"If you want to move the world, start by whispering into the ears of those who plant its bread"
— Anonymous note, found pinned to the granary door one winter morning
Bernhard stayed for the whole afternoon.
He and Uncle Phil disappeared into the back room not long after their reunion, their voices hushed, but not low enough to avoid my eavesdropping. I didn't catch much beyond talk of "modular parts" and "distribution channels", and, to be honest, I didn't understand half of it. But the half I did understand made me nervous. Phil was no longer talking like the humble village carpenter I knew him as - he was much more confident, and even his voice felt deeper and stronger. He was talking like a man with plans, big ones - and Bernhard was feeding him ideas like a concubine feeding the emperor grapes.
"It won't be too difficult to achieve mass production at this stage. Just a couple minor modifications, and we could start selling these across the empire, and even beyond," announced Bernhard. My hands trembled and my breath was unstable. This was the plan - to get noticed by cultivators, but this is far beyond the impact I had imagined. I didn't want to make a name for myself - just make something useful enough for mortals and useless to cultivators.
You know, something that wouldn't put a bunch of eyes on me.
My face was red and my eyes began to tear up, but I managed to stop myself from crying. This wasn't how I'd normally act. Was I... becoming more childlike? That's concerning, but not as urgent as this. I'll have to explore that part later.
I heard the floorboards creaking as the two men stood up from their seats and began to leave the room. I ran outside, hurriedly scribbling something in the dirt, pretending to have been occupying myself outside whilst the adults spoke inside.
***
Theo showed up just before dusk, dragging Maria - or was it Lina? - behind him with ink-stained fingers and a smug little smile. Supposedly he'd spent the morning drawing a draft design for a cloth dyer's sign, and then convinced Maria (as I soon confirmed) to colour it in using diluted ink swatches. When I asked to see it, he tried to hide it behind his back.
"Still drying," he claimed.
Maria rolled her eyes. "It's covered with drawings of wind again. Every time he draws something, it looks like a storm is about to hit."
Theo looked at the ground, slightly embarrassed. "It's not a storm. It's movement. It's flow!"
"Same thing," she said, teasingly, but not unkindly.
I was about to offer some consolation about artists never being appreciated by their contemporaries when Bernhard popped up behind me from nowhere. Bloody hell, that was a jumpscare.
"There you are," he said. "Theo, was it?"
Theo froze mid-step. His face didn't change, but I could tell from the way he stopped fidgeting that something in him had gone on high alert. He gave a polite nod.
Bernhard looked him up and down, his eyes much softer than when I was on the receiving end. "You look just like your mother."
Theo blinked. "You know my mother?"
The silence that followed lasted just a breath too long. Bernhard's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered.
"Of course," he said. "Elisabeth and I are cousins. I've known her all my life, way before she moved here or had you."
"Then why have I never heard about you?"
I suppose he was just a silly little four-year-old, but surely he recognised how rude that was.
Bernhard stammered, for once at a loss for words, before he clapped his hands and brushed the dust off his cloak.
"Well, I must say, your little operation here is far more than I expected. Posters, typesets, handbills, and," he paused to sniff the air. "Scented ink, if my nose is to be trusted. The world beyond this village and the surrounding towns is soon going to notice all this, and soon, even. You might want to start preparing for that."
I wasn't sure how how to respond to that, so I just nodded. He gave us a shallow bow, likely out of habit rather than respect, and walked off towards the guest house without waiting for a reply.
Theo exhaled only once the man had disappeared around the corner. He didn't look scared - more like he'd seen a snake. And he didn't like that it recognised him."
"You okay?" I asked.
"I don't like him. I'm not sure why, but I don't like him one bit," he responded.
Maria, having gathered her courage, piped up. "He smells like dried herbs and old leather. And he talks like someone who's already decided what you're going to say before you even say it. He's weird."
I thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "He creeps me out too, but Uncle Phil trusts him, so I don't think he's a bad person."
Soon enough, the two toddlers disappeared and I was left alone once more, ever grateful that Elisabeth had convinced Johanna to let me roam free in the village. We know everyone in the village; no one's going to do anything to him. Hopefully permission wouldn't be rescinded now that more outsiders are visiting us.
Still, I'm intrigued by Bernhard's arrival. It seemed too... orchestrated. What are the odds that a cultivator from the local clan, who also happened to be Elisabeth's cousin, would show up just days after we sent out posters. In fact, there was no conceivable way for the flyers to reach the clan - they were hundreds of miles away, and the people here travelled on old horses! Someone must have fed him information. Someone close to him.
I pace over to the guest house Bernhard is staying at and climb a couple of conveniently placed crates in order to peek through the window. If they catch me, I can feign ignorance - being a toddler has its upsides. The curtains are closed, so I can only make out rough silhouettes, but I'm pretty sure there was a man there, kneeled on the ground, facing someone of unknown gender sat on a chair looking down. The man grovelled, and I could just about make out the conversation.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just had to see him for myself."
"I told you to see the machine - not to meddle! The child's mother hasn't given permission yet. That's why I didn't name them in the letter. You fool! And instead you go snooping around and even speak to her son. And that boy's definitely going to mention this to his parents. You made such a mess for me you stupid im-"
The rest of that conversation was too much for my small ears. I didn't know Elisabeth could swear like a sailor, but I guess we all deal with stress and anger differently. So it was Elisabeth who brought him over... And he was kneeling to her.
I definitely saw something I shouldn't have. I ran home as fast as my little legs could carry me. They wouldn't have noticed me, but even I know that some things are better kept to yourself. Fuck.
Immediately upon getting to my doorstep, I hammer the door until greeted by Johanna. She leans in for a hug, and I slide through in between her legs and sprint to my bedroom, hiding myself under the covers. I'm still shaking.
My parents don't disturb me. Thank goodness they're chill like that. I'll have to explain myself to them eventually.
But for now, I hid.
***
Hours pass, but I'm still awake, still recovering from the shock.
I get up, light a candle with one of the matches I stole from Gertherd, and sit there, in my bed, alone with my thoughts. The flames flicker and illuminate the room in a muted light, and that's when I noticed it.
Slipped underneath my door, a lone letter, addressed to me but without a sender.
The handwriting was spidery but clear, and every line was written with the kind of deliberation you only get from someone who's spent decades copying texts in silence. The message was short.
To the boy with ink on his hands —
We have watched the fields, and now the fields are watching you.
One crate of posters, standard size.
Four dozen copies.
Ink: Walnut.
Border: wheat braid, double-lined.
Slogan: "The Harvest Gathers All."
Delivery to the old grain barn by the river. No later than the first quarter moon.
Payment enclosed.
Tucked inside the parchment was a silver coin. It wasn't stamped like local currency - it had no king, no date, no number. Just a stalk of wheat on one side and an open eye on the other.
I stared at it for a long time, heart thudding. Then I carefully rewrapped the note and slid it beneath the floorboard where I kept my other valuables - mostly odd screws, half-formed designs, and two chocolate coins I was hoarding for Theo's birthday.
The next morning, the grain barn by the river was locked up tight, exactly as it had been for the last five years. But I noticed the door had been freshly oiled. No creak.
I didn't say anything to Uncle Phil. I didn't tell Theo either.
Some commissions, I figured, didn't need explaining.