“We shall take it.”
Nuliyaa hid her satisfied grin as the older couple counted out coin for the brooch the wife admired. Her instincts had been good. As they usually were.
This was the third brooch from the Nengmekian merchant she had sold today. The travelers from across the sea visiting the city for university graduations especially liked them. These women didn’t seem to wear the hair and arm ornaments Nuliyaa was used to seeing on her own people, but, in her seventeen years working at this shop, she had noticed brooches were something enjoyed by most.
She would have to tell Maltangku so they could prepare to purchase more of the brooches once the Nengmekian merchant returned. Purchasing from the Nengmekian had been a gamble—after all, they weren’t a traditional Keeylish design—but she had thought the brooches were a potentially profitable compromise between the styles commonly seen in the city and the far more expensive goods from over the sea. Also, the travelers from across the sea did not have as much access to Nengmekian goods. Their city was a trading hub. People came to their markets because they wanted the unusual.
Making another purchase would require finding the trader’s information in Maltangku’s files. If Taalk favored them, there would be a method of contact. If not, she would need to pay a couple of coins to one of the children who haunted the docks to watch for his sail.
Or perhaps Maltangku would start making the brooches himself? She pulled another out of the case and started to examine it. Not precisely like the Nengmekian’s designs—they wouldn’t want to steal another artisan’s work—but something combining the idea of the brooch with Keeyl aesthetics.
Her grin froze. If Maltangku returned to the shop, that was.
His heart had to be recovering. She had not yet seen Miyt Tsus that day, but Maltangku’s wife had started smiling again recently. Certainly that meant all was well?
She picked up one of the small storage bags she had convinced Maltangku to invest in a few months before. The bags added to the high-end feel of the goods without having to purchase many more of the hand-carved boxes reserved for the most expensive of their goods. It was another thing the jewel smith had not been certain about—most other jewelers wrapped their less-expensive products in a bit of linen, if they did anything at all.
Her heart leapt as the door between the storefront and Maltangku’s workshop opened. Maltangku was healed! All was well. Once this customer was gone, she would tell him about everything that had happened in the weeks since his illness as he busied his hands with crimping wire into chains or polishing stones.
Then she heard the tap-tap-tap of new hard-soled sandals and it took everything within her to keep a scowl from scaring away her customers. “Thank you for your business,” she said brightly to the couple. “This brooch looks lovely on you.”
Once they had moved on, she turned to face the person she liked least in the world.
Wiispuu picked up one of the storage bags, holding it between two fingers like the cloth was slimy from mold, not fine silk she had gathered from the scraps of a seamstress on the next street. “What is this?” he demanded. “Something else you’ve done that wastes my father’s good money?”
“The bags are not a waste,” she huffed. “Your father’s customers like them.” Not that Wiispuu understood anything about his father’s customers, because he never spoke to him. She had been hired because he had no interest in the shop.
“With this cheap stitching? Hardly.” He tossed it aside.
Cheap stitching? Her mother and sister had helped her stitch up the bags, and they had even embroidered Maltangku’s maker’s mark onto them!
She scooped the bag off of the floor and shook off the dust that clung to the embroidery. Wiispuu made a disgusted sound. “And this place is filthy.” He dragged a finger through dust that had accumulated between two racks.
She dropped her eyes to the slight smudge of his finger and back up to meet his gaze. She didn’t remind him that while his father was recovering, the agreement had been for Wiispuu’s own wife and daughters to come in the early mornings to clean so Nuliyaa could hand-deliver purchases to customers who had paid for that privilege. She had been trying to do everything between shoppers as it was.
Nothing would come of arguing with him. Wiispuu believed no one but himself—unless they were wealthier and better-connected. “How is your father?” she asked, turning back to rearranging the displays. With the amount of sales she had that morning, they were looking a little bare and no one wanted to shop at a place that didn’t seem to have anything for them to buy.
“My father is healing.” From the way Wiispuu said the words, it was as though he had been responsible for his father’s recovery. Then he scowled at her as he drew himself up to full height. He was a tall, gangly man to her short, round self, and always seemed to think he had to intimidate her. “Do you care so little for the man who provides your income, you could not go upstairs to see him yourself?”
She bit her tongue against a scathing reply. Every time she had gone upstairs to the living quarters above the shop, Miyt Tsus had let her no further than the door, saying Maltangku needed rest. The remainder of Nuliyaa’s time was spent operating the shop, since Wiispuu was hardly going to bestir himself to do it. “He has needed to rest.”
That seemed to appease Wiispuu, for he went back to examining the shop. As the shop was only big enough for a person to move between the open window and the shelves along the back wall, and the width of the space could be traversed in two of Wiispuu’s long strides, he was hovering over her shoulder. “My father has needed to rest,” he said, his suddenly agreeable tone raising Nuliyaa’s suspicion. Why was Wiispuu there? He cared little for the running of the shop.
“After all,” he continued, making sure to touch every spot where dust from the window had settled. He was going to ruin his fine tunic and trousers, both of which were a pale blue that were going to show every speck. “My father is concerned about the shop’s income. He has been ill so long and all you have done is sell a single piece, from a foreigner, at that! Look at how empty these shelves are.”
