Nim finds he is almost drowning in a bewildering expansion of his horizons

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Disclaimer:

The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended.
This story is copyright © 2021 Julia Phillips. All rights reserved.

It uses some of the associated characters and situations that arise from the world called ‘Anmar’ created by Penny Lane, whose stories
are also copyright © 2010 - 2021 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

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“Are you all prostitutes, then? Am I going to die?”

His agitation brought him unthinkingly to his feet, but the pain in his ankle made him thump back down into his chair.

A shocked silence hit the room.

Everyone was staring at Nim who once again shrank back down into the chair and actually quivered at the unwanted attention. On top of that, he wanted to squirm as far away as possible from any of these dangerous women.

Davabet was torn between the desires to laugh or to cry. The maids clamped their mouths shut – this was surely not something they should react to, but they were shocked at the apparent thoughtlessness of the remark. Gyth’s first reaction was one of anger; raw, seething anger.

But both Waxerwet and Julina, almost simultaneously, had a flash of an inkling towards what was going on. Their eyes locked onto each other’s and messages were conveyed in a heartbeat by means of eye-speak. The former’s hand shot out and held her daughter’s, demanding eye-contact through which she forced her to remain quiet.

Julina went over to Nim’s chair and squatted down to his level, but keeping a certain respectful distance away, before speaking in the gentlest of tones: “Nim, dear. I admit I do not understand why you would have associated anything we said or did with prostitution, but I strongly suspect that you have had warnings, probably from your mother, about prostitutes. I can assure you that none here gain their coin from any remotely connected activities. I can help you – no, we ALL can help you – if only you would tell us what you so fear.

“But at the same time, we respect your privacy, and should you wish to remain silent, we will not press you further. I would remind you that earlier in the day, we all spoke freely and that you found you could, after all, relax somewhat in our company. Now, will you help us to help you?”

She sat back on her heels, slightly increasing again the distance between her smiling and tender face and the scared and cringing young man. She hoped her coaxing tones might break through the barriers that had been erected by his terror.

… … …

Nim cringed once more into the back of his chair. But this time he was again seated at that large table and far more people were looking at him. He did not know that Julina and Waxerwet had asked some of them deliberately to come to this evening meal just to hear his story. And that everyone else had been warned that he was very unconfident in himself and also very sensitive to negativity.

No-one actually ignored him but all allowed him to make his own mind up as to whether or not to join in on a conversational topic, unless he was asked a direct question like: “How do you find the food?”

Waxerwet had waited until everyone was either seated or leaning on the back of their chairs before beginning the mealtime with a little speech: “I would like you all to please welcome a new guest this e’en. Nim here has unfortunately sprained his ankle and will be with us for at least the next few nights – so it behoves me to tell you a little about him in the hope that we might thus refrain from pestering him with repetitive questions.

“He is the younger of a pair of siblings, his elder brother brother is named Sim. Nim tells me that sometimes this brother affects a different name but his real name is in fact a simple Sim.

“Their father has gone to his pyre and young Nim has been told forcefully by both his mother and his overbearing brother that he is quite stupid and not worth wasting any precious time upon for educating. He is unable to write and can barely do basic arithmetic.

“The family live in a small hut in Scullery Alley, a dwelling in which there are few comforts. He knows no other way of life.”

At this point, Nim was wriggling in embarrassment and yet also feeling a little angry that his life had been almost dismissively summed up to so many people. He had however learnt that afternoon to trust Mistresses Julina, Davabet and Waxerwet the former of whom now gentled him with a smile and a hand gesture. The afternoon had indeed begun to teach him the value of gaining full facts before reacting in any grandiose way.

Waxerwet also smiled at him before continuing in a voice that hinted strongly at subdued anger: “However, we have become determined that Nim is in fact an intelligent man who simply needs the right guidance. This is something that has plainly NOT been available at home. His elder brother …” she glanced significantly then at Jenet and used her eyes to get Jenet to nudge her husband for special attention “… treats anything and everything in their home as his own personal property. Sim has now three times stolen the Palace-issued wet weather dress from his brother and Nim suspects him of having sold these sets of clothing for profit. This last occasion has proven to be too much for Nim’s supervisor in the General Labour Pool and Nim has now no job to go to in the mornings. Both the mother and the elder brother treat Nim as an unpaid servant and feed him but scraps after they themselves have eaten their fill.”

Waxerwet took a breath as she gathered her thoughts and then plunged on, this time her voice suggesting a mixture of anger and mirth: “Now, before we all tuck in to another splendid Julina dinner, I must, however strange it may seem, touch upon the subject of prostitution.”

