January 2025 Short Story of the Month

Edmund was trying his best not to sneeze. Whatever was in the powders he was grinding with a mortar and pestle was the most awful and peppery thing he’d ever smelled.

He looked at the dust he was creating and figured it wasn’t going to get any finer. He dumped it into a container. He set his tools aside and went to find one of the priests. Working for them wasn’t what he’d thought it would be. He’d thought it would be nice to be indoors all the time. He would run errands for them or help them with any maintenance they needed. He didn’t expect to be working for hours on end in a dimly lit basement, grinding powders and mixing strange smelling liquids. He often went home stinking of chemicals that he didn’t know the name of and couldn’t spell if he needed to.

Today, the powder he’d been grinding was black and peppery. He had it all over him. He could feel the grit scrapping his skin when he moved. He sighed. It would mean stopping at the river on the way home and washing or his mother would be angry.

He tried not to let it bother him, but he wasn’t being paid to wash. It made his days longer than he wanted. The first time he’d skipped bathing after a day of working in the basement, he’d woken up the next morning and his skin had felt like it was on fire.

He didn’t skip baths anymore, even when he wanted to. He had to stop on a landing next to a candelabra and let a group of priests pass. They weren’t who he was looking for.

He needed to find Father Micheal or Father Samuel. They were in charge of whatever project was going on in the basement. He leaned too close to the candelabra and whatever was on his skin started sparking.

“Ouch,” he yelled and smacked the fire before it got worse. The only problem with swatting a fire on his arm with his hand is that his hand also had powder on it. The fire spread and sparked even more.

Someone dumped water on his arm. Edmund sat down and hugged his arm to his chest.

“Thank you,” he said without looking up.

“You need to be more careful,” said Father Micheal, sitting down next to Edmund. “That stuff is dangerous. Didn’t we talk about staying away from flames. Its why we don’t have more candles in the basement. It would be too dangerous.”

Edmund was nodding. “Yes, I remember you saying, but this was an accident.” He was still holding his arm against him, not wanting to look at what had been burned or how much damage there was.

“If you go see Father Samuel, he’ll give you something to put on that burn,” said Father Micheal. He patted Edmund on the back and then left, heading into the basement.

Edmund sat for a few moments longer and then made himself go find the other priest. He finally found him in the kitchen. Father Samuel was nicer than Father Micheal, and yet, the two worked at a common purpose that no one else in the church seemed to understand.

“I need help,” said Edmund.

“Oh my,” said Father Samuel. He covered his nose with a handkerchief. “What happened?”

Edmund didn’t answer him, but the father took one look at the burnt flesh and knew what had happened. He slathered Edmund’s arm and then wrapped it with some cloth strips.

“We’ll change these wraps each day when you come into work. Otherwise, keep it clean. Should be fine as long as you keep it clean,” said the father and then went back to stacking things on the shelf.

Edmund wasn’t sure how clean it would stay considering the jobs they always made him do, but he figured he was done for the day anyway and didn’t feel like dwelling on it just then. He left and made his way through town.

There were knights about on horseback. They were always coming and going. They didn’t have much to do with the church. In fact, very few from Arthur’s court had much to do with the church, but the priests were working on something for the king. That much they had told Edmund.

Walking through town, he never knew what he might see. People were flocking to town from every corner of the country. It was getting more and more crowded every day.

He didn’t stop to watch anyone or buy anything. His arm was hurting too much. He pushed his way through the crowds with his good arm and once he was past the outer wall, he made quickly for the river. There was a trail of people heading that way. The more that lived in the city, the more this particular stretch of river was being used.

He found a place where other men were bathing, and he removed his robe carefully and bathed quickly. He wiped his hurt arm carefully.

At home, his mom was yelling at him before he’d even made it past the front yard.

“Edmund!” her shrill voice pierced the village.

“What?” he yelled back.

She slammed the door to their tiny home as she stomped out to meet him. She took one look at him and started ranting about him being useless. She threw the door open again and went back to whatever she’d been doing in the house.

He could hear her yelling but couldn’t make out every word. He did hear “useless,” “broken,” and “hungry.” It didn’t take much to understand that she was probably saying he could go hungry that night since he was so useless. Never mind that he was the only one who had a job that brought any money home. His job ensured food on their table and the roof over their head. His father had died two years ago, and his older brother the year after that. For the last year, it had been just him and his mother.

And even though he had made sure she hadn’t gone hungry one day, she was constantly calling him useless and threatening to let him go hungry.

His arm was hurting. He didn’t have the patience for her. He went around back and found their old family dog lounging in the shade. He plopped on the ground next to her, leaning against the house.

He hugged his arm to his chest again. He spent the remainder of the evening in the back yard with the dog. His arm hurt something fierce. He didn’t need a headache from his mother to go with it.

In the morning, he awoke, covered in dew and shivering. The old family dog was nowhere to be seen, having been smart enough to slink off to somewhere warmer. Edmund stood and stretched, letting his joints pop and trying to loosen his muscles, despite the chill in the air.

His stomach rumbled, but he didn’t bother going inside to get something to eat. He didn’t want to deal with his mother. His arm still hurt and stung. He went to work instead. He figured Father Samuel would take pity on him. He would find something to eat and hopefully get the father to change his bandages.

Before he got to the church though, he had to stop and wait to get into the city. There was a large entourage of people being escorted by knights. Edmund strained to stand on his toes and see over the crowd, but there was very little he could see from his vantage point.

“Bunch of foreigners,” said someone behind him and spat audibly.

Edmund turned around. “What?” he asked the old man sitting against a rock. “How do you know?”

“I saw them getting off the boats coming up the river this mornin’.” The old man shrugged.

Edmund was curious. He pushed his way through the crowd, getting a few nasty bumps on his arm for his trouble.

The old man had been correct. At the front of the crowd, Edmund had a clear view. The people making their way into the city didn’t look like they were from anywhere Edmund knew of.

“Edmund!” a voice from across the crowd cut through.

Edmund found the source of the voice. It was Father Micheal. He was pointing towards the city in a frantic way.

Finally, the line of people thinned, and Edmund found Father Micheal. The father grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him to the church.

“Ouch,” said Edmund.

Father Micheal glanced down for a split second. “Sorry. Forgot about that.” He paused, seeming to consider something. “We need you to get to work today. We have a list a mile long. Our guests have arrived a lot sooner than we anticipated.”

Emund hugged his arm to his chest.

Father Micheal noticed the movement. “Okay, first get that looked at again, but then come find me straight away in the basement.” He didn’t wait for Edmund to acknowledge him and rushed away.

Edmund found Father Samuel in the kitchen. He was fed and attended to, but he ate slowly. He knew that no matter what was going on, nothing was going to improve his mood.