Marek - Chapter 3

 

Marek froze, watching his father and grandmother with Frig and Bex in tow. Marek froze for a moment too long and his father, eyes scanning the edges of the common, spotted him. He paused for one brief moment, eyes burning, and then marched towards Marek. Marek stayed frozen to the spot, still largely concealed behind the tree, just his head poking out, eyes wide.

“Boy, I thought I told you.” His father did not shout, but his words carried perfectly clearly through the milling of people.

Marek heard his grandmother call from behind his father. “Have you got him there Jacob?”

“Yeah, ma, I got him.” Jacob answered as he walked up, covering the short distance quickly with his large strides and stood before Marek, looming high above him, dark frowning head silhouetted by the swaying branches of the sky. “Marek.” He said, his voice stern and menacing. “I thought I told you to stay in the shop, what have you done with it? Tell me you haven’t gone and left it all open and unlocked?”

“No… no.” Marek stammered, rising, slowly, to his feet.

“’Cause if you have boy, I’ll…”

“I locked it up Dad, it’s alright.”

“Alright?” Jacob now sounded properly angry. “It ain’t alright boy, I told you to stay in that shop for a bloody good reason, you hear me?” He shouted the last few words and Marek, looking down at his shoes, nodded his head, slowly, in agreement.

Given what he had seen of the red haired woman he understood better now than ever before why his father had done so.

Marek heard a scuffling sound approaching from behind his father and saw his grandmother bringing Frig and Bex, struggling, but held steady, towards them. Marek exchanged furtive glances with the two, and he saw apologies etched in their faces. He smiled back, reassuringly, and turned, this time to face his father.

“So, you locked up the shop so you could come down and spy on the festival, knowing that I had, specifically, told you not…”

Marek jumped in. “I had to get change.” He said, adamantly. “I had to get…”

“Oh, you had to get change did you, from the festival of Hoben? Think Marek. I’m not going to believe that, am I? They don’t have change here, do they? You’d have been better off going to another shop, wouldn’t you? They, the wizarding folk, mainly get paid in kind.” His father paused, becoming sterner again. “And you know that boy, I know you do, ‘cause I’ve seen you reading about it all, haven’t I?” He folded his arms across his chest to seal the point, brow heavily creased.

Marek tried to compose himself, fighting down a swelling urge to burst, in either tears or anger; which one, he was not sure.

“I meant, because a customer came in and paid with this.” He drew out his hand from his pocket and opened it, slowly, revealing a glinting, gleaming gold piece. The Emperor skilfully etched into its surface, looking up at the sky. Power. “And I had to clear all the shops change out in return, so I thought, seeing as it was so dead…” he said, resonantly, “…I’d take the chance to go out and get more change, and seeing as all the other shops are closed…” He said, with even more resonance, confidence growing. “…I thought I'd come here to try and get some.”

His father’s gaze had turned from surprised to slightly guilty, and then back to a heavy scowl again with incredible speed. He glanced at the gold piece in a brief moment of silence, Marek waiting for reply.

“You say someone came in, during the festival and paid with that?”

His question was harshly spoken and Marek frowned his determination on this of all things. “Yes. Yes, he did. And…” He paused. “…and he said he was a wizard.”

His fathers’ scowl turned quickly into an angry glare.

Marek smiled. He and his father rarely had any serious disagreement, except for the time when he had nearly set a batch of old books on fire, with a magnifying glass on a summer’s day, and also when he had nearly removed one of his mother’s hands when he had found his father’s axe by the back door at the age of seven, but the whole wizarding issue was also one of those times.

“And…” Marek continued, his voice getting louder. “…He said that he thought I should become a wizard one day, as well.”

Jacob responded faster than Marek, or his grandmother judging by her gasp, had anticipated. He lunged forward and grabbed Marek by a fistful of his collar and tugged him towards him, roughly. “He said what boy?”

“He said…” Marek stammered. “Ow, Dad, come on.”

