Kestro Penance, Spring, 1745
Me name is Kestro Penance. Well, me name is Kestro, an’ people calls me Penance acos of that’s where I live. The Doctor askt me t’ set down me doins for a day, and acos of I can’t write, he gave me this shell thing t’ talk into, and he says it’ll be made into writin’ be magic later. So. I’s a procurer. What that means is I talks t’ people in t’ city an’ sees what they wants, and then I heads out into the country an’ I gets it for them. Betimes they want it over’n over again, and betimes it’s a one time thing. So me days are pretty diff’rent, one t’ the next. But I’ll talk about the day afore yes’day, since that were about as much of a normal day as happens, and it were all done in the one day.
I got meself outta the scratcher at the time the big bell goes off in the Solemnity, which’s before dawn this time a’ year, and is a bit after in the summer. Me bed’s in a stable loft in Penance Way, where the big market is, an’ has been for since I were a nipper. I pays the stablemaster six cops every time he asks, which between you an’ me ain’t as often as he should, but that’s acos he spends it on gin, an’ he don’t know what day it is the most times. There’s about six other fellas on the loft most nights, but I’s been there the longest, so I has the best bed, right up in an old manger I hauled up meself and tied off t’ the wall. Anyway, outta there, stagger down the ladder, nab a handful of oats from the horse bucket, and across t’ Sally’s. If you chucks a handful of oats in the grinder, she’ll give you half a handful of rolled, and that’ll make a porridge. So once I has me rolled, back in t’ the back of the stable, and there’s a fire there that the smith’ll be gettin’ up. As long as it’s not too late acos of bein’ too hot, you can cook over that, and I cooks me porridge in a tin I keeps in a hole in the wall there. Once it cools enough for me fingers, I eats it an’ goes to see what’s what.
So this day, there’s Porkin the Whittler with a need for two score chunks a’ laurel for somethin’ he’s at. What he want’s laurel for I don’t know, nasty splitty stuff, but I reckons as I can get him some, so we spits an’ shakes on it, and I goes off. I checked with some a’ the rest a’ me usual customers, but there’s nowt else, so I sits down t’ think about where there might be laurels comin’ down in the last year that wunt a’ been burnt. I know there’s a lot of them was took down on the Peligon estate two winters ago, but the steward there’s a bugger, and he’d sooner burn it than sell it t’ me. But thinkin’ a’ him, I’m put t’ thinkin’ of his neighbour, old Ham Gandon, who’s the steward on the Jusmenken estate. The last a’ the Jusmenkens is an old bat who han’t left the city in a decade, an’ Ham’s been runnin’ the estate on no money, so he’s a bit more eager’n most to shake a few twigs in my direction. So I starts out in that direction, toward the North-western gates. Most of the way there, I spots young Creedy’s wagon headin’ the same way, and runs up t’ look. It’s Creedy in the seat alright, and he’s good for a lift an’ maybe a bite, so long’s I talks to him, and gods know I can talk for them. So I yammers an’ he drives, an’ it’s still not noon afore he’s droppin’ me off at the south gate a’ Jusmenken, with a hunk a’ bread and a chicken leg. So I chaws on that as I makes me way up t’ the house. It’s about a four mile walk, an’ it’s over rough enough ground, but I covers it in good time.
I finds Ham in the house, suppin’ on good bread an’ smoked ham an’ some of her ladyship’s claret, and he’s been into it from breakfast be the looks, so he’s in a right good mood. So I tells him I needs a little bit of laurel, an’ he allows as how he has a bit of it, an’ we dance around it a bit, an’ after a while we’ve more or less settled that he’ll give it t’ me for four an’ twenty in silver, if I can sort out gettin’ it t’ the city. An’ that’s no noise, there’s carters out there’ll do it for four cops, an’ plenty a’ them. So while he’s in the good, and inclined t’ give me some a’ the claret an’ ham, I works him around to tellin’ me what he’ll have for the next few months, and he lets slip he has a great big beech that’s ruined with spalt, and some a’ last year’s wheat that won’t make seed. I knows I can sell the beech to Mekkin the Jig, an’ he’ll sell it up to some daft nobby with a chisel, an’ I reckon it’ll be a rough day afore I can’t shift some wheat. So I waits ‘til he has some more claret, and then I talks him into a deal on those if I collect ‘em the same day. An’ he’ll take it glad, acos those two were dead weight for him.
So I’m leavin’, and I makes me way back down the long run t’ the south gate, and blowed if I don’t get two pigeons an’ a squirrel on me way. Safe to sling a bit, as Ham’s in his cups, an’ the gamekeepers won’t move then, bein’ nat’rally lazy. So I’m at the back gate, and I flags down a wagon, and trades the squirrel for the trip back in.
Night-time sees me back at Porkin’s, tellin’ him the good, and gettin’ a laydown of eight in silver, which’s more’n enough to get me an’ all the fellows in the stable a hot one, an’ still have enough for the two carters the next day. On the way over, I trades the pigeons to Rustle the Stew for a promise of a hot breakfast. So I rounds up anyone who’s around the stable, and we heads over to Meggy’s for the scran. It’s pork bellies an’ potatoes an’ greens, and Meggy throws in a flagon a head for the price, which’s why we goes there. So be the time the bell down Ragworth is tollin’, I’m in me manger, me belly full, an’ me head swimmin’ a little bit, just nice, from the ale, an’ I knows the lads’ll stand me a few more dinners afore I has to look for it meself again, an’ I know it’ll be rashers in the mornin’. A good day, that.