Today was supposed to be a good day!

Master sent me out to the market to buy food for the week. Usually someone just delivers the food, but he said that I had proved myself this last week. He said that I had been very responsible in getting all my chores done and so I deserved to go out and have some fun.

It started out fun enough. Master gave me a little pouch of coins and I headed out. I walked down the promenade and felt like I belonged there. I was whistling a little tune my dad had taught me several years ago. The sun was shining brightly and its warmth felt good on my back – causing my sore muscles to relax.

The fun ended when three boys step out in front of me. The biggest one said something like, “You don’t belong in the good part of town. Who gave you permission to crawl out of the sewer?” I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there looking at him. Then he said, “Are you dumb as well as poor?

I finally found my voice and said, “I do to belong here.” I don’t think I really believed it and I’m sure they didn’t.

One of the other boys said, “Only rich people belong here. Are you a rich person? If you are then go ahead and prove it.” Then he pulled a pouch that jingled with coins in it. “Do you have one of these?”

I felt the weight of Master’s coin purse in my pocket, and on my thoughts. It took me a moment to decided what to do, but then I patted my pocket and made the coins jingle. “I have coins.” I said trying to sound important.

The first boy responded, “Who’d you steal them from?” The three boys then started laughing and shoving each other.

I got mad and yelled at them. “I didn’t steal them. Who’d you steal your’s from?”

“Relax. Don’t get so upset. We were funning with you,” the third boy said. I think he could see that I was still mad so he added, “Look, we’re going to go buy some sweets. Why don’t you join us.”

“I can’t.” was all I said.

“Oh come on, you’ve got to have a few spare coppers you can spend on sweets.”

I thought about it for a few moments. I could have spend a few coins on a treat and Master would never know, but that would have been wrong. I started getting mad again, but this time not at the boys. It wasn’t fair that I didn’t have any money of my own. I almost said yes to his offer, but I caught myself and said, “I don’t have time right now. I’m late for a very important appointment. Maybe next time.”

I stepped around one of the boys and started walking down the street again. I had done the right thing by not stealing Master’s money, but I felt so dirty. I hadn’t lied, but I certainty hadn’t told the truth. They were right, I don’t belong in Maple Grove. I don’t have any money. I didn’t have an appointment with anyone. I’m just a copper-less houseboy out doing the weekly shopping for my master. For the rest of the trip I couldn’t think about anything else. Why would Master send me out to be made fun of? Did he enjoy making me feel bad?

I made it to the market and bought the food I needed to and start for home. I took a different way home and watched ahead to make sure I didn’t meet the boys again. When I reached the tower I was feeling pretty mad at Master. I’m sure there was a scowl on may face. I went in and put the food away, then Master called for me.

“Brian, sit here.” I did as I was told, that’s what good houseboys do. “I heard about what happened to you on the way to the market.” I stopped frowning, trying to remove all emotion from my face. My heart started beating faster. “Let me say that I’m sorry and also that I’m very proud of you.”

I’m sure my eyes got wide with surprised. “But I lied.”

“Those boys didn’t deserve the truth. The important thing is you didn’t give in to their tempting.” Master smiled at me. “Do you have any coins left from you shopping?”

I told him that I did and they they were in the kitchen. He told me to run and get them. I did and I gave him the little pouch. He poured them into his hand.

“One silver piece and seven coppers. I’m going to take this silver piece and put it in this jar here.” He dropped the coin into the jar and it bounced around inside for a second. “This is the beginning of your savings. In ten years when you leave me, whatever is in this jar will be yours to start your new life with. These seven coppers are for you to have now.” He put the coins back into the pouch and handed it to me. I thanked him.

Now I’m writing about it and I’m feeling bad. I was mad a Master. I was resenting how he made me suffer while he has money to spare. Then he apologies and give me some money so that next time I will have money to buy treats. This morning when I started out I didn’t have any idea that my day would turn out the way it did. Maybe Master didn’t either, but I let events turn my day into something bad, while Master took those same things and tuned it into something good. Maybe that’s why he’s the Master.

Dear Journal.

It sure feels strange writing that. Master said I should write like I was talking to my best friend. How sad is that? My best friend is a empty book!

Master said I should focus on the word “Duty” today as I write. I’m eleven years old – what do I know about duty? Obedience – now that’s something I know about. When my mom or master tell me to do something, I do it.

Duty. Is it like responsibility? I’m responsible for taking care of Master’s pet ferret, even if Master doesn’t remind me. Is it my duty to take care of Jim? It doesn’t seem like it, it’s just my job.

Is it my obligation? My mother signed a contract and now I’m obligated to stay here and work for Master for ten years. Is it my duty to not run away and break my mothers obligation?