“If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times. “Jacob said, his voice rising into a shout. “You’re not going to become a wizard, do you hear me? And as for this confounded gold coin…”

“Ah, now just so there is a little less confusion about the matter…” Came a quiet voice from behind Marek. “I really must let you know Mr. Jenson that that particular coin was, in fact, mine, and that I did give it to your son earlier when purchasing a rather useful book on the south east coast, which has, already, helped me out of a rather tight spot, as, when answering some questions just now, I was asked a rather peculiar one referring to an extremely obscure and rare sea creature, found only off the southern shore just here and I had only just glanced at the information I needed when flicking through the book in your shop, as if by complete coincidence.” The old man, in his quietly reassuring calm voice, stopped talking and smiled around at the halted scene in front of him, patiently waiting for a reply and seemingly very pleased with himself for helping.

“See.” Marek mumbled.

Jacob went slightly redder in the face, eyes glued to the outlandish stranger.

He had lost the plain, simple travelling cloak, denim trousers and worn brown shirt and wore instead one long, flowing deep rich purple cloak, fastened around the waist with a thick, black belt, his feet and hands well covered by the cloak’s many folds and drapes. He wore a dark blue bandana, tightly tied around his head, which could be seen trailing down to his waist and made his head look almost too small for his body, especially given his bushy grey beard that sprung out from his face.

Jacob turned back to Marek and let go of his shirt. “Makes no difference anyway. I believed you about the gold coin.” He said, quietly to himself, but becoming more stern again, quickly. “Where else would you have got it from? But that doesn’t change a thing Marek. Change or no change.” He pointed his finger directly in Marek’s face. “You were not to come here and you know it.”

Marek stood in front of his father, forlongingly staring at his shoes once more.

“Right. Now, don’t worry about the change, just get back, and this time, stay in the shop Marek, you hear.”

Marek nodded. He felt dejected and did not have the energy to argue back, especially not in front of the wizard, whom Marek dearly wanted to be alone with again so he could question him properly.

Despite his father’s stern looks, Marek could not help darting slight glances towards the wizard. He was standing, leaning back against a particularly knarled old tree trunk, as if he had been there all day and resting his eyes. From the look of him you would say he had simply been enjoying the sun, the bird song and the mere rustle of the trees.

“Look at me, Marek.” His father said, voice raised, interrupting Marek’s thoughts, as if he could read his mind. “You get back and stay there, you hear, and when I get back later we’ll discuss your punishment.”

“Punishment!” Marek moaned, knees sagging under the weight of it. “But that’s not fair, Harold gets to be here, you’re so unfair…”

“Silence.” Jacob said.

It was only one word, but Marek stood, quite quiet, staring angrily at his father. Off to one side he could hear his grandmother muttering approvingly as she strode away from the shade of the big trees and back into the sunlight of the festival, Frig and Bex still in tow.

“When I get back later on.” Jacob re-iterated. “We will discuss your punishment, young man. Okay?”

“Well, actually, I feel I must make a case on the boy’s side here, Mr. Denson. You see, I feel it might well have been partly my fault, my turning up and putting ideas in young Marek’s head… so I do feel that the issue of punishment…”

Jacob’s head snapped up. “My son, my business, wizard. Understand.”

Marek’s astonished gaze went from his father to the wizard and back again and, despite thinking he saw the wizard’s eyes narrow slightly, heard him answer his father courteously and take a couple of steps back to his tree, which he had momentarily left.

“And I’d thank you not to tell my son that he’d make a good wizard and fill his head with this rubbish.” Jacob said, now turning to facing his son again.

“Ah, yes, well, you see, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to your son about Mr. Denson.”

Marek’s eyes dropped back down again, he felt his face turn red and his stomach twist. He wished his father hadn’t said that in front of the wizard.

“You see, I didn’t actually suggest that to your son…”

For the first time this afternoon, Marek wanted to go back to the bookstore and stand behind the dark, dusty, old wooden counter, looking at rows and rows of old, faded books, and maybe even read one or two himself in safety.

“Yes, we talked, naturally, I bought a book. I did, I admit, mention that I am a wizard, but I promise I said nothing about Marek becoming a wizard himself.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, Mr. Denson, I did not.”

