Jarrod slipped into the dark alley lined with merchant shops. Each window boasted a different good being sold from unusual spices to embroidered bags.
He stepped aside as a family hurried passed him carrying a variety of items purchased. As they passed, the bundle Jarrod held made a sound. A young boy glanced at the bag with surprise, but Jarrod quickly walked past, wrapping what he held in his bundle even tighter hoping it wouldn’t make another sound.
As his nerve almost failed him before turning home, he found the store he’d been looking for, a store that displayed a variety of teas and pots in the window. However, it wasn’t teas that Jarrod sought. In the bottom left corner of the sign, what might have been mistaken to a casual observer as an imperfection in the wood, was the image of an unfinished square.
Jarrod entered the store and the variety of smells from teas met him with a warm greeting. From behind the counter, the shop owner leaned on a stool. He looked up over his glasses to greet Jarrod’s entry.
“Welcome. How can I help you today?”
The man regarded the bundle that Jarrod held but didn’t make a comment.
“I need help,” said Jarrod, moving closer to the man at the counter.
“Sickness? I recommend a simple ginger tea.”
Jarrod shook his head.
“Hmm,” mulled the shop keeper, standing up with a bit more interest as he squinted at Jarrod. “Wanting to have a baby? Chaste Tree Berry. Currently pregnant and battling sickness of the morning? Slippery elm. Balding? Brahmi. Need to win a bet? A simple syrup made from a four-leaf clover.”
To each negative response, the shop keeper grew more intrigued.
“Well fine then, out with it. What do you seek?”
“I need money. My mother is sick, and the doctor requires payment to heal her.”
“Sickness? I already said ginger, or to gain riches, I recommend cinnamon.”
Jarrod held out his bundle.
“I’m looking for something more rare.”
From the top of the bundle, the goat he carried stuck its head out and bleated at the shop keeper.
The shop keeper stepped away, pulling his coat tighter around him.
“I’m not sure why you bring that unclean beast into my shop, but I know not what you ask.”
“I think you do. Please.”
The shop keeper held the silence. Both men regarding each other, Jarrod’s last chance to step away without further implication. But Jarrod didn’t move. He didn’t care that what he asked might get him arrested. His mother was sick. He needed to help her.
“Speak plainly about what you seek,” said the shop keeper.
“I need gold.”
“And how do you expect me to help? I sell teas. Do you intend to rob me with your goat? I assure you there is no gold here for the taking.”
“Your sign. You carry the gift of rhyme. I brought a goat. The slant should be easy. Goat — boat — fold — gol…”
The shop keeper jumped over the counter and grabbed Jarrod’s mouth with his hands, pulling their noses close together. Jarrod felt the man’s breath on his cheeks.
“You do not know what you ask, and if you did, you can’t pay.”
The man released Jarrod’s face and stepped away.
“I can pay whatever you ask.”
For the first time since entering the store, the shop keeper smiled.
“Then follow me,” he said, moving towards the back room with a flourish that indicated Jarrod should follow.
Other than boxes of stored tea waiting to be displayed, the back room included a large cage with a single table in front of it. On the table sat an oversized book with additional pages forced inside.
“A rhyming cage,” said Jarrod, in awe of the rounded cage in front of him.
The shop keeper nodded.
“To help control the transitions.”
The shop keeper took the goat from Jarrod’s hands and placed it in the cage.
“Have you turned a goat before? Do you remember the slant I suggested?” offered Jarrod.
“Your slant would kill us all spoken by someone with the gift,” said the shop keeper, in a tone of utter dismissal.
Despite the rejection, Jarrod couldn’t stop from asking.
“Why? The words are close together. They are all nouns.”
“Can you tell me what a boat is?” asked the man.
“Of course,” responded Jarrod.
“And gold.”
“Yes.”
“And a fold.”
“Obviously, like a fold in your clothes.”
“Or in the hills or the universe or time. Could my cage contain those folds? How do you know your fold wouldn’t kill us both? Have you not heard the stories? Do you not know the danger? I will not help you if you do not understand the stakes involved.”
