Chapter 156: Twenty Bowls
Aria stared at the twenty bowls.
Then she stared at the kiln.
Then she looked back at the twenty bowls.
"We’re doomed."
Kelme, sitting beside her, looked at the perfectly ordinary pile of pottery.
"We have survived vampires, armies, slave traders, illegal businesses, and a Duke who wanted to arrest us."
"Yes."
"And the thing that finally defeats us is... bowls?"
"Twenty bowls."
Kelme nodded solemnly.
"A worthy enemy."
Aria ignored him.
The order from Martha had sounded simple.
Twenty bowls.
That was all.
The problem was that New Beginning had only made one bowl so far.
One.
And even that had taken most of the morning.
Aria folded her arms.
"We need twenty."
"I counted."
"Good."
"I counted twice."
"Excellent."
"I can count to twenty."
Aria slowly turned toward him.
"Kelme."
"Yes?"
"Go get clay."
He stood immediately.
"Gladly."
"And don’t come back with something stupid."
Kelme paused.
"What counts as stupid?"
"Anything that makes me ask that question."
He left.
Aria sighed.
Around her, the settlement was already moving.
The farmers were preparing the fields. The builders were repairing one of the wooden structures. The cooks were preparing food. Several former slaves had gathered around the pottery area, watching the process with curiosity.
The settlement had changed quickly.
Too quickly.
A few days ago, they had been a group of people who didn’t know what they were supposed to do with their freedom.
Now they had homes.
Work.
Food.
People depending on them.
And taxes.
Aria hated the last one.
She picked up the first bowl.
It was ugly.
Not disastrously ugly.
But ugly enough.
The walls weren’t perfectly even, and the bottom was slightly crooked.
She turned it over.
"Maybe Martha won’t notice."
Kelme’s voice came from behind her.
"She will."
Aria nearly dropped it.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to hear the crime against pottery."
She glared at him.
"Where’s the clay?"
"Coming."
"You said you were getting it."
"I said I was going."
"And?"
"I went."
"And?"
"I came back."
"With?"
Kelme held up his hands.
"Nothing."
Aria stared at him.
"You are unbelievably useless."
"I brought information."
"That isn’t clay."
"No, but it’s free."
She waited.
Kelme smiled.
"Martha wants the bowls by the end of the week."
Aria’s expression changed.
"That’s three days."
"Correct."
"We can’t make twenty bowls in three days."
"Then perhaps we should make nineteen."
"No."
"Eighteen?"
"No."
"Seventeen and one very impressive plate?"
"Kelme."
"Right. Twenty."
Aria rubbed her forehead.
This was supposed to be simple.
They had escaped crime.
They had escaped slavery.
They had escaped the army.
They had escaped Colston.
They had escaped death.
And now pottery was going to kill her.
She looked at the settlement.
"Fine."
She pointed toward the workers.
"Everyone who can work with clay, come here."
Several people approached.
Aria looked at them.
"We need twenty bowls."
One of the workers raised a hand.
"How many do you need?"
"Twenty."
"We have one."
"I know."
Silence.
Then someone asked:
"How are we going to make twenty?"
Aria smiled.
It wasn’t a confident smile.
It was the smile of someone who had just realized she had accidentally created a business.
"We’re going to stop making them one at a time."
---
The next three hours were chaos.
Aria divided the work.
One person prepared the clay.
Another shaped the rough forms.
Two people worked on smoothing.
Someone else prepared the kiln.
Aria checked everything.
Too thick.
Too thin.
Too wet.
Too dry.
Wrong shape.
Wrong size.
She rejected six bowls before they even reached the kiln.
Kelme watched from a safe distance.
"You’re enjoying this."
"No."
"You look like you’re enjoying this."
"I am experiencing responsibility."
"That sounds worse."
"It is."
By midday, there were twelve bowls.
Not finished.
Just twelve ugly pieces of pottery waiting to be fired.
Aria looked at them.
Then at the kiln.
Then at the sky.
"We need another kiln."
One of the builders looked over.
"We can build one."
"How long?"
"A few days."
"We don’t have a few days."
The builder frowned.
"Then we need to work faster."
Aria looked at the single kiln.
That was the problem.
They had been thinking like people making things for themselves.
One bowl.
One table.
One house.
One meal.
But Martha hadn’t bought one bowl.
She had bought twenty.
And if they wanted to keep selling things, this wasn’t going to be the last order.
Aria crouched beside the kiln.
"We need production."
Kelme blinked.
"You’ve become frightening."
"What?"
"You said ’production.’"
Aria ignored him.
"We need more tools. More workspace. More kilns. Better organization."
She stood.
"And people need to know what they’re making before they start."
Kelme smiled.
"Look at you."
"What?"