Did he not realize the shelves were empty because she had been selling jewelry?
Then Wiispuu smiled. She froze. Whatever he was about to say, she wouldn’t like it and he was basking in that knowledge. “He and I had a long conversation just now. He has wisely decided to retire and pass this shop’s keeping to me.” He cast a glance at the displays, his lips twisting. All the brooches and armbands, rings and hair combs, earrings and cuffs, all items Nuliyaa had considered and coached Maltangku on purchasing as she learned what their customers seemed to prefer—Wiispuu seemed to find them wanting. “There is much to change in this shop to help my family earn what we deserve. Much to change.” He puffed up with each word he spoke. “Those changes are starting with you. I am not impressed by your conduct. Your employment is terminated.”
She could only just stand there with her mouth gaping open. All of her thoughts just—disappeared. He could not possibly mean that. She had been working at this shop since she was fifteen years old. Her skills with the customers had increased shop sales and reputation every year. How could he let her go?
Then she was filled with rage. He was not going to drive her out of the business she had worked so hard to expand. “You are not impressed by my conduct? What of my conduct has been below expectations? Do you not see how empty the displays are?”
He glanced at the displays she had arranged that morning, where she had chosen each spot to highlight the best pieces and yet keep those pieces away from quick fingers. “Of course the displays are empty. My father has been unable to work for weeks.”
Why was she surprised he didn’t know how his own father’s business operated? Maltangku had stopped producing the basic pieces years ago, preferring to buy stock from other crafters instead and focus on his commissions.
She had been building this business for half of her life. She was not going to let him take it away from her. “You want me to leave now? This has been our best graduation season since I have worked here!”
Of course, the same could be said for almost graduation season since Maltangku had hired her as shop assistant. And the festivals. And the tournaments. She learned from their customers, and used what she learned to make them happy. Maltangku had wanted to keep making the same cuffs and earrings and hair combs he had always made with no consideration to changing fashions.
“I am certain that is what you believe,” he said. “If you keep on, I may have to report this temper to the Guild.”
Her mouth snapped shut. As a shop assistant, she did not have much sway within the Guild, but his word could be enough to prevent her gaining another position.
“Who will you have to work the shop?” she asked. He certainly wasn’t going to do it himself.
“My daughters are old enough now. It is time for this shop to be in family hands.”
The shop could have been “in family hands” the entire time if he had stepped up seventeen years before.
“I should not bother to return tomorrow, then?” she asked, forcing her tone to remain civil though she wanted to scream.
“You are dismissed immediately.” He stood there, the smirk in his eyes.
Oh, what an ass! He wanted to see her panic. To beg to remain a few more days. He was terrible with his money. He would not be able to comprehend that her family had some money saved. It was meant for the day her older sister Cheeyt wouldn’t be able to work as a caravan guard anymore, but the money would spend as well for her.
And she had to pray she would be able to replace it quickly. She certainly wasn’t going to let Cheeyt guilt her.
“Then once you’ve paid me, I will leave.”
“Paid you?” he sputtered.
“Yes. As per the agreement between employees and the shop owners of the Jewelers’ Guild, I am owed my pay for this week and the next two when dismissed without cause.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you would like to argue you have cause before a Guild panel?” A Guild panel would probably rule in her favor before he opened his mouth. Most members of the Guild liked Wiispuu about as much as she did.
“Yes, fine.” Wiispuu pushed through the door back into the workshop where Maltangku kept his tools and the lockbox.
Nuliyaa reached into the cabinet under the display and grabbed her littiichangs. She arranged the long rectangle of fabric carefully, somehow managing to keep the trembling out of her fingers, so anyone who looked at her could easily see the embroidery her mother had carefully stitched into the fabric. Her mother’s embroidery would be more important in the coming weeks until Nuliyaa was able to find another job. And now that Nuliyaa would be home to help Tseetsaa with the chores in the house, her mother would have even more time for stitching.
It was strange to think of leaving for the day without tucking the jewelry and day’s earnings back into the lock box, pulling down and latching the heavy shutters, sweeping the tiled floor, activating the protection charms on the building’s walls. Pressure built behind her eyes as she tried not to think about how she would not be closing the shop ever again.
Wiispuu returned to the room and laid a stack of coins on the top of the table. Nuliyaa leaned over and began counting them.
He scowled at her. “Do you believe I would shortchange you?”
“Yes,” she answered simply. But he had not. She almost wished he had so she could call in the Guild. As satisfied as she could be in the moment, she placed the coins in the pocket stitched to the inside of her littiichangs and started to walk to the door. She hesitated, wanting to go upstairs to say good-bye to Maltangku and Miyt Tsus.
“You have your pay,” Wiispuu said tightly. “Leave.”
She would need to wait until Miyt Tsus invited Nuliyaa to return for a visit, then. The older woman would rail against her son’s decision, complain about her granddaughters, and worry about her husband, but she would not tell her son he was wrong for dismissing Nuliyaa. Neither she nor Maltangku had ever been willing to admit their son was a spoiled brat.