The Folly of the World Read Online Free PDF

tallest of them began to stroke the nose of the stranger’s horse. Jan reflected on how much easier certain things had been when he rode with Sander. Then sand-warped wood screamed in its frame and a man stood silhouetted in the doorway of the hut, a fire blazing behind him, and Jan dismounted with a sigh.
    Inside, the handsome stranger sat on one side of the fire and the father sat on the other, his six sons fanning out around him. It was silent, other than the popping fire, and hard to see through the haze of smoke—judging by the greasy violet stains surroundingthe central firepit, the cauldrons weren’t always used outside. The shellfish they apparently used to manufacture the dye were kept in damp sacks that insulted the single room like sandbags protecting an island from flood, and the odor of marine decay was much stronger inside than it had been on the trail. One of the boys whispered in his father’s ear, and the man nodded.
    “Whadja say your name is?” said the father.
    “Lubbert,” said Jan. “And yours?”
    “A Frieslander?” The man scowled. “You a herring-fucker, Lob?”
    “No,” said Jan amiably. “But I’ve been known to lay the occasional eel.”
    “Eh?”
    “Only fish long enough,” said Jan, demonstrating with his fist. Several of the boys brayed at this, but the father remained unimpressed. He had heard dirtier.
    “Verf,” said the father. “You call me Verf. You said business. What business, stiffhead?”
    “A proposition,” said Jan. “I’m traveling back to Sneek, to my family and business. I’m a cloth-seller. I need a servant to help my wife with our new son, but, riding by, I thought—may I drink?”
    “If you have enough for me,” said Verf.
    “Certainly,” said Jan, taking a gourd of brandywine from the satchel he had brought inside. He wouldn’t have left his saddle untended in these parts if he could help it, but so things went. Taking a pull, he stood, hunched, and moved around the fire, bumping his head on the low ceiling and catching a lungful of wood smoke. He coughed. A boy snickered. He sat back down.
    “Ugh,” said Verf, grimacing on the drink, but swallowing anyway. “It’s spoilt.”
    “It’s supposed to be sweet,” Jan explained, which got an even deeper frown from Verf. The man passed it to his eldest son, and away it went into the shadows. “As I said, I’m a cloth-seller—”
    “Lookin for a slave,” said Verf.
    “Looking for someone to help with my wife, yes. I would pay them, of course—”
    “Apprentice them,” said Verf, and again Jan palpably missed Sander’s scowling countenance. People hadn’t interrupted him so much when Sander was around.
    “I have sons for that,” said Jan. “And obviously can’t have a tyro who’s helping my wife. Can’t have a man helping her at all, yes?”
    “No,” said Verf.
    “Exactly,” said Jan, eager to get it all out before the girl came home.
If
the girl came home—he hadn’t looked to see how bad the cut in her hand was. “I need a young woman who can—”
    “No,” said Verf again. “They look like girls?”
    One of the boys got into a crouch, the brandy gourd in one black hand. The kid actually
growled
at Jan, and he had the sudden, intense urge to murder every one of them and burn their hut to the ground. Rubbing his watery eyes, Jan pressed ahead.
    “I saw your daughter on the beach. Swimming. Just the age to help my wife, and—”
    “Saw her?” Through the smoke Verf’s face looked as purple as his fingers. “Wager you fuckin did.”
    More of the sons were rising in the miasma, and Jan bit the inside of his cheek. Not good at all. “Listen,” he said, “I saw her arms and knew her for a purple-maker. So I came to inquire after hiring her—I can find a servant anywhere, but one who can help with the dyeing of my linen is something—”
    “You sure you don’t aim to have her dye somethin else?” Verf breathed, his sons now edging around the fire like crabs