There was a small giggle from Davabet and Gyth at this point. Nim tried cringing further down whilst Julina and Gyth clamped their mouths shut. Feteran looked confused as did Senidet and her husband who was off duty this evening. Only Gullbrand remained impassive.

“You should all,” continued Waxerwet, “be aware that apparently all prostitutes are diseased and pass on deadly strains of all sorts of dire illnesses to every man who even gets near them! Few men are strong enough to survive such an encounter.

“As neither Nim nor his mother have frequented any prostitutes then naturally their view of these - how shall I term it? - these ladies of negotiable virtue is somewhat distant from the actuality.”

Feteran, Tedenis, Gullbrand and the other men in the room were all suddenly struck somewhat rigid and were hastily suppressing grins.

“Indeed, his mother has firmly instilled in Nim the belief that all those women who are bold enough to go about with short hair …” all eyes turned to Davabet, who waved gaily “… then those dreadful women are each and every one a prostitute.”

A chorus of gasps and coughs erupted, almost drowning out Waxerwet’s next words: “I wonder what Her Highness and Milady Milsy might have to say about that!”

She looked around as the room settled down once more.

“And now, I deem, we have talked sufficiently enough about this young man that we can commence to indulge ourselves in a more normal dinner. Toria please signal the staff that they might begin to serve us.”

Finally, over the clatter of the standing diners now dragging out their chairs, she turned to another seated close to her and addressed her directly, obviously throwing out a topic with which to start a conversation: “Senidet, Julina and I deem you should ask Nim about his idea he had earlier, an idea which, coupled with other indicators, convinced us that he is far from stupid. We both, ’Lina and I, leapt to the further idea that maybe your wheel-barrow could be adapted, but of course the lad himself had no idea what we were talking about.” As she was saying this, she also swept her skirts under her behind and sat down elegantly upon her dining chair.

She graciously smiled at all and decorously settled onto her chair. Gullbrand smiled privately to her his congratulations, which elicited a return one.

Nim however had largely ignored this last. He found himself more worried about how he would try not to disgrace himself using this weird fork thing.

… … …

These life-defining days in the Blackstone Hotel changed Nim and his family forever. Later on, he often wondered why he was unable to recall every little detail. Just some significant moments came readily to mind, so he was coloured in his reflective perceptions by a certain feeling of disconnectedness ...

… … …

“But Nim, that is a splendid idea. What would you call it?”

Diffidently, he replied: “Mistress Senidet, if you have called your barrow on wheels a wheel-barrow, then could it not be a wheel-chair?”

“But we would need some way of steering it properly. Fixed wheels on a fixed axle would be difficult to get round corners.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that.” His face dropped. “There you are you see, my family are indeed quite right. I really am too stupid to be …”

“Don’t ever let me hear you say you are stupid again. You are NOT. Look at the sensible discussions we have just had. All you need is a bit more education. And, let me tell you, you are in the right place for that. Mistress Julina is also a very talented teacher.”

… … …

“Well, yes, Commander. Sim works for a factor in the city, just a block or so from our home. He is a warehouse manager I understand. That is why he is always so busy and is often away from the home, even now in the rains.”

“And your mother? What does she?”

“She stays at home, Commander. She hesitates to emerge in public since Father died. Just occasionally to the anonymity of the market where she may mostly pass unremarked. She is however obsessed with cleaning. Everything has to be clean, herself, her clothes, her house, her furniture, her … things. Which word includes as well all of that stuff for her two sons!”

“Your father. How old was he when he came to his end?”

“He was then a year younger than Mama is now.”

“Maker! How long ago was this?”

… … …

“Oh! That’s funny!” laughed Nim loudly and delightedly as Gullbrand finished his story about a letter Princess Eriana had sent from upriver to some of her men. It did not take away from his amazement at the many and varied dinner table conversations. Who would ever have thought that he would be able to dine with people who bandy words with and about Princesses?

… … …

“You are using that fork as though you have had one all your life!”

“Suddenly, I somehow fail to understand how I have ever managed without one.”

“Well, I am not certain I have seen anyone become so adept so quickly. You are basically a first-timer and yet you use it as well as any of us.”

… … …

He looked around the room he had mostly been in since his painful arrival. They had pulled in a bed from somewhere to save his having to negotiate stairs at the end of the day. When not in use, it was hidden from general view behind a clever foldable screen and had been positioned across the servant’s doorway into this room. A clever bedside cabinet had a door in it which closed upon a chamberpot, provided in case he might have a requirement for it during the night.

As he lay down on what was the most comfortable bed he had ever had, he could not get to sleep immediately. A great list of wonders continually cycled through his head. The bathing facilities here, the toilets and their flushing mechanisms, the food, the togetherness, the acceptance that he had a point of view worth listening to, the descriptions of railroads, wires, electricity, walking canopies, wheel-barrows, even bakeries and inns, then there was the hours/minutes/seconds thing. And he was shocked at the surge of hope inside himself when they promised to help educate him. His automatic feeling of unworthiness had been severely dented in the day and the evening he had spent in company of a young and vibrant group of strangers. People had actually listened to his ideas and discussed them with him.