Late at night mainly to scare children to bed, everyone shared stories of rhymes gone bad. The destruction a misshaped rhymed unleashed. It was why rhyming had been made illegal. Not simply because the right rhyme had the potential to destroy the entire economic system, but because the wrong rhyme had the potential to destroy an entire city.
“I know the risks. Please. Can you help me?”
The shop keeper placed the goat inside the cage and sealed it shut.
Without agreeing, the shop keeper opened his book and said a simple word.
“Boat.”
A shiver passed over the goat as it seemed to try holding its ground to fight against the word. Another shiver passed and the goat groaned a sound Jarrod had never made a goat make. In the next second the goat’s face grew longer as its body grew rounded. The sounds of bones and muscle stretching filled the back room until the boat had been placed by a simple fishing boat.
While Jarrod couldn’t stop looking at his family goat now turned into a boat, the shop keeper continued flipping through his book as though he knew exactly the page he needed, but he wasn’t quite there yet.
Finally, he landed on a page, placed his hand down and spoke firmly at the boat.
“Tote.”
The boat sucked in on itself, replaced with a tote bag resembling the ones Jarrod had seen in the other shops.
“In all my time, there is but one noun close enough to gold to work that does not risk your death,” said the shop keeper flipping through the book again to find the noun he wanted. He scribbled something on one page and then continued flipping.
“Next time, leave your goat at home, and bring me a…”
The shop keeper landed on a page, placed his finger down, and read the word loudly.
“Toad.”
When the shimmer reached out, the tote bag grew legs and croaked. In the bags place, stood the most ordinary toad that Jarrod had ever seen.
“Toad to gol…”
The shop keeper snapped his hands together silencing Jarrod before he could complete the sentence.
“In this place, the rhyme belongs to me,” said the shop keeper, not breaking his focus from the toad.
He turned one final page and said the last word, the word Jarrod had come to hear.
“Gold.”
Entering the cage, the shop keeper picked up the single bar of gold and handed it to Jarrod. Jarrod had never held this much gold, but now he held a true gold bar, the solution to his problems. He would be able to pay the doctor, and his mother would be healed.
“What do I owe you?” asked Jarrod.
“The first one is free.”
Nothing in life is free, and Jarrod surely didn’t want to owe this man a debt.
“No. Please. I can work in your shop. I can bring you new teas. Anything. I have no interest to stay in another man’s debt.”
“The first slant is always free. When you return for your second, I shall collect my returns.”
Jarrod shook his head. Rhyming was a one-time deal for him.
“Sir, thank you for this gift, but I won’t be back. Are you sure you will take no payment for this? I can cut it in half, partial for me and partial for you as a return. I don’t need this much for the doctor.”
The shop keeper only smiled.
“You’ve just learned a toad can turn to gold. Stronger men than you have traded their only child for another sliver. When you return, you will know the price, and you will be willing to pay.”
As he left the store of teas and rhymes, Jarrod didn’t care what the shop owner thought. Jarrod would not be back. This single gold bar answered their needs. It would save his mother and provide additional food, clothing, and joy for years to come.
Jarrod didn’t know what men the shop owner encountered before, but Jarrod wouldn’t succumb to simple temptations.
As he passed the many shops in the district, his eyes drifted to the improved weapons for hunting to better feed his family, the fresh fruits that might have prevented his mother’s sickness in the first place, the new clothes to keep his brothers warm in the coming winter.
The gold bar bounced heavy in his pocket.
After he paid the doctor, he would return and buy the items his family needed. The gold would be enough for everything they needed and more. The fresh breads, a new horse to journey to town, a new house to protect them from the elements, the books of worlds far away, tickets to travel to those worlds and see them with his own eyes, a single celebratory dinner at the finest restaurant in the city.
The potential his single risk had made possible.
The gold bar in his pocket would provide everything his family needed and more.
Jarrod wouldn’t be back to see the shop keeper. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
