Short Story Sunday: Inkwell

As Rosa unlocked the rear entry to the store, she was greeted by the familiar scents of dust, powder and string. She had finally remembered to seal the vat of glue that gave off the most ghastly chemical smell, and so she felt free to inhale deeply. It was a new day at Inkwell and the last Saturday before the schools reopened for the new year. 

She half expected to hear the muffled voices of eager children as she removed her hat and hung her handbag on the hook. The Ginger cat she'd inherited with the shop slitted her eyes at Rosa as she passed.

"Yes, I know I'm late with your breakfast, your Highness."

The cat yawned, giving the impression that she couldn't care less, only to pounce on the dish of sardines the second Rosa placed it on the floor.

"I see you've been busy." Rosa nodded at the litter box. She had no idea whose cat it was or why she'd moved in shortly after Rosa had taken over the shop, but she'd come to accept that Ginger was there to stay. Rosa was never good with names, and the cat always seemed to arrive promptly for meals -- regardless of how she was addressed.

She walked to the front of the shop, just as the sun began its daily crawl across the threshhold. A mental reminder caused her to check that the orders were all ready on the counter, and she discovered a note she'd left for herself to add another bottle of black ink to Mrs Hisslop's package. Sable Black, for forgiveness. It was three minutes to nine, and the foot traffic in main street of the town, called Triangle Avenue for reasons no-one could fathom, was picking up pace.

"You're going to have to finish up and skedaddle," Rosa said to Ginger. "Nobody likes the fragrance of fish in the morning -- canned or otherwise."

Ginger glared at her for a moment before resuming her meal. Rosa shut the door between the shop front and the store, before sliding the 'closed' sign to 'open' and unbolting the door. Mrs Hisslop was waiting for her, and she brought the scent of peonies into Inkwell.

"Hello, dear Rosa. I see you've got my package ready and waiting as always."

Rosa scooted behind the counter, grabbed the package and rang up the total on her till. Mrs Hisslop carried on talking about the awful state of the roads after the rain, and Rosa nodded at her, waiting for a pause in the conversation to interject, "That'll be eleven sixty-seven, thank you."

It was only when the paper boy jostled the shop door open that Mrs Hisslop paused long enough for Rosa to complete the transaction. She handed the lady her change and beamed at the paper boy. "Hello, Billy. You know Mrs Hisslop, I'm sure."

"Well, I'd best be going," said Mrs Hisslop. "My weekly letters won't write themselves." They could still hear her chuckling as the door closed behind her. 

Billy grinned. "She's scared of me."

"Do you blame her? The last time she saw you, you were shooting the pigeons on her roof with a catty."

"Rats of the skies. That's what Dad calls them."

Rosa nodded. "What do you need today?" 

Billy dropped a grubby page on the counter. "The usual order. Dad says he reckons the new printer will use less ink once he works out how to use it." He guffawed. "Oh, and Mum wrote some things for Tess and Me."

Rosa nodded. "Are you looking forward to going back to school?"

"Not really. Being stuck inside all day is the pits."

Rosa tapped her chin. "Hold out your hands."

"I didn't do anything," said Billy. "I was just standing here!"

"Don't be silly," said Rosa. "I want to see your hands, that's all."

He raised them to her, wincing as though expecting to be slapped.

"Very good. Thank you, Billy."

He crumpled his hands into his pockets. "What did you do that for?"

"Well, you have the hands of a clever boy," she said. "It's important that you have the right ink." She turned her back to him and began running her eyes over the bottles on the shelves behind the counter.

"Come off it, Miss. There's only one kind of ink and that's black. That's what Dad says."

"I agree with your father in one sense. But don't you think coloured ink is much more fun?" She paused, triumphant. "Here. This is your colour."

Billy took the glass off the counter and held it up to the light. "Harpoon Blue."

"It's the colour of explorers, of clever boys, and of people who like to be outside." It's also a colour that settles restless spirits, she thought, hoping his teachers would benefit from her selection.

"Well, blimey. Who knew you'd find an ink that did all that?"

Rosa smiled. "What about Tess? What's she like?"

Billy looked at his shoes. "I don't know. She's a girl. She has dolls and wears pigtails."

"I'll bet she likes to stay inside and read instead of playing outside with you."

"I suppose so."

Rosa couldn't help but notice the kernel of sadness in his answer. She paused before bringing down the next bottle. It was an ink of openness, of willingness to try new things. "Have Tess use this one, and let me know how it works out."

"Indigo Blue." Billy held the two bottles together, staring at the colours that sloshed inside them. "They're both blue. But they're different. Just like me and Tess."

"Exactly," said Rosa, bagging the rest of the items on Billy's list. "Now, did you bring some money or should I put it on your father's account?"

"Account, please."

"Very well. And Billy, promise me you'll be careful with these. Also, don't forget that the Harpoon Blue is your ink."

"What happens if I use the Indigo Blue by mistake?"