He had even begun to learn to read, which Mistress Julina assured him, would lead to his beginning to write within days.

Let me see. Tomorrow I will … zzzzzzzzz

He was unaware of the servant who crept into the room and extinguished most of the lamps and banked the fire.

… … …

“Enough! ’Tis surely enough!” moaned Nim as he wrung both his hand and his wrist which were now aching from abundant unaccustomed use of muscles.

“Nim, ’tis but late in the forenoon. Tenant Maralin is due to arrive soon and so I shall then have need to desist with these lettering lessons with you and continue with my own learning. In fact, I shall get him to let you also sit in, just for you to see what it’s like. I shall not be involved with the meals today.

“Now, let’s go a bit further forward, your wrist will last yet a while and will soon get a rest,” she explained as she settled once more next to him.

“Remember what I said, each letter has a body which is both the larger and the middle of our three zones – all the bodies are always lined up evenly and written with even heights. Then there are sometimes one or both of the tops and/or tails to letters, each of which are smaller in height than the bodies. This is why I have lightly drawn two lines across this page to create the three zones ….” *

And so it went on, Nim struggling at first with the concept, but suddenly it all seemed to click. His weariness was swiftly forgotten as a delight swept through him. He started demanding more and more information from Julina, as well as demanding more paper and spare reedlets ‘just in case’. He failed to notice the amused glances Julina and Davvy were giving each other.

… … …

“Pardon me,” said Sarjant Verran insincerely after gently but audibly burping. Which produced several indulgent smiles from around the table.

Which was something that shocked Nim. Yet ANOTHER something. His mother would have slapped him if he had burped aloud. Hard. And she would probably have withheld his next meal.

But his attention was dragged back onto other subjects as he continued with a conversation he was having with the Tenant.

“Right then,” said the tall Jothan, “there are two things that could be of help. One I call crutches and the other is indeed a chair on wheels.”

“But,” spluttered the now-confused Nim, “aren’t crutches awkward things that are rammed right up under the armpit and generally get in the way?”

“Those are indeed a sort of crutch, but not all crutches are like that. Although it must be said that every type of crutch gets in the way at some time. Mistress Senidet? Mayhap you could produce a sketch from my description once we rise from table?”

… … …

Once again, ’twas just after the midday meal and Nim had been assisted/carried back into the ‘withdrawing room’ as he had now learnt to call it. ‘It makes sense,’ he thought, ‘for we have just left the dining room to give the staff access for the clearing up and have consequently withdrawn from there to here.’ Mind you, at present everyone simply referred to it as Nim’s Room.

He had declined to stay with Julina and the Tenant Maralin after getting far too confused in the short half-bell session prior to the once-again excellent repast. But he was certain that he would never forget some of what he had managed to pick up – for instance that ‘drawing room’ was a contraction of ‘withdrawing room’ and that ‘lunch’ was an abbreviation of the word ‘luncheon’.

He reflected again on how much he had gained from learning to write, albeit that he had only just started, and how proud he was of his progress even managing to connect the sounds of some of the letters to the sounds of some words.

He was just starting to feel a little dozy when the door opened and in came Senidet and Molleena. Senidet’s face was a little flushed, showing unwittingly an element of excitement.

“Nim! Nim! I deem I have it. Tenant Maralin made a few suggestions and Havelin, the young man you delivered your wagon to, deems he can make a swift, but very crude, working model for us to test on the morrow!”

“So soon! I am astounded!”

“Well he doesn’t have a great deal to do right at the moment. His project is on hold for a while, at least until we can design something else to help him progress.”

The two women turned to each other and started giggling.

“Why the delay?” asked a very puzzled Nim.

“’Tis something best explained by himself, really. You should ask him when you can, but I would suggest you wait until dinner tonight.”

Nim filed away this very tantalising response and hoped that he would remember to ask Havelin later. As Havelin was the man most often assigned to help him move about, Nim knew that he would have plenty of opportunity. But why on Anmar should he wait until dinner?

His thoughts however were dragged back to other matters by Senidet’s next words: “Now, I have a spare bell or two, so Julina suggested I continue with you and your lettering exercises. We shall start with how to write the new numbers and then also do some numbering. These new numbers are called the ‘Garian numbers’, which are SO much simpler.”

