Role

Chapter 30

The home is an organizational disaster. It nearly drowns in a sea of paper.
Stacks of scrolls litter the edges of the narrow pathways that lead from room
to room. The majority of space is taken up with crates upon crates. Several
hold bits of broken or unfinished sculpture. Clay faces peek out between
wooden slats. Here and there hangs an arm of stone. Yet other cases are
filled with tools, knives of varying sizes, chisels, soup ladels. Various
cookbooks are stacked, almost to the ceiling in places. Pigments in a corner,
vessels of powdered glass and thin cloisonne wires are pushed up against a
doorway. And wedged into in each box, haphazard forgotten folded papers
abound. It's everywhere. Everything is everywhere. There doesn't seem to be
rhyme or reason to how the supplies are stored. Furniture is mostly
inaccessible, and in the corners of the room, it is clear from the depth of the
dust, that many items have not been disturbed for a long while. One of the
pathways between paper and crates leads to an open window to which has been
rigged a platform on a system of pulleys. With the tug of a rope, it could
lift a person and cargo easily up to the roof, the only available open
workspace left in the home.


Sister of mine,

Rashaze turned up at the shop. Head to toe cloaked, he was, all nerves.
Said he left his post. Looking for a job. Said you asked the impossible
of him when he wanted to be hid. Said you told him to see me, slice meat.
Sure you had your reasons, but family's family. I put him in the back,
showed him the cuts. He's got me worried. Goes out in the wee hours,
don't know what he gets up to. Says hunting. Brings in fresh meat,
already butchered. Tells me duskhorn venison. Camel. Oryx. Others.
Appreciate his productivity. Don't know if I believe him about the meat.

Thought you might have insight. What you went through. Has my little
brother changed a bit? Danger to me too, yes? Keeping him here?

Love,
Ketherr