer - you went into the profession because your parents had, not because you'd tried and failed to get into the papermakers guild. Besides, someone had to cut the peacock feather pens and mix the gold and silver ink that the university demanded for its diplomas.
He walked into the stationer's shop intending to buy some cheap pens and hopefully something nice for Alex, and walked out with some cheap pens for himself and a bottle of dark red ink and three sticks of good sealing wax - yellow, green, and blue - for Alex. He'd held a short but interesting conversation with a girl who was looking for a place from which she could send her letters home, and where could she buy some inexpensive letter paper? She told Lowe that she was from a little village called Redhill, and she was looking for someone she'd never met and would never recognize, and she liked being in the capital city, it was very interesting and she'd met some nice people, but she wasn't sure how she was ever going to find this man she'd been sent to look for. He asked what the man looked like. She said she didn't really know, except that he had an unusually-shaped birthmark on, well, in a private place. And then her dog started barking hysterically at something out in the street, and she apologized and took the dog outside to deal with it.
And Lowe paid for his pens and ink and sealing wax and wondered if someone had been sent to find him and the alchemist's charm was working after all. Although if the girl from Redhill really was looking for him, she'd never find him for the simple reason that she didn't even know what he looked like, aside from the birthmark, and the chances of her getting to see that were just about nil.
He didn't tell Alex about her or the dog, but Alex was happy enough with his new ink and sealing wax that it didn't matter. He almost gave Lowe the talk about not spending their money on silly things, but Lowe headed him off by pointing out that it was his own money, earned by the sweat of his own fingers and his to spend on whatever he wanted.
"You listened to me whine and complain for a whole week," he said. "It's just a little thank-you."
words: 1800
total words: 14,336
It was, Lowe thought, almost like he'd never left the royal nursery. Although Alex never turned Lowe over his knee and spanked him, as Lowe's nursemaids and governesses had. No, Derek, you cannot slide around the Great Hall in your sock feet. No, Derek, you may not drag someone out of the stables to fence with you. No, Derek, you cannot chew on your pen. No, Derek, you may not spend the banquet in the library.
Lowe could occupy himself perfectly well during the day if he had no copying to do. He had learned quickly not to spend much of Alex's money, because even though Alex never yelled at him, because Alex never really raised his voice, he always gave Lowe a very stern, very serious talk, glared a lot, and made Lowe sleep in the other room. Lowe hated sleeping alone, now that he'd gotten used to sleeping with someone else. Besides, the floor was hard, even with blankets and spare pillows piled on it, and in the winter there was a draft from the downstairs apartment. He didn't like it when Alex was mad at him, partly because he was always a little afraid that Alex would dissolve the relationship and he'd be on his own again. That and Lowe genuinely liked Alex, and he never really wanted to piss off someone he actually liked.
So he looked in a lot of windows in his wanderings around the city, even though sometimes he couldn't resist small interesting things or baked goods or the weird fruit that sometimes appeared in the markets. It was hard for Alex to get mad at a strawberry pie or a quill pen made from a peacock feather or three glazed tiles painted with pictures of chickens, or shaped like fish.
It had never occurred to Lowe that someone might recognize him as he walked around, even though he covered a lot of city streets and found himself in a lot of different neighborhoods. He hadn't left the castle complex very much when he was still a prince, and most of the people he'd come in contact with there were highly unlikely to take the afternoon off to sit in the People's Park and throw crumbs at the pigeons. He'd found an alchemist his second day away from the royal grounds, and had traded some spoons he'd stolen from the palace for a foul-tasting charm that would, or so the alchemist claimed, make him hard to recognize. The alchemist said it worked on the principal that a person who did not want to be found could hide easier than someone who did want to be found, and it meant Lowe could essentially hide in plain sight and not have to worry about someone finding him and dragging him back to his father. But just in case, the alchemist said, you might want to get a haircut. (He'd only told the alchemist he'd run away from home and did not want to go back. He'd never told anyone, not even Alex, exactly what home he'd run away from.)
Lowe had worn his hair long as a prince, since it was fashionable for noblemen, but after the alchemist's advice he'd taken himself off to a barber and had it cut off. It took him a while before he could look at his reflection in a window or a mirror and not wonder who that was, but once he'd gotten used to it, he kind of liked it. Shorter hair was flattering to his face, he decided, and anything that would keep him hidden was a good thing.
