Llanwyre Laish | 35
-aged woman name Ani, tries to pass off her neighbor's work as her own, hoping to gain a reward. Her scheming embarrasses me so badly that I cannot stoop to stop it. The young man whose work she tries to steal seethes and grumbles, tying so tightly he chokes the flowers. I correct him gently and now he seethes and grumbles at me, too. I haven't the heart to tell him that his work doesn't matter, although I suspect that he already knows. I wonder if he will be the next Clerk or the next exile.
Sunup, sundown, watching the bent backs of my workers. As Head Clerk, I attend court functions. Today we huddle into the Emperor's audience chamber to hear a little brown nightingale from the forest sing to the court. The Emperor weeps openly at its melody. I barely pay attention, since I hear it each day as I work.
That night, my assistant presses me to give Ani a reward for good work. Her ties are absurdly lopsided, she often breaks flowers, and she misses one in three blooms. I suspect he has examined the work of her seething young neighbor, which she has claimed as her own. He ties precisely and his ribbons have crisp, sharp edges that reveal the incisiveness of his own trapped soul.
When Ani comes to my office, she bows so deeply that her forehead presses the floor. I cannot stand her, begging and squabbling for recognition for a meaningless service. I think of the washerwomen in the village, with their red, cracked hands and tired faces, each one more valuable in her service than this simpering fool. I dismissively promise to consider her. Her face falls. I ignore my assistant’s irritation and ask him to summon the young man.
Ons strides in upright, looking as though he deserves my place more than I. He probably does. He cuts through the formalities: "She steals my work," he says, commanding, certain.
I shrug. My new silk robe slides across my shoulders. “What work?” I ask casually.
His eyes blaze. "The Emperor’s worthless make-work. She has the nerve to steal for a symbolic promotion!" He slaps his flat palm against my table, making my delicate tea set jump and rattle.
My assistant draws himself up indignantly. He takes our work seriously, so I cannot say anything interesting in front of him. I dismiss him, then turn to the young man. "You should not speak about the Emperor's tasks so casually.”