Spencer Winston's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Spencer sat behind the stall with Gerald in his lap and watched the crowd move past. Three people had stopped to look at the mushroom blanket. Two had touched it. None had bought anything yet. The market had been open for forty minutes. A voice rose above the crowd near the center of the market. "Twenty coins for that? You could buy a real blanket for half that." Spencer looked up. A stall holder two rows over was holding up the mushroom blanket, turning it toward the gathering crowd. "These crochet pieces are just yarn and air. Not worth the asking price." Spencer stood, Gerald secure under his arm, and walked to the front of the stall. He didn't speak. He reached past the stall holder and lifted the giant rainbow spider from where he'd placed it earlier that morning. It was as tall as Spencer himself, each leg striped with bright colors, the body stuffed firm enough to hold weight. He set it on the ground between the stalls. A child climbed onto it immediately. Then another. The spider held. Spencer looked at the stall holder. "Sir Goosifer's work holds what it's meant to hold," he said. "That's worth twenty coins." The crowd watched the children climb. Two people stepped forward to buy scarves. The stall holder said nothing more. Spencer returned to his spot behind the stall, Gerald back in his lap, and noted that defending his brother's work in public produced measurable results. But the stall holder wasn't done. He stepped forward, gesturing at his own stall packed floor to ceiling with small crocheted animals in clashing colors. "I've been selling crochet here for three years. These fancy spiders and mushroom blankets don't make the work better. They just make it expensive." The crowd turned back, waiting. Spencer looked at the stall holder's display. Every piece sat crooked. The stitches varied in size. Some animals leaned to one side. He looked at Sir Goosifer's spider, still holding two children who were now laughing and reaching for each other across its back. He looked at the mushroom blanket the stall holder had dropped on the counter, every stitch still perfectly even. Spencer picked up the blanket and held it where everyone could see. "Sir Goosifer measures every row," he said. "He tests every structure before he sells it. His work costs what it takes to make it right." He folded the blanket and set it back in its place. The stall holder opened his mouth, then closed it. A woman stepped past him and placed twenty coins on Spencer's counter. "I'll take the mushroom blanket," she said. Three more people formed a line behind her. The stall holder walked back to his own stall and began rearranging his animals without looking up. Spencer wrapped the blanket carefully, handed it to the woman, and understood that Sir Goosifer's precision was the reason people would pay, not just the barrier to overcome. The crowd stayed after the stall holder left. They gathered under the fairy lights strung between the wooden poles near the center stalls, pointing at the spider and talking in clusters. Spencer watched a man lift one of Sir Goosifer's small stuffed creatures and turn it over in his hands, checking the stitches. The man set it down and picked up another. Then he bought both. A woman asked if the scarves came in other colors. Spencer told her Sir Goosifer could make one in any color she wanted if she came back next week. She nodded and walked away, but she didn't say no. By the time the afternoon light started to fade, Spencer had sold six pieces and taken orders for four more. He packed the remaining items back onto the sled, secured Gerald under his arm, and pulled the rope toward home. He had defended Sir Goosifer's work once today. He would need to do it again. But now he knew