… … …

He didn’t have time to doze for the rest of the day, nor did he actually want to for he was so eagerly busy learning and taking the vast (or so it seemed) amount of information in. First he learnt to count, then he learnt to write each symbol. As soon as he started to write down double-digit numbers, the concept of the counting became clear to him – a vast blinding flash seemed to illuminate every nook and cranny in his head.

In an awe-filled voice, he asked Senidet: “So when I get to the end of the two-number numbers, which I guess would be nine-nine, then do they go to numbers with three whatjacallits?”

“Three digits, exactly. So what would be the highest three digit number?”

Hesitantly at first, but with noticeably growing confidence, he replied: “Nine … er … nine, yes, nine.”

“Correct! Nine-nine-nine it is. Do you want to try to write that down?”

He did so with an almost sneer, an attitude that said ‘Duh!’ and ‘Of course’ and ‘That’s easy’ and ‘Do you take me for a fool’ all at once. Which then made him blush furiously when he remembered how grateful he was for this much-needed education and he didn’t want to be as arrogant as that brother of his, a brother that appeared more and more disreputable with every heartbeat – no wait, with every second – that Nim spent in this company. The entire group staying here, and including the ones that had sometimes appeared from Blackstone House, supported each other, laughed with each other, had arguments with each other that never descended into resentment, and so on. Nim found himself being jealous of them all ever more frequently.

… … …

“Errrrm, Havelin? They …” he waved a vague hand at the two girls responsible “… suggested I ask of you what your project is and why I needed to deliver a fresh wagon to you?”

There was a ripple of mirth amongst many seated around the dinner table that evening and Havelin himself grinned a most infectious grin as he began his explanation: “Well the thing is … Ah! Hold! I know not the depth of your knowledge just now! You are, I deem aware that there are things called steam engines used just about round every corner?”

Nim nodded, already wondering where this was leading. All the steam engines he had seen were under some sort of weather protection and yet were open to the winds as the smokes were apparently dangerous if you breathed them in.

“And you have seen them working? Belching out smoke and steam and the like? And whirling that great big wheel around?”

Again Nim nodded as Havelin continued:

“Well, one day I was watching a steam engine and I saw the big wheel keeping on turning and it reminded me of a wagon wheel rolling along. And then I had a thought – what if I could harness the steam engine’s turning wheel to the wheel of a wagon? Surely then, I reasoned, the wagon would drive along the road with need for neither a frayen nor a dranakh!”

Nim’s mouth dropped open. In tones of wonder, he breathed out: “Of course! How clever of you! So that wagon I delivered is to be the one you use for this?”

Again came the grin and a few giggles. “Well yes and no, really,” said the young journeyman. “You see, I have already used a wagon and have shown that it indeed works as I suspected.”

Nim’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of all this. Havelin continued then: “Think you on a steam engine, Nim. What makes it work?”

“Steam?”

“Indeed so. And wherefrom comes that steam?”

“From water?”

“Exactly that. And how do we convert water into steam?”

“By heating it of course.” Nim was beginning to get irritated but he wasn't exactly sure why.

“No, don’t get upset, I am not teasing you. I am merely showing you what an idiot I was.”

“Huh???”

“To heat the water, we have to have a fire, right?”

“Of course.”

“What do you think happens if I light a fire and then let it rest upon the wooden bottom boards of a wagon’s belly?”

Nim thought about it and then suddenly he pictured what had happened. He too started to giggle.

“Yes, I ruined not only a steam engine but also a wagon when I burned a large hole through the floor and it all crashed to the ground. It nearly set the entire barn afire too! Saved by the rains as it happens. We wheeled the burning wagon outside as swiftly as we could.”

… … ...

“Oh no!” said Nim determinedly. “That’s not really practical. When a four-wheeled wagon comes to a corner, then the frayen or dranakh and the front part of the wagon point off to one side. If a canopy is attached to the BELLY of the wagon, then the canopy would be pointing off in a different direction. Why, that would make it impossible to even enter some gateways.”

“Good point, young Nim. I guess we should have consulted a real wagoneer earlier in this process,” said Senidet with a kind grin. Nim felt himself swell a little with pride as she described him as a real wagoneer. This was probably the first time he had ever earned praise!

… … …

“Well, young Nim, you have given us much to ponder upon. Most grateful. Most grateful indeed. Young Havelin here will assist you to your chair in the other room or mayhap ’tis time you wish to retire to your bed? Should we arrange for it to be set up there?”

Everyone started to rise amidst a great clatter as chairs were scraped back and the last dregs in mugs and goblets were hastily swallowed. A few more private conversations were commenced as the diners that could rose to their feet. The first of them filed out into the hallway.

But all was hushed as suddenly there came a very loud and peremptory thundering of a fist upon the main door.

*(You should, as a reader, perhaps be aware that much of this method of writing was explained and illustrated in JoB #26) - JDP

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