This seemed to satisfy Jacob a little and he glared back down at his somewhat shame faced son.

“However I do feel prompted to tell you that if your son is so set on becoming a wizard then, once he is old enough of course, there is little anyone could do to stop him, given the laxing of the laws surrounding this issue of recent times. It is, as you know, a perfectly legal position now.” The old man finished, smiling kindly.

“I know, I know.” Jacob answered, irritably, and although his stern gaze hadn’t faltered, his temper seemed somewhat abated. He told Marek to go back to the shop, immediately and Marek ran off, back through the trees, the way he had come.

Surprisingly, when he turned to look back over his shoulder, he caught a glance of his father and the wizard standing there, still talking.

 

Marek heard the bell tinkle as the door creaked open and he jumped up from behind the counter. He had been waiting for his father well into the early evening, fully expecting him to have been submerged back into the festival, smiling and happy, with the rest of his family. Marek had even made a start on his punishment, true he had no idea what that would be yet, but they normally involved some form of tackling the dust problem that had a tendency to swamp the shop.

Marek stood still with a wad of old cloths in his hand. Jacob walked slowly across to the counter, taking in the work Marek had been doing with his, now slightly softened, eyes.

“Sorry I’m a bit later than usual.” He began, in a strangely calm voice. “Your mother’s gone back with Tom and Harold, to their place, and I’m going over too. We’re having dinner there tonight.”

Marek shuffled his feet and answered simply. “Okay.”

“You’re not.” His father replied, quickly, eyes darting up to meet his son’s. “You’re staying here. You can close the shop, and finish off what you’ve started here.” He pointed at the cleaning.

Marek’s face fell. So it was no dinner for him tonight as well, was it? And he could already see Harold’s face, alight with glee, laughing and joking with his parents, at dinner, about silly Marek’s silly wants to be a silly wizard. He threw the old rags down to the floor and scowled at his father.

His father showed no sign of noticing, but continued in his strangely calm, soft voice. “And Morgen will be coming around to see you, some time later.”

“I couldn’t care less.” Marek suddenly shouted, anger welling up. “I really couldn’t. I don’t care who’s coming over and I’m gonna slam the door in his face when he get s here, anyway.”

“No you’re not Marek. He’ll be over later, once he’s finished at the festival of course.” Jacob added, now watching his thumbs as he twiddled them.

“What... Who?” Marek said, suddenly confused.

“Morgen, the old man, the… the wizard. He’s coming over later to talk to you, after he’s finished at the festival.”

Marek stood motionless, staring at his father.

“He’s… really? Why?”

“I don’t know Marek, but finish off what you’ve started here.” He gestured again at the dusting and cleaning Marek was in the middle of. “I'm just going upstairs to get a quick change of clothes and then I’ll be off.”

Jacob walked around the counter and past his son with a brief smile and nod, still keeping his eyes averted as much as he could.

Marek, still reeling, mumbled as his father past him. “Thanks dad.”

Jacob walked down the short hallway that stretched from the middle of the shop through to the back door, with a storeroom on one side and the staircase on the other. He paused, briefly, and said, “That’s okay son,” back over his shoulder, in barely a whisper. He swung round the banister in one large stride and made his way up the rickety staircase.

Marek heard him stomping around on the floor above in the few rooms he shared with his parents; one bedroom, one living room and a kitchen. Then his father came stomping back down the stairs, wearing his green woollen jumper and one clean pair of shoes instead of his tatty leather boots. He left through the front door of the shop, with little more then a slight smile and quiet “Goodnight” to Marek.

Marek waited until his father had closed the door and passed the window and then leapt up into the air, fists clenched and grinning.

Author's Note

This is a novel I'm currently working through. I'm most of the way through writing it but have only really edited these few chapters.
I really need as much constructive criticism as possible, so if you're able please give some feedback. Things in particular are the overall story, the plot so far and what you think of the characters. Does it feel right?
Any feedback much appreciated.
Thanks:-)