Maybe it’s keeping safe the things that Master has put me in charge of. Keeping Jim safe. Being careful with Master’s treasures when I clean them. Is it my duty to be careful?

Maybe duty is more of an inside thing. Maybe duty is more about why I do things. An I obedient because I’m afraid of being punished, or because I feel a sense of duty? I think I’m obedient because it’s the right thing to do.

When I’m responsible for something, or something has been put in my care, I feel a need to honor that responsibility or charge. It is not because I have to, or because I fear the consequences, it’s because if I don’t, it will be my honor that suffers –  my own self-worth.

I have duties, but more importantly I feel a sense of duty to do the things that have been given to me to do. If I have a sense of duty to do something, then how can I complain about doing it? If my honor demands that I do something, how can I do anything less that put my whole heart into the task?

Do I feel like I have duties or just jobs? Is what I’m doing important or just something no one else want’s to do? Am I proud of my work or am I just trying to get by?

Good question, Master. I don’t know the answer yet.

I don’t know what to write. It feels so silly. Mr. Gees, I mean Master, told me that I have to write in this journal for one hour every day. What an I going to write about for an hour? I don’t think I know that many words.

He said to write what every came into my head. I don’t feel anything coming in. He said to write about my day, my dreams, or my past. My day is pretty boring, I just clean up the tower and cook meals. I’m not sure what my dreams are. Maybe that an hour will have past and I can go to bed. And I don’t really have much past, Im only eleven years old.

One thing did happen today. Master’s old student came by. Her name is Annay and she is very beautiful. Master had me make tea for them and bring some biscuits, too. When Master told her that my name is Brian, she told me, “Brian is a good name; it means noble, strong, and virtuous. Are you named after your father?”

I didn’t answer her and I fought to not cry. I don’t think she noticed – she started talking with Master again. I haven’t felt like crying for a long time. I miss you dad.

I should have told her I was named for where I was born. I wonder if she knows that Brian also means hill. I was born as my mom and dad were traveling between White Water and Maple Grove. My my mom told me that I was two weeks early and that I just wanted to see the great plains from the top of the hills before we headed up into the mountains.

Mom says that I wouldn’t stop crying until my dad held me up and showed me the orange clouds over the green plains as the sun set. She says that I watched the sky darken and the stars come out, and was as happy as could be. So she named me Brian.

My dad’s name was Islwyn which means “Below the Grove.” Mom said that he got that name because it was his father’s name, and his father got it because his family lived in a little house down by the river below Maple Grove.

It’s funny, in kind of a sad way, that that’s where my dad died. He was fishing in the river, down below town.  He had just hooked a large fish and was trying to get it to shore when he slipped and hit his head. His friends tried to help him, but the water carried him away so fast. When they finally got to him and pulled him out it was too late. I remember that brought us the fish he had caught that day, and some extras because he had never caught that many before in one day.

Why am I writing this? Do I want to remember these things? I don’t think I wanted to remember, because I don’t like crying, but maybe this is a way to remember without crying. It feels good to write about my dad, even if it makes me a little sad.

What else should I write about? I’ve got another fifteen minutes. Who am I? My name is Brian, which I already wrote about. I’m eleven years old. My mom arranged for me to work and learn from Mr. Gees for the next ten years. Now I get to call him Master. I’ve been here ten days.

The bed is nice and I get to eat at every meal. The tower is still cold, but not as cold as my old room. I sweep the floors, which is easer because they’re made of stone instead of dirt, cook the meals, wash the dishes and clothes. Starting today I’ll be writing in this journal for an hour every night.

I wonder what life will be like for the next ten years. What skill is Master going to teach me, besides how to write in a journal? I wish I could be a wizard like him, but I don’t think I have the gift. Maybe he’ll teach me how to make pots or bind books.

I’m getting tired and It’s almost been an hour. Does time go slower or faster if you keep looking at the clock? The first half an hour seemed to go fast, but then the minutes have been dragging. Maybe if I stop looking, it will be over. Maybe I’ll just stop five minutes early. No one will know but me, but then maybe it’s important since it is me – to know that I can stick to it and finish it even when no one else will know.

I wonder if that is part of the lesson that I’m supposed to be learning. How to be accountable to myself. Maybe not, maybe the lesson is just to learn how to write.

Well I’ll see what tomorrow brings. I wonder if it will be easer or harder to write for an hour. I’m guessing harder since I said so much today.

One more minute. Just long enough to close and look forward to tomorrow. More dishes and cooking and sweeping, but I do get to go to the market. That might be fun.

Good night journal.

Good night mom

Good night dad.