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Rosa, with a half-grin. "Some things are not worth finding out." She placed the paper bag in his arms and shoved him in the direction of the door. "Be a good boy, Billy," she said, smiling as the door clanged shut behind him.

The morning hours flew past, and she shop was so busy that Rosa didn't have time for her tea break. Ginger reminded her that her water dish needed refilling, but that was the closest she got to taking any sustenance for herself. It was fifteen minutes before closing time before she had a chance to perch on her high stool. The last pair of customers had been heartbroken girls. The long and short of it was that Pedro Gallo, the heartthrob exchange student, had announced his intention to marry Eliza Guthrie, the butcher's daughter, and return to Argentina. They wanted to find the right paper, pens and ink to write their last love letter to the Man of their Dreams. The ink she'd given them was one she dispensed most often: Violet Blue. It was best used to inspire acceptance and contentment with one's lot.

It was ten minutes before closing time, and Rosa began to tidy the shelves, their having being ransacked by the morning's sales, making notes of which stock to replenish. She was three bottles deep into counting the Apple Green Ink when she heard the shop door open. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was one minute before closing. Sod's Law indeed.

"I'll be right with you." She shoved her pencil behind her ear, and turned around.

"Good day. I know it's terribly late, but I had a time getting here. I'm from the second village over, down Hampsmead way."

"Not a problem." Rosa swallowed. "How can I help?"

"I need ink." He held up his palms. 

Rosa staggered back, stopping short before she bumped into the shelves. "I beg your pardon?"

He dropped his hands. "I heard about your... gift. Everyone says you look at their hands and then give them the right ink. The ink they didn't know they needed." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I'm like you. I can do that too. But not for myself. Never for myself. And I have tried so hard to find the right one. Please. I need your help."

Rosa folded her arms. "I... I didn't realise I was famous."

He fiddled with the third button on his shirt. "I know how to listen to what people say. Most of the time they don't realise what you're doing. But we Ink Masters know how to recognise each other, don't we?"

Rosa studied him in his light blue shirt, simple brown trousers and leather satchel. Nothing about his appearance gave anything untoward away. She cleared her throat. "Let me see them."

He opened his palms to her again, an expectant gleam in his eyes. 

It was unusual for Rosa to need more than three seconds to know which ink to choose. But this man was, well, complex. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. I'm Roger. You're Rosa."

"And that's Ginger," said Rosa, after a well-timed yelp came from the store room. She regarded his hands a moment longer. "Wait here." 

In the store room, she found the components she needed and mixed a special batch of ink. She never measured; her instincts always told her when the proportions were right. The task complete, she held up a squat bottle to the light. Golden Honey Brown. 

"I think that should suffice for now," she said, handing the bottle to Roger. 

"What will it do?"

"I'm not sure. But it's what you need."

"Will it work?"

"Would you be here if you thought otherwise?"

Roger smiled. "All right." He pulled a vial from his bag and handed it to her. "This is your colour."

"How can you tell? We just met."

"I had a feeling about you," he said. "And I have a feeling this won't be the last time we meet, Rosa McClarty." He backed away from the counter and when she looked up from the neat print on the label, he was gone.

Sunshine Yellow. Whatever did it mean? Whatever did he mean?

The church bell sounded on the hour, and Rosa looked at her watch. How had only a minute passed? She held up the vial of ink and shook it, watching in awe as luminescent fragments swirled against the glass. She decanted the contents into her favourite porcelain inkwell, and used her tester pen to write.

My name is Rosa McClarty.

On the line below, a different handwriting appeared. 

And you have the gift of Knowing Ink.

Rosa dropped her pen, and yellow ink splattered across the paper, leaving gleaming golden drops that seemed to sizzle and fade away.

Who are you?

No answer came.

What are you?

Again, nothing.

I am not afraid of you.

After a pause, she read: But you are afraid of him.

Rosa crumpled up the page and threw it into the waste paper basket. It must be the dehydration after the busy morning. She slid the 'open' sign to 'closed', bolted the door and locked it for good measure. She avoided looking at the counter where her inkwell sat and made a beeline for her hat and handbag. She checked that Ginger's food and water would survive the night and headed for the back door. As she reached to open it, Rosa started. She could see Roger sitting on a rock in the field, eating an apple. She backed away from the door, went to the shopfront and retrieved the crumpled page from the waste paper. Rosa was shaking as she wrote the next line.

Who is he?

She jumped at the sound of a loud knock at the front door. It was Billy.

"Miss! Miss!"

She unlocked the front door and opened it a crack. "What is it, Billy? I was about to go home."

"Sorry. I have a note for you. He said it was important." He handed her a folded page and ran off. 

Rosa shut the door and opened the note.

Don't hide from me. We are more alike than you think. R.

She felt light-headed and moved slowly to her high stool so that she could sit down. She dared to look at the page again, and noticed that there was a reply. 

A friend.

To be continued...