Alex had long hair, which was odd for a craftsman, but there were no hard and fast rules for what people were or were not allowed to wear, and he was in a profession where long hair wasn't dangerous. You never saw a blacksmith with his hair pulled back in a tail, or a glassmaker. Printers rarely wore their hair long either, since it could get caught in the presses, and you could generally tell which women in a crowd were printers or smiths, because they were the ones with the short hair. Professional swordsmen, soldiers and king's guards, always kept their hair short, which was a combination of practicality, soldier fashion, and a fairly obscure law enacted by a long-dead queen that all her guards should keep their hair short because she thought they looked better that way.
Alex wore his hair pulled back and Lowe could always tell when it had been an especially long or difficult day, because Alex would come home with his hair in his face. Sometimes he chewed on it when he was distracted, which Lowe thought was really cute. Lowe sometimes chewed the ends of his pens, which Alex didn't think was so cute because half the time Lowe got quill splinters in his tongue, and they were a bitch to get out and very painful, and then Lowe complained that his tongue hurt too much to eat.
Today in fact he needed some new pens - the ones he had were either worn down or chewed to pieces, but he thought they might have a mouse that was eating some of them - and he decided while he was out that he'd get Alex something nice, because he'd just gotten paid for a particularly taxing job, and for a week Alex had kindly listened to him whine about how difficult it was to finish.
Alex had tried to impress upon Lowe that he could trim his pens down himself and he didn't need to keep buying new ones, but Lowe always said he'd buy the cheap ones and if he tried to trim the points himself he'd probably just cut his finger off. Alex had to admit that was probably true. Besides, they knew him at the shop he liked, and if he caught the assistant in the right mood she'd sell him his ink at a slightly lower price, because she liked him. He didn't really need ink, at least not black ink, but if they had a nice color maybe he'd buy that for Alex, and a good heavy pen. Alex didn't write much, mostly letters to his brother, but he liked the all the writerly trappings, ink pots of different colors and fancy pens and good heavy paper and sealing wax with interesting seals. Lowe imagined it came from training as a bookbinder and being around that kind of thing all day, because usually Alex was fairly practical with his home furnishings.
There weren't separate guilds for pencutters and people who made ink and sealing wax and all the other various things you needed to write letters and poetry and contracts and university papers. There wasn't much of a trick to cutting pens, and the recipe for ink was pretty basic, but it took some skill and a good eye to blend nice colors for sealing wax and ink that wasn't black, and the shops needed to be monitored and regulated and protected like any other trade, so they were all part of the stationers guild. Once upon a time the stationers guild had included papermakers and copyists, but with the invention of the printing press and the increased need for paper, the papermakers had split into their own organization, soon to be followed by the copyists. Stationers were a bit of a joke to some of the trades, and people laughed that the stationers guild was the guild of last resort and filled with men and women who couldn't make it in a more respected craft. Lowe had never understood what was wrong with being a stationer - you went into the profession because your parents had, not because you'd tried and failed to get into the papermakers guild. Besides, someone had to cut the peacock feather pens and mix the gold and silver ink that the university demanded for its diplomas.
He walked into the stationer's shop intending to buy some cheap pens and hopefully something nice for Alex, and walked out with some cheap pens for himself and a bottle of dark red ink and three sticks of good sealing wax - yellow, green, and blue - for Alex. He'd held a short but interesting conversation with a girl who was looking for a place from which she could send her letters home, and where could she buy some inexpensive letter paper? She told Lowe that she was from a little village called Redhill, and she was looking for someone she'd never met and would never recognize, and she liked being in the capital city, it was very interesting and she'd met some nice people, but she wasn't sure how she was ever going to find this man she'd been sent to look for. He asked what the man looked like. She said she didn't really know, except that he had an unusually-shaped birthmark on, well, in a private place. And then her dog started barking hysterically at something out in the street, and she apologized and took the dog outside to deal with it.
And Lowe paid for his pens and ink and sealing wax and wondered if someone had been sent to find him and the alchemist's charm was working after all. Although if the girl from Redhill really was looking for him, she'd never find him for the simple reason that she didn't even know what he looked like, aside from the birthmark, and the chances of her getting to see that were just about nil.
He didn't tell Alex about her or the dog, but Alex was happy enough with his new ink and sealing wax that it didn't matter. He almost gave Lowe the talk about not spending their money on silly things, but Lowe headed him off by pointing out that it was his own money, earned by the sweat of his own fingers and his to spend on whatever he wanted.
"You listened to me whine and complain for a whole week," he said. "It's just a little thank-you."
words: 1800
total words: 14,336
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-09 10:16 am (UTC)(and my Red Sox fan heart says, "Hee!" at Derek and Lowe. But that's 'cause I'm a goof. :-))
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Date: 2004-11-09 01:33 pm (UTC)