"You’re becoming a businesswoman."
Aria’s expression immediately darkened.
"Don’t say that."
"Why?"
"Because it sounds like I’m becoming an adult."
"You are."
"I refuse."
Kelme laughed.
Aria picked up a piece of clay and threw it at him.
He ducked.
It hit a wall.
One of the workers looked at it.
"That actually looks better than the first bowl."
Aria stared.
Kelme pointed at the wall.
"We have discovered modern art."
---
By sunset, they had twenty-three bowls.
Aria stood in front of them.
Twenty-three.
She counted them again.
"Twenty-three."
Kelme nodded.
"We have three extras."
"No."
"What?"
"Those aren’t extras."
She pointed at them.
"They’re replacements."
"For what?"
"For the ones that break."
Kelme looked at her.
"You’re learning."
"I hate that you’re right."
The bowls were placed carefully inside the kiln.
Everyone waited.
The fire burned.
Aria sat nearby with her arms crossed.
Kelme sat beside her.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Then Kelme whispered:
"Do you think they’ll survive?"
"I don’t know."
"What happens if they don’t?"
"We lose the order."
"What happens then?"
"We lose the money."
"What happens then?"
"We can’t pay the taxes."
"What happens then?"
Aria turned toward him.
"Kelme."
"Yes?"
"Stop."
He nodded.
"Understood."
Silence returned.
A few minutes later:
"What happens if—"
"Kelme."
"Right."
---
The next morning, Aria woke before sunrise.
She ran to the kiln.
The settlement was quiet.
She opened it carefully.
Heat rolled outward.
She waited.
Then she saw them.
Bowls.
Twenty-three bowls.
Not perfect.
But intact.
Aria stared.
She reached inside and lifted one.
It was warm.
Solid.
Functional.
She smiled.
A genuine smile.
"We did it."
A voice behind her answered.
"You did what?"
She turned.
Martha stood there.
Aria nearly dropped the bowl.
"You’re early."
"I heard you finished."
"How?"
"People talk."
Aria looked at the settlement.
Of course they did.
Martha walked closer and inspected the bowl.
She tapped it lightly.
Tok.
She turned it over.
Checked the bottom.
Looked at the shape.
Then smiled.
"These are better than the first one."
Aria’s shoulders relaxed.
"Really?"
"Much better."
Martha examined another.
"And you made twenty-three?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Aria frowned.
"Good?"
"I ordered twenty."
Martha smiled.
"I’ll take all twenty-three."
Aria froze.
Kelme, who had appeared behind them, slowly grinned.
"I like her."
Martha laughed.
"How much?"
Martha named the price.
Aria immediately began calculating.
Clay.
Fuel.
Labor.
Transport.
Tools.
Taxes.
She counted silently.
Then her eyes widened.
"We made a profit."
Kelme leaned closer.
"How much?"
Aria told him.
He stared.
"That much?"
"Yes."
"We made money by making bowls."
"Yes."
"Legally."
"Yes."
"Without running from the army."
"Yes."
Kelme looked deeply moved.
"I’m going to cry."
"Don’t."
"I’m serious."
"Don’t."
𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
"We’re legitimate businessmen."
Aria covered her face.
"We’re going to have to get licenses."
Kelme’s expression collapsed.
"Oh."
Martha laughed.
"You’ll get used to it."
Aria looked at the twenty-three bowls.
Then at the settlement.
Then at the silver in her hand.
For the first time since everything had fallen apart, she felt something strange.
Not relief.
Not victory.
Something quieter.
Progress.
They had taken people who had nothing.
They had given them work.
Then they had made something.
Something ordinary.
Something legal.
Something people actually wanted.
Aria smiled.
Maybe this could work.
Then a horse stopped at the edge of the settlement.
A government official climbed down.
He carried a sealed document.
Aria’s smile disappeared.
The man approached.
"New Beginning?"
Aria raised her hand.
"That’s us."
He handed her the document.
"Settlement tax assessment."
She stared at the paper.
Her face went pale.
"How much?"
The official pointed to the number.
Aria read it.
Silence.
Kelme leaned over her shoulder.
His eyes widened.
"That’s..."
Aria slowly folded the paper.
"We need more bowls."
Kelme stared at her.
"How many?"
Aria looked toward the kiln.
Then toward the settlement.
Then toward the rapidly growing pile of expenses.
"About two hundred."
Kelme’s mouth fell open.
The official cleared his throat.
"And you’ll need to file the paperwork by the end of the month."
Aria looked at him.
"Of course we will."
She smiled.
It was the most terrifying business smile Kelme had ever seen.
"Because apparently," she said, "being legal is expensive."
sometimes we lose our self trying to save our self and at some point we start crying because we have